The Overlord: A Post-Apocalyptic Novel (25 page)

23

THE BEGINNING

A reverse waterfall of fumes towered past the holding cell window. An unruly rumbling quieted down into silence. With a broad thump of steel against rock, the "Beast of Burden" lowered its weight onto the seared earth where an ocean wind met its broadside. The vaporing exhausts soon dispelled from my view, granting me the sight of a freshly blackened badland.

Led by President Nightwood, a reverent procession trekked out from the hatch of the ship. Marching into that scorched beach of wreckage and ruin, she stuck a rod of rebar into the highest mound of the steaming debris. From its pole, a little banner caught the sea air, waiving with tenacity.

The treasures of the old world have long vanished in the wasteland, but one gift has been safeguarded, reserved for all the children of the wilderness. It's called a promise. Here, outside the "Beast of Burden," a promise flies its banner of red, white, and blue above the remains of a battle.

Upon its unfurling, Nightwood provided an oration, "I am no patriot. I never was. The very idea of allegiance almost seems silly now, for most nations have all been wiped out. Like the days of Rome, the republics of the past no longer represent a state of being, but a way of thinking. The liberty that was once fought and bled for was believed to be diminished, but the embers have just been flared. That everlasting potential is symbolized by this forgotten flag of our ancestors, even if it is just one of many. A banner of freedom no longer stands with one man, or group of men, or any of the lines that divided them, but with all mankind. The pedestal is the ruin of war upon the sand, and we have come here to remember the fight. Semper Fidelis. Always Faithful."

Apart from all these glories, I've been waiting patiently for whatever is coming for me. Found guilty of collaborating against the Free World, I once had a choice, like all do, but consequence is now beyond my control. Nightwood has informed me that if her people demand my death, she'll pay me a visit in this holding cell for one last time. I've enjoyed many meetings with her throughout these evening hours, but now I pray that we never come to meet again this night.

If it's the pardon of life that's decided, Nightwood has given her word that I'll be reunited with a certain affection of mine. Sentria, herself, will come to tell me the good news. I did hope to see her soon, but I've been in this dark brig for far too long. Dawn now approaches and this report nears its completion.

Before me, on the rusting table of this worn cell, my fingertips type away at this tablet of lore. Beside it, a ration of water sits half sipped near my yellow hat. Scrawled with the messages of ghosts, I mull over the doodles and writings that cover every inch of the neon cap. Each piece of handwriting now represents young sufferers of war, distant faces that won't soon be forgotten.

Yet, one scribble still remains without author, "The beginning is just the end."

Just the end? I may never know who wrote those words, but, whoever it was, I think they were trying to tell me that the earth is round. That what will be, will be again. Wherever the sun will rise, it will always be seen to set somewhere else. I can see that horizon now though the window, but there's a reflection in between. It's not my own.

As I sit here writing this to you, the children of the wasteland, someone has just come through the barrier wall behind me. With my back turned away from her, she probably doesn't even realize that I know she's there, but soon, she and I will be on that beach beyond the confines of this ship. The two of us, we'll be together again like we once were. She'll be sitting in my arms as I hold her close, watching the ocean sing its bellowed hello. Her hands will be entwined with mine and our marked arms will rest upon the other.

Our skin is forever marked with a pyramid beneath a flame. Once, it was the binding brand of the Thralldom, but it's no longer a symbol of any man's power. Not anymore. The brands on our flesh only serve as memories now, fateful reminders to never forget the earth's war with itself. There's never been any escape from human nature, but it comforts me to know that it's in our nature where hopes and dreams also reside, despite the nightmares. Where there is life, there love is found also.

Looking past the reflection of this holding cell window, I can almost see the future, but more vitally, I can see the now. Today, the morning sun rises over miles of wreckage and ruin. It stretches across altered sands and cleansing waves.

It was said that the Overlord's journal was scattered across the universe. Two-hundred years into the future, an entry has finally been found, but who can possibly unlock its code?

The apocalypse returns in...

THE GHOST OF ZERO