Asunder Chapter 7

Chapter 2.2 (7)

Earlier Life

Aftermath

“A spark erases our misery. Time is bent and broken. The pure in heart, soft of the tongue, and vivid of the dream will rise above the shattered house of Ora.”

- 3 Dreams 2:22, Book of Onirion.

- 12 years before the present day -

- The year 2284 -

Young Jane awoke face down in the snow to a loud humming noise. Disoriented, she instinctively tried to push herself up, but the pain of remembrance shot through her shoulder and forced her back into submission. A warmth began to consume her. It seeded deep into her fourteen-year-old bones and immediately halted her convulsive shivering. The surrounding snow melted rapidly, revealing the mud, rocks, and dormant grass of the riverbed. A bone-shivering thud hit the ground beside her, spattering dirt over her face. She reached up, wiping the mud from her eyes, readying to lift herself from the earth when she suddenly noticed the source of the heat about her. A large iron, claw-like foot rested beside her face. A rush of terror spewed through her veins. She could hear the pounding of her heart in her ears skyrocket, as well as the whirring up of what Jane was sure was the weapon used to end her life.

Rapidly praying to the God her father had taught her about, memories of her family flashed before her mind. Jane squeezed her eyes shut, gripping the mud between her fingers with all her might. Then, suddenly, a loud crack reverberated through the air. The sound of high-velocity metal hitting metal pinged above her, sending sparks sputtering all about. The weapon aimed at her head immediately wound down. Suddenly, a lurching of the machine standing above her resounded, followed by the dramatic smashing of the powerless being into the ground next to Jane, barely missing her as it fell.

The air stilled as she took a deep breath. Slowly opening her eyes again, she loosened her grip on the gravel and peered over at the intruder. There, beside her, lay the prominent metallic figure who just moments before stood above her, ready to either end her life or take her to heaven knows where. Large manifold plates with jet pulse engines flanked its shoulders. Hydraulics and wires lined its limbs and torso. A large barreled chest continued into a thin abdomen made entirely of intertwined wires. Thick mechanical gauntlets led into claw-like fingers extending from its forearms. The machine resembled a chimera of a man and bird—an angel of death.

Yet, there it lay, having received the same fate it provided to its prey. In the mud before it, the machine’s head appeared scattered in pieces. She braced her injured arm and then, gently favoring her good arm, sat upright. The splashing of water appeared behind her, and by the time she could turn her body around to visualize the oncoming threat, it had descended upon her. Instead of the expectation of pain, an oversized fur coat enveloped her and lifted her off the ground. She glanced up to see the kindly and wrinkled face of Jeremiah “The Judge” Jenkins. The pattering of his rifle beat across his back as he rushed them both into the thicket. Dropping down beside a tree, he held her tightly to keep her warm.

“Oh, child, look at you… Where’s your ma and pa?” His deep and rough voice warmed her soul.

Her throat burned as she attempted to speak. Her thoughts blurred as she still tried to make sense of the situation.

“It’s okay, child, we’ll find them. You rest.”

She wished she could tell him they were gone, but all her strength had departed from her frame. He sat her down and reached into his pocket, pulling out a handful of emergency warmer rods. He cracked the rod, and instantaneously, it permeated chemical heat. Grabbing her wrist, he opened her palm and pressed them into her hands. He clenched Jane’s fingers for her and positioned her hands on her chest, wrapping his fur coat tightly around her.

“You sit tight. I’ll come back to you soon. Just stay warm. When one rod runs out, crack another to keep warm, you hear me?”

Jane nodded.

“You hear me? Stay warm.” He repeated.

He stood hunched over her for a second, examining the child. His long white hair sprayed out from his wide-brimmed hat. His warm smile beneath his thick white mustache sent a sense of relief welling through her. The smile lines remained along the edges of his eyes even when he wasn’t smiling. All these attributes had likely caused the same warm feelings in others as they did in her and likely aided in exuding the trust he offered as the Judge of the valley.

Suddenly, a loud caw rang out just feet from where they sat, drawing their attention to a black and white bird roosting on a branch. Looking over, they both took notice of the Magpie. Jane, understanding the creatures question and its fear, weakly responded, “I haven’t seen them, but I’ll keep an eye out.” The bird bobbed up and down in the affirmative. It had been worried about its family, who had gone missing when the machines arrived. She knew this Magpie and its family well. They tended to harass her mother whenever she was out gardening.

The Judge looked from the bird back to Jane in an oddly understanding way. “You’re as good as your Pa at that.”

She knew The Judge was a close friend of her Father’s, but she never realized her father ever let anyone else know of his and her gift. The ability to speak with animals. Though the mention of her Father suddenly instilled a lump deep in her throat, and she looked down with intense sadness.

Sensing his words may have stung, The Judge rested his hand on her shoulder. “We’ll find them, okay? We’ll find them all.”

Jane, now instilled with a slight confidence she had not had before, especially in light of the Judge’s knowledge of her gift to speak to animals she mainly kept hidden from those other than her family, turned back to the Magpie. “Please let me know if you see any little boys around here. They are my brothers, and they are probably scared.”

The bird cackled back and then fluttered its wings, taking flight.

“What did it say?” The Judge asked, trying to boost her confidence.

“He’d keep an eye out.”

Suddenly, the echo of screams resounded faintly in the distance. Standing straight, the Judge quickly turned and looked back toward the source. He swung the rifle around from his back and, looking down at Jane, gave one last command.

“Stay put and stay quiet, child. I’ll be right back. I promise.”

He gave her a stern look, and she nodded in agreement. He nodded back and then sealed her tight within the confines of his coat.

He descended into the shallow river and quietly entered the trees opposite her, disappearing out of sight. She sat alone. Too tired to stir up feelings of concern, she stooped down within the coat’s warmth, pulling it over her head, feeling the heat of the rod radiating within her new nook. She stared into the swirling, faint blue glow emanating from the heat rod within the dark confines of the coat. A sense of déjà vu settled in, and she quickly dozed off to sleep.

§

What must have been many hours later, she awoke to loud rustling from outside her fur coat hut. The rod had long burned out, leaving a dull cold in its wake. Gaining courage, she wearily peeked out from the confines of her coat. The darkness of twilight flowed into the valley. The sky took on a deep purple, scattered with orange clouds. The moon peered over the edge of the eastern mountainside, darkly hazed by the thin veil of shadows hanging low and hugging the tops of the mountains. It neared evening, indicating she had been asleep nearly the whole day.


The thicket of trees enveloping Jane cast shadows dancing along the bright white snow. The temperature had dropped quickly, and the cold sank into her eyes as she peeked through the crack in front of the coat. The river babbled swiftly, uninterrupted by the day's carnage. A gust of steam billowed in front of her vision with a concurrent snort and whinny.

“Oliver!” She nearly cried under her breath. Her father's horse stood just feet away from her. In a burst of newly found energy and a sense of relief, she sprung forth, leveling herself on her good foot and wrapping her arms around the horse's neck. He neighed in agreement with her presentation of emotion. Embracing the creature tightly, she whispered, voice cracking, “Oh Oliver… thank you for coming. I’m so glad to see you.”

The horse shivered and tufted.

“Have you seen the boys?”

The horse neighed in the negative.

“That’s okay… we’ll find them.”

“Have you seen Judge Jenkins?” She pressed further.

The horse reiterated the same response.

“We have to go find the boys and the Judge…”

Suddenly, her words became interrupted by the deafening sound of torquing metal springing to life. Quaking from the ground erupted around her. She steadied herself against the horse. The Watcher had remained in the valley but apparently was moving again. The horse began to dance in place, neighing loudly, pulling his nose toward the sky.

“It’s okay! It’s okay!” She urged.

Then, as though a ghost from a dream stumbling through the commotion of the shaking, the sound of a crying child reached Jane’s ears. She spun her head around, searching her surroundings. The sound appeared close by. She tightened her coat, and using her good arm and good foot, she painfully hoisted herself into the saddle. Taking the reins with her good hand, she calmed the horse.

The cry rang out again, and Jane tugged the reins toward the west, guiding the horse quickly in the direction of the sound. The crying became more apparent as she approached her target. She broke through a thicket of trees, and there, in a snowy clearing before her, stood her youngest brother, Ishmael, sobbing profusely and looking about, confused. Her other brother Abraham was nowhere in sight. She yelled his name, frantically looking about.

She rode toward Ishmael and reached down. While keeping her balance with her good foot embraced in the stirrup, she grabbed his arm and heaved with all her might to bring him, belly first, into her lap. At that moment, the quaking became more violent, causing branches of nearby trees to break free. She could feel, between her thighs, Oliver’s heart pounding furiously in his chest. He raised onto his hind legs as she held on with all her might, trying not to drop her brother.

The groaning of moving metal fast approached. Jane eased the horse, leveling him to the ground, and quickly, spurring his hind quarter, urged him forward. The horse took off into a dead run. She shifted Ishmael upright so he sat up facing her abdomen. He held onto her tightly. Holding him close with her dislocated arm, she guided the horse through the thickets. The horse pounded the snow frantically with his hooves. The thick trees rushed by in a blur. A massive iron leg, the size of a building, descended from the sky, landing yards away, sending rocks and trees flying into the air. Branches whipped Jane’s face as they sped forward.

Oliver kept his pace with Jane holding tight to the reins. Her fate was in the horse's hands now. The leg of the Watcher lifted from the ground, dripping massive rocks from its iron tip as it rose in the air, as a human hand dripped water after lifting from a wash bin. The rocks collided with the ground, shattering.

The dark body of the great machine traversed overhead. Its eerie red glowing lights streamed by. The horse raced through the winding trees, staying parallel to the riverbed. Another leg slammed behind them, lurching them forward, almost buckling the horse's legs. Jane squeezed her eyes shut, preparing for impact, but it never came. They continued flying along at a breathtaking speed as though an unseen hand guided them through the maze of Hawthorne and Oak.

The first leg finally landed again at what seemed a quarter mile into the distance away from the river. Jane continued her course along the mountain’s base, northward toward the lake. The second leg behind them followed the first, moving the large, dark mechanical cloud toward the opposite mountain ridge to exit the valley.

The river began veering to the left. Jane could see in the distance ahead of her the steep incline to the peaks holding the lake captive. Beyond the lake would be the location where the survivors were to meet—the decided emergency and evacuation rendezvous point. The ground shook again as the legs of the mechanical behemoth continued smashing into the valley floor. The Watcher swiftly exited the valley over the opposite mountains as a spider would crawl over a folded sheet. The ground steadied, and the rumbling grew distant. It had somehow not noticed her scrambling below its great body. Like an ant below an elephant, she skimmed by without being spotted.

After a moment, she slowed Oliver to a trot. A chilling silence stilled the air as the final boom reverberated. The wind rustled around her now, tossing flakes of snow about. The night sky finally positioned itself in place. The moon appeared as a spotlight on the horror before her. Her valley appeared as a wasteland. Fires spotted the wreckage of homes once housing her family and friends. Immense scorched rifts criss-crossed through the grassy fields and trees like writing in the sand. Flames licked the edges of the ravines created by the massive machine. She hadn’t seen the carnage the Watcher inflicted upon her land until then. In her slumber, hell had risen from the depths or instead descended from the bowels of the metal beast in the form of red molten energy, searing the valley, leaving it scarred as a warning to others.

She nearly forgot about little Ishmael, who remained arms fastened to her waist, head buried in her chest. She pulled back his hood, his blonde hair sprouted from beneath.

“It’s okay, little guy, I’ve got you. Sissy is here.”

The chubby-cheeked boy raised his face to look at her. His blue eyes brimmed with tears glazed red. He trembled his lower lip.

“Mommy… where is she?”

“It’s okay, momma’s just sleeping.” She replied in a forced, cheerful voice.

“Where’s Abey?” She asked as though the machines had not just ravaged their home, and Abraham sat idly nearby. The charade was not holding.

“The flying thing took him…” he cried.

Her stomach sank. She had assumed so, but hearing it said aloud only amplified the reality of it all.

“Okay, bud, let's go find Judge Jenkins before we head to the lake.” She said more to herself than to the child at this point.

She pulled the boy against her and tugged the horse’s reins around, crossing the river back to the eastern bank, heading back to the area of Judge Jenkins's homestead where he had last left her. This time, she broke through the trees separating the river from the Judge’s property line, only there was no property line. A massive scorched ravine ran the length of his previous fence line and veered toward where his home once stood—now, a burning crater. Oliver caught a glimpse of it all before she processed the scenery and luckily stopped at the edge of the giant divot, where the Watcher had spewed its fiery beam. She wondered how she had slept through it all. Everything smoldered, destroyed by the machines. A tear ran down her cheek. She prayed the others had made it.

Finding a bit of resolve, she guided the horse south along the ravine’s edge, looking for any hint of life in the distance.

“He had to have made it,” she whispered to herself. “Someone had to have survived.”

Crossing onto their neighbor’s, the Nixon’s, property, she passed along a burned cornfield, finally reaching the shell rock road to her home. No sign of life appeared anywhere. The machines had transformed every home she passed into a pile of burnt rubble. Finally arriving at the entrance of the rocky driveway leading to her home, she looked back up the road one last time. Ishmael remained curled up in her lap, sound asleep against her body. She could see the billowing smoke at the other end of the driveway. Her home was no exception to the complete decimation of the community.

Taking courage, she guided the horse down the long rocky driveway. Reaching the break in the trees revealed the square property once bordering her home. The old cabin instead blazed, replaced by a disintegrated heap. All she had ever known. All her books, fishing poles, rifles, clothing, and memories were now fuel to a temporary flame. Pulling her eyes from the carnage, she held back fountains of tears. Guiding the horse around the property, she scanned the area for survivors, but no one revealed themselves from hiding. She approached the driveway again and looked over her shoulder for one last view of her previous world. Suddenly, a realization struck her.

The old powerhouse!

Catching a glimpse of the old wood generator shed, she realized it somehow survived the destruction, remaining standing next to the trees. The thick, insulated wooden shed had housed the old generator once feeding power to their cabin long before she was born. Much smaller fuel rods now replaced the great generator, allowing space for storing their extra belongings. If she remembered correctly, some of her mother’s old clothes and Abraham’s first rifle remained locked away within it. The only problem was they kept the key in the kitchen drawer, now dust in the wind. She eased Oliver to a stop before the old shed and patted his neck. “We gotta find a way to get in that shed, ol’ boy.”

Suddenly and unexpectedly, the horse turned around, reared on his forelegs, and kicked backward, directly smashing his hoof against the handle and frame of the shed. Jane grasped tight to Ishmael, causing a shooting pain to radiate down her dislocated shoulder into her hand. The shed door burst open with a mighty swing. Miraculously, Ishmael remained asleep, exhausted from the day's events.

“Thanks, Oliver.” She said, stroking his mane after steadying herself.

After a painful dismount and thirty minutes of awkward and uncomfortable rummaging in the dark shed, she emerged with Abraham’s old rifle, a backpack full of clothing, ammunition, jerky, dried fruit, flint, and her father’s sleeping bag. Hitching the supplies to the side of the saddle, she stared longingly at Ishmael’s sweet sleeping face. She felt grateful. She at least had someone—she would not be all alone. The moon now gleamed directly over the center of the Valley, causing the surrounding snow to glow. The light emanating from all around her gave the sensation of a dreary day rather than the dark of night.

Making her way to one of the large logs surrounding the fire pit between the shed and the cabin’s remains, she ripped one of the shirts she had found and created a sling for her left arm. In the fever of her escape from the Watcher, her arm had relocated within the socket but remained limp and unusable, disabled by the pain of torn ligaments and tendons. She ripped another one of her mother’s old shirts and wrapped it tightly around her right ankle, as it had tripled in size due to the swelling. Hoping the makeshift splint would help stabilize her foot and decrease the throbbing pain, she limped back to the horse and delicately mounted.

Guiding the horse back to the main road, she looked back one last time. Tears finally ran down her cheeks. “Goodbye…” she whispered. Turning toward the road, she allowed the image of her previous life to sink deep within her soul.

They idly ambled north and then west as the dirt pathway followed the curve of the valley. After what felt like an eternity, they reached the entrance to the peaks holding the lake. Ishmael remained sound asleep, and she felt the heaviness of slumber threatening to overtake her as well. The adrenaline of the prior events had worn off, and she longed for a warm bed. The horse ascended the embankment leading to the secluded body of water. The road ended where it always had, but as Oliver, the horse, knew the trail all too well from the weekly fishing trips her father took to the lake with him, he continued.

The trees changed from the hawthorns lining the river to taller conifers. At the south side of the lake, a thin, white, leafless array of aspen trees sprang forth from the ground like bristles on a brush etching the mountainside. Her father taught her these aspens were all the same organism, all sharing the same DNA, with intertwined roots springing forth new buds—one organism appearing as separate individuals to the naked eye. Much the same as the machines who just attacked and destroyed her home. A hive mind of demons.

She reached the shore and turned the horse toward the aspen grove. On the far side of the lake would be the clearing where she was to meet the survivors—the previously chosen rendezvous point. Rocky, snow-covered peaks surrounded the lake like a bowl of water. The moon had finally settled in the western sky, and the lake mirrored it, casting a long ribbon of light from one side to the next and pointing directly to her destination as though a long white finger pointed the way. A cold wind fluttered, causing ripples across the surface of the water. The throbbing in her ankle intensified as the bitter cold nipped at her cheeks. She had little time to process everything she had just lost as her aches and pains threatened to worsen her condition.

As she traveled around the lake, the moonbeam followed her as though it were the long arm of a clock ticking its way around the periphery. Upon reaching the collection of aspen trees, the white bark lining the black rivets was a welcoming sight. She had always loved these trees. In the summer, the green round leaves shimmered in the wind, creating the perception of tinkling sheets of green ice. But now, when the actual ice consumed them, and the leaves were good and gone, the black-spotted white pillars stood as gentle sentinels guarding their only hope of salvation.

She eased the horse near one of the trees and, grabbing the butt of the rifle, scraped the edge of it against the side of the tree, peeling the bark like a banana peel. The bark beneath glimmered a burnt orange color, creating a beautiful dichotomy against the white external shell. She ripped the bark from where it was still attached to the tree and shaved off a piece of the orange inside. Putting it in her mouth, she bit a large chunk off and chewed it, tasting the bitter resins. Though it was an unpleasant taste, she knew the properties of the bark had a potent anti-inflammatory effect that would help relieve some of her aches and pains, if anything, enough to dull the soreness of her ankle.

She had not had an opportunity to make a fire and boil the bark into tea, as her mother had taught her, at least not now, so she chewed it vigorously. She extracted a few more pieces of a similar size and shoved the remainder of the bark into the inner pockets of the coat Judge Jenkins had gifted her. To her surprise, she had found fistfuls of jerky and dried apples in the depths of the pockets as well. After consuming the nauseating resin, she returned their course toward the rendezvous point.

Upon finally reaching the break in the trees, she glanced around hopefully.

“Psst, is anyone here?” She hissed.

No response came—only the steady sound of the wind rustling through the trees. She repeated the greeting as she led the horse around the periphery of the clearing. She longed to see a friend's face—someone who had escaped from the wretched grasp of those horrifying machines, but to no avail. The clearing was empty. Panic began to whelm inside of her.

Where was everyone? Why had no one come to the rendezvous point? Did they leave already? Had she been too late?

She marched the horse up and down the surrounding trees once more. There appeared to be no evidence of footsteps or encampment sites anywhere. Not a blade of grass bent or askew, not a single footstep in the snow. No one had been there. Maybe no one else had traveled by horse, she thought. Perhaps the others were just still behind.

Deciding upon the latter scenario, she resolved to set up camp and wait. Being confident the machines were gone, Jane remained doubtful she and Ishmael were the sole survivors. The Judge would have at least made it… she hoped.

She stepped down from the horse and found a dry patch of dirt nestled against a conifer lining the clearing. Setting out her sleeping bag, she carefully lifted Ishmael from the saddle with her good arm. Then, slipping off his coat and boots, she set the clothing within the backpack to keep them dry, followed by the same actions for herself. Holding on to one of the heat rods from her coat, she snuggled the little boy close within the sleeping bag. Then, snapping the rod to ignite its warmth, she held it tight between their bodies.

Vivid and horrific thoughts raced through her mind as she lay there with her brother. Even though she had slept through the carnage earlier, her body had reverted now to a catabolic state of healing, and with the emotional toll of losing all she had known, she quickly fell asleep.