The Test E-Book

John Reinhard Dizon

• Herausgeber: Next Chapter
• Kategorie: Religion und Spiritualität
• Sprache: Englisch

Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2022

Beschreibung

A series of nuclear attacks has left the world in a Great Depression.

Katia Wynter is a teenage girl living in a commune in New Mexico, ruled by motorcycle gangs who exchange protection for tribute. One of many kids who left their poverty-stricken homes in the town of Truth Or Consequences, Katia is searching for a better future outside the world their parents destroyed.

But when Katia meets four mysterious men at the outskirts of the town, her world is turned upside down, and she's forced to rethink her view on the world... and her future.

Leseprobe

The Test

John Reinhard Dizon

Copyright (C) 2016 John Reinhard Dizon

Layout design and Copyright (C) 2021 by Next Chapter

Published 2021 by Next Chapter

Cover art by http://www.thecovercollection.com/

This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without the author's permission.

Chapter One

Katia Wynter woke up that morning with a terrible hangover.

It was the aftermath of yet another Friday all-nighter where the kids got together at Stewy McBride's barn, dancing to live music and drinking microbrews and moonshine. They partied the night away without a care in the world, and would probably do it again tonight before sleeping it off Sunday. Monday morning would begin another work week in TrC (*Truth or Consequences), and once again the kids would be reminded that they still depended on their parents' world for survival.

After the War on Terror and the rise to power of the New World Order, America was still in process of rebuilding its society along with the rest of the global community. Nuclear attacks had plunged the world economy into a Great Depression, and the government was doing all it could to keep Americans from starving to death. Food drops were being made on a monthly basis in cities across the country, just as the US had delivered food to starving nations over the past centuries. Families were disintegrating in record numbers as fathers abandoned their families to avoid watching them suffer. Teenagers drifted off to Sixties-type communes to live off the land and search for a better future outside the world their parents destroyed.

Katia lived in a tent on the edge of camp, having moved away from home against her parents' wishes. Her father, like most of the men in what was left of the city, was self-employed in the salvage industry. It was just another way of saying that he dug for recyclable items in the ruins of downtown TrC, selling waste by the pound for whatever the Government buyers would buy at the daily rates. She was sick of watching her Mom and Dad waste away, sharing their food with her while they grew skinnier each week. Besides, all the kids were moving away, and they were enjoying their freedom while coming into town to visit on weekends. Considering the thousands who had been killed or maimed by terrorist attacks, everyone was mostly glad just to be alive.

She knew her father was going scrounging this afternoon (he hated the term), so she would drop by about six PM with some baked bread and have some lentil soup with her parents. She knew her mother hated her being out of the house but was slowly getting used to it. She would stay overnight and come back Sunday evening before sundown so she wouldn't have to risk running across any Zodiacs. The rival biker gang from Elephant Butte would not risk a direct confrontation with the Excelsiors, but still roamed the night looking to steal, kill and destroy as the opportunity presented itself.

Katia felt very secure in knowing that Devin Kilrush had his eye on her. Devin was a year older than her at seventeen, and was the Vice-President of the Excelsior Motorcycle Club. It was well known that he and the club President, Mark Excelsior, were best friends, which placed the full might of the Club solidly behind him. He wasn't like the other bikers, though. He was shy and polite in a day and age when being a jerk was the coolest way to act. Yet you didn't mess with Devin, because that was like going up against Excelsior himself.

Part of her routine on Saturday mornings was taking a ride out to the Eastern Outland on her dirt bike to clear her head after Friday night partying. She was thrilled to see jackrabbits, birds, lizards and even snakes that had survived the nuclear blasts and the wind-driven radiation. It made her feel like there was hope for a new tomorrow, a chance that they could return to yesterday, back when everything was normal. No one wanted to live in the present, because the present was all about sickness and death.

There was an abandoned church about a mile away from the commune. There had been a work camp out there before the Terror Wars, and it was deserted after the terror gangs began setting up headquarters in the desert to conduct campaigns against the cities. They perfected the strategy in the Middle East and Africa, and it worked perfectly in the Southwest USA. It was said the US Army won the war but lost most of the battles. It didn't really matter anymore, the Wars had ruined everything. At least this little church was still standing. The little church had survived. It was like a monument to peace and love that Katia liked to come out and admire.

She thought she saw movement as her bike crunched across the glazed sand about a hundred yards from the Church, and it caused her to break out in a cold sweat. It could not have been Zodiacs because there were no bikes around, although the bikes might have been hidden around back. It may well have been a mirage, but it could be a fatal error to misjudge. Yet if it were survivors, it was everyone's patriotic duty to bring them back into society, or what was left of it. They could be treated for radiation sickness, given food and shelter, and help them re-enter what was left of the American community.

Radiation sickness had superseded genetic cancer as the number one killer in America. Cancer caused by radiation exposure exceeded all other forms of cancer by 500%, death rates in America had gone up proportionately, and infant mortality had reached 90%. Hospitals were overcrowded, most of the major insurance companies worldwide had gone bankrupt, and most people self-diagnosed with cancer simply stayed home and died. Alcoholism and drug abuse was rampant in a society wanting only to make the pain go away.

All these things were ricocheting around her head as she rolled the bike ever closer to the church. Once again she thought she discerned movement inside the church past the half-open front door. She froze in her tracks, listening intently for any sound, but all Katia could hear was the desert wind whistling through the cactus and the sagebrush. She felt like turning tail and going back to the commune for help, but then the outsiders might return to the desert where they would surely die. America had sworn itself to bring all its citizens back from the wastelands, and Katia believed in the Vow as she believed in her country itself.

“Hello?”

Katia was within twenty yards of the adobe church, rolling the bike up ever so slowly as she was able to see inside. Most of the tiles on the roof had been cracked or blown away, and most of the stained glass windows were broken. Yet the interior looked intact, the pews still in neat rows though the stone floors were covered with a thin layer of dust. She got off the bike and walked it closer, certain that if she grew frightened she could hop back on and zoom off. Devin himself had tuned this bike up, and he always kidded her about taking good care of her 'pocket rocket'.

She then heard it, the sound of one voice, then another. It was like the sound of two people being roused from sleep, and at once she was sure they had come here after traveling through the night. She would tell them about the commune, then go back and find a couple of Excelsiors to come back and get them.

“Hello, young lady.”

She stared in wonderment at the bearded man who came to the door of the church. He was wearing a brown robe and sandals, his dark hair draping his shoulders. He gazed intently at her, as if staring into her soul though he was about twenty yards away. His blue eyes were as tanzanite, the African quartz that her father had given her on a necklace for her thirteenth birthday. Somehow she knew that fate had brought her to meet this man, but in this day and age, one could never be too careful.

“Hi,” she said softly. “Are you from around here?”

“No,” he managed a chuckle. “No, I'm afraid not. We took shelter here and spent the night. Are you the owner?”

“I told you this was a place of worship,” a gruff voice called from inside the church. At once she recognized their Middle East accents and became afraid. She knew that if they were terrorists, she would not stand a chance. “Of course she doesn't own the place.”

The speaker came to the door, a powerfully-built man clad identically to the first man, though his hair and stern eyes were dark brown. She saw two other figures staring through the window, and they came up behind the second man. All of them wore robes and sandals and were obviously unarmed without transportation.

“I am Paul,” the blue-eyed man introduced himself. “This is Peter, and those are our friends, John and Simon. We have come a long way and thought we might stay here unless we are unwelcome.”

“I'm Katia,” she simpered. “Pleased to meet you all.”

“Look!” the black-haired man named John spoke, spotting a jackrabbit crouching by a stand of cactus. “There is food!”

“What!” Katia exclaimed. “You can't eat that! You'll get sick and die!”

“Hah!” he scoffed. “And you think I care!”

At once he sprinted towards the cactus, and the jackrabbit streaked off as John began ripping the cactus apart with his bare hands. She was astonished as he picked the thorns off the cactus at lightning speed, peeling it and breaking it in chunks to hand out to his friends. She politely declined a piece, knowing the nasty-tasting pulp had been eaten by Indians centuries ago to avoid starvation in the wilderness. She knew she had to get them to the commune for something to eat.

“Say, look,” she suggested, “let me go back to the commune and send some of the guys back here to give you all a ride. We can give you some food and water, and bring you into town where you can get yourselves situated.”

“This is God's house, is it not?” Peter nodded towards the church.

“Well, yeah,” she conceded.

“Then we shall stay here. We will fix it up, and welcome all those who come to worship,” he decided.

“You can't stay here,” she protested. “There's snakes and poisonous insects. Plus it gets over a hundred degrees out here.”

“What is that?” John wondered.

“What, degrees?” she stared at him. “You're kidding.”

“Please, John, we discussed this,” Paul said gently. John raised a hand and walked over to where Simon had taken over the cactus-peeling.

“You can't stay out here, you're practically in the desert,” she insisted. “Look, let me send a few of the guys out, you'll like them. They're real cool, I promise. I'll even come back with them, and once you feel comfortable, you can come back with us, okay?”

“Is this your transportation?” Paul walked over by the bike.

“Yeah, it's a Yamaha YZ450,” she said proudly. “It's a titanium four-valve, it kicks when it has to.”

“It doesn't seem practical,” Peter muttered to Simon. “The chair seems comfortable, but seems a heavy object to bring along for a simple luxury.”

“She was probably taking it elsewhere when she saw us. I'm sure it has other uses.”

They sprung back into defensive postures as Katia got on the bike and gunned the engine, extolling its virtues to Paul before cutting it off as he seemed ill at ease with the noise.

“Not bad, eh?”

“Impressive,” he replied.

“It'll take me about ten minutes to get back to the commune, and we'll be back in about a half hour. Will that work for you?”

“I believe we will go to the water instead,” Peter decided. “There we will wash and catch fish and rest. We can refill our goatskins and return. We will meet you here at sundown and have dinner together. Your friends will also be welcome.”

“Okay, wait,” she held out her hand. “That's about five miles from here, and the sun's coming up. Plus you have no gear, and there are no rental places along the south stream. Please, trust me on this.”

“We will meet you here at sundown,” Paul assured her. She watched dumbfounded as they went back in and gathered their cloaks and goatskins. They were equally astonished as she hopped on her bike and zoomed back towards the commune.

Katia and three of her friends found the strangers along Elephant Butte Lake, which branched off into streams crossing throughout the wilderness. Katia was a lovely girl who stood 5'6” at 140 pounds, with a generous bosom and an hourglass figure. Her emerald eyes highlighted a lovely face, her golden locks swirling in the wind as the four bikes roared in to where the men reclined peacefully beneath a sycamore tree.

“Hey, guys,” she said brightly. “These are my friends, Devin, Clyde and Homer. That's Paul, Peter, John and Simon.”

The boys came forward and shook hands with the men. Devin noticed that Peter balked until given a look by Paul. Devin was immediately impressed by Peter's steely grip.

“Would you care for some fish?” Paul offered.

“Why, uh, sure…well, we'll take a bite,” Devin hesitated. He was a tall, athletically-built teen with long blond hair and piercing blue eyes. “You sure got lucky. I don't remember the last time anyone caught any fish from this stream. I don't want us to eat up your catch.”

“Why, no trouble at all,” Paul insisted. “We invited Katia to bring you to visit us at the church where we are staying. We had not expected you out here. We've caught a few, and there's plenty more where they came from. We'll set some more on the fire.”

The men invited the teens to sit with them on the grass. The teens accepted the fish bemusedly as Simon offered them skewed on a slender tree branch.

“Hey, this is great,” Homer munched happily on the blackened fish. “Got anything to drink?”

“I believe there is more than enough,” John nodded towards the lake.

“Are you nuts?” Clyde stared aghast. “You can't drink that water!”

“The fish came from the same water,” Paul spoke up, cutting off John's retort.

“He's got a point,” Devin looked hard at Clyde, then grew affable with Paul. “Where are you from?”

“We have come a long way,” Paul furrowed his brow. “I come from a place called Tarsus. My friends here are from Galilee.”

“Paul of Tarsus and…” Devin's eyes lit up. “Okay, right. Whatever. Were you out in the desert long?”

“Long enough,” Paul replied mildly.

“What made you come out this way?” Homer wondered. “You could probably find work in TrC.”

“Is Teer Cee the city to the north?” Simon motioned.

“We have no need of work,” Peter reminded him. “We are here to save men.”

“That explains it,” Devin surmised. “That's what you were doing in the desert.”

“Hey, dude, are those your bags?” Clyde motioned towards their pouches by the tree. “Didn't you bring any clothes with you?”

“We are dressed for the wilderness as you are dressed for the city,” John munched on a chunk of striped bass.

“Well, guys, we can see about getting you some clothes from town. What sizes do you take?” Devin asked.

“I'm not sure,” Paul shrugged as the others looked to him.

“I'm pretty sure they're all extra-large shirts, probably thirty/thirty-two pants,” Katia decided. “They're okay with the sandals.”

The boys took the men on the back of their bikes and brought them back to the church, then headed back to town with a couple of striped bass. Katia and Devin returned a couple of hours later with a couple of travel bags full of items.