Feral Heart by Duron Crejaro (distant reading .TXT) 📕

Sept 27th 1998. It came like a thief in the night, unseen, slipping silently into the atmosphere. That was the night everything changed, or so I was told. I was being born that night. They say the flares were unprecedented and unexpected. The sun was supposed to have been going through a quieter cycle. Of course, that didn’t stop the tremendous catastrophes that followed.

The flares were like a giant electromagnetic pulse, that the earth’s natural magnetic field was simply unable to stop. Everything electric fried in an instant. Of course, this had much more far reaching effects than a simple power outage. I mean, seriously, from the history I’ve read, what didn’t run on power? Let’s see. Gas pumps? Electric. Water pumps? Electric. Mass worldwide communication? Electric. I could go on, but let’s face it, it was all working off the gloriousness that was, electricity. If I had to sum it up it would be like this. Modern man was suddenly thrust into the Stone Age in the blink of an eye.

That wasn’t even the worst of it. The charged plasma wave that followed hours later burst through the weakened ozone like a tidal wave. It came as an angel of death to mankind; indiscriminately it played its hand across the world. No one is really sure how many died that day, or in the days that followed; though they do say that the bodies of man and animal covered the streets, and the older folk say the stench was something from a nightmare.

Those that survived the first few weeks however, soon came to realize that those that passed were the fortunate ones. Every government fell into disarray with no way to communicate with the masses. Worse, without transportation how do you feed the masses? They were without tractors to harvest the mass commercialized farms, long gone were the days of sixteen oxen led by a man on a mission. Without tractor-trailers and railways and airplanes, how would they move it if they could? Lest of course we forget that without the god known to modern man as electricity, there was no way to refrigerate it. How then do you feed the masses who’s numbers had swelled to an unforeseen six billion plus?

Mass hysteria, global chaos, and a massive famine took its toll on man. Some were thought crazy when they said Mother Nature had come home to claim what was hers from rotten spoiled children who squandered her splendor. I’m not sure they were wrong. All told, it was what any rational person would have called the apocalypse. An estimated four and a half billion were dead within as many years. Yet, Mother Nature, who on more than one occasion saw fit to remove the worrisome presence of life from her surface, had never been faced a foe like humanity.

They managed despite the odds being so stacked against them, to survive. Society was being rebuilt, although it bore almost no resemblance to its glory days. Surviving populations coalesced to major urban areas, which were enlarged to include as much open terrain as could be managed for the sourcing of locally grown food and livestock. Gone were the days of mass governments and countries. Now the world was divided into small enclaves of life; each independent from the rest. From my classes on history, I would surmise that it was it was much akin to the ancient Greeks and their city-states. Only this time it was a worldwide phenomenon.

That is where we find ourselves today, nearly seventeen years later, in the sprawling city-state of Nashboro. Some return to modern life has been appropriated; the electricity and water are back on, petroleum fuels are a thing of the past, everything is run on hydrogen now, or by the strength of a man’s (or woman’s) back. The outlines of Nashboro are an enormous patchwork of concrete walls covering nearly a hundred square miles. Of course not all of this has been reclaimed, a second wall, around the better parts of the city exists, this one not so formidably, a choked and mangled network of chain-link fencing covered in Constantine wire. So, the world I know stands divided between the old and the new.

If by now, you are not like most sane folk, wishing for the bygone golden age of man. Then let the horror continue, for although life goes on, another more sinister side to my world exists beyond the assumed safety of my home. Strange things happen outside the walls they say, and even stranger creatures. Of course no one tells us what these things are or if they are even real, or simply the product of the establishments imagination to keep us fearful and secluded behind the walls. They are called, the Wylder.

I am Eliza Blayne. This is the world in which I find myself. And this. Well this is my story.

It always happens the same way. I awake in a pool of my own cold sweat, terrified or maybe exhilarated. I’m never quite sure which. Adrenaline is coursing through me, as I sit upright; my entire body trembling. I always unsure of what the dream really was; I only remember small bits. The rest have been lost to my waking mind. Its always night. It seems neither warm nor cold. I have the sensation of running, but it’s different somehow. I smell something, and I begin to track it, energy surging through me at the thought of a chase. That’s when I lost it.

With an almost inaudible groan, I looked at the clock. Nearly 6 am. It was almost time to get up, and I figured I could deal with a hot shower to wash away the lingering sensations of the dream. I slipped from beneath the comforting warmth of my bedspread. I stripped the flannel nightgown, tossing it lightly into the corner hamper. Fifteen glorious minutes of steamy exaltation later, I was clean, awake and feeling refreshed; the remnants of the dream fading like the sweat washed from my body. I stood before the large vanity of the bathroom, brushed my teeth and began to brush the kinks from my hair as I looked at myself in the mirror. I grimaced, as if the mint-flavored paste had left a bad taste in my mouth. I’ve never considered myself attractive, in the last year or two though, I had noticed the increased attention of the guys in my class. I was short. That might be the understatement of the century in my opinion since I stood just less than five feet. Petite some would say. To skinny I thought. Add that to the fact that I was less busty then other girls my age, and I just couldn’t see what they found so attractive. My hair was long, a few inches past shoulder length, and very chestnut brown; coupled with smooth high cheekbones, a narrow pert nose, and full pale pink lips that matched my tanned complexion. I always gravitated to my eyes however. I think I read once that the eyes are the windows to the soul. Mine were striking, at least in my estimation. Deep forest green in the middle of summer was the best way I could describe them. The color faded inward lightening to an almost translucent sea-foam green with the faintest flecks of a pale yellow mixed in. I applied what little makeup I allowed myself to wear, just a little eye shadow and eyeliner to accentuate my eyes.

I sighed a little and retreated back to the dark confines of my room; pulled out the crisp new uniform that all students wore. Bleep Bleep Bleep, the alarm on my desk sounded, startling me. I turned it off and pulled on my panties and bra. With disgust, I inspected my clothes; plain tan khakis and a white blouse, the same for everyone. This year I was starting at the Academy. It was a centralized school for all the youths of my respective age. It was also the most important year of schooling in our young lives. This year we would take an exhaustive plethora of general studies classes that would culminate in a placement exam at years end. This test would decide which profession we would be thrust into, Next year we would begin training in whatever field we were placed and be expected to become a contributing member of society. I was dreading it, but on the bright side, I could move away from home.

I pulled my still damp hair into a loose ponytail and headed downstairs. Breakfast was a generally boring routine, that most of the time I wish I could skip out on, but my mother would have had a fit if I had tried. I plopped down at the table to a hot plate; eggs and sausage with gravy and biscuits. At least it was something good I thought to myself. I sat in a stark silence; my father was gone to work already, as was usually the case. He was an engineer for the city. My mother would be leaving for her nursing job soon enough as well, and I would be left to my own devices, which on this particular day involved catching a bus to the academy.

The bus was monstrous, designed only for utility; a long construct with a double row of bench seats. As I boarded with a group of first years that lived in my complex, I noticed that the bus was almost empty. With disinterest, I ignored the others and picked a seat alone, content to be left in seclusion. Of course, I knew my privacy would not last; soon my two best friends would join me. Camiella came first, but we called her Cami for short. She dropped into the seat next to me while I stared out the window. I smiled as I looked over at her; she was everything that I wasn’t. Taller than me at around five and a half feet, chesty, blond, with blue eyes and a bubbly personality. She was the poster child of hotness that all the guys wanted. Unfortunately for them, she only had eyes for one guy. The bus halted at the next stop, and speak of the devil, our third wheel boarded, Dhamon. He was tall, right at six feet. Though he had gained most of his height in only the last year during a spurt of growth. Brown hair hung loosely just down to his ears with an almost identically colored set of puppy dog eyes to match. He was carefree and not oblivious to the pining of Cami for his heart. There was only one problem; Dhamon was in love with me. We all three knew the score on this but it was never spoken of. We had been friends for so long that none of us wished to jeopardize our friendship with the trappings of young love. Besides, I wasn’t in love with Dhamon. Yeah, he’s cute, but he is more like brother or a goofy cousin then