Exodus (The Fall of Haven)

  Exodus

  The Fall of Haven: Book Two

  Justin Kemppainen

  Smashwords Edition

  Copyright 2011 Justin Kemppainen

  License Notes: This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you're reading this book and did not purchase it, please return to Smashwords.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you.

  Cover art by Athanasios of www.mad-gods.com

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  Other books by Justin Kemppainen:

  -Uprising (The Fall of Haven)-

  -A Fickle Fate-

  -The Legend of Ivan-

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  Prologue: Equality

  Coughing, Adelle Ryan stumbled into the dark alley. A light haze of smoke stung her eyes, and her fine clothing was rumpled and torn.

  The exhausted and frightened woman slid to a seated position, her back against the milky white ceramic of the buildings in upper Haven. A tiny cry of sorrow escaped her lips, tears welled in her eyes, and her body shook with sobs. "Why did this happen?" she asked, unheard.

  Adelle Ryan's mind could not comprehend the chaos and death of recent days. Her life, her everything existed in a world of refinement and civilization, relishing in the part she played to uphold its values. Her task had been to rein in wayward minds, to teach children of the Citizenship the ways of society. Youthful but stern in equal measures, she provided a comfort they sought and the discipline needed to educate. She believed her life to be based upon reason, fact, and the enlightenment of Franklin Lange's Haven.

  "Filthy vermin..." she whispered, tears flowing down her cheeks. Even the malice she felt for the undesirables, who boiled out of the crevices below and ruined the peace and wonder of civilized society, could not cut through her despair.

  Miss Ryan cried for the loss of Haven, doubly mourning the death of Franklin Lange, called Citizen One. Though the endless loop of his recorded eulogy had been cut off by the heathens who had slain her wondrous leader, Adelle could still hear the words playing through her thoughts:

  "The highest levels of Citizenship, the Inquisition, and the advisory council regret to inform you, Citizens of the grand city of Haven, that on this day, your beloved founder, Citizen One, has passed from this life. Franklin William Lange was the greatest man our world has ever known, giving many things to the people most worthy of his love. He gave us this majestic city. He gave us our enlightened society. He gave us purpose. He gave us life. It is such that we mourn his passing as we would mourn our own. Our soul has been extinguished this day, and may the sun never shine again on this paradise without his love and guidance."

  She cried harder, pounding her fists against the cold ground, wishing Franklin Lange had not been so merciful, wishing everything could go back to the way it was, wishing all of the pitiful dregs of humanity could have quietly died...

  Wishing they had not risen up to take their revenge.

  But Citizen One was dead, and all of Haven was dying along with him. Ever since the time not long ago when madmen ran through the streets, killing without compunction, Haven's enlightenment had given way to desperation and fighting. Ever since Franklin Lange's death, a shroud had been cast, the sterilization field becoming opaque and blocking out the sun, stars, sky, and the hope of life.

  Adelle Ryan could not comprehend why the undesirables weren't simply rounded up and shot, but neither could she understand much of anything any longer. Fires small or large seemed a constant in the recent days of struggle, the stench of bitter smoke ever-present in the air.

  Cold. Huddled in a torn skirt and dirty blouse, stockings mismatched to the high-heeled shoes she wore, her mind clung to the impracticality of professional dress. Her attire and disposition unsuited for fighting, running, or any of recent necessary activity, Adelle couldn't adapt, couldn't help but cling to what was lost.

  Miss Ryan shivered and wished everything could go back to the way it had been.

  "You."

  She heard a voice, and silhouetted at the end of the alleyway stood a figure.

  "Wh-who's there?" she called out.

  "I finally found you," the person replied. The voice was light, wavering, and male. He sounded young.

  Adelle Ryan stumbled to her feet, taking a few steps away. "L-leave me alone."

  "No, Miss Ryan." The young man began a slow approach, features hidden in the darkness and shadows.

  The frightened woman removed the impractical heels she wore, gasping at the cold which struck into the bottoms of her feet. Brandishing one of the shoes in both hands, she cried out, "Stay back! I don't know who you are, but I'm warning you-"

  "Me?" the figure interrupted, still approaching. "Oh, I'm no one. Nothing. Simply one of those bad, inferior people you were so fond of talking about."

  The words seemed familiar, a product of a lifetime ago when Miss Ryan did not live in constant fear. A time when the clothing she wore remained unspoiled and professional. A time when she held a strong personal identity and knew precisely how she fit into the grand scheme of enlightened society.

  "P-please," she said in a sobbing tone. "Stay back... leave me alone..."

  "Oh, Miss Ryan..." the figure spoke, shaking his head. "I can't do that. You see, I haven't been able to think about much else besides finding you. Oh, I know it's not your fault. You were just a pawn, a puppet doing what your masters told you."

  They continued their dance, the constant slow retreat and approach. The man never drew any closer as he spoke, but they were nearing the edge of the alley. Miss Ryan trembled and continued to back away.

  "Do you know what they do to people like me? Or, really, people who are inconvenient?" The figure clapped his hands together, causing her to jump. "Did you know we're beaten, drugged, and treated like animals?"

  "Please..." Miss Ryan begged, moving backwards out of the alleyway and considering an attempt to flee. "Please don't hurt me."

  "It's easier on adults, actually. My father was given the reconditioning treatment, put to work as one of your mindless slaves. Children," he stepped out of the alley and into the light cast by golden streetlamps, "have it much worse."

  Adelle Ryan gasped, recognizing the boy from years prior. Scars and bruises adorned his face, and he wore a brown singlet jumpsuit with a number and barcode at the shoulder. She couldn't remember his name, but his father had been a teacher, one of those idiots preaching equality. What was his name? she wondered, frozen with fear.

  "You see, the Inquisitors and guards who ran that place, the detention facility..." he spoke, revealing a mouth with several missing teeth. "They aren't what you'd call friendly. Oh, their job was to help us get better. We were still Citizens after all. We were told, as members of the finest of humanity, Franklin Lange's chosen few, that we deserved a second chance. A way to reclaim our status." His face twisted in a snarl. "Lies."

  The terrified woman's flailing mind recalled some notion of a detention facility, but it had existed within the ignored regions of her consideration. As with most Citizens, she had let many of the unpleasant facets of life sit in the background of notice.

  Others had been trained to handle people like the boy who stood in front of her. For certain, she held a level of authority to turn people over to the Inquisition, including problem children, but she had always forgotten them the moment they disappeared from her sight. After all, why should she bother to remember every bad apple's name and face?

  Like the mindless servants cleaning the streets and buildings, and like the thought of the dregs left behind in and risen up from Old Haven, Adelle had p
referred not to think about what went on in the detention facility.

  "It's good I was able to escape with the rest." His expression appeared calm, but even the frightened woman could detect a deep malice, a barely contained rage boiling beneath the surface. "Otherwise, Miss Ryan, I'd never be able to properly thank you for the wonderful experience you provided to my family." He unbuttoned the sleeves, rolling them up. Numerous horizontal scars covered both of his arms. Her chest tightened, and she gave a sharp gasp upon noticing a long knife in his hand.

  What was his name? Miss Ryan continued to wonder, still backing up as she brandished her high-heeled shoe in both hands. "P-please. S-stay back!"

  "No, Miss Ryan. You've earned this. The Citizenship has ended, and all that remains is to carve the cancer of it out of humanity. Don't you see?" He ran the knife across his forearm, drawing a shallow cut next to one of the scars. He let his arm fall to his side, and the blood slid down and dripped from his fingertips. "It's time to remember, Miss Ryan. It's time."

  Face twisting in a snarl, the boy launched himself at the woman. Adelle Ryan flailed the pitiful weapon she carried, causing no damage as he knocked her sprawling. Her head rebounded off of the cold ground, and in half a moment he was upon her.

  His bloody hand gripped her face, and the knife wavered back and forth in front of her eyes. Heart hammering within her chest, terror clouded her vision. She couldn't think to beg, to scream, to struggle, to do anything.

  "Tell me, Miss Ryan." The boy's voice rose to a low urgency. "Can you remember my name? Can you remember my father's name? Is there even that tiny bit of remorse to remembering those whose lives you ruined? Tell me, and maybe I'll let you go. What is my name?"

  The knife remained close, it's edge gleaming, but he removed his hand from her face, leaving a smear of his blood behind. Adelle Ryan could not find her voice, but it wouldn't have mattered. She could not recall the name of this boy who threatened her. Not even to save her own life.

  "Tell me!" he shouted, bringing the blade down to her throat. The edge bit into her skin.

  Breath gasping in and out, she managed to whimper, "Please..."

  "No," the boy said, raising the knife, "and the name is Wilson."

  Adelle Ryan's screams echoed in the endless night.

  Chapter 1: Priorities

  Why do I always get stuck with this shit? Kaylee asked herself, crouched in a doorway and cradling a submachine gun.

  Scouting and patrolling, a duty born from her size, speed, and stature, was not among the safer tasks assigned to the varied vermin-turned-soldiers. The months of consistent skirmishing had driven all of the people, Citizen and undesirable alike, into a high-strung nervous tension. Most anyone from either side would fire wildly at the first hint of movement, including upon friendlies, civilians, scouts, or shadows. This made reconnaissance, a task which utilized regular movements, dangerous.

  No more dangerous than a small war filled with inexperienced noncombatants, though the months of intermittent fighting had cured some of the general incompetence. Even accounting for a recent lull in direct combat, a couple of people on each side perished every few days, and not all were at the hands of the enemy.

  Kaylee cast a forlorn gaze to the sky, which months earlier had featured the dazzling silver of moon and pinpricks of stars. Before dawn even broke on that day, before she could catch a glimpse of the sun she hadn't seen in twelve years, the shroud fell and left her again in darkness.

  Gritting her teeth, she sprinted across the street into the shadow of another building, still seeing no movement or threat. The glow of golden streetlamps, better than the pale yellow so far below, illuminated a great deal of the evening, but she was used to finding the places where she could hide. Crouched behind a disused single-passenger vehicle, she could hear in the distance the loop of Sergei and Isaac's propaganda machine, mingling with the similar yet opposite tones of the Citizens' own recording.

  Sergei's harsh tones and Russian lilts bled through with more prominence, not that she didn't already have the endless loop memorized:

  "This is Sergei, military leader of the Old Haven Union. Those living in the shadow of the Citizen tyrants, cast off the chains of your oppressors. Join with us, and we will protect you from their hatred, their disgust, and their violence. We will take back our fair city in the names of all who have suffered. We will abolish its brutal practices and reshape it into a city of true worth, where any man can live in peace. Franklin Lange's reign of terror is at its end, and what remains of his cursed followers will fall like wheat to the scythe under our might."

  Kaylee almost rejoiced the day someone figured out how to stop the eternal recordings highlighting the death of Citizen One. A few weeks of quiet peace during scout runs were wonderful.

  By the same token, she wished she could strangle whoever came up with the idiotic idea to restart the loop with a new message. She had no clue toward which side came up with the notion first, but the Old Haven Union and indeed the remaining Citizen regime embraced it to its full end:

  "We have been complacent. We have been blind to the terrors which laid beneath our feet. We have ignored the threats inside our walls for too long, and it has cost us dearly. The undesirables now walk among us, threatening our way of life with their filth and ignorance. Our glorious leader may have fallen in this struggle, but our blood, our birthright as Citizens makes us worthy, makes us strong. To all loyal Citizens: join us, and we will reclaim what is ours. To all opposing vermin: surrender, and we will show mercy."

  She didn't know the name of the person who stepped in and organized the Citizens to action after the whatever-it-was field turned opaque and blocked out the sky. Indeed, the first month or so seemed hopeless for the Citizens, thousands dying as Sergei and Isaac spurred all opposing them toward revenge. However, the unnamed Citizen managed to quiet the frightened flock and turn the fight around.

  A tenuous standstill had begun a few weeks earlier, each of the polarized sides trying to divine the best way to eliminate the opposition. Kaylee didn't care much for the ideals of either side, but she held good reasons for being in Sergei and Isaac's camp.

  "Poor Rick," she murmured, cutting across another street and finally arriving at her destination. In the eerie quiet of the evening, she heard no sounds and saw no movement. She always felt nervous there, too near to what was considered neutral territory, where both sides held a subtle presence and watched for signs of an attack.

  She climbed several sets of stairs, coming out in an office floor flanked by tall glass panes. Through these high windows, her "patrol" route yielded decent vision and a high level of personal safety. Sure, it's not exactly what Sergei has in mind, she thought, but to hell with him. If someone comes by here, I'll be able to see it. Probably.

  Aside from the safety advantage, a location far enough away from too many friendly prying eyes provided a convenient meeting spot.

  "Hey," a voice sounded from behind her.

  Kaylee whirled around, hands clenching on the submachine gun.

  Cross-legged on the ground and appearing worse for the wear was Rick. She slowly released her grip on the weapon, heart pounding.

  She stared at her gaunt and unshaven friend. Rick was pale, his usual grin hollow and without humor. Lines of fatigue etched upon his face, and a small scar bit into the flesh above his left eye.

  Kaylee unslung her weapon and set it on a desk. She stepped forward and slapped him across the face. A wide-eyed expression crossed his features, and his mouth fell open. "Asshole," she said, taking a few steps away and pretending to watch out the window.

  "Kaylee, I'm sorry-"

  "Where the hell were you last time? I was worried; I thought maybe they had caught you. I didn't know what to do."

  Rick rose to his feet, moving over to her side. He clasped his hands together. "I couldn't make it; something came up, and I had to discuss it with Gottfried."

  "You're still talking to that Inquisitor prick?" Kaylee asked, scowling.
"I just don't get it, Rick. One of these days, you'll find a knife in your back, and then what-"

  He grabbed her by the shoulders. "You're wrong. I promise you: Gottfried is with us in this. We want to get out; he wants to get out. It's as simple as that, and don't forget we're not exactly swimming in allies."

  "I'm still not convinced getting out is a good idea." Kaylee shoved him away. "Remember the stuff about toxic air and infectious bacteria? Hell, Elijah said-"

  Sighing, Rick replied, "Not true either. Nothing but isolationist propaganda, and I think even Elijah was lying about it to keep us focused on his goals. I had suspected as much a long time ago, but Gottfried was the one who confirmed it."

  "And you believe him?" She waved a dismissive hand. "He's probably got something else planned and is just stringing you along."

  Rick shook his head. "No. He's putting himself at great risk in just talking to me, and even more in what he's been working on instead of planning assaults or whatever the jackass in charge wants him to do. Besides, Elijah's-"

  "I don't know, Rick, I don't really think-"

  "Kaylee, for God's sake, how many times do we have to argue this? When are you going to stop being so bloody stubborn and just trust that I know what I'm doing?" Frustration pulsed at the edges of his expression.

  Scowling, she said, "Maybe when stuff you're involved in stops turning to shit? Or did you forget why everyone hates you? Why Jonathon and the others died to help get you away from-"

  "Enough!" His face lit with anger, mixing with tinges sorrow at the mention of his departed comrades. "Elijah and Victor used me just as much as anyone else, so it's not my goddamn fault that they decided to screw everyone over."