The Hollowed Land Read online

  From somewhere outside came a familiar sound.

  thump-thump-thump

  "The others!" Delaney said.

  Kip couldn't look away from the woman. A dark gore filled her lap, ran down from her legs to the filthy tile floor. Her eyes now stared vacantly at the glass display case in front of her.

  "We need to get out of here."

  thump-thump-thump

  The die-hard Anaki still all carried pikestaffs and liked to menace their victims with the methodical slamming of their weapons against the ground.

  Delaney gripped Kip's shoulder and forced him to look away from the dead girl.

  "Come on!"

  "Right… yeah, let's go."

  Kip seemed to snap out of it as they rushed back to the door to the storefront. When they stepped out into the late afternoon sunlight, a line of Anaki was a few blocks away. They were destroying as they went, prying boards from windows, shattering the remaining glass beneath. Some Anaki carried spray tanks on their backs—the ones once used for spraying weeds—and doused the broken windows and doorways with flammable liquid. They never lit their own accelerants. They learned early on that only foolish Anaki did this double duty. After the sprayers advanced to the next building, another Anaki would follow up close behind, lighting the fire that would hollow out the building, sending it tumbling over in plumes of cinders and ash.

  Kip raised a hand in greeting, and a few of the swarm acknowledged him.

  "See, Kip, you just needed some fresh air," Delaney said, waving to the skull-masked swarm.

  He looked at her and smiled. That smile evaporated when he heard a sound coming from the former jewelry store. It was a mewling cry, weak, pathetic and heartbreaking.

  Kip looked from Delaney to the jewelry store, and back to his lover. He took one step toward the store before Delaney took hold of both his arms at the elbows. He tried to shrug her away, but she was deceptively strong, and he didn't really know what he would do if she didn't stop him. He felt emotions he couldn't ever remember feeling, even before Election Day. Emotions of any kind were dangerous in today's world, and emotions of this power and depth were certainly fatal if not subdued.

  He let Delaney steer him away from the shop front. And as he stepped farther and farther away, he tried to convince himself that the sound of the baby was just a figment of his imagination.

  Chapter 3

  From the rubble of the city, the wind carried the smoke from a thousand fires out across what was once called Lake Michigan. It could easily be mistaken for a bank of fog, but Kip knew better. He walked across the shattered lanes of Lake Shore Drive, the echoes of terrified pleading still ringing in his ears. Thin-bladed dune grass grew in the cracks in the tarmac, outlining the indelible pieces to a puzzle that would become ever more intricate with the passing of time.

  He needed to get away. From the destruction at every turn. From the untold misery surrounding him, some of which was of his own doing. He needed to get away from now.

  Blowing beach grit had started to gain a foothold along the roadside. The berms and swales would soon advance to the now decimated skyline, filling the thoroughfares and alleyways, and the grasses would follow, unabated. Within a generation, cottonwoods and Jack Pines would sprout and flourish among the rusted artifacts from before the Election. White tail deer would shelter among the shadows of the shadows of civilization. Time advanced, unopposed.

  Kip reached the road's sandy edge and dropped his bloodied swords to either side. For five years he had done his duty as a member of the Anaki. For five years he had never doubted his calling or the importance of his work. He was born into this duty, stripping man's imprint from the earth. But five years of savagery had drained him, emptied him of anything singular, anything humane.

  He pulled off his sweaty leather gloves, dropped these as well, and continued walking toward the lake. On Election Day he had worn segmented body armor made of Plymar, a polymer fabric stronger and lighter than Kevlar. Rough living had taken its toll. He still wore a Plymar breastplate and shoulder harness, but he'd been forced to augment his degrading gear with patchworks of leather and heavy denim. He was no longer immune to knives or bullets. He had learned wariness.

  Waves crashed against the shore, loosening grains of sand to be swept away in a gray, toxic flurry. He lifted his face mask, still tacky with blood, and simply breathed. He dropped the mask next to him and sat down near the shoreline. The smoke mixed with a mélange of odors—caustic yet unknown chemicals, free-flowing sewage, newly scorched flesh—that nearly overpowered the smell of the lake. But as he took another breath, he ferreted out its scent. Remarkably, it solidified those long lost memories from before Election Day, memories he hadn't considered in so long they were nearly foreign to him.

  He had been here once, or near enough to this urban shoreline for him to feel a diminishing echo of memory. It was 2001 and he was fourteen years old. The sand had been hot against his blistered feet and the sunlight reflecting off the water had been so bright that it'd brought tears to his eyes. He also remembered the loneliness of moving to a new town that summer, the warm bond of new friendships, the exhilarating emotional onslaughts inherent to that age—uncertainty, fear, hope, lust. As clouds of smoke from the ruined city swept past him, he chased those memories, long buried but now somehow so important.

  He remembered Billy Revere and Cam "Hax" Hackford. He hadn't thought about them in years. And once his mind solidified on the faces of those long ago friends, he recalled Luna and Ziggy, Hayden Ross, and above all… Silvia Rizz… Rizz? Ryszkowska…

  Oh, God, Silvia.

  Their names dredged up the emotions tied to them—acute, almost palpably painful emotions. Kip heard feet shuffling through the sand behind him, and he reached for his swords. He forgot he'd dropped them forty or more feet away. Luckily, it was Delaney approaching and not one of his innumerable enemies.

  "I was wondering where you went." Delaney sat down next to him with some difficulty, but once she settled in, she looked relaxed and beautiful. She wore gear similar to his, and it was equally covered in sprays of blood. She carried her weight in all aspects of their shared life. She might not have been born into the Anaki, but she belonged just as much as anyone who had been.

  Delaney smiled her full-lipped smile and placed her palm over the slight roundness of her belly. She would soon have to remain behind the advancing swarm with the other women and children. They hadn't discussed it yet, and he wasn't looking forward to what would certainly be a contentious conversation. Her dark curly hair riffled in the breeze, exposing flashes of the white star-shaped scar splashed across her right temple clear back to her hairline. Where the scar disappeared under her curls, a shock of gray extended through her hair as if she'd been marred by an errant stroke from a giant paintbrush. It was so perfectly placed that it could have been an affectation, but there was no longer room in the world for such trivialities.

  He picked up a pebble from the sand and tossed it to the water with a soft thumping sound. "I needed some air."

  "I don't blame you. They're living like vermin."

  "That's not what I mean."

  "I know." She touched his forearm and squeezed. He could see the concern in her eyes, but she didn't say anything more.

  After a long silence in which he merely stared at the gray waves breaking near his feet, he said, "I've been here before."

  "Really, when?" She seemed surprised. He rarely opened up about his past; not many of the Anaki did anymore. To dwell on the time before the Election was a sign of weakness. Anaki warriors were hardened to emotion, to fear and regret. He was risking a lot by merely giving voice to his recollections.

  "It was the summer we moved from Indianapolis. I was just a kid, like, fourteen…" The memories came flooding back so furiously that he could do nothing to hold them at bay. "We moved to a one traffic light town called Echo Bluff."

  Chapter 4

  13 years before the Election…

  1.

/>   Kip sat at the dining room table in their new house, struggling to concentrate on the last bit of math homework assigned by his mom. He'd been homeschooled his whole life, and was trying to figure out a way to convince his parents to let him attend high school. They'd moved to tiny Echo Bluff, Illinois from the suburbs of Indianapolis a month ago, and public school was just starting for the year. If it was ever going to happen, it had to be now.

  He had rarely even stepped outside since the move. His mom kept him busy with schoolwork and chores, and his dad had started him on a daily fitness routine that began with him waking at five a.m. to do dozens of sets of sit-ups and push-ups. Kip looked up from his math text to the bay window in the living room. He stretched his arms in front of him, shook the cobwebs from his head, and then stared at his notebook. Quadratic equations weren't his friend.

  His mom stopped at the doorway leading to the living room, a loaded laundry basket balanced on her hip. "How's it coming, dear?"

  "Almost done." He took note of the hand-shaped bruise on her arm that she couldn't quite conceal with her shirtsleeve. It was almost gone. In the times she wasn't visibly unmarred, he felt a small sense of joy only slightly tinged with fear of what would come.

  "Good…" She looked like she wanted to say more, and Kip waited in silence. "Why don't you… you know, head outside when you're through?"

  "Really? You mean it? What about my afternoon chores? My assignment for wood shop?" Since they'd moved in, Kip had started learning how to use his dads hand tools. His current assignment was to transform a stack of cherry wood logs into a bookshelf. He'd gotten as far as forming rough planks from the logs, but he would need to dedicate a lot of hours to satisfy his dad.

  "You've worked hard. Get some fresh air."

  "What about…?" he asked, letting the obvious question dangle.

  "I'll handle your dad," she said, though she didn't look confident in her ability to do so. "Now hurry up before I change my mind."

  "Yes, ma'am."

  She smiled sadly and left him to his work.

  Kip knocked out the last few math problems, crossed checked his answers, and then cleared the table. Before he opened the front door he went back to the dining room to make sure he'd put everything back in its rightful place. Only after reassuring himself that he'd completed all his responsibilities did he allow himself to feel the infinite possibilities of outside. It seemed exotic to him after being cooped up for so long. Outside. Anything and everything happened in that mythical land of… outside.

  He stepped out into the sweltering late-August sun. Even though his parents didn't believe in air conditioning, believing that it was a heretical invention designed for weak people, the inside of their house always stayed relatively cool. His dad had chosen the new house based in part on its alignment with the sun, and the bushes on the western side of the house insulated against the harsher hours of the day. Today's outside heat was pervasive, a living beast stalking his every move and breathing hot gusts against his skin.

  It was tempting to just sit on the porch swing and call it a day. He could swing and just do… nothing. Such a novel concept—nothing. But that would defeat the purpose of outside.

  The problem with outside was that he couldn't control every minute detail to cross his path. And Kip liked control. If you had the firmest sense of control, then you didn't have to face surprises. And surprises… well, anything could happen in a surprise.

  He stepped to the edge of the porch, and then turned right, picking the direction at random. One house after another similar to his own—small, well-maintained, tidy-yarded. He passed a house with a police car sitting out front and he felt more at ease. It was peaceful, so much so that he almost caught himself whistling. But how foolish that would sound—

  "Hey…" a voice called out over his shoulder.

  Kip turned with a start, his defenses going up. A kid about his own age was sitting on the steps in front of a house with a patch of what appeared to be random wildflowers taking up much of the front lawn. A backpack was at his feet, and he left it behind as he stood and approached Kip. The kid wore jeans with a gaping hole in the left knee, a faded blue t-shirt with a faded white 23 on the chest. His long brown hair was parted in the middle and pushed back behind his ears.

  "You're new, right?" The kid stopped a few short feet away and shoved his hands in his pockets. He was barefoot, but walked easily, like it was a common practice.

  "Yeah. I… well, my family moved in a few weeks ago." Kip pointed to the sturdy brown brick house with the red shutters; his new home.

  "I thought I saw you lugging boxes and whatnot from the moving truck. I haven't seen you around, so I figured you were just helping some family or friends move in."

  Kip was trying to gauge this stranger. His dad had always told him to not only be wary of strangers, but even more so anyone who wasn't family.

  "Yeah, I live here. It's me and my parents," Kip repeated.

  "This is my house." The boy hooked his thumb over his shoulder at the squat white stucco house. A large dream-catcher filled one front window, and a peace symbol made of stained glass occupied another. "And I'm Billy Revere."

  Billy extended his hand. Kip still couldn't read him, didn't know if this stranger was friend or foe.

  Kip shook his hand. "Kip Redfield."

  "Kip… for real? What kind of name is that?"

  "My real name is Christopher, but everyone calls me Kip."

  "Well, I guess it's better than buttface," Billy said and laughed. "Aren't you in high school? I haven't seen you."

  "I'm… uh, homeschooled." Kip cleared his throat and looked away, searching for an escape route.

  "What… like one of those religious freaks?" Billy laughed again, but it wasn't spiteful, just loud. Unfiltered. His face was tanned from what must have been a long summer outside, contrasting with his pristine white teeth, teeth that seemed almost too big for his mouth.

  Kip sucked in a breath.

  "I'm sorry man. Just busting your balls," Billy said when Kip didn't answer right away. "I didn't mean nothing by it. My parents change religions like I do my socks."

  "You're not wearing socks."

  "I know," Billy said with a sly glance at his feet. "That's pretty deep, right?" Billy laughed again. Realizing he wasn't about to get beaten up, Kip joined in with only a small amount of trepidation. "Listen, I've got a brilliant fucking idea. The parental units are taking me and my buddy Hax to North Avenue Beach tomorrow. How about you come along? It'll be a blast. Since it's Labor Day weekend, it'll be the last chance to see any sun, sand, and titties in the same place until springtime."

  He wasn't used to anyone speaking so… freely. He didn't know how to respond. He eventually said, "North Avenue Beach?"

  "Yeah, it's at the Chicago lakefront. You've never heard of it?"

  Kip shook his head.

  "Well, we're going to have to educate you!"

  "I'm not sure my parents—"

  "Listen," Billy cut him off, "if you need to, just have your parental units talk to my parental units."

  "I can ask, I guess."

  "You can do more than that, son! You are one sun-deficient pasty white mofo. Just make it happen. We're leaving early, like nine sharp-ish."

  2.

  "You should go to your room," Kip's mom said as she glanced out the front window for about the hundredth time. She sighed and paced the living room, her fists opening and closing nervously.

  "I want to ask him. Me. I'm practically an adult." His voice warbled on the last word, betraying the sentiment.

  "It's better… better if you're not around. I don't want you to get in the middle of anything."

  "What's there to get in the middle of?"

  "Go!" She stabbed a finger toward his bedroom. She turned again to the window as a car pulled up the drive. "That's him. Please, Christopher. Just go!"

  "Mom—"

  "Please? For me?"

  She was practically in tears and more agitated
than normal.

  "Fine." He headed down the hallway, heard a car door close. His mom followed after him, shooing him along. He was afraid to speak up to his dad, sure, but he also felt like a coward as he retreated to his room. This was his confrontation with his dad, not his mom's.

  "Hurry…"

  "I am. I am." He stepped into his austere room and turned to face her. She offered him the saddest smile. An upturning of the lips was supposed to symbolize happiness, but what he saw was its antithesis. Before her smile shattered completely to reveal what was buried beneath, she pulled the door closed, and then closed the latch.

  It was a damning sound. The snicking of metal against metal.

  At each new house, his dad had always installed a latch on the outside of his bedroom door with the excuse that it prevented him from wandering off. Kip had been a sleepwalker from the moment he could walk. And it scared the hell out of his parents. The latch allowed them to sleep without worrying that he might sleep-wander his way into traffic or meet some other terrible fate. Whenever he questioned the nightly snicking of metal against metal they were always quick to reference an occasion to which he had no memory whatsoever. An elderly neighbor a block and a half away awoken by her crazed German Shepard to find three-year-old Kip knocking on her kitchen's sliding glass door. Kip, in his footie pajamas and bleary-eyed, knocking with his soft toddler fist against the glass. The Shepard's slobber against the glass turning Kip into a smeared, haunting portrait in the dead of night backdrop. And they would always, always recount in horror how this elderly neighbor had discovered the soles of three-year-old Kip's footie pajamas covered in dog shit. As if this added emphasis would drive home their point. No son of theirs would be seen in public with dog shit on his clothes.