Apocalypse: Valhalla's Darkest Hour

[TGRF]

Chapter 3 of 3 - Finished, but with nothing afterwards.

Spoiler Alert!

With reflexes borne of instinct tempered with training, Mike leapt, swinging his left leg forward to propel himself across the room. He twisted his body at the last second and flung his right leg out. A moment later, it connected with the man’s back.
The two of them pitched forward, rolled across the bed, and fell on the other side. Tom and Sarah both woke up as the two men rolled over them, screaming at the sight.
The man came up on top. Wasting no time, he plunged downwards, grappling at Mike’s neck and eyes with his hands.
What’s he trying to do? Mike thought. Bite my head off?
Mike drove his knee upwards, and slammed it into the man’s stomach. The force of the blow threw the man upwards, temporarily separating his hands from Mike’s head. Mike flipped over and drove his other leg upwards, catching the man in the stomach again with his foot and forcing him off of him completely. He then twisted to his side, and kicked the man in the head, causing him to fall over backwards.
Tom and Sarah had by this time scrambled from their bed and were now huddled against the far wall, where Adelle still lay. Mike jumped to his feet, pulled out his gun, and leveled it at the man, who was slowly staggering to his feet.
“Who are you?” Mike said, gripping his gun with both hands.
The man said nothing, but only weaved on the spot, looking slightly drunk.
“What do you want?” Mike said, louder this time.
The man’s eyes snapped onto him. In the next instant, he had dived for Mike’s legs, tackling him to the ground. The problem with this strategy was that the man’s head was now very near Mike’s feet, allowing Mike to kick him in the head three times in quick succession. The man reeled backwards.
Mike jumped to his feet again. In another moment, he had aimed, and fired. The bullet slammed into the man’s knee.
The man went down, seemed to struggle for a moment, and then, without a sound, slowly began to get back up.
Mike instantly knew something was wrong. Aside from the fact that the man’s flesh was discolored, there was no expression on his face. It was slack, showing nothing at all. His eyes were a sickly yellow. Strangest of all, however, was the wound. There was no blood. None at all.
The man staggered to his feet. Mike leveled his gun, and shot him in the chest, right through his heart.
The man was flung back onto the bed. He lay there for a moment, and then, unbelievably, raised himself on one elbow, and began to get back up.
Mike fired a third round, this one through the head, right between the eyes. The bullet went through the man and lodged in the headboard.
The man staggered. He swayed backwards, his arms behind him, flailing as if in slow motion. Then, defying everything Mike knew about the human body, the man regained his balance, locked eyes with Mike, and walked slowly towards him.
BANG!
Another shot flew into the man’s head. This time, he merely stopped, stooped over as if in pain, and then straightened and continued walking.
BANG!
Another shot.
BANG!
Now the bullets had no effect. The man merely set his feet, absorbed the force, and continued walking. His training had taught Mike to constantly assess the situation, and right now his mind was telling him that bullets – for whatever reason – had no effect on this man. He therefore switched to cruder means, and kicked the man in the chest.
The man fell over backwards, hitting his head hard on the foot of the bed. Mike didn’t wait for him to get back up. He rushed across the room, picked Adelle up, and slung her over his shoulder. He then grabbed his children’s hands, and kicked the door open. A backwards glance showed the man upright, walking slowly and purposefully towards them. Mike ran into the hall, staggering slightly under Adelle’s weight, and shut the door in the man’s face.
That was when Sarah screamed.
Mike whirled around. Whoever or whatever the man was, he seemed to have friends. Aided by his night vision, Mike could see that the hall, which had been empty and silent only moments before, was now packed with people. Men, women, even children, all were shuffling about, an oddly vacant look in their eyes. Their heads turned as Sarah screamed, and they started towards her, slowly, walking with unhurried steps.
Mike had a feeling bullets wouldn’t work on these any better than they had on the man inside, so he made a quick decision. Thrusting Tom and Sarah behind him, he opened their door again, kicked the man inside to the floor, and pulled them in after him, shutting the door again.
He gently lowered Adelle to the bed and moved the children to the far side of the room, and then turned to face the man, who was again shambling slowly across the floor.
Mike assessed the situation. They had to get out of the building. The only door was in the hall, and the hall was packed with those people, those things. The only other way out would be to make a hole in the wall. This wouldn’t be particularly difficult, since the building seemed likely to fall apart any moment anyway. The only problem was the man. Mike had to at least disable him.
Mike took careful aim, waited for the man to come within range, and then pivoted on one foot, slamming his other foot into the man’s chest. He struck just below the sternum – the prime area of attack for knocking someone’s breath out.
Either the man didn’t have any breath, or he simply didn’t care. Either way, he staggered backwards as Mike struck him, and then shambled on, his yellow eyes fixed on Mike’s neck. It appeared that more drastic measures were needed.
Mike considered his options. His best bet would be to go for the legs. But breaking a leg is a lot harder than it sounds, so something a bit more conventional would have to do.
Mike thought for a moment. The only things in the room were the bed, two chairs, a table, the candle, and a lamp.
Deciding on a course of action, Mike did the thing that might have been least expected: he grabbed a sheet from the bed and threw it over the man’s head. Then, while the man was fumbling with the sheet, he leapt to the lamp, yanked it from the socket, and started pulling on the cord. For being such an old lamp (the Valkyrie had only built them in the first days of the war), the cord was extremely sturdy. Mike finally got it out though, and, leaping back to the man, wrapped it around his chest and arms, securing the sheet in place. He then tied it as tight as he could and stepped back.
In the middle of the floor was a staggering man, his arms bound to his sides by a lamp cord, his head enveloped in a bedsheet. It was not ideal, but it would work. Mike struck the man with the flat of his palm, and he fell to the floor.
The building shook. From overhead came the rumbling of engines, accompanied by a sudden barrage of gunfire. Out in the hall, the people began to shriek and scream. The sounds were more like those of animals than humans. There was a sudden pounding on the door as it was beaten by many fists. Mike wouldn’t have time to break a hole in the wall. He looked around.
The table was wobbly on two legs. Mike grabbed it, and detached the two legs without too much difficulty. He then tore two strips from the second sheet and wound them around the ends of the two legs, tying them securely in place.
“Daddy!” Sarah shrieked from behind the bed. “What’s going on!”
Mike bent towards her. “It’s okay,” he said, trying to make himself heard over the pounding on the door. “You’ll be fine, just stay behind me, okay?”
Sarah nodded mutely, her hands pressed over her ears against the sounds of gunfire from above.
Mike took the candle from where he had placed it and lit the two table legs. The strips of sheet caught fairly quickly, and soon Mike had two thick torches. He turned to his children.
“Tom, Sarah,” he said, “I want you two to hide behind the bed. Crouch down and don’t make a sound. No matter what you hear, you have to remain hidden. Do you understand me?”
They both nodded.
“Don’t move until I come and get you,” Mike said. They both hid obediently and Mike turned around, even as the door finally gave way and the horde beyond came bursting in.
Mike was ready for them. He took a few steps forwards, and swung at the first man to come close enough. The torch struck his head, sending sparks flying, but the man’s skin failed to catch fire. The man went down as the table leg collided with his head though, staggering to all fours.
Two more – this time a man and a woman – rushed Mike. Mike kicked the man backwards, knocked the woman’s legs out from under her, and then held both torches to her skirt.
Flames burst into existence, enveloping the fabric quickly. The woman took no notice of them, and slowly struggled to her feet. Mike let her get up, and then kicked her in the stomach, causing her to stagger backwards into those behind her. They fell back as the flames singed them, batting dazedly at the tongues that ignited on their own clothing. Then the woman herself caught fire.
A bone-chilling scream rent the air, drowning out all the other noises, even the gunfire from above, as the woman dropped to her knees, clawing at the flames that were now spreading across her body. The cry was part animal, part human, and all terror. Sheer, unthinking panic; the shriek of a cornered animal with no way out.
Mike stood transfixed, watching the woman. The other people were edging away from her, or rather, the flames that were now eagerly reaching for her face. She continued to scream, seemingly without breath, one long, unbroken sound. The fire spread to her neck, then slowly crept up her spine, ignited her hair, licked at her ears, leapt from her throat to her chin, then enveloped her mouth, then her nose, finally leaving only her wild, frightened eyes left visible, surrounded by flame.
Mike watched, unable to tear his gaze from what he had done. Clearly, the woman had not been in her right mind, but she had still been a woman. A person. However, as Mike looked into her eyes, he saw something there that turned his heart cold with dread. He had not noticed it before, but the woman’s eyes were those of an animal. The irises had expanded, blotting out the white, and they had become tinged with the same sickly yellow that blotted the woman’s skin. The pupils had become slits, though they were now dilated in fear. Fear, Mike realized, not of a rational human, but of a feral animal.
It was this realization, more than anything else, even more than the fight itself, that scared Mike. These people had been changed, altered somehow, made into something they weren’t. And if they could be turned into these creatures they now were, it followed that he, or Sarah or Tom or even Adelle, could be changed too. And that prospect froze Mike’s courage, rooting him to the spot in terror.
The woman continued to burn. Her screams never lost their volume. They merely faltered, once, twice, and then fell silent as abruptly as if they had never been. She fell forward, a mere burning heap on the floor.
Mike was too dazed to move. Or speak. Or think, for that matter. He continued to stare at the burning corpse of the woman, seeing her through a white fog that seemed to be obscuring his senses. He didn’t move when the rest of the creatures pressed forwards, edging around her, or when they suddenly fell back as bullets slammed into them. Neither did he move as five Omnicron Snipers entered the room, shooting the creatures mercilessly and positioning themselves in front of him. Only when the soulborgs grabbed him by the shoulders and began to half shove, half drag him from the room, did his legs start working properly.
Some part of him tried to turn back, knowing that Adelle and his children were still behind the bed, but then he saw that they had been extracted by more soulborgs. The Omnicrons raised their guns and let loose volley after volley, forcing the creatures to their knees, though Mike could see the bullets had no effect. Stumbling, coughing from the smoke of the guns, his head ringing with the overwhelming chaos of sounds, Mike staggered from the building between the soulborgs, his family close behind.
His first encounter with the creatures had not ended well. It would not be his last.

That is the last of the three chapters. I've assessed the remaining drafts, and they contain:

• V1.CP - A different opening, more akin to The Final Battleground.
• V3.C1 - A different opening with the original theme.
• V4.C1&C2 - Yet another opening, but this one has awesome dialogue. If I say so myself. It is followed by an unfinished chapter.
• VR1.C1 - Unfinished. Unlikely to be posted, as it is a rewording of the actual first chapter.
• VR2.C8a,b,9,9b,&10 - This version picks up with right when Mike enters the building to find his mother. It ends with two different versions of Carr - both before I asked myself why he should be friendly at all. There are similarities here to the actual AV, but I don't believe there was any copy&pasting involved.

Those versions will be posted as I review them. Some contain proofreading notes which need to be removed.



~TGRF.

[TGRF]

This is a different opening to AV. I believe it was one of the earliest versions, back when I had a good idea how the plague started, but did not yet have a story to go with it.

Spoiler Alert!

The war on Valhalla had raged for forty years. The land had been scarred by the sites of countless battles. Fires had raged across once green forests and previously clear streams. The death toll had reached ten million by the fortieth year, and it was only so low because the Valkyrie had taken to summoning their soldiers out of harm’s way.
In all of those forty years, neither side had won. Utgar’s southern armies had been on the brink of defeat countless times, as had Jandar’s Alliance. Every time, reinforcements had arrived, or a general had executed a tactical move, and the tide had turned. Every part of Valhalla, including the wellsprings, had changed hands multiple times. The war, it had seemed, was endless.
That was until the fortieth year. In January of that year, at 3:27 in the morning of the second day, by Earth time, two figures had appeared deep within the uncharted regions of the vast Ticalla Swamp.
One was unmistakably Utgar. Despite the fur cloak and heavy metal armor he wore, there was no mistaking the way he held himself. His pride and contempt for those who opposed him could be seen in every step he took, and his eyes, deep within the recesses of his horned helmet, burned with a fire yearning to be unleashed against Valhalla.
The other figure was a short man. He too wore armor, but unlike Utgar’s, his was black and composed of many compact plates all sewn into a hardened leather frame. The insignia of Vydar gleamed on his shoulder in the scarce moonlight. It seemed that there were traitors amongst the Alliance.
The two figures, having gotten their bearings after their sudden appearance, strode off into the murky undergrowth, heading due south. The vegetation literally withered and crumbled to ash before Utgar’s gaze, leaving the way unobstructed for the two figures to pass. After about ten minutes of walking in complete silence, they entered a small clearing, a clearing which was dominated by a hideous sight.
A marro Great-Hive, the first of its kind, more powerful than any other hive, rose from the ground in sickly curves and spires. Its skeletal structure was chaotically draped with vines, and its green limbs reached for the moon, threatening to blot it out of existence. Swamp slime dripped from it sluggishly, forming stagnant pools of green mud about its base. Skirting around these, the two figures approached the Great-Hive until they were close enough to touch it.
The man knelt in the hive’s shadow, as Utgar stood imperiously by, watching with crossed arms. After a moment of fumbling with his pack, the man withdrew several complex-looking instruments and gauges, three vials of a thick black liquid, and what had to be the largest syringe in existence.
The man stood up and began to run his hands along the hive. No hive is a mere inanimate plant, and most will shiver or shrink away if touched. But not this one. The Great-Hive seemed to throb with power, and either it didn’t see the man as a threat, or it was simply so absorbed in higher matters that it didn’t notice the small creature at its base.
The man, appearing to have located what he was looking for, slid one of the vials into the syringe, and looked up at Utgar. Utgar nodded once, his eyes fixed on the hive before him. The man turned back to the hive, and selecting an area carefully, plunged the syringe into it.
The Great-Hive did not react. This may have been because it considered itself above such things as syringes. It may also have been because it had just been injected with the most powerful paralyzing agent known to the galaxy. As it so happened, that agent could only be found in one place, and despite its power, no one wanted to collect it.
The reason for this was quite simple: the most powerful paralyzing agent known to the galaxy happens to be the blood of an undead zombie.

~TGRF.

[TheAverageFan]

Interesting concept and really good description. I could picture the Hive perfectly in this one. I wonder if this was still the idea for the origin in the official canon or if you changed it since then.

~TAF

[TGRF]

Originally Posted by TheAverageFan

Interesting concept and really good description. I could picture the Hive perfectly in this one. I wonder if this was still the idea for the origin in the official canon or if you changed it since then.

~TAF

I believe the design of the zombies was the same. Whether Utgar created it, I cannot remember. Given that the hives are controlling the whole operation, it was likely the marro that started it.

~TGRF.

[TheAverageFan]

That's good to know. One of my pet peeves of the genre is when the origin is never explained or explored. AV technically didn't explain anything as far as I recall, but knowing that you had something in mind makes it okay. I hate it when ambiguity only exists because the author couldn't be bothered to come up with anything.

~TAF

[TGRF]

Every now and then, on a rare occasion, I will have a dream which yields inspiration for a novel or fan fiction. In fact, I have an entire novel based purely on a dream (which may or may not ever be written).

Very rarely, I will have a dream which not only serves as inspiration, but coincides perfectly with what I am trying to write at the present moment. That happened with AV. What follows is the result of that dream.

An opening was needed before I got to the actual dream, so that is yet another opening. The second chapter contains the inspiration itself.

Chapter One of Two

Spoiler Alert!

Day One
The war has gone on too long. Far too long. Jandar, Utgar, and all the rest… They were young when they started this conflict. I don’t think they realized then what they had begun. I didn’t either. No one did. Now, forty-three years later, they’ve begun to realize just what their actions accomplished.
It’s dawned on us all, at some point or other, that this war can’t be stopped. By some paradox of fate, those that are furthest from the war came to this conclusion first. The Valkyrie arrived there last.
It’s too late to repair the damage now. When both sides have an infinite supply of soldiers, how can either lose? The war simply continues, going on and on, the cursed wellsprings feeding us everything we need.
Jandar was the first to admit that something had to be done. He looked, long and hard, for a way to stop the war. He tried everything, considered more. But the war couldn’t be stopped. The wellsprings had made sure of that. Even if all the Valkyrie were slain, Valhalla would be plunged into chaos, and new Valkyrie would rise within the month.
I think it was the death of Kelda that opened Jandar’s eyes. Found near death, she had become nearly a daughter to him, a constant reminder of the family he had once had. When she was found, slain by the marro hordes, Jandar finally realized that the war had to be ended by any means necessary, no matter the cost. So he turned to the only option he had not considered: the wellsprings themselves.
It was a bold move. Many of us felt the war might at last be over. Many more of us - particularly those that had been summoned – opposed the idea; what if something should go wrong? But none of them stopped him, because deep down, they knew the war had to end. This was the only way.
It was the first clear day after two weeks of thunderstorms. Jandar, accompanied by his generals and most trusted friends, including myself, descended to the wellspring. The rest were left to wait above ground, listening, wondering, waiting to see if the war would end in the next minute.
Jandar thought he knew how to destroy Utgar’s wellspring. Early into the war, it had become apparent that the wellsprings were all connected by magic. When two Valkyrie would summon at the same time, they would clash, the wellsprings lashing out at each other through dimensions that only they could access. Jandar, having clashed with Utgar plenty, thought he could send a bolt of magic into the wellspring so powerful that it would fold in on itself, connect to Utgar’s wellspring, and effectively overpower it. The wellspring would be burned out, its magic gone. Jandar’s calculations were correct. Unfortunately.
I saw with my own eyes Jandar cast the spell. It went into the wellspring, and we watched through its clear waters as it found Utgar’s trail of magic, connected, and soared up it. We thought the war was over.
A moment later an explosion such as I have never felt took place. We could feel it building, shaking the ground beneath our feet. The fastest of us flew for the door. I barely made it in time. Jandar stayed behind, trying to undo whatever damage he had done, but not even he could control the magic he had unleashed.
It turned out that the wellsprings were connected more deeply than we thought. Jandar’s attack had burned out Utgar’s wellspring, but the feedback had traveled back to all the other wellsprings, effectively destroying them as well. In one instant, the source of the war was gone, trapping people together that were never meant to be imprisoned on one planet. Jandar’s body was never found.
The Alliance recovered surprisingly well. It quelled the bandits that had sprung up in Jandar’s absence, and Ullar and Vydar divided his lands. Preparations were then made to recover from the loss of the wellsprings before Utgar could.
As it transpired, Utgar was one step ahead of us. I’ve always prided myself on being well-informed, and a month ago one of my informants in Utgar’s ranks came to me with terrible news. I had been afraid that Utgar would do something rash, that he would attempt to win by any means, but I had never thought he would do this. It was madness.
The knowledge my informant had given me was a gift and a curse. A gift, because I knew what was coming. A curse, because I nearly wished I didn’t. I few more days of peace would have been welcomed.
Peace, before the unending fear.

~The Second Journal of Thormun

Northern Kinsland, Allied Territory, Day 25

“How far?” The voice was hushed.

There was a pause. “One mile exactly.” This voice too was quiet, though it echoed oddly, as a whisper might in a metal hall.

The whispers continued, pulling Mike from sleep entirely. Once, he would have been able to sleep through an entire speech from Einar – a feat that wasn’t terribly uncommon – but the times had changed. It didn’t take much to wake him now.

They had stopped moving. Mike could feel the floor beneath his fingers, still and quiet, cold as the night outside. The metal was smooth, but hardly made sleeping comfortable.

“Do you think we should risk it?” The voice asked, growing quieter still. “We’re further south than we wanted to be by now; we don’t know what’s in there.”

Mike pulled himself to his feet, being careful not to make a noise. All about him, people slept. It wouldn’t do to wake them; they needed the rest. Moving slowly, he threaded his way between them, moving up to the head of the rectangular metal room he was in.

The room tapered slightly at the head, three steps leading down into a small compartment which could only be described as a cockpit. Dark windows, like eyes for a giant head, looked out on the night, revealing only blackness. Apparently the headlights had been turned off. That wasn’t a good sign.

There was only one person in the cockpit. He was human, his face lined, his hair gray. The symbol of Jandar was emblazoned on the shoulder of the coat he wore, its blue thread gleaming dimly in the half light. A sheath, holding a slightly curved sword, was slung securely across his back.

The man appeared to be having a conversation with himself. He muttered as he turned dials and watched screens mounted in the cockpit.

“No heat signature to mention, but that doesn’t tell us much. Too big to secure; they could be anywhere. Can you detect any movement?”

A voice seemed to echo from the walls themselves, whispering like the man. “None so far, but I’m limited at this range. I wouldn’t be able to detect their amount of movement from this far out.”

“How close do you need to get?” asked the man, staring out the cockpit’s dark windows.

“Within a thousand feet.”

“Too close,” muttered the man, more to himself than anyone else.

“I would suggest we risk it,” the echoing voice said after a moment. “We can stay on the edge. We’ll be far safer with some cover than we would be out here. And besides, I’ll be able to detect anything before it gets too close.”

Mike stepped into the cockpit. “What’s going on?” he asked.

The man turned around. “We found a city,” he said. “Daeren, if the map’s correct. I went there once, during the war. One of the richest cities in Valhalla.”

Mike peered out through the window. If the city of Daeren was out there, he couldn’t see it. The blackness of night was absolute.

“Why are our lights off?” he asked.

“Standard precaution,” The man replied. “We’re too far out to scan the city, but close enough to be seen. We don’t know what’s in there yet. Jerry and I were just discussing if we should spend the night there.”

“My name is not Jerry,” said the echoing voice.

“Yeah, well, I can’t pronounce your real name, and your designation is just a bunch of numbers. So you’re Jerry to me.”

“Humans,” muttered the voice of Jerry.

“So anyway,” said the man, turning his chair to face Mike as well, “we’ve got a bit of a choice to make. Stay here and risk it, or stay there and risk it. What do you think?”

Mike thought a second. “We’re safer in the city, aren’t we?”

“From marauders? Yes. From the others… not so much.”

“I say we risk the city,” Mike said. “We’re just about guaranteed trouble out here. In there, we’ve got a chance of staying hidden.”

“Jerry?” The man asked, swiveling his chair back around to face the dashboard.

“Makes sense,” Jerry replied.

“Okay then, we’ll do it. Let’s see just how silent this soulborg bucket can run.”

“I would like to remind you that I am this ‘soulborg bucket,’” Jerry replied.

“Whatever,” said the man, waving his hand dismissively. “Mike,” he said, turning back to him, “I’d imagine some of the other passengers might wake up. Keep them calm, tell them what’s going on. We don’t want any unnecessary noise.”

“Sure thing, Drake,” Mike said, ducking out of the cockpit.

As he made his way back to the place where he had slept, the floor began to vibrate gently. The walls of the room shook and shivered, and then settled into a gentle rhythm as a motor beneath the floor purred quietly into life. A few of the other passengers stirred in their sleep, but none awoke.

Mike settled himself back on the hard floor as the room began to move forward. He could hear massive tracks turning outside the walls, their giant treads gently slapping the moist ground. The room didn’t lurch or shake as might be expected. The floor was perfectly level, the only motion the soft vibrations of the motor and the sensation of going forward, for Mike was not in a room. He was on a massive vehicle.

It was called a SETEV – Soulborg Emergency Transport and Evacuation Vehicle. The best way to describe it was a cross between a troop carrier, a gigantic tank, and a lightly armed predator drone. It had been designed by the soulborgs late in the war, with the intention of getting troops out of sensitive areas. It was built to be fast, quiet, and able to fight its way out of a tight spot. It was lucky so many had been manufactured. They were needed now more than ever.

Mike settled himself against the wall of the SETEV. There was sufficient space in it to hold fifty people in relative comfort, though it had never been designed as an overnight shelter. That was part of the reason they needed somewhere to sleep. The floor was cramped enough already.

Mike leaned his head against the gently humming wall and closed his eyes. It had been too long since he had slept properly. In all fairness to Drake, Mike supposed three nights wasn’t really that long. But then, he had never been on the front lines.

Mike had been a Microcorp Agent, summoned by Vydar seventeen years into the war. Like many of the soldiers that had accepted Valhalla as their home, Mike had retired from Vydar’s forces seven years ago to live in Kinsland. Despite being so close to the Volcarren, the territory was well protected by a chain of Jandar’s forts.

During one of his last missions, Mike had met Adelle: a woman of Jandar’s science division who had forever melted the image of the gritty warrior Mike thought he was. Seven years later she lay beside him, here, on the floor of the SETEV, their two small children sleeping peacefully between them.

Mike opened his eyes and watched his wife. Her breathing was gentle and steady as she slept, her dark brown hair falling smoothly around her face. Her arm was wrapped around six-year-old Sarah, holding her close to her even in sleep.

Sarah was small, much too small for a journey like this. She had Adelle’s dark eyes, but the rest of her face was closer to Mike’s, except for her hair. It was the same brown as Adelle’s, though a shade lighter.

Sleeping on Mike’s other side was his nine-year-old son, Tom. Tom had black hair, Adelle’s nose, and Mike’s unfortunate tendency to believe he could handle anything. During his fifteen years in the war, Mike had learned to control this assumption, but Tom was still young.

Mike closed his eyes again. His children were young, so young. When Tom had been born, he had promised himself and Adelle that he would do everything in his power to give them a better future. A future not torn by the war.

This was not that future. But neither was it the end. Mike had made a promise, and he intended to keep it.

The SETEV slid to a smooth and silent stop. Being made by soulborgs, its suspension was somewhat better than its Earth counterparts.

Mike got up carefully, and made his way to the cockpit.

Drake was speaking. “You’re sure?”

“Preliminary scans show nothing. No movement, no body heat, nothing.”

“I’m not sure if that’s promising or not,” Drake muttered. “All right. Take us in, but keep the auto turrets on standby.”

“You do realize,” said Jerry, “that auto turrets are, by their very definition, always on standby?”

Drake made a non-committal grunt. “Just let me know if anything pops up. If you’re sure we’re safe, I’m going to get some sleep. Mike,” Drake added, getting up and turning to him, “you should get some too. We’ll move out before dawn, and I need my men rested.”

Mike nodded his understanding and followed Drake back into the body of the SETEV. However, as he settled back against the wall between Sarah and Tom, he doubted he would get much sleep. One rarely did in times like these.

As a point of interest, this is I believe the first appearance of the soulborg crafts which have ever since populated my writing.

~TGRF.

[TGRF]

Chapter Two of Two

Spoiler Alert!

Day10

It began sooner than I had expected. I had warned the alliance of course, and they were able to begin evacuations in time. Einar and Vydar thought they could stand and fight, so their people were the last to leave. Those that survived, anyway.

It turns out that the soulborgs dealt with a situation similar to this back on their home world. Indeed, that seems to be one of the reasons they became soulborgs in the first place – hunks of metal and wire can’t be infected.

Infected. That’s what they’re calling them now. Even I don’t know exactly what Utgar unleashed, but it’s clear it went out of control. Whatever disease he created seems to have wiped out his Volcarren homeland in a little over a week. And what’s worse, the disease doesn’t seem to kill. It drives the victim mad, making him turn on his companions and infect them too.

Nothing is certain at this point. The only thing we know for sure is that something is silencing Valhalla from the bottom up, and that we had better be ahead of it if we don’t want to be silenced too.

Northern Kinsland, Allied Territory, Day 26

Mike was woken by Drake shaking him gently.
“Time to go,” Drake whispered. “We need you outside.”
Mike was awake in an instant. “Outside?” he whispered back. “Why? What’s wrong?” The range of the SETEV’s scanners usually eliminated any need to go outside.
“Jerry says we’ve hit a bit of a malfunction. Apparently some moisture got in the circuits somewhere and knocked the scanner array out. He says we should be back up within the hour, but until we are, we’re going to need guards. At least as long as we’re in the city.”
Mike got to his feet, being careful to not disturb the sleeping forms of Adelle and his two children, and followed Drake to the back of the SETEV.
The large compartment they had been sleeping in ended at the back, giving way to a smaller space, holding all manner of weapons. Armor covered one wall, ranging from several dozen light bulletproof vests to three full-body mech suits. A large collection of all manner of guns was mounted on the opposite wall, including everything from small pistols, to sniper rifles, to Earth’s AK-47s, to shotguns. The back wall was covered with heavier weaponry such as grenade launchers, miniguns, and even two missile launchers.
“So if the scanners are out,” Mike said as he pulled on a vest, “that means the auto turrets are out too, right? Don’t they need the scanners to target?”
Drake grimaced the answer. “Jerry’s basically blind. All he has is the manual visual display – what we can see ourselves. And in this weather, that won’t be spectacular.”
“What do you mean?” Mike asked, selecting a pistol and an M4 Carbine rifle.
In answer, Drake opened the door in the back wall. The thick metal panel swung outwards to reveal a thick mass of fog. Mike could see about twenty feet of Daeren’s cobbled road stretching away into the grayness before it was swallowed up. Shadows wavered high above the SETEV, the shapes of ghostly buildings barely visible through the mist. Things were only made worse by the fact that the sun wasn’t up yet; everything was doused in the light gray of pre-dawn.
“This is impossible,” Mike said. “We won’t be able to see a thing in this.”
Drake leapt lightly to the road. “We’ll be able to see on all sides of Jerry, which is what he needs. At the moment, he can only see straight forward. We’ll need to use these,” Drake tossed an earpiece to Mike, “to communicate with each other and Jerry.”
Mike glanced back in the SETEV. He could just see Sarah’s head resting against Adelle’s arm, still breathing gently, still asleep. He leapt onto the road beside Drake.
“Okay. What do I do?”
“I’ve set up a perimeter around Jerry. Because of this fog, we won’t be able to see everyone, so we’ll need to stay close enough to keep at least one person on either side visible. As long as you can see two people, we’re good. If you can’t, radio in, and we’ll move closer.”
“And if something goes wrong?” Mike asked.
“If we meet any Infected, let them know we’re armed. Shoot at their feet, and radio in their position. They shouldn’t get too close. Mike,” Drake added, turning to the fog, “I wouldn’t put you in this if I didn’t have to. I know you’re retired from the war, but I’m a man short in this soup. We need you.”
Mike grimaced. “Don’t worry,” he said. “I’ve had some experience with these conditions.”
Drake moved off to the right, the thick fog quickly swallowing him up. Mike squinted through the mist. He could see two dark shadows, one on his left, one on his right. The shadows seemed to be carrying guns, so he assumed they were more guards. Getting a firmer grip on his M4, he moved forward into the fog until he could just see the massive outline of the SETEV through the murk.
Jerry’s voice came through the earpiece. Soulborg equipment was generally better than anything Mike had dealt with in the war, but the connection was still interspersed with some static. “Okay everyone. The scanners will be back up in approximately forty-two minutes. If anyone is here, moving will only attract attention, so we’re going to sit tight. Keep in mind this city is abandoned, but that doesn’t mean some fugitives might still be around. So don’t shoot on sight.”
The voice faded away, leaving Mike alone in the fog.

The plan was to continue the chapter, relating how Mike loses sight of the shadows on either side. He moves to his left, trying to re-establish contact, but can see nothing. Just when he's about to radio it in, he sees something through the dense fog about him. A shadow. A shape. Relief floods through him and he moves toward the guard, intending to ask where he went.
Unfortunately the shadow isn't a guard. Moments later, Mike realizes that the Infected have come, silently turning the guards, covered by the fog. He meets up with Drake, and they manage to get back to the SETEV just in time, the door sliding shut as the hideous forms of the Infected finally break from the grayness and stagger towards them, their eyes lit with an unnatural hunger...

Or something along those lines. This is the last of the failed beginnings. All that remains now is a different version of events directly after Mike enters the building where his mother is. It extends for a few chapters, so I'll be releasing it bit by bit. Hopefully I can check over the first part and post it tonight.

~TGRF.

[TGRF]

This is the last of the drafts. I eventually got my feet under me on how to write AV, and was making good progress. Until Mike left the SETEV. It was at that point that things changed.

I wrote two chapters before I realized that I could use the time between entering the building and finding the survivors to raise the stakes and increase the payout of the climax. In the published AV, things like Mike thinking he saw his mother, and seeing the sweater, accomplished this. Nothing of the kind was originally there.

I also had trouble with the elevator scene (what elevator scene you ask? Exactly.). Below is the first attempt at chapter eight, which includes the heavily revised elevator scene. I eventually just deleted the whole bit and everything after it. However, it still has some good zombie-action.

This chapter picks up a few paragraphs into the published chapter eight. Mike and Kara have just entered the elevator shaft in search of Mike's mother. Mike is winching them down with a soulborg device.
Chapter Eight

Spoiler Alert!

_____“I’m sorry,” he whispered to Kara as they dropped ever lower. “I never wanted to put you or any of the others in danger. It was wrong of me to risk the mission and your lives.”
_____“Wrong?” Kara repeated. “Mike, if it was my father that had been left here, I would have done the same.”
_____“It was selfish of me, though,” Mike said. “I shouldn’t have put you and the others at risk.”
_____They dropped lower. “Maybe it was selfish…” Kara said, almost to herself. “Maybe it was wrong… But I think sometimes we do the wrong things for the right reasons.” The cables jerked and they fell another few feet. “You shouldn’t have jeopardized the mission. But this was your only chance to rescue your mother, and I think that is something you had to do.”
_____Her words didn’t make Mike feel any better. She had been right in one thing though: rescuing his mother was something he had to do. He had to believe that she was alive. If he could prove that to the world, to his now-dead father… then he could prove it to himself. And that was something he had to do.
_____They hit the bottom of the shaft. Or, more accurately, the top of the elevator. The shaft dipped a little below the first floor, meaning that the top of the elevator was half way up the doors. It would be a tight fit to squeeze through them.
_____Like the top doors, these too had been partially destroyed, meaning it was a simple matter to force them apart. Mike wriggled through first, and then helped Kara down. It only took him a few seconds to get his bearings; he had studied the designs for this place far too often to get lost.
_____Despite the dark and the damp, it was warm in the building. Mike knew it was because of the soulborg heating device just above them, the same device that he knew was hiding his mother, but the heat still seemed unnatural in the abandoned building.
_____Mike switched off the light on his M4. He didn’t want to alert the Infected to their presence any more than necessary. These were not mindless undead; these creatures were controlled by the hives. If they saw a beam of light appear suddenly, they would know what it meant. Kara’s light was enough to see by, and it was much more subtle.
_____Slowly, they crept down the hall, away from the elevator. In the dim light, Mike could see scratches along the wall from bullets, and black scorches from explosions. Bodies of Infected littered the hallway, their bones shattered.
_____It wasn’t long before Mike saw an opening in the wall he knew led to a large room. They needed to go past that room and stay in the hall. Silently, they crept up to the edge of the wall, and Mike peeked around the corner into the room.
_____There are few things more frightening on Valhalla than glancing around a corner, and looking straight into the face of an Infected orc. Mike now knew this, and instantly wished he didn’t.
_____The orc blinked as it saw him, and then shrieked. Mike whipped back around, but the damage was done. Whichever hive was controlling these Infected knew he was here. From now on, the Infected were hunting them. This left only one option.
_____“Run!” Mike shouted. He turned and opened fire into the room, slamming multiple bullets into the orc’s chest. The orc staggered and then fell over. Even in his panic, that struck Mike as odd. The orc had no carapace. It should have been here for a long time, unless… unless it had only gotten infected recently. There were survivors.
_____The next second Mike scrambled down the hall after Kara: Infected were pouring into the room to give chase. Mike could hardly see where he was going. All he could do was to follow Kara’s dancing light as it bobbed up and down before him, frantically waving from side to side, revealing mutilated bodies, pooled of dried blood, empty shell casings… and a shotgun.
_____Mike grabbed it up without hesitation. This would be able to get through a carapace. A moment later he realized that Kara was going the wrong way. She hadn’t studied the building; she didn’t know where she was going. He quickly caught up with her and pulled her into an empty room.
_____Fortunately, the door had not been damaged, and Mike slammed it shut and bolted it. A second later, he heard a horde of Infected trample past, and knew that they were safe. As safe as they could be in this place, at least.
_____He slumped against the wall, trying to catch his breath. “Are you all right?” he asked Kara.
_____She nodded. “You?” she asked.
_____Mike nodded and stood back up. “This room leads to the center of the building. There’s a room there full of equipment and backup generators. If the survivors managed to secure it, it would be the safest place in this building. It’s where my mother is, I know it. With any luck, we’ll be there in a few minutes.”
_____Kara nodded, and fell in behind Mike as they crossed the room. Mike edged the door open slightly, but saw no undead. Beckoning to Kara to follow him, he slid into the hall beyond and began to creep up it, keeping an eye out for more Infected.
_____Mike wondered how much of their allotted hour had passed. Going down the elevator shaft had taken some time, but Mike couldn’t be certain how much. Why hadn’t he thought to bring something that could keep track of time?
_____For some reason, Mike was expecting the Infected, if they ran into them, to be in rooms. That was why he rounded a corner in the hall without checking it first, with the result that he found himself practically nose to nose with a marro stinger.
_____Mike leapt back, nearly falling on top of Kara, and leveled his shotgun at the stinger. Before the marro could even get its gun up, Mike had fired, leaving a gaping hole in its chest. The stinger staggered for a moment, and then fell over backwards, revealing the entire hall to be full of more stingers.
_____Mike shoved Kara back around the corner and just managed to get back himself before the stingers opened fire. They had to go through that hall… there must be another way. In an instant, Mike knew where to go. He took off back down the hall the way they had come, Kara just behind him. The stingers rounded the corner behind them and opened fire, but they had reached their destination. Mike and Kara dove through a side door, Mike kicking it shut behind them. They had escaped. Or so Mike thought.
_____It took approximately one second for him to realize that they had not, as he had thought, entered an empty room. In that second, the six Infected kyrie that had been in the room already, turned, saw them, and leapt.
_____As if in slow motion, Mike saw the kyrie soaring through the air, three for him and three for Kara. He was infected already; his only concern was for Kara. That was why he fired at the kyrie aiming for her, with the result that three kyrie slammed into him before he could do anything.
_____The kyrie had no weapons. They merely kicked, bit, and scratched all they could. It was painful, but not enough to stop Mike methodically finding each one and firing three bullets into their unprotected chests. The moment the kyrie had rolled off of him, he jumped to his feet and turned to Kara.
_____She was covered in a mass of surging limbs. Being careful not to hit her, Mike kicked or shot all of the infected kyrie off of her as fast as he could, hoping, praying that she wasn’t infected.
_____In three seconds, all six kyrie were dead. Kara stumbled to her feet, and Mike, switching on the light on his M4, began checking for injuries. Kara held still as he inspected her from every angle. She had plenty of cuts and scratches, but Mike, though he checked twice, couldn’t find a drop of black blood on her.
_____“You’re fine,” he told her. “You aren’t infected.”
_____Kara sagged against the wall in relief. “Please tell me,” she gasped, “that we’re nearly there.”
_____“It’s just down the hall,” Mike said. But even as he said it, he knew something was wrong. It had been too easy. The hive was smart. It knew where they were. It must know where they were trying to go. It could have sent legions of Infected against them, but it hadn’t, not yet. Why? There was only one possible explanation.
_____“Come on,” Mike said, “this isn’t over yet.”
_____Kara stumbled to a standing position, but followed him across the room. Mike eased the door open and looked up and down the hall. It ran perpendicular to the room; they had to go left. He glanced left, and his worst fears were instantly confirmed.
_____The hall was packed with Infected. And these weren’t just any Infected. Mike could see, in the light from his gun, that they were large and bulky. They were carapaced, and worse still, the carapaces were black, rather than yellow. They were Blooded. A single shot could cause them to explode, spraying everything around with infected blood. The hives weren’t trying to kill them. It was trying to turn them.
_____The Blooded saw Mike and Kara, but they stayed put. Mike glanced up the right hall, and saw a squad of stingers advancing on them, guns raised. They couldn’t escape that way. At almost the same instant, something began hammering on the door back in the room: that was cut off too. The only way forward was through the Blooded.
_____Mike knew what he had to do. “Stay back,” he told Kara. “Stay in the room and don’t let the Stingers get a shot at you. Protect me with the shield if you can, but remember that I’m already infected. I can take a shot; you can’t.”
_____Kara nodded and took a step back. “What are you going to do?” she asked.
_____“Get us out of this,” Mike replied grimly, reaching in a deep pocket.
_____The Blooded seemed to sense something was about to happen, and began moving forwards. They didn’t run – Mike doubted they even could with all the weight they had – they merely shuffled slowly forwards.
_____Mike dug deep in his pocket, and finally felt what he was looking for. He had kept it since the apocalypse began, saving it for a time when it would be needed. He was glad now that he had. He closed his hand around the grenade and, pulling it from his pocket, threw it at the feet of the Blooded. Then in one motion, he turned and sprayed the stingers behind him with bullets.
_____The stingers were carapaced, but Mike’s M4 was sufficient to make them stagger backwards. That was enough time for him to pull the shotgun from his side and level two. The stingers straitened, and Mike used his M4 again.
_____Behind him, the grenade had gone off. This grenade, fortunately for Mike, was of soulborg design. This meant that it contained a small sensor, which tracked its motion when thrown, and directed the explosion away from him, rather than simply in all directions. Being in a small hall, the explosion was condensed further, spreading it more than normal.
_____Three Blooded were killed instantly. Seven more burst on the spot, showering the area with black blood. The remaining five charged at Mike, instantly dispelling his earlier assumption that they could not run.
_____Mike had only managed to kill four of the six stingers. Inventing wildly, he tossed his M4 to Kara, who quickly realized what he wanted, and turned it on the stingers. They fell back beneath the barrage, enabling Mike to turn to the Blooded. His shotgun leveled two of the five before they were upon him.
_____If you’ve ever tried to attack someone while wearing five-inch thick armor plating on every part of your body, you will know that moving is no easy matter. This is why Mike was able to slide under the Blooded, knocking their legs out from under them. He came up behind them, leveled his shotgun, and was able to execute two before the last one got to its feet. A single swipe from its massive paw sent the shotgun flying. Mike dodged the second blow, but he was now weaponless. Kara had his M4, but its bullets were ineffective against such a thick carapace. Unless…
_____Kara came soaring into view, spear first, and before Mike could stop her, sank its haft into the Infected’s chest. The Infected burst on the spot, drenching them all in black blood.
_____Mike wiped the blood from his eyes and looked, dreading what he would find. There was no escaping it this time: Kara, already injured from the previous attack, was covered from head to foot in blood.

Chapter 8,b coming later today!

~TGRF.

[TGRF]

Ah. Yes. I neglected to actually read the next two draft chapters, assuming they were a continuation of chapter eight. They were not. Chapter nine is very similar to what was published, so there isn't much point in publishing it. I don't think there was anything wrong with it - I just rewrote it when I rewrote chapter eight.

There are also two versions of the following chapter, where Mike wakes up and Carr is introduced. Neither chapter extends beyond two pages, and as nothing really happens in either version, I have decided to leave them unpublished.

So there you have it. Those are the AV drafts.

Some of you expressed interest in a sequel when I finished AV, and honestly such a sequel is completely possible. I'm not sure if it would follow Mike, but it might follow Carr on the mission mentioned in the epilogue, or it could follow someone else entirely.

There were actually plans for a sequel - meaning I had a single twist in mind, not an actual story - when I was writing AV. Those plans could turn into something more. Again though, the largest thing keeping me from writing a sequel is a lack of theme. Without a theme, it is very unlikely I will write a sequel.

~TGRF.

[TGRF]

I was surprised by the feedback I got on Mike's choice, when he decided to go through with his plan despite the danger to his friends and to the mission. I honestly thought I had established enough sympathy where the reader would be fine with it. I now know how wrong I was.

Posting the drafts to this fan fiction made me remember that, and out of curiosity, I posted a question about how I might have handled the situation differently. If you are interested, the reply I've marked as the answer has some good pointers to how I could have made the story much better.

~TGRF.

[TheAverageFan]

I agree on the marked answer as a good idea. Readers are not involved in the stakes and pressures of the world like the characters are, and will often think far more levelheadedly and rationally unless you manage to pull their emotions into it as well.

It counts double for zombie or horror stories where stupid character decisions can spell doom for everyone involved, often leading to reader frustration. My answer for that is to avoid it whenever possible (probably to the detriment of realism and tension, I'll admit), play it off as stupid, or really sell it to the reader (which is easier said than done and varies by individual).

~TAF

P.S. Chapter 8 is very well written

[TGRF]

Originally Posted by TheAverageFan

I agree on the marked answer as a good idea. Readers are not involved in the stakes and pressures of the world like the characters are, and will often think far more levelheadedly and rationally unless you manage to pull their emotions into it as well.

It counts double for zombie or horror stories where stupid character decisions can spell doom for everyone involved, often leading to reader frustration. My answer for that is to avoid it whenever possible (probably to the detriment of realism and tension, I'll admit), play it off as stupid, or really sell it to the reader (which is easier said than done and varies by individual).

~TAF

P.S. Chapter 8 is very well written

Good advice there. I think I spend so long trying to find the motivations for my characters and making them as strong as they can be, that I sometimes short-change making the reader feel the same way. Point in case. Definitely something I could work on.

~TGRF.

P.S. Having said that, simply getting the motivation to work at all is quite the challenge. I've managed to back myself into such a corner with 4114 that I see no logical way out. At all.