After The Fall (Book 3): The Covenant Read online

  THE COVENANT

  After The Fall | Book Three

  Charlie Dalton

  PROLOGUE

  AN ESTIMATED one hundred and fifty million meteorites and asteroids inhabit our solar system. Adrift, aimless.

  They’re looking for somewhere to call home. They’ll never stop, not until they achieve their goal or destroy themselves in the process. It’s all or nothing.

  A misfit of wayward asteroids assumed their chaotic formation, their destination never deviating: the planet Earth. They were scheduled to create the greatest fireworks display in the solar system. These rocks had not been infected by the Bugs’ virus but regular asteroids scheduled for a later performance.

  They screamed silently through space at an unimaginable speed. They altered trajectory slightly, disturbed by the strong gravitational pull of a large nearby object in orbit around the planet. Tiny fluctuations occurring often can have a large cumulative effect, and this was what was happening to two of the journeying asteroids.

  These little fellows reached a mile from the giant ship’s surface before they struck a powerful and invisible wall. Its brothers and sisters continued to sail downward, twenty years after their ancestors had made the same trip with their unnatural payload.

  Twenty years since the Bugs had infected the asteroids with their poison, designed specifically to snuff out a single species. The species known as humans.

  Things were running nicely to schedule for the plan of mass extermination. The greatest cull occurred during the opening salvo, a few months of murder and mayhem. The humans simply couldn’t cope with what was happening to them. Their numbers gradually dwindled, until just a few small pockets remained. It was a long term plan, one they were certain would work.

  The humans deserved no respect from their superiors. They put up no fight for their own survival, already in the act of bowing out their exit. An asteroid strike loaded with a single virus strain. How pathetic. How could a species not adequately protect themselves? They were beneath contempt.

  It was this disdain and sense of superiority that gave humanity the chance it needed to overcome their aggressors. They underestimated them. A chance, no matter how small, was still a chance.

  1.

  DR. BECK couldn’t say he was proud of his actions. He’d led the kids into the basement under false pretenses and sent them on a journey they most likely would never return from. And yet, he was not apologetic about what he’d done. It needed to be done. It had to be done. He only wished it didn’t have to be him to do it. He was human and so often suffered from bouts of guilt. Looking back, and looking forward. He’d been suffering from those pangs for the past forty years.

  A low groan from the corridor on his left. The good doctor had allowed his mind to wander again. He’d be lucky to survive before he reached the hospital at this rate.

  He checked the tablet, saw the Rage on the security camera, and waited while the creature attempted to negotiate the stairs. It slipped, fell, and smashed its head on the bottom step.

  The kids might like to think of him as a monster, but he really wasn’t. If allowed to proceed with their own desires they would have returned to the relative safety of their commune and waste their lives struggling, all the while carrying the knowledge that it was pointless. Their number was always going to come. They held the next number in the queue.

  One day, too weak and frail to make it to their outdoor lavatory, they would slip, fall and die, staring at the night sky wishing they had tried to do something to save their species. They would die knowing they could have saved their grandchildren from their end.

  Dr. Beck had saved them from that fate. They may be on a journey they hadn’t selected but it was the one they should have chosen. History was full of such people. Those forced into a situation beyond their control, with no choice but to make the best of it.

  The doctor had never been a very physical person, never hit the gym, as they liked to say, so he never fully appreciated the value of a strong healthy body. That all changed after he fell ill.

  He’d suffered a stroke and it had left him with only partial operation of his right leg. He had to make heavy use of his trusty walking cane. It was the disease of the mind he’d most feared over the years, that part of him he’d honed like a fine blade. He hadn’t lost his intelligence—not yet—but he was surprised at how much his physical handicap had indirectly affected his cognitive ability. He couldn’t write as quickly as he liked, so sometimes lost ideas that were on the tip of his pre-frontal cortex. The ideas faded like morning mist.

  Frustrated, he tore out the page he’d been writing on and scrunched it into a ball. He’d go for a walk to calm down. No one knew what the next great idea was or where it might come from. He might have lost it and it was this that made him angry. Then he would return to his quarters and pick up his balled-up notepaper before calmly unfolding it and continuing with his work.

  A grunt around the next corner. Very close this time. Dr. Beck gently placed the tip of his cane to the floor and used it to pivot one-eighty in the opposite direction. He needed to hole-up for a little while. He swiped his card across the keypad of the nearest door, slid it open silently, and stepped inside.

  It was a condo for a family. A good-sized living area with built-in furniture and a healthy collection of books on the shelf. Rather simple genre fare but the children would enjoy them.

  Shoes on the rack. Adult and children. A small kitchen and dining table. In the back would be the bedrooms. On the tabletops and walls, photographs. Frozen images of smiling faces and primped hairstyles. Another time. Another place. One Dr. Beck was certain they would return to.

  The mother in the picture had been a researcher at the City for one of Dr. Beck’s senior advisors. He remembered seeing her from time to time. She wasn’t brilliant by any means but capable enough with her responsibilities. The City needed such people. They were the lifeblood that moved important work from one place to another. She’d relocated her family and built a life here. And then the Rages had come, snuffing out her spark.

  Dr. Beck checked his tablet. Thousands of cameras spread across the City’s infinite corridors. Numerous shuffling figures. One was outside this very room. It stood at the front door, bottom jaw chattering.

  Dr. Beck moved to the other side of the door. If he opened it, right then, the Rage would tear him to pieces. It wasn’t a particularly fun way to go but it would be over within a few minutes. He reached into his pocket for the pass. Dr. Beck accepted he deserved to die for the things he’d done. But not yet. Not when there were things he still had to do.

  The Rage passed the condo and continued on his own personal adventure of discovery. Dr. Beck exited the condo. With two more turns, he’d reach the hospital. The private wards were just up ahead—

  Dr. Beck froze.

  A Rage stood not six inches in front of him, its back facing him. Dr. Beck’s breath caught in the back of his throat. With the Rage’s white jacket facing the camera, he’d been difficult to spot against the hospital colours. He only spotted him now due to his tuft of matted gray hair peeking out from above the collar.

  Dr. Beck eased back down the only corridor available to him. He couldn’t breathe a sigh of relief yet. One noise and the creature would be on him.

  He limped down the corridor as fast as he dared and promised himself to keep a closer eye on the video monitors from now on and be on the lookout for less obvious signs of the Rages. He hung a left and entered the private hospital room.

  Unfortunately, the surprises didn’t end there.

  The bed was empty, the sheets hastily thrown aside. Was he too late? Had the Rages already gotten to him? Had
he already failed in his mission? Or maybe he had only fallen out of the bed and onto the floor on the other side. . .

  Dr. Beck hobbled over and peered around the bed. No sign of the patient. Dr. Beck lifted his tablet to access the past video files to see what had happened. He located the room’s camera and accessed its feed. He scrolled back through time and saw himself hobble backward toward the door. He shut the door. Back, back, back until. . .

  Donald emerged from the bathroom and staggered toward the bed. He climbed in and woke up. Then, hours of sleep.

  Dr. Beck shifted his weight to turn to the bathroom. A powerful force pressed into the flesh at the base of his neck and a large hand wrapped around his throat.

  2.

  “TAKE IT EASY,” Dr. Beck said, croaking.

  “Who are you?” Donald said.

  “I’m Dr. Beck. I’m here to take care of you.”

  “What’s going on?” Donald said. “Where am I?”

  “You’re inside the City,” Dr. Beck said. “Your children brought you in.”

  “My children?” Donald said, reducing the pressure on Dr. Beck’s throat. “You know my boys?”

  “Donny and Jamie, yes,” Dr. Beck said. “And two others. Fatty and Lucy.”

  “Where are they?” Donald said.

  “They’re safe,” Dr. Beck said.

  Donald strengthened his grip.

  “Where?” he said.

  “Outside the City,” Dr. Beck said. “Trust me. They’re safe.”

  “Take me to them,” Donald said. “Now.”

  “You’re not in the best condition to do that right now,” Dr. Beck said. “Please. Put down the knife and let’s talk about this.”

  A shriek from the corridor. Clattering footsteps. In their direction.

  “Rages,” Dr. Beck said. “They’re inside. I can protect us. But you have to let me go.”

  Donald, in his fuzzy state of mind, took longer than necessary to make his decision. He released the doctor.

  Dr. Beck raised the tablet and massaged his throat. Something had lit a fire under the Rages’ asses. He’d have to figure out the reason later. They turned a corner, heading directly for them.

  Donald, unable to subsist much longer on adrenaline alone, lost his legs and fell to the floor. He didn’t have a knife in his hand but a cheap Bic biro. Still, Dr. Beck was under no illusions, as weakened as the man was, Donald could rip him apart with his bare hands.

  Dr. Beck accessed the options menu on his tablet and selected LOCKDOWN. He pressed it as the Rages fastened their eyes on him through the glass.

  “Lockdown initiated,” the computer’s voice said over the City’s speaker system.

  Metal shutters slammed into place over the window the Rages were peering through. As the Rages moved from window to window and toward the door, the shutters slithered down, cutting the Rages off. They banged on the sheeting. Loud. They’d attract even more of the things. Still, the doctor had managed to buy them some time.

  Thump thump thump on the reinforced windows and doors across the City.

  Dr. Beck bent down and helped Donald to his feet. Together, they returned him back to the hospital bed. The steel doors would hold for a while, but not forever. Rages always found a way in eventually. Always.

  “Rest, my friend,” Dr. Beck said, lying Donald down carefully.

  Even as weak as he now was, Donald was a formidable fighter. Dr. Beck was touched by his dedication to his children. There were few things in the world as pure and unyielding as a parent’s love for his or her children. They would gladly die for them if it meant their children could live a bit longer. It was the kind of drive the world needed, that truly made the world a better place.

  It was then Dr. Beck realized he could not hope to complete his mission alone. He needed someone strong and fierce to protect him. He needed an unstoppable human hammer, one with a heart. His children. There was nothing he wouldn’t do for them, and accordingly, nothing he wouldn’t do for Dr. Beck.

  “We’ve got a lot to do, my friend,” Dr. Beck said. “And you’re going to have to recover fast if you’re going to help me.”

  He moved to the medical cupboard and picked up a large syringe—the kind that looked like something that should be used in hand-to-hand combat—and filled it with the most powerful steroid they had. He approached the patient. Better to think of him as a sack of meat than a human being at this point. It was a good thing he was unconscious. His screams would have driven the Rages outside into a frenzy.

  Yes, Dr. Beck had been guilty of many terrible things. Here was one more to add to that list.

  3.

  DONALD’S EYES opened like rusty shutter doors. He was still exhausted despite having woken up. He peered at his surroundings, vision blurry around the edges. His head thumped a hardcore techno beat. He could hardly move it without getting a disabling slap across the brain. He groaned and lay back down, letting himself sink into the soft mattress. Best not to move a muscle.

  “The dizziness will pass. The nausea will take a little longer to improve.”

  Donald turned his whole body as opposed to whipping his head around. A man in a white coat sat in a seat by the window reading a magazine. He put it on the bedside table and turned to Donald.

  “I suggest keeping your voice down,” Dr. Beck said. “The Rages outside the door only just forgot why they were pummelling on it in the first place.”

  “Rages?” Donald said, turning his body once again to look in the opposite direction.

  “Right outside, in the hall,” Dr. Beck said.

  “Sorry, who are you?” Donald said.

  “I’m your doctor,” Dr. Beck said, offering his hand. “Dr. Beck. I’ve been taking care of you since you came here.”

  “Came here?” Donald said. “Where am I?”

  “You’re in the City,” Dr. Beck said, picking up his walking stick and using it to push himself onto his feet. “Your children brought you here after you suffered a Bug attack.”

  “A what?” Donald said.

  “An attack from a Bug,” Dr. Beck said.

  Donald put a hand to his head. He couldn’t remember any of it.

  “It’ll come back to you,” Dr. Beck said. “A result of your severe injuries, I’m afraid.”

  “What happened to me?” Donald said.

  “You took two sharp instruments to the gut,” Dr. Beck said. “I performed surgery on you and did the best I could. You should make a full recovery with time.”

  Donald shook his head. Through the mist of pain, he could see images, fuzzy and indistinct. He reached for them but they kept slipping through his fingers.

  “You don’t remember choking me and holding a pen to my throat either, do you?” Dr. Beck said. “You gave me this tattoo.”

  He pointed to the black mark on his neck. Donald frowned with thought. He did remember something happening, but not here. Certainly not in this room. It felt like a dream.

  Dr. Beck picked up Donald’s chart and flicked through the pages.

  “What do you recall about yourself?” he said.

  “Me?” Donald said. “I’m. . .”

  He hit a wall. He couldn’t remember a thing.

  “Where are you from, for instance?” Dr. Beck said. “What’s your favourite food?”

  Donald scanned his memory but found only scraps of information. Images, like photographs, wreathed in a thick green mist.

  “My wife,” Donald said, concentrating. “I remember a woman I loved very much. But. . . I also remember she died. A long time ago. And my boys. My sons. Donny and Jamie. And. . . I’m from a commune. Mountain’s Peak.”

  “That’s right,” Dr. Beck said with a smile. “I’m going to give you more medicine, see if we can’t improve you somewhat.”

  “Where are my sons?” Donald said.

  “Somewhere safe,” Dr. Beck said. “I got them out of here before the Rages completely took hold.”

  “Where did they go?” Donald said.


  “I sent them to another City,” Dr. Beck said. “Denver City. They will be safe there.”

  Donald ground his teeth and threw his blankets aside.

  “Please stay where you are,” Dr. Beck said. “You haven’t fully recovered yet.”

  “I don’t have time to recover,” Donald said, throwing his legs over the side. “I need to find my sons.”

  He made to get up but his legs collapsed beneath him. The slap sound caused the Rages outside the door to make a “Raaw,” noise, interest piqued.

  “You’re not strong enough yet, Donald,” Dr. Beck said, lowering his voice. “Please, get back to bed. I can give you more powerful medicine that will aid your recovery but it’ll sap a lot of your energy. I can’t say I recommend it.”

  “Do it,” Donald said. “Heal me. And don’t spare the rod.”

  “It’ll be quite painful,” Dr. Beck said.

  “With any luck, I won’t be able to remember it anyway,” Donald said. “Do what you can, doctor. I must find my children.”

  4.

  DONALD HAD never experienced so much pain his whole life. No sooner was the pain over than he was injected with steroids. Then he was subjected to yet more treatment. He often passed out with the pain, black spots dancing in his vision before he finally succumbed to sweet darkness.

  In the darkness, he saw his family and friends. The memories evaporated quickly. He never wanted to leave. He recalled the birth of his sons, then the death of his wife, from one period of extreme happiness to utter despair. He was glad of it. He wanted to remember, even if the memories were painful.

  He didn’t seem to have a lot of memories left. Like a disused warehouse with only a few items left in stock. His life was punctuated by one serious incident after another. The rest was fuzzy and difficult to recall. One day of monotony rolled into another, forming months and even years where he had gone through the motions. It was a mistake. He could see that now. He should have done something every day to make it special. Because that was what it was: special. Existence and life were the most important things.