Beyond the Crystal City Read online

  Beyond the Crystal City

  Dust Storm Book One

  Logan Brookfield

  Copyright © 2017 by Logan Brookfield

  All rights reserved.

  This is a work of fiction. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

  Cover design by Ebooklaunch.com

  Proofreading by Perfectproseservices.com

  Contents

  Prologue

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Chapter 33

  Chapter 34

  Chapter 35

  Chapter 36

  Chapter 37

  Chapter 38

  Chapter 39

  Chapter 40

  Chapter 41

  Chapter 42

  About the Author

  Also by Logan Brookfield

  Prologue

  In the year 2417 Earth is a desolate wasteland. Large areas of the planet have been reduced to desert, akin to a Martian landscape. The Continental Wars that started in 2167, and only ended when the entire population of Earth was nearly wiped out, were shortly followed by an increase in temperature and the melting of the ice caps. This created global flooding and devastation until the waters receded and the oceans all but dried up in the boiling heat. Global warming and toxic fallout created an environment not fit for humans. The ancients had created a double death blow to humanity with wars, overpopulation and mass industrialisation, raping and pillaging the planet of its natural resources along the way.

  One city survived, albeit barely. It holds what’s left of Earth’s population and is considered an outpost and the saviour of humanity. Millions of people crammed into a few square miles resulting in overcrowding, starvation, pollution and a daily fight for survival in a crime- and disease-ridden city. The poor scratch a living and take refuge from the baking sun during the day under their cardboard shelters and ragged tents.

  But it’s not hell for everyone. Huge glass skyscrapers are occupied by the elite. The Cloud people live in their lofty havens and look out onto the catastrophe unfolding below. Their tight control of law and order brings more misery for those, known as Wretches, who live outside the towers.

  Centuries of wars and disasters didn’t change everything. A class system still exists where the rich prosper and the poor perish.

  Chapter One

  The sky burned red like a fiery pit as the dying sun dipped behind the towering glass structures. The Cloud people looked out onto the blood-red sunset from their air-conditioned and air-filtered apartments which reached for the stars like giant crystal stalagmites. The poor below coughed and spluttered in the late afternoon pollution. The lucky few had top-notch air filtration masks, but they were pricey and only enjoyed by traders and drug dealers. Everyone else breathed the pollution and coughed up a never-ending stream of fluid from their lungs. Melancholy and stupor hung over everyone’s head like a heavy grey veil.

  Carl was average in height with messy dark hair and a willowy figure. His rough skin and swollen eyes made him look older than his 22 years. A lifetime of breathing contaminated air and eating red biscuit rations and rotten food had affected him. But he was one of the lucky ones; he’d been raised in the projects, a large sprawling sea of temporary shelters that made the ancient South American favelas look like luxury housing. Everywhere else interlinked corrugated roofs created a rusting sea of metal as far as the eye could see. Walls were made from anything to hand, such as cardboard, old doors, twisted scraps of metal and even mud.

  Carl pushed at the lump of wood used as a front door and adjusted his eyes to the fading light. The glass towers in the distance created a shimmering mountain range for the sun to disappear behind, much earlier than it should set. Carl coughed and cleared his throat as the pollution irritated his chest and eyes. Inside the house he’d rigged up a makeshift air filter. Although not perfect it did help keep the worst of the air pollution outside. But out in the open it was very different. He’d fashioned a retro gas mask into a portable air filter and placed it over his nose and mouth for as long as he could stand it. But it was cumbersome and made him sweat a lot, so more often than not he wouldn’t wear it.

  He made his way down the main street; people were everywhere. The whole place was so crowded these days with thousands of people wandering around looking for food, and that was just in his part of town. People lay in the doorways of long-derelict buildings; humanity was everywhere, so many people that Carl had to step over them. Most congregated around the corner of the street where a food bank had been set up. Food was so scarce that you either ate what you could find or relied on the small handouts from the authorities: small reddish-coloured biscuits that looked like and tasted like rotting cardboard dispensed from pop-up food banks.

  The siren shrieked and wailed as the shutter of the ration kiosk slammed down shut. Carl looked to the skies. It was now dark and the swarm was coming. From the direction of the Crystal Towers hundreds of flying drones swooped low across the city. Each drone was black and about the size of a basketball. One large frontal light lit up its path so it could target larger groups of people and suspended below its belly were cylinder-shaped canisters. Almost in harmony the drones started to spray the area with green gas. They released their canisters strategically so that they would roll into doorways and down alleyways to maximise their effect. Everywhere was engulfed in a green cloud of hazy mist.

  Carl placed his gas mask over his mouth and nose and ran down the nearest alleyway. He crouched in a corner and tried to take shallow breaths as his heart pounded in his chest and the green haze engulfed him. The gas was developed by the Cloud people; nobody knew quite what it was made up of or what it did. Nobody outside the glass towers had the equipment to analyse it, particularly the Wretches. But information had been passed down over time and generations and the best guess was that it was a toxic substance devised to subdue the population. Weakness and nausea would be the main symptoms after inhalation and most people would collapse, right where they were, and sleep for hours. There had been no recent pregnancies in the city and very few people were under the age of 15. The gas probably contained a contraceptive that affected males, females or both. With a drowsy, sick and starving population that wasn’t multiplying, the Cloud people could ensure that rebellion was unlikely and their place as gods in the sky was assured.

  The toxic substance was difficult to filter out. Even with a gas mask or makeshift filter in the home, low levels of the toxins would still be inhaled every day. It took all of Carl’s strength to keep moving after the attack. His legs felt like lead and his arms as if they were made of concrete. The haze was starting to clear and he removed his gas mask and stowed it on his belt.

  ‘You OK, Carl, that was close tonight,’ the voice said behind him.

  It was Peter, a friend from the projects who Carl had known all his life. Perhaps his best and most trusted friend. Peter wa
s smaller than Carl, weaker looking with mousy brown thinning hair. His skin was ashen, pockmarked, ravaged by the years of toxins and pollution.

  ‘Hey, Peter, every single night now, it used to be every other night. But every single night they’re trying to poison us.’

  Peter nodded. ‘It’s getting worse. Wish I had one of them machine gun things. I’d swat them out the sky like flies. Where are you off to?’

  ‘I was going to get some supplies from a guy I know near the cathedral ruins, but that gas attack was early and he’s probably scarpered into the nearest hole like everyone else,’ Carl said.

  Peter coughed and rubbed his eyes. ‘Don’t like it round here when it’s dark. Half the people asleep in the street and the other half wandering around like drugged-up crazies. Can I come with you?’

  ‘OK, but let’s make it quick. If he’s not there then we’re coming straight back.’

  Bodies lay in the street as those without protection had fallen right where they were standing. Hundreds lay twisted and convulsing from the effects of the attack. It was impossible to get down the street without stepping over a sea of starving sick people.

  ‘How’s your mum doing these days?’ Peter asked.

  Carl shook his head. ‘She’s still frail to be honest. She’s too old and too tired to fend for herself so I’m trying to get some decent food from various sources. Trouble is I have to use up most of my stash of electronics to barter with and it’s running low.’

  ‘You still trying to build a computer or radio?’

  ‘That’s more difficult than I first thought. I can get the main board but the screen and battery power is nigh on impossible to get hold of,’ Carl said as they approached the rendezvous point. ‘Plus I think the Cloud people are still using electromagnetic pulses to kill all electronics outside of their walls.’

  ‘They really don’t want us building stuff, do they?’

  ‘Nope, they make it as hard as they can.’

  The cathedral lay in ruins, a monument to when men looked to the skies for comfort and guidance, its ornate stonework and carving mostly pilfered to build structures in the city or projects. Rubble and rusting steel rods was all that was left now. The place had become a meeting place for those dealing drugs and promising fertility treatments and gas-countering pills. It was all available here for a price. But with no form of standard currency everything was bartered for and exchanged. Batteries and mechanical spare parts were prized things. You could sometimes come across a fallen gas drone, its parts quickly cannibalised by any Wretch with a screwdriver and a pair of pliers. But other difficult to obtain items were always in demand, such as weapons, fruit, tea and coffee.

  Carl looked around for Cody, a 30-year-old former resident of the projects, but nobody knew where he lived now. He was a secretive figure who never gave his real name and always had weird and wonderful things to exchange. Bigger than most, he was capable of looking after himself and always wore a cowboy hat, neckerchief and long trench coat. He stood out like a sore thumb but tended to move around at night, which kept him anonymous.

  ‘Hey, dumbass,’ the voice called out.

  Carl spun round to the familiar voice. ‘Cody, thought you weren’t going to show.’

  Cody stepped out of the shadows and placed his heavy bag on the floor. ‘Who is this and what do you losers need?’

  Carl stepped forward and Peter hung back. ‘It’s my friend Pete, he’s cool, what you got? I could do with some tea and something to eat. Really can’t stomach much more of that biscuit crap.’

  Cody took his hat off revealing his blistered, balding head and mopped the sweat from his brow. ‘You know they poison them, don’t you? Them red biscuits are full of so much toxic shit I wouldn’t feed them to my enemies. Just like the gas it’s all one big conspiracy to keep you lowlifes manageable.’

  Carl nodded. ‘If there was something else to eat we’d eat that. But it’s either biscuits or dirt and I’ve been eating dirt all my life.’

  Cody squatted down and unzipped his bag. He pulled out a plastic pouch and placed it on the ground. ‘Five portions of tea and two portions of coffee. Coffee’s just impossible to get these days. Three potatoes and look at this,’ he said, holding something in the air.

  ‘Oh wow, is that an apple?’ Peter said.

  ‘Yes, numbskull, it is and you probably can’t afford it.’ Cody smirked.

  Carl removed his shoulder bag and placed it on the ground. ‘I’ve got a drone battery, unused filters for the new model gas mask and this,’ he said, holding the circuit board in the air.

  ‘Oh nice,’ Cody said. ‘It’s a deal. Let’s make it snappy as I’ve got to get back and get more supplies.

  Carl and Cody swapped their items and Cody ran back into the shadows without saying another word.

  ‘Quick, let’s go,’ Carl said, running in the same direction.

  Peter tried to keep up. ‘What are you doing?’

  ‘I’m going to try and follow him and see where he gets his goodies from. If I can find the source then maybe I can get stuff myself and cut out the middleman.’

  They could see Cody in the distance. He was running towards the glass towers while looking over his shoulder every few steps.

  Carl followed him as far as he could then stopped running and bent over gasping for air. His damaged lungs and the thick pollution made running any further almost impossible. He looked at Peter who was throwing up. ‘Go back home, Pete, I’ll follow him for a bit longer and try and see where he goes. I’ll tell you tomorrow if I find anything.’

  ‘OK, I’m sorry, I just can’t run any more. Just got no energy these days and I throw up with any kind of exercise.’

  Carl put a thumb up and spat onto the floor. He took a deep breath and ran a steady pace in the last known direction of Cody. As he got closer to the glass towers he saw sentry drones buzzing around. These were different to the gas drones; they were larger and armed with twin-mounted rapid fire machine guns. He ducked behind the rusting shell of an old school bus as the drone buzzed overhead looking for a target. His heart thumped in his chest as the low-quality air and adrenalin forced his heart and lungs to work harder.

  He glanced up towards the sky where the tips of the towers disappeared into a swirling mass of dark clouds and mist. Something glinted and then there was a bright flash as an object shot up and through the clouds with a stream of flames behind it. It looked like a rocket or perhaps a missile. Whatever it was it was travelling fast and the boom of the shock wave could be heard throughout the city as it passed through the sound barrier. Carl followed its path with his eyes through the haze as it left the city in a hurry.

  He heard a distant burst of automatic gunfire. Machine guns were rare within the Wretch community but the sentry drones packed them as standard. He ran from behind the bus and towards the sound, ducking again as another sentry drone whizzed overhead. He noticed a figure lying face down in the dirt near the city perimeter fence. As he got closer he saw it was Cody. It looked like he’d been shot to death by a drone and collapsed near an outlet pipe. Blood seeped out of his nose and ears and there was no sign of life.

  Carl carefully removed Cody’s bag and placed it over his own shoulder. Whatever Cody had been up to he wouldn’t be needing it now. He looked at the strange hex-shaped screwdriver in Cody’s right hand and looked at the six hex head screws that sealed a metal plate over the pipe. Maybe Cody was getting through the city perimeter in this outlet pipe, he thought. He took the screwdriver and placed it into the head of screw number one. Two drones approached and he ducked behind an old oil drum. They hovered over Cody’s body. One beeped and whistled as it transmitted data back to base while the other one sprayed blue liquid over Cody. His body dissolved together with his clothes and within a few minutes there was nothing left of him.

  Carl spotted more drone activity nearby and decided it was too risky to open the pipe tonight. He took the bag of contraband goods, slung it over his shoulder and tucked the screwdrive
r in his waistband, leaving the pipe for another day.

  Chapter Two

  The sprawling masses heaved and pushed their way into the market square. The sun beat down on top of their heads and soaked their ragged dirty clothes with sweat. It seemed like thousands had turned up for the event. Any Wretch who could walk had made their way to the gathering to hear him speak, and his presence was now as rare as a piece of fresh fruit and equally as invigorating.

  Humanity needed a spokesman, someone to speak out publicly about the city and the injustice created by those in power who suppressed the masses, and Benjamin Ford was it. At 50 he was considered an old man with his gaunt features and tall figure framed by his long, flowing white hair, making him look like some crazy old wizard. The book in his hand didn’t contain spells and potion recipes though, but a mandate for rebellion.

  Carl couldn’t get to the other side of the city without passing through the market square. His new contact had some rare electronic parts for sale and he really wanted them. He tried to skirt around the edges of the crowd but found himself getting sucked deeper into the melee. His brain started to feel like it was boiling in the midday heat as sweat cascaded down his face and stung his eyes. He rubbed his dirty hands into them to try to restore his vision but this seemed to make it worse as he was now being pushed along by a wave of people like a leaf through a storm drain.