Free Afterworld (The Orion Rezner Chronicles Book 1) by Michael James Ploof

full weight of his heavy gaze on me and said, “We not get there first, will be no mission.”

Chapter 8
Into the Great Wide Open
     
    I had always loved the classics in fantasy, from Lord of the Rings to Harry Potter , but I’d never imagined that one day I would be a wizard, or that magic was real—OK, maybe when I was seven.
    I doubt anyone who experienced the Culling ever really thought they would see the end times. Sure, it was talked about and obsessed over through every age and preached by every religion—the fabled end times—yet here we are, still fighting to survive, still hiding from evil men and evil ways, and we still just want to be left alone.
    Seeing the world fall into chaos is something that I could never describe. And there are times I wish I hadn’t survived. To my knowledge, none of the people I knew in life lived to become a Witness, and everyone I see, I wonder if I might have met before. When all the people in your life cease to exist, do you not also cease to exist in a way? Yet I linger on like a spirit floating in a fallen Eden, a living memory forgotten by the dead, and a stranger to the living.
    The Boston Witnesses cope with their survivor’s guilt in different ways: some with the bottle, some with pills, others find Jesus, and still others, Allah. Many find salvation in the newest members of Boston, the Afterworld babies.
    Some people call our time the After Culling, but that too often reminds us of the event—Afterworld is the place our planet has become.
    An hour after our briefing we were standing in a hangar, all changed into our respective garb. I felt like a ninja wizard in the dark blue Kevlar and mail body armor—Mushiro basically is a ninja wizard.
    The three Boston Militia grunts, Anderson, Juggernaut, and Lopez, donned BM gear pimped out with Kevlar and plate armor. Dr. Doc wore a white coat, likely with a vest beneath to cover his major organs.
    Father Killroy carried with him a cross I can only describe as a battle axe that would have a crusader drooling. A reflection of light danced across it as he walked around the vehicles. For a moment, at just the right angle, patterns of scripture and depictions of holy symbols flashed across its highly polished surface. It was a holy symbol of Father Killroy’s faith, but it was also one mean-looking weapon. The father was a member of the Empyrean Brotherhood, a group of holy men who had begun to exhibit—or possibly, reveal—strange powers since the Culling.
    Bernard Macklebee, tech nerd at large, was sporting some BM issue light armor and showing Miss Stone around a Bradley tank. She wore a cloak similar to mine—sans pointy witch hat, thankfully. I had no way to know what was under her cloak, though I had imagined. I knew she was as armored as any of us, being that it was Boston Militia protocol during Out World missions.
    Mushi approached with palpable excitement. “You nervous, Rezner?”
    I shrugged. “How ’bout you?”
    “Psht, you crazy, Roundeye? I was born in this shit.”
    I laughed without correcting him. The truth was we were both nervous, and we knew it. This was our first expedition beyond the spell shield, and we remembered well the horrors that awaited us. Johnny nudged me and lifted his chin toward Kronos, who was heading our way.
    The master wizard squared on us, with one unamused eyebrow arched over a speculative scowl. “If this first is journey outside walls, listen good. Keep eyes open and mouths shut—might not come back dead.” He leaned in and gave me that loveable deadpan glare. “Don’t fuck up, Rezner.”
    A million one-liner comebacks played through my mind, but with great effort I suppressed the urge and said only, “Yes, Master Wizard,” all business like.
    He gave me a skeptical look and waited for the punch line, but none came. With a nod he finally turned to the others and said, “Mount up!”
    Mushiro eyeballed me with apprehension and put a hand to my forehead, as if checking for