Flux

  FLUX

  Chris McInally

  Copyright 2017 by Chris McInally

  www.severedpress.com

  ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS

  Thank you to my beautiful wife Debbie; my mother and father, Frances and Arthur; and my brother Sean and his partner Jessica. Your support means the world to me. I hope you know that I love you all very much.

  PROLOGUE

  When the apocalypse finally visited itself upon humanity, effectively ending the Anthropocene era, it didn’t take the form many people expected it to. There was no nuclear holocaust borne out of a standoff between opposing Superpowers; no superbug-type pandemic; no climate-induced extinction event akin to an ice age. There was certainly no Rapture or alien invasion, and definitely no meteorite from outer space for that matter. Instead, the end (or was it a new beginning?) was much, much different, than many had anticipated it to be.

  Colloquially- at least around the area of the Havenfort settlement- the event became known simply as ‘the Flux’.

  No one truly understands its origins. Anyone who does claim to fully understand the secrets of the Flux is either a liar or a lunatic, or both. Even so, most claim the Flux resulted from some kind of experiment, conducted by the military and/or some private-sector contractor. In any event, all anyone can be sure of is that the world changed overnight. Literally. Some people went to bed only to wake to a primeval chaos hours later. Others watched the horror of it all unfold before their very own eyes.

  Most accept the theory- theory being little more than a combination of rumour, and wild speculation- that a rip was opened in the space-time continuum. As the story goes, the fabric of the Universe was punctured and irreversibly damaged by something yet unknown. In an attempt to rectify itself- to heal the wound as it were- the Universe was forced to merge myriad realities into one. The result was that a patchwork of epochs in Earth’s history were thrown together in haphazard fashion. Past and present were woven into one, in an apparent attempt to maintain the structural integrity of the cosmos, and thereby re-establish some kind of order. In short, it was intended to bring balance lest reality implode, and cease to exist at all.

  The result of all this, saw a cornucopia of species from past and present unceremoniously brought into contact with one another. Man was forced to confront, and ultimately contend with, beasts long-since extinct. Megafauna like sabretooth cats, in addition to dinosaurs, giant insects, and countless others, now struggled for survival alongside the tattered remnants of the human race. In other words, the new world that arose was nothing short of a creationist’s wet dream.

  In that moment of cosmic change, hell was unleashed on an otherwise unsuspecting world. The beasts of prehistory arrived like something akin to a biblical plague. Gigantic brachiosaurs and other marauding sauropods, accompanied by woolly mammoths and the like, traipsed down the main streets of capital cities the world over, crushing buildings and cars… and in many cases the human occupants. Theropods, like Tyrannosaurus rex and Allosaurus fragilis, made quick and bloody work of the bewildered masses, caught in their wake. As if this wasn’t enough, ravenous packs of mammalian hypercarnivores from the Pleistocene, prowled for prey alongside them. Likewise, megalodons and zeuglodons, pliosaurs and mosasaurs, staked their claim throughout the world’s oceans. These aquatic leviathans, and others, shared in the stalking and destruction of oil-tankers, cruise-liners, warships, and anything else they deemed a threat.

  It wasn’t simply fauna either, but flora as well. Among others, massive, carnivorous plants, resembling over-sized Venus flytraps now dotted the landscape, lying in wait for unwary prey that they might consume. Inevitably, as the former evidence might suggest, the topography of the world was transformed as well. Once where there stood structures like football fields- and even whole cities in some instances- such spaces now accommodated inland seas and great lakes. Likewise, clusters of skyscrapers were replaced with mountain ranges and the occasional volcano. Desert expanses were transmuted into massive swamplands and bristling forests. In some places, temperatures rose and in others they plummeted. In other regions, seasons became a thing of the past entirely. If there was even such a thing as a past now, that is. Some people weren’t sure if they had been transported back in time, or if the beasts of prehistory had been transported forward. It all made no sense… or at least very little.

  In conjunction, to the aforementioned arrival of super-predators, there were also ‘new’ diseases and bacteria, which aided in the decimation of the human population. Still, at least there aren’t any zombies… yet.

  Ultimately, the survivors were forced by these nightmarish circumstances to band together, huddling into makeshift settlements, erected amidst the chaos caused by the Flux. Things that had once divided people simply no longer mattered. Concepts like politics and money, race and sexuality, and many other philosophical and ideological constructs were forgotten, disappearing almost overnight. Having endured the initial upheaval, the more proactive survivors simply accepted their fate, striving to carve out a living amidst the new order of things. After all, what else could they do?

  The Flux happened three years ago… as far as can be ascertained. Humans are no longer at the top of the food chain. What remains to be seen, is what position they now occupy, if indeed they occupy a position at all…

  1.

  Gazing out over the settlement’s northern frontier, Conn took in the lush, bright green expanse of the familiar, but no less striking, rainforest. Havenfort’s residents had named the seemingly boundless jungle the Wraith’s Den. The dense mass of trees and other vegetation was home to a plethora of deadly creatures, many of whom were deemed responsible for missing comrades- hence its interesting moniker. Conn himself knew only too well, that a person had to be careful not to let its beauty fool them. The Den had claimed both his parents, after all. They went missing during a scouting mission. Their team had been sent out to procure drinking water from the Cleft. The Council ordered the operation after several of Havenfort’s rainwater tanks burst and emptied unexpectedly, leaving the settlement with virtually no water reserves to see them through summer. Conn liked to think his parents died so that others might live. Still, the Den would claim other victims. That much was inevitable.

  Apart from a single, wide, azure scar- known to the locals as the River Cleft- snaking in from the northeast, the emerald carpet extended northwards in a near-continuous fashion. Pointed conifer trees mingled with overhanging palms, alongside eucalypts dotted with bright-coloured fruity capsules, and mighty sentinel-like redwoods. As for the Den’s eastern and western boundaries, no one knew where they ended. Few in Havenfort felt it was necessary to bother documenting the extent of the rainforest. There were more important matters to consider; like simply surviving from one day to the next.

  Conn watched as to the northwest, a small flock of squawking pterosaurs glided just above the green canopy. Scouting for prey beneath, the group banked as one in a wide arc, surveying the forest below. Gradually, the winged reptiles shrank into tiny black dots demarcating the orange-red horizon, before ultimately disappearing altogether from the young man’s field of vision.

  Although he couldn’t see them, Conn certainly heard the deep, mighty bellows belonging to a herd of sauropods- diplodocuses he guessed from the trombone-like sounds- calling to one another, somewhere off in the distance. Occasionally, he heard the snapping and cracking of wood followed by trembling vibrations as the colossal, lumbering creatures felled a tree, or three. Conn knew from experience that a diplodocus, or any other kind of sauropod, wouldn’t think twice about downing a tree that got in their way, whilst feeding. It was for this reason, all around the squared periphery of Havenfort, that any and all trees had been extirpated. This decision was taken by popular vote not long after the outpost
was established. It resulted from an incident involving a roaming brontosaurus. The clumsy beast, stumbling like a drunkard, had accidentally sent a redwood falling into the settlement, fatally crushing a dozen people, including two small children. The land ringing the settlement, extending outward for a distance of half-a-mile, was now totally barren and would remain that way for the foreseeable future.

  As the day wore on, the orange sun retreated slowly behind the horizon, the last bits of light ebbing away with it. Still, the temperature didn’t change much, and the air- as always- remained humid. The lookout kept his icy, blue eyes trained on the darkening jade tapestry. Sweat trickled over Conn’s olive skin, his shaved head dribbling profusely in the early evening heat. Beads of salty liquid inched down his forehead, before skating down the bridge of his thin nose, the sensation tickling his skin, irritating him. Using the back of a broad forearm, Conn wiped the sweat away, grumbling nonsensically to himself.

  Conn, as he did most days on duty, chose not to wear anything underneath his black, bulletproof, Kevlar vest. It was just too hot- all the damn time. Still, even with the heat, when it came to his legs, he strangely preferred the wearing of cargo pants to shorts. His trousers were camouflaged in typical army fashion, patterned green and brown, and flecked with wisps of black, and the occasional light grey. Held firmly across his muscular chest was a matte-black, AR-15 carbine assault-rifle. The safety was still on. There hadn’t been any trouble all day. In fact, Havenfort hadn’t experienced any trouble for several months now.

  Save for the sickness, that is. Conn thought gloomily to himself.

  This last thought brought flashes of Anthony’s flushed and feverish face to mind. Conn quickly shrugged off the image of his sickly younger sibling, trying instead to conjure up something more comforting to think about.

  Conn was counting down the minutes now. His watch would be over soon, and he couldn’t wait to get cleaned up, before hoeing into some much-deserved chow. He stank, the heat doing wonders for his body odour. At least his insect repellent was keeping away the mosquitoes, and all the other types of biting pests that abounded. The last thing he wanted was paleo-malaria. Conn shivered as he thought of the hand-sized mosquitoes that transmitted such diseases. He hated bugs, especially paleo-bugs. They were so big and fierce, and more often than not covered in bristling hair. Spiders in his opinion were the worst.

  The big, hairy fuckers...

  Looking down from the three-storey-high ramparts, constructed from a mixture of metal and concrete- and in some places patched up with lengths of timber- Conn watched as a soft breeze moved through the thick mass of vegetation, rustling leaves and causing smaller, thinner branches to sway. The wind rode up the side of Havenfort’s northern fortifications, the breeze washing over the mismatched crenels, cooling Conn from head to toe. The young man breathed in the fresh air, relishing the wind, and the soothing sensation that came with it. He arched his head back, nostrils flaring wide as he breathed in deep. It all felt quite serene, for a moment.

  “Conn!” the high-pitched shout of a female smashed his fleeting moment of Zen.

  The lookout quickly snapped his head to the right, eyes wide and scanning, his senses alert. He found Lex watching him from a little further down the catwalk. Conn had to admit, even if only to himself, she looked foxy in just a simple green singlet, low-cut jeans shorts, and white tennis shoes. She was off-duty today, hence the civvies. Her long, black hair hung loose, cascading over her shoulders, coming to rest on top of her round breasts. Her head of dark brown, almost black hair, contrasted against her pale complexion. The young woman’s deep, hazel eyes watched Conn inquisitively, searching his face, as if she was looking for an answer to some unspoken question.

  “You good?” Lex asked, breaking the silence.

  “Uh…” Conn took a second to snap out of it. He couldn’t tell if it was the heat or her, or both, that had him so flustered. “… yeah… I’m good, I think.”

  It was then Conn noticed the scrawny figure of little Benny with his dirty blonde hair and beaked nose, standing behind Lex, his own carbine gripped tight. Conn’s shift was over, he suddenly realised. Gaunt-faced Benny was here to replace him it seemed. But Conn didn’t understand why Lex was there.

  “What’s up?” Conn enquired, a pang of fear taking hold in his stomach.

  Anthony? Has she come to bring the bad news? Please God, no.

  Benny slipped past them both to take up his position. The skinny guy slapped Conn on the shoulder, flashing a quick smile. Conn nodded, adding a faint smile of his own. Just like that, his watch was over and Benny’s began.

  “Williams told me to come get you,” Lex informed Conn. Samuel Williams was one of Havenfort’s Elders, and he was on the Council. “He needs to talk with us.”

  “Us?” Conn stressed the word.

  “You. Me. And the rest of the squad.” Lex answered him in short, sharp bursts.

  “Why?”

  “You’ll find out a lot sooner if you stop asking questions, and move your ass,” Lex said, slightly exasperated.

  “Why can’t you just tell me?” Conn pushed his luck.

  “Because I don’t know either.”

  She was starting to get pissed off. Conn was half-tempted to keep pushing her. He loved the look Lex got on her face when she was angry. At the last second, he decided against it.

  “Then I suppose we better get to Operations.”

  Operations, as it was dubbed post-Flux, used to be the local primary school. After the Flux, it was gutted and refitted to serve as Havenfort’s centre of governance. A small church now served as a school instead, teaching kids the basics before throwing them to the wolves… and dinosaurs… and everything else out there beyond the settlement’s improvised walls.

  “No,” Lex responded flatly, “he wants us in the Infirmary.”

  The Infirmary? Sporadic images of Conn’s little brother reappeared in his mind’s eye.

  The young man ground his teeth, jaw clenching almost instantly. He’d been trying to avoid that place as much as possible. Conn hated seeing his sibling in such a state. It cut him up inside. Conn felt even worse knowing he couldn’t do anything for Anthony. Still, he should have visited more often. There was no excuse for neglecting the little guy like that. After all, they only had each other now.

  Conn took a moment, trying to steel himself for what lay ahead.

  “Okay, let’s go,” he finally told Lex.

  Together, Conn and Lex entered the makeshift hospital, paisley-patterned bandanas covering their mouths and nostrils; a red one for Conn, a black one for Lex. Conn couldn’t help but feel that the thin pieces of fabric were a rather paltry defence against possible infection. But what other choice did they have? Before the Flux, back when Havenfort was still just the City of Haven, the Infirmary had been a community centre. After the city- or rather what was left of it- was fortified and re-christened Havenfort, the centre was deemed the most appropriate for taking on the task of treating the community’s sickly. As such, steps were taken to convert the building, turning it into a hospital-type facility, to service the needs of the populace.

  Despite never having been admitted for treatment himself, Conn didn’t like the Infirmary- point blank. It was mostly recent experience that had shaped his attitude towards it. Inside, the lighting was always subdued and the air smelled musty. It had a gloomy, unsettling feel to it. Beyond the foyer/administration area, with the exception of a few offices located at the corners of the main building, the Infirmary wasn’t much more than a big gymnasium. Albeit, a gym now stocked with hundreds of sickbeds, each one of them occupied. Behind the Infirmary proper was the Pharmacy, where vital medications, and other supplies, were stored.

  Why did Williams call a meeting here? Conn wondered silently.

  Like all the other services in Havenfort, the Infirmary was staffed by a force of volunteers. To some extent, it could be said that life was simple in Havenfort: if you didn’t contribute to the upkeep of the
settlement in some way, then you were out on your ass. Plain and simple. There was a zero-tolerance policy. Conn recalled about a dozen freeloaders had been expelled since Havenfort was established as a fully-fledged outpost. Residents had the choice of three volunteer classes: Defence, Maintenance, and Health. These were then divided up into various sub-groups. The Council did their best to match individuals with a suitable job, but sometimes they had to make choices that didn’t sit well with some people. Still, Conn liked working his defence job, and doing the occasional scouting mission. He wasn’t much for gardening or plumbing, and he certainly didn’t have the stomach to be a nurse.

  Conn and Lex moved deeper into the gymnasium, navigating through a sea of people, some familiar, some not, but all masked in a similar fashion to themselves. Anthony’s sickbed was located about halfway in from the entrance. Conn looked about for him as he progressed deeper into the expansive building. Nurse-volunteers had organised the beds into three sets of double-columns running the length of the former gym: located to the left, up the centre, and to the right. Anthony’s bed was located in the centre section. As Conn approached his little brother, he was surprised to find the figure of Williams looming over his frail sibling, a light blue surgical mask clinging to the man’s wide face.

  Williams was a bulldog of a man, pot-bellied and barrel-chested. What’s more, his arms were like tree trunks. He caught sight of Conn and made his way over, leaving Anthony’s still figure behind. Williams’ beady, grey eyes were wide. He was angry about something. His short head of close-cropped, salt-and-pepper-coloured hair seemed to stand almost on end at the sight of Conn.

  “Why isn’t that weapon stowed in the Armoury?” the old man barked through his flimsy-looking mask, his shouts making several nearby nurses and patients uncomfortable. “I’m docking you half-a-day’s rations!”