Assaulted Souls

Special Smashwords Edition

ASSAULTED SOULS

A post-apocalyptic tale of an epic struggle for survival in a decimated wasteland.

by

William Blackwell

This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or to actual events or locales is entirely coincidental.

Assaulted Souls

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Copyright © 2017 WILLIAM BLACKWELL PUBLISHING. All rights reserved, including the right to reproduce this book, or portions thereof, in any form. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, downloaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical without the express written permission of William Blackwell Publishing. The scanning, uploading, and distribution of this book via the Internet or via any other means without the permission of the publisher is illegal and punishable by law. Please purchase only authorized editions and do not participate in or encourage piracy of copyrighted materials.

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Published by Telemachus Press, LLC at Smashwords

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Visit the author website:

http://www.wblackwell.com

ISBN: 978-1-938701-56-6 (eBook)

ISBN: 978-1-945330-35-3 (Paperback)

Version 2017.06.05

Acknowledgements

Heartfelt thanks to my loyal and supportive friends and family, the hardworking staff at Telemachus Press, and Winslow Eliot. Special thanks to the Government of Prince Edward Island for its financial support.

To Katie, you are an inspiration.

I will show you fear in a handful of dust.

–T.S. Eliot, The Wasteland

ASSAULTED SOULS

Chapter One

Where am I?

You’re in a hole.

I know, but where am I? Where’s the hole?

You don’t know? How many times do I have to tell you?

Would you mind telling me again?

You’re on Earth, or what’s left of it.

What’s Earth?

Do I have to tell you again?

Would you mind?

Earth is our planet. It’s where we were born, where we live. That is, until the bomb was dropped. Now everything’s fucked up.

Who am I?

Listen, I’m not going to do this again. You ask the same questions every day. I’m sick of it. I’m leaving.

Please tell me who I am and I won’t bother you anymore.

You’re Nathan King.

Nathan King looked at the skinny, partially-clad man squatting in front of him, illuminated faintly by the flickering flame from the small, white candle, and wondered who he was. His greasy long hair pointed out at odd angles and, but for a ripped pair of denim shorts, nothing else covered his body, except black dirt smears across his chest, legs, and face. Lines creased his weathered face, more pronounced on his furrowed brow. The corners of his lips pointed down, the signs of much suffering etched into his worn features.

They sat cross-legged around the candle, the only light and heat source in the otherwise dark and dank-smelling cave.

Who are you? Nathan asked.

When are you going to start remembering shit? the man snarled.

I don’t know. I can’t remember one day to the next. But if you tell me I’ll stop bothering you.

You said that before.

Did I?

Yeah.

Okay, this time I mean it. Please tell me who you are?

A long pause. The only sound was the faint howling of the wind, increasing in intensity, far above them on the surface of the Earth.

I’m Edward Sole, your friend.

You’re my friend?

Didn’t I just say that?

Yeah, you did.

Funny, I don’t remember him. Or is it? I don’t seem to remember much else. Should I ask him how long we’ve been down here? No, better not. Enough for one day. What do you want to do now?

Not much we can do now. It’s getting late. I’m going to bed. You should do the same. Edward extracted a small candle from his pocket, lit it on the communal candle, stood up eyeing Nathan despairingly. We should try and get some clothes tomorrow and some food. As long as the Neanderthals don’t return. He disappeared down a cavernous passage.

Nathan looked around, trying to make sense of his surroundings. But the cave, dimly lit by the flickering candle, was mostly black. Neanderthals? Where’s my bed? I’m hungry.

He absently put his hand to his aching stomach, realizing for the first time he didn’t have a shirt either and he could feel his ribs. He examined his stomach, his arms and legs, saw the same black dirt smears and frowned. His only clothing, a knee-length pair of cotton shorts with multiple pockets. Travel shorts. He could barely tell they might have been green at one time but were now mostly black and brown with dirt and grime.

I smell bad, he thought, bringing his nose down to his hairy armpit. He brought his hand to his face, felt the scruff of a thick beard. Did I have this before? He ran his hands through his hair and realized it was long, disheveled, and greasy. Like what’s-his-name.

What happened? he asked out loud, his voice echoing through the cave. He strained to try and remember. He sat a long time in silence but very little entered his distressed mind. At least, not anything that would remind him of where he was and how he got here. How could this be? I’m here with that guy in this dark and desolate place and can’t remember anything. Please, please mind, remember something, anything.

But still nothing came to him and he shivered, wondering if it was more from the cold or from his fear. Fear that he would never remember anything, would continue to ask that guy—what was his name again?—the same questions over and over again, every day. That would suck big time.

His stomach growled, breaking the long silence, and he flinched, rubbing his arms which were now crawling with goose bumps. Remember something. Anything. Travel shorts. You like to travel. That’s something. Yeah, but not enough. Travel where? And when?

He felt overwhelming sadness suddenly rise up from inside his heart and penetrate the depths of his soul. He leaned his head into his hands and started crying. He couldn’t stop it if he wanted to. The sobs started weakly, a whimper, and slowly grew in volume, the tears streaming down his face until he sat wracked with sobs, his head buried in his hands, tears running down his hands, arms, threatening to extinguish his only source of light and heat.

Finally the sobs ebbed in intensity, were reduced to a whimper again and gradually subsided. I’m running out of tears. Stop crying, you baby. Edward’s going to think you’re a little wimp. Wait. Edward.

I remembered his name. Nathan tried to smile, but was too weak, cold and hungry. He slowly picked up the candle and stood up. He turned around, trying to figure out where he might sleep. Should I go where Edward went?

Before he could answer the question, the small flame illumed an oval-shaped opening in what now appeared to be a network of caves. He walked into it holding the candle, noticing the ground was strewn with garbage. He accidentally kicked a tin can and it bounced off the rock walls ahead of him—cling, clang, cling, clang—before it finally stopped and the tunnel became quiet again.

After about thirty feet, walking crouched down to avoid bumping his head, the tunnel led into another much larger cave with a vast ceiling, indiscernible in the dim light. He glanced around, trying to find his bearings, having no idea where he was or what he might find.

A scuffling sound near his feet made him leap up in fright and he smacked his head on the low stone above. He looked down and saw small glowing yellow eyes regarding him. That’s a rat. There, you remembered something else. The rat stopped, eyeing him curiously for a few seconds before slowly crawling away into the blackness. The rat was not afraid. Do I know him? Why is he not afraid of me?

He held the candle in front of him, searching the cave for a place to sleep. His body had begun to tremble with fear or cold, he no longer knew which. Then he saw it, a clump of sleeping bags and blankets, a worn pillow, off in a corner on a tattered mattress. He walked over, knelt down, perching the candle precariously between some rocks and climbed into bed. Mattress springs poked into his back and he rearranged some of the blankets to try and take the edge off. It helped, but only a little.

He twisted and turned, pulling a sleeping bag over his head until he finally curled up and was still. What about the candle? Can’t sleep with that on.

He blew it out and listened. He could hear the shuffling of the rat, the whistling of the cold wind. Will I have to eat the rat or is he my friend too? he thought, scratching his aching belly. He closed his eyes and his mind raced. About an hour later, overcome with fatigue, he finally felt sleep taking hold. Only one thought lingered, moments before he drifted off: How am I ever going to survive in this wasteland?

Chapter Two

Do you want to survive?

Yeah, Nathan whispered.

Well, then you’ve got to kill him, Edward said softly. We need food.

They were above ground the next day, perched behind a stump of what was once a very large tree. The surrounding landscape was barren and sand-colored, the sky an orange haze of thin clouds, the sun behind the clouds glowing reddish-orange. Small outcrops of debris punctuated the otherwise desolate landscape.

Nathan held a crossbow, Edward at his side instructing him on technique. Here, you pull it back slowly, once you reach this point let go, but hold it steady, make sure you have him in your sights before you let go.

Nathan flinched as he eyed the small camouflaged rabbit, only spots of white revealing its identity. Otherwise, it was the beige color of sand and blended in almost perfectly with the hostile landscape. He leveled the crossbow, lined up the rabbit head in his sights, and released the arrow. But his right arm moved just slightly during release and the arrow narrowly missed the small prey, which raised its eyes immediately and darted away after identifying its predators.

Give it to me, Edward said, snatching the crossbow from his hands impatiently. We’ll never eat if I leave it up to you. He stood up and walked toward an outcrop of debris far away in the distance.

Where are you going? Nathan asked, catching up and walking a few feet behind him.

We need clothing. And food. Pointing to the debris pile. Over there, let’s see what we can find.

Nathan followed and they walked along in silence for a few minutes, like a couple of primitive men in search of food and clothing.

Edward, Nathan finally said.

Edward looked at him in surprise. You remembered my name?

Yeah.

"You can call me Ed if you like, but if you can’t remember then Edward’s