Kyle West - Apocalypse

“Char!” Makara screamed.

Nothing answered her call. The entry hall was empty, lit only by two blazing braziers along the far wall and a few torches ensconced upon four heavy pillars supporting the room’s structure.

Then, a shadow materialized in front of us, moving forward at lightning speed.

“Watch out!” I said.

Makara reached for her handgun with her free hand, never letting go of Samuel.

A thin, curved sword was placed at the base of Makara’s neck.

“Not so fast,” a young, female voice said.

Now standing in the light, the bearer of the sword was black-haired girl, about my age, with green almond eyes. The eyes narrowed as she edged the blade closer to Makara’s throat. I saw that she was beautiful, with a short, yet curvy, figure. I berated myself for even noticing that at a time like this, but even at the threat of one’s life, guys can’t help but notice certain things.

“Who are you,” she asked dangerously, “and what are you doing here?”

Makara spoke first, making an effort to keep calm. “We’re here to see Char, girl. Put that thing away right now, or there’s going to be trouble.”

“Char is not here.” The girl did not withdraw her sword. In fact, it looked like it was more in her mind to use it. “If you had been cleared, I would be the first to know. I’ll give you one more chance. Tell me who you are, and why you’re here. This wouldn’t be the first assassination attempt I’ve stopped.”

“I don’t know who you think you are, but Char and I are old friends,” Makara said, never batting an eyelash. “I’m Makara. Ever heard the name? And if you don’t get us Char right now, then…”

The front doors banged open. I turned to see a grizzled man, probably in his fifties, enter.

“Makara,” he said, his voice gravelly.

There was no mistaking the man’s air of command. He was Char. He was tall with broad shoulders and a shaved head. Two guards flanked his either side, holding rifles. His sharp blue eyes surveyed us all calmly. He wore green camo pants and a thick black leather jacket. A tattoo of a snakelike dragon eating its own tail was emblazoned on his forearm. But his most striking feature was his face. A deep burn wound scarred his right cheek. That wound had happened long ago and would never fully heal.

No one said anything as the man stepped forward.

“I am sorry I was not here to greet you,” he said to Makara. “Politics.”

The girl glanced from Char to Makara, not sure what to do.

“Stand down, Anna,” Char said. “I appreciate your drive to protect me, but Makara is a friend.”

Anna pulled the blade back, sheathing it immediately. Those beautiful eyes stung with hurt. “Char, no one let me know of Makara’s arrival.”

“Your loyalty is admirable, but Makara is to be treated with the same respect you would afford any of my guests. More, in fact. But we don’t have time to have hurt feelings, do we?”

He faced Samuel, who now lay on the ground between Makara and me.

“Lay him face-up,” Char said. “I need to see the wound.”

We set Samuel on the ground. Char walked forward and knelt beside him. He placed two fingers on his neck.

“There is a pulse,” he said, his voice deep and gruff. Whatever had burned his face had also marred his voice. He glanced sideways at Makara. “Is the bullet still in?”

“Yes. It happened about ten hours ago.”

“Humph.”

Char retrieved a knife from his belt and cut Samuel’s white tee shirt open at the shoulder. He pulled the fabric back tenderly to reveal the wound. Fresh red blood trickled out. The surrounding skin was black, purple, and green.

“He’s out, now,” Char said. “But he’ll be dead if I try to pull it out of him like this. He needs morphine.”

“You have that, don’t you?” Makara asked.

Char grunted. “A bit. I do not want to use it on an outsider.”

“My brother is not an outsider,” Makara said. “He is family, as raider as anybody here.”

“Don’t worry,” Char said. “I wouldn’t let you bring him all this way to tell you no.”

“Good. You had me worried.” Makara eyes went up to Anna and narrowed, as if willing the katana-wielding girl away. Anna only stood, meeting Makara’s stare without blinking.

“This is Anna, my bodyguard. You noticed her katana, I presume. She lives by the Bushido Code.”

“Are you a samurai?” I asked.

Anna gave a single nod, but no word for answer.

Makara smirked. “I thought samurai were supposed to be Japanese. And men.”

Judging from the look in Anna’s eyes, she looked ready to draw her blade again.

“Honor and principle go beyond the confines of gender and race.”

“She is deadly with a blade,” Char said. “Where she learned to use it like that, I don’t know. She’s most of the reason why I’ve stayed Alpha so long. Especially these days. But all this is idle talk. Your brother needs my help.” Char motioned to the raiders nearby. “We’re taking Samuel to the clinic.”

The men gathered around. Together, they lifted Samuel up.

“Follow me,” Char said to Makara. Then, he noticed me for the first time. “Who’s this?”

“Alex,” I said.

“He’s from Bunker 108,” Makara said. “Once we take care of Samuel, we’ll fill you in. It’s a long, long story.”

We followed Char and his bodyguards through the dark corridors and into the clinic.

10,000, The:This refers to the 10,000 citizens who were selected in 2029 to enter Bunker One. This group included the best America had to offer, people who were masters in the fields of science, engineering, medicine, and security. President Garland and all the U.S. Congress, as well as essential staff and their families, were also chosen.

Alpha:“Alpha” is the title given to the recognized head of the raiders. In the beginning, it was only a titular role that only had as much power as the Alpha was able to enforce. But as Raider Bluff grew in size and complexity, the Alpha began to take on a more meaningful role. Typically, Alphas do not remain so for long – they are assassinated by rivals, who then rise to take their place. In some years, there can be as many as four Alphas – though powerful Alphas, like Char, can reign for many years.

Batts:Batts, or batteries, are the currency of the Wasteland. It is unknown how batteries were first seen as currency, but it is likely because they are small, portable, and durable. Rechargeable batteries are even more prized (called “chargers”), and solar batteries (called “solars,” or “sols,”) are the most useful and prized of all.

Black Files, The:The Black Files are the mysterious, collected research on the xenovirus, located in Bunker One. They were authored principally by Dr. Cornelius Ashton, Chief Scientist of Bunker One. Though Dr. Steven Keener believes in the Black Files existence, whether they are truly stored in Bunker One’s archives is a matter of debate.

Black Reapers, The:The Black Reapers are a powerful, violent gang, based in Los Angeles. They are led by Warlord Carin Black. They keep thousands of slaves, using them to fuel their post-apocalyptic empire. They usurped the Lost Angels in 2055, and have been ruling there ever since.

Blights:Blights are infestations of xenofungus and the xenolife they support. They are typically small, but the bigger ones can cover large tracts of land. As a general rule of thumb, the larger the Blight, the more complicated and dangerous the ecosystem it maintains.