Haven

  Haven

  Justin Kemppainen

  Smashwords Edition

  Copyright 2009 Justin Kemppainen

  Licensing Notes:

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  ***

  Haven

  Prologue: Civilized Society

  “Quiet down, now. Please, take your seats. Class,” the woman’s voice increased in volume and developed a sharp edge, “please quiet down and take your seats.”

  Children, boy and girl alike, dressed in identical uniforms of baggy white scrambled to their seats. The teacher sighed inwardly, and thought to herself that pupils of any age should be much more disciplined.

  Once the children had reached their desks, all lined up in rows and columns with their wide young eyes blinking in expectation, she spoke again. Her voice carried a sweet-like quality, belying the severity of her statements. “Your previous teacher has been deemed unfit to educate, so I will be filling in until a more permanent replacement can be found. You may call me Miss Ryan. If you are to remain in my classroom, you must follow several rules. You will not-”

  One of the children, a little girl with her dark brown hair set in pigtails, interrupted, “What’s your first name?”

  The child shrank in fear as Miss Ryan looked over at her, disapproval etched across her youthful face. Her features bored into the frightened girl as she spoke, sternly, “You will not speak out of turn.” The little girl paled and pressed her lips together.

  As if nothing had occurred, Miss Ryan turned back and continued. “You will not speak out of turn. You will not pass notes. You will pay attention. You will not use the bathroom without permission. You will be silent, and you will listen. If you have a question, you will raise your hand. Stupid, pointless, flippant, or disrespectful questions will not be tolerated. These are my rules, do you understand them?”

  The children, whether they understood or not, slowly nodded in unison, their eyes wide. “Good.” She straightened the spectacles on her face and smoothed the hem of her pleated skirt. Her voice took on a tone of intense patronizing. “Today I am going to start instructing you in the correct history of this city. You are encouraged to disregard anything mentioned by your former teacher. His information was false and malicious.”

  Ignoring the confusion on the faces of the young children, she drew in a breath, rearranged her smile, and continued, “This place, this city was created many years ago as a shelter for the best of humanity.”

  “During that time,” she continued, “there were many bad people who became sick and died from a disease called influenza.” She pronounced this slowly and loudly, elongating each syllable as though the children were hard of hearing. “Your ancestors,” pronounced ‘ann-sesst-orrs,’ “used this place to keep safe from the horrors of the disease.”

  One child raised a hand; she appraised him briefly before nodding for him to speak, “Mr. Wilson said that there are lots of, um,” the boy looked up for a moment, trying to think of the word, “sprains of infleza. He said those people died because we didn’t help them. He said we could have.”

  Miss Ryan cocked her head a little, smile wavering just slightly. She said, in a sympathetic tone, “Mr. Wilson is a liar and a criminal. He deliberately misled you because he is a very bad man.” The boy gazed up at her with wide eyes and sadness on his face; the look of a child betrayed. “No, no.” Miss Ryan continued, “We had no choice but to keep them out. They were bad, wicked people, just like Mr. Wilson.”

  She looked over the classroom again, gauging the children’s discomfort and gullibility before continuing. “Now, Mr. Wilson said a few other things that I would like to correct.” She kept that smile plastered on her face, adjusting the butterfly barrette that her straight blonde hair was drawn into. “First, unlike what Mr. Wilson claims,” the name spoken with hints of venom, “this place is a paradise.”

  A little girl raised her hand. Miss Ryan motioned to her. “What’s that mean?” she asked, big blue eyes tinged with confusion.

  Miss Ryan walked over to the little girl and crouched, coming down to meet her eyes, “Well, my dear, paradise is a place of happiness.” She stood up and addressed the entire class. “You’re all happy here, right?” The children solemnly nodded. “Well, there’s a good reason for that. Even though we were saved from that terrible sickness, our leaders refused to take the necessary steps to keep us prosperous.”

  One child’s hand shot into the air, and before Miss Ryan could acknowledge it, the boy blurted, “Is that when Citizen One came in?”

  A slight frown darkened Miss Ryan’s face as the child half-spoke out of turn, but she quickly brightened, “Yes, that’s absolutely right,” she said to the beaming child, proud of his correct answer, “Citizen One created this happiness that we all share now. It is his vision that led to the creation of the sterilization field.” The large word, ‘stare-ill-eyes-a-shun,’ again pronounced very slowly.

  She gestured and every child looked towards the window, some across the room, craning their necks to see. “The field is why our beautiful blue sky looks the way it does,” she said. The children nearest to the window were able to see the way that the sky flowed and rippled, clouds overhead bending and morphing. Sunlight refracted and wavered but gently provided its accustomed warmth.

  “What is it made of?” one child blurted.

  She frowned again, “Please, do not talk out of turn.” She said, scanning the room for the source. Unable to precisely pinpoint the child, she continued. “The field is made of energy, and it keeps us safe from all of the very bad people outside and their terrible germs.”

  “But,” she continued, “you can’t forget; that’s not all Citizen One did. He found out that some of the bad people from outside got into our paradise. He did what he could, but there wasn’t much room in the valley to build more, and we couldn’t move away.”

  “Why not?” asked a boy, probably the same one who interrupted before.

  Absorbed in her lecture, she ignored his disobedience, “Because it’s not safe outside. We can’t leave unless we’re well-protected and shielded,” she said, nodding seriously.

  “But,” she said, brightening, “he came up with an idea to keep us away from the bad, inferior people. Now we live here, up and away where it’s clean and safe. There’s nothing but good, wholesome, smart, happy Citizens here.” She looked back and forth over the class, smiling brightly.

  A little girl with curly blonde hair raised her hand, and Miss Ryan gave a bright smile at her before nodding. “What’s an asquition squid?” The girl asked.

  Miss Ryan tossed her head back and laughed heartily at the mispronunciation. “Oh, my dear,” she said, wiping her eyes. “It’s acquisition squad. They are the brave people who made sure we were able to get food and supplies. They still do so today.”

  “You see, with so many Citizens to take care of, we needed to get sources of food, water and other supplies. So the brave and smart Citizen One had the idea to send out some courageous, well-protected people into the bleak and scary world.” She turned her palms upward. “And they have done so for many, many years. Isn’t that nice, to have so many people looking out for us?” She asked. Several children nodded in agreement.

  “Where did they get the supplies from?” A male voice, sounding somehow out of place, piped up while she was smiling at another ch
ild. It came from the back of the room, and Miss Ryan frowned; she couldn’t quite tell who spoke.

  “Bad, inferior people had things that we needed, so our brave soldiers brought them back for us to use until we could set up more autonomy.” Her word choice and cheerful tone of voice slipped as her irritation grew.

  “So they stole stuff from other people that needed it.” The boy spoke again. Miss Ryan’s frown deepened, and she slowly moved towards the back of the class to face the speaker. It was a boy, still staring out the window. There was a clear look of anger on his face.

  “Those people are a nasty, inferior lot-” Miss Ryan started.

  The boy cut her off, raising his voice and finally turning towards her. “They aren’t bad people, and they aren’t inferior. My father says that we just left them behind to die. He says Citizen One is a tyrant.” He stared at her with a defiant eye. His voice was lightly deepened, synonymous with early teens.

  This outburst cracked any remaining sweet demeanor from the face of Miss Ryan. She briskly walked over to the boy who eyed her defiantly. “Well, you disrespectful little urchin, your father is as much of a liar as Mr. Wilson...” She trailed off, eying him more closely. “Young man, you don’t belong in this classroom. Leave at once!”

  The youth stood up, and the woman realized that her suspicions were correct; he was indeed far too old for this classroom. He had to be close to thirteen.

  He set his jaw and glared at Miss Ryan, “My father is not a liar. Or a criminal. You and everyone like you are.”

  “Both you and your father are despicable, vile criminals against society. What is your name?” She demanded.

  The boy glared at the woman. He yelled, “Evan Wilson.” He spat the name. “You people arrested my father. He’s gone, and they say he’s not coming back.” His eyes filled with tears. “He’s gone!” The boy shouted.

  The corner of Miss Ryan’s mouth curled in a sneer. Without another word, leaving the angry boy standing at the back of the class, she went over to the desk and touched a button on the electronic pad, leaning down to speak into an intercom. “I need a disruptive student removed from my classroom. Evan Wilson.” She clenched her teeth as though the name were somehow filthy or distasteful. “Yes, Evan Wilson.” She repeated after a muffled response. “And tell the Inquisitors responsible to be more thorough next time!” she snapped, taking her finger off the key.

  She leveled her gaze at the teenager, who lifted his chin, unafraid. “Now, despite anything your criminal father, Mr. Wilson, told you and this unfortunate class, this society is thriving because of men like Citizen One. Because we don’t suffer the inferior. And because we remove criminals and dissenters like your father,” she smiled, “and yourself.”

  As if on cue, two men wearing full black burst into the room. Miss Ryan pointed towards the back, and they rushed over towards the standing youth, who suddenly looked very frightened. They seized him by the arms; he struggled against their grip, screaming, but they quickly secured and dragged him from the room.

  He was gone; the rest of the children in the classroom sat in shocked silence. A couple had tears rolling down their cheeks, and quiet sobs could be heard. Miss Ryan folded her hands in front of her, passing a sympathetic gaze all around the classroom, “As you can see, there are still bad people among us,” she smiled at the children, “but I just know that no one here will be like that, right?” The classroom nodded, half of them out of fear.

  Miss Ryan sat down at her desk, folded her hands, and spoke a little less cheerfully than before, “Well, then; let’s continue your lessons, shall we? Please take out your mathematics books.” After a short hesitation, as though the children were afraid to move, the clatter of moving desks and shuffling papers filled the room.

  Miss Ryan continued, “We will review recent history in greater detail at the start of class each day, so that you all memorize the information and understand just how important it is.”

  She donned a bright smile again and started the next lesson, “We will be reviewing multiplication today. Can anyone tell me the product of…”

  Chapter 1: Rebirth

  In an empty dark alleyway, almost completely buried in a mountain of garbage and refuse, a pair of glowing, white eyes opened. There was a brief lull as now-alive creature, unclothed and clearly male, blinked at the grime-encrusted walls. He took a labored breath.

  Pain erupted everywhere on his body, and he cried out, an inhuman shriek lightly muffled by the layers of trash. Flailing about, the creature clawed his way free of the containment. Gaining his feet, he stumbled, rolling down the hill of filth and thudding onto the cold alley ground. He clamored to his feet, more cautious this time and assessing careful bipedal balance before moving again. His large slanted eyes blinked in the darkness, though nothing seemed at all difficult to see. Filth lay scattered throughout the alley, and dim light could be seen some distance away. The walls rose up high around him, and he could see a series of interlocking structures. His mind, foggy and addled, recalled a notion of something called ‘sky,’ but what lay above him seemed not quite right.

  He heard a faint grinding noise from the sky and saw a number of indistinct objects falling towards him. He leapt out of the way as bags of trash, clothing, broken items, and various other refuse landed haphazardly around him.

  Once the dropping finished, he crept forward, picking through the pile of garbage, almost as though instinctively seeking something. He saw a pair of tattered pants and looked down at his bare legs featuring grayish-blue skin, drawing some uncertain connection between the two.

  He caught a glimpse of a shard of mirror and grabbed it, again impulse reminding him of its purpose. He raised the piece, using it to view himself. From his own memory, he could not identify who or what he was. He dropped the mirror in horror as he viewed his twisted, broken face…

  Unclear images and memories flashed through his mind. He saw a twilight of two setting suns on a field of gold and blue, lighting the atmosphere with colors of brilliant red and orange. Another flash, and he was standing in a white room, hunched over a table, looking at something through a magnifying lens. Then the two memories mingled, and he watched two suns set in a sterile white room through the eyepieces while standing on a field of blue and gold…

  Almost as though an activation switch had been flipped, hideous stenches of refuse and decay assailed his suddenly keen sense of smell, further disorienting him. He held one hand awkwardly over his nose, trying to block the incoming stimulus. Other senses piped in, asserting their own discomforts.

  He felt cold.

  An impulse to find warmth triggered in his mind. His muddled thoughts reconnected with the tattered jeans. He looked in the trash pile, noting several other articles that struck him with familiarity. After picking through the garbage for a time with several ill-fitting attempts, the creature emerged clothed in several layers. He found a long overcoat, a few pairs of sweatpants and jeans, and a couple of shirts. He picked up the mirror piece once more, noting the face, which had given him such a start, was now wrapped within several strips of long, warm cloth. The scarves reeked of decay but provided a uniformity that was less bewildering to his now-delicate sense. A battered, wide-brimmed hat adorned the top of his head. The only visible piece of him was his eyes, which glowed white with hints of swirling color.

  An image of a small quadruped creature flitted through his mind. Covered in soft fur, agile, with a small face, pointed ears, and large eyes with vertical slits, glowing as the creature stared out from darkness. Another image passed of a large, six-limbed, crawling creature came to mind. This beast had rough, pebbly skin and powerful, carnivorous jaws. Three large, round eyes, also glowing in darkness.

  On the ground he spotted a small object, flat and rectangular, nagging in its familiarity. He picked it up; on it were marred shapes that his mind recognized. Letters. An ‘M,’ an, ‘L.’ Brushing away some of the dirt, he also saw a ‘C,’ and another ‘L’ and ‘M.’ He held the object
against his chest, near the shoulder. He didn’t know what the gesture meant; it simply felt right. He briefly looked at it again before slipping it into a pocket of the overcoat.

  The creature, confused and uncertain, walked out of the alley, and into his new surroundings.

  ******

  Far above the uncertain creature, a man named Jeffrey truly wanted to regret his decision to volunteer as fists pounded into his midsection, cracking his ribs. Another blow drove into his stomach and he exhaled violently, blood spraying from his mouth. He was in a dark room, a shed, tied to a chair. The floor was cold tile, a ceramic material, and a bare bulb hung from the ceiling. Men, wearing black with a crescent moon over a star insignia on their shoulder, struck him over and over.

  They’d been beating him for five minutes without a word. Elijah didn’t say it would be like thi-

  The thought cut off as a fist slammed into his cheek, snapping his head to the side and exploding his vision with white stars. His head lolled back and forth, and he coughed.

  On and on this abuse went; fear began to seep through his beaten body that this effort would be entirely wasted. They would pummel him into a meaningless, futile death, and none of his preparation would have meant a thing.

  He realized, long after his fears ran their course, that they had ceased striking him. He opened one eye; his other was swollen shut.

  Blurry figures stood in front of him, silent, watching. A door opened and sunlight - he couldn’t believe it - real sunlight, poured into the shack, gloriously blinding and warm. He heard heavy, sharp footfalls on the hard floor, approaching. A figure, silhouetted by the bright light, leered down.

  “You will now answer questions. If your response is inaccurate or insufficient I will leave, and these men will continue for as long as is necessary. Do you understand?”