Code Human

In a dystopian world, far in the future, seventeen-year-old, Fenesia Thornbark, loses her home, her way of life, and most of her friends and family, all at the hands of people she once trusted. With her parents dead, Fenesia is now responsible for her younger sister’s life, as well as that of several other orphaned children they meet along the way, while trying to find the resistance group who is fighting the corrupt government. As she struggles to survive in a hostile environment that is unfamiliar to her, Fenesia is transformed into an unapologetic killer--something she had never imagined possible in her former privileged life.

KUDOS FOR CODE HUMAN

In Code Human by N.J. Paige, Fenesia Thornbark is just eighteen, and she is one of the privileged elite in her world, which is five hundred years in the future from ours. But Fenesia’s world turns upside down when the less privileged rebel against their treatment by the ruling classes. To her horror, Fenesia discovers that her father and mother are part of the resistance and when they are killed, she and her nine-year-old sister are orphaned. Now Fenesia is forced to protect herself and her sister by becoming a rebel. Not easy in a world where the other side has all the weapons and advantages. The story has some very interesting concepts, such as the elite being people with blue skin and white hair, probably for the nuclear war 500 years in the past. The plot is strong and the story should appeal to young adult and new adult alike. ~ Taylor Jones, Reviewer

Code Human by N. J. Paige is a coming of age story with a twist. The story takes place 500 years from now after World War III, also known as the Doomed Day War. Our heroine, Fenesia Thronbark, is just 18 and living the life of the wealthy and privileged, all because her skin is light blue. Those with skin of a different color, such as burgundy or yellow, are slaves to the elite class and have no rights at all. Fenesia has taken all of this for granted during her life, until she gets caught in the middle of a rebellion where the slaves decide they’ve had enough. Fenesia’s parents are killed and, as he is dying, her father tells her to take her young sister and find her way to the mountains, over the border into the neighboring country and freedom. It is a long and complicated journey, and nothing seems to go right from the beginning. But Fenesia is clever and determined not to fail, even though she is hardly prepared for what is asked of her. I thought the story brought up some very intriguing concepts about rights and freedom. It’s thought-provoking and teaches some good life lessons in a way that makes them easy for young people to understand--a book that’s well worth the time to read. ~ Regan Murphy, Reviewer

ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS

First of all, I want to thank all the editors at Black Opal Books, and everyone else involved for all the hard work and dedication to the publication of Code Human.

I also want to thank my family for their patients and support while I had marooned myself in my office, hours at time, writing this book. I love you all.

CODE HUMAN

N. J. PAIGE

A Black Opal Books Publication

Copyright © 2015 by N. J. Paige

Cover Design by N. J. Paige

All cover art copyright © 2015

All Rights Reserved

EBOOK ISBN: 978-1-626942-52-3

EXCERPT

A few days ago I was living the life of the privileged elite--now I may not live through the night...

No! I refuse to be a slave, especially to my own people. At least they were my people. Actually, I do not know where I fit in at this moment. I am a misfit. A woman without a tribe.

My eyes reach Johnny’s, and I see that he is unsuccessfully trying to calm the fire of hate that burns in his belly. He trembles. I know that it is hate, because I feel it too.

Still on my knees, I look around. I look around for someone to save us. However, there is no knight in golden armor, no cavalry mounted on white horses, racing to our rescue. The white smoke of the Blue Crystal processing prison blusters toward the sky, feeding the black hole, making it wider as time goes by. Black smoke is rising behind the mountain, as more clashes of thundering bombs shake the earth. My parents are dead. My bush dog is dead. Now, here I am, about to become a slave. Not too long ago, the fantasies and dreams of a young woman filled most of my thoughts. I dreamed of having...well just having. I haven’t even done that yet. Crossing the Border Night was supposed to be The night. I came close once, though, but I panicked because I didn't want to get stuck with a baby. I didn’t want the responsibility of getting a real job, instead of just working at the restaurant, where Father paid me whatever he wanted.

The sun is setting beyond the horizon to the west, and soon it will be dark. Soon the nighthawks will awaken, and we will know who will live and who will die.

DEDICATION

For all of Humanity.

Who would you die for?

BLOOD CIRCLE

Chapter 1

The air is different today. Am I the only one, who feels the weight of it? It crawls on my skin like some creepy thing I can neither see nor touch, and it reeks of fear and unrest, like something bad--Something. Really. Bad--is going to happen soon.

Images from the dream, which I had, the night before continue to flash in my mind. There is no escaping them. They are strong, very strong, holding on to every neuron in my brain, causing feelings of panic to surge through me, and pain to hammer on the inside of my skull.

I try to lose my thoughts by concentrating on the dress in the display window of Mrs. Em’s Dress Shop. Instead, the figure across the train tracks, in the middle of Main Street, draws my attention. I don’t want to look at what my eyes are seeing. As if, I have a choice. Still, I pretend not to notice the Shiller coming toward us out of the wavering fog, like a ghost lost in Manorville, wandering aimlessly in search of something lost long ago.

My heart feels like it has stopped for a moment--just a brief moment, as if something, undeniable strong has just reset my familiar reality. It hits me hard and fast, unexpectedly, knocking all the air out of me. Then my heart starts again, this time pulsating to an unfamiliar rhythm, a new reality, and a new truth, which has just emerged before my eyes, as if it has not always been there.

Now I see her, as if for the first time. Strange, because she, a Shiller, and the rest of the Underkind are otherwise invisible to us. Not because we--the Purest and Purestkind--can't see them, but because we choose not to recognize their humanity. The Underkind are inferior to any Purest or Purestkind on every level.

We forbid them to make solid eye contact with us and teach them only to obey our voices. Something...intangible...is drawing me to her. I see her. And it’s not because I have chosen to, or even want to. It’s because I have to. I have to look at her. You know what it’s like when you feel you shouldn’t look at something or someone for whatever reason, but yet, you just can’t seem to control what your eyes decide to do. In the end, curiosity always wins. Doesn’t it?

My hands are balled inside my coat pockets, fingernails pressing into palms--indignant resistance on my part. The hammering in my head intensifies. The Maggot had better not come near me! Damn it, damn it! But, of course, she is coming--straight toward us, and all I have done is draw more attention to myself. Fool, fool. Just call me a lightning rod waiting for a strike--strike me down now, damn it, and get it over with as soon as possible.

She bends her head toward the red cobbled road, dejected, perhaps wailing. She doesn’t seem to care about the vehicles traveling swiftly toward her on either side, horns honking loudly, tinged with rage and malice from their Purestkind drivers.

One man even sticks his head out, white hair flopping in the wind, a flag of dominance, and then he sticks out his arm and waves his middle finger. Get out of the way, you, yellow maggot! he yells.

She pays him no attention though. And it’s probably because she has been fully inoculated against generations of abuse from us. She feels nothing anymore, just a stiff, cold corpse lumbering through life, purposelessly, except to serve us. She’ll never have the chance to fulfill her own dreams, if she has any. She will never have the chance to be anything more than a maggot feeding off our discarded refuse.

She doesn’t even stop to check for the incoming train that would not cease, especially for a Shiller. She must be an idiot. Must be! I’m sure of it. Either that or she has a death wish. But who would care anyway? Who would care if she is suddenly splattered all over the tracks: a leg there, a piece of liver here, her eyeless head, what’s left of it, rolling down Main Street, toward Prosperity Circle in the Square? No one, at least, none among us.

She inches closer. I look at her with discerning eyes, to intimidate her in some way, trying to remind her of her place in our small country, Kakus. I am Purestkind, and you--well, you are Underkind. You are beneath my feet, just slightly above vermin and worms. Whenever I feel like it, I can squash you without fear of punishment. And maybe, just maybe, I won’t even feel the smallest amount of guilt because your life is useless. It is useless to me and it is worthless to others who look like me.

I want to direct her the other way. Instead, it is I who feel intimidated. Somehow, she successfully redirects my harsh feelings. This is something I’ve been taught since birth. Additional, she appeals to my kinder self, reminding me that I actually do have a kinder self, a soft spot, or something like that. I can’t run away from it. I can’t run away from my own conscience.

I feel pity for her. I try not to. Don’t want to. But I do. Maybe I’m wired the wrong way, or maybe I’m just weird. I don’t know the reason. It could be the clothes she wears, or lack of them in the middle of February, the coldest month of the year. Washed of all its colors, weathered by destitution and neglect, her garment is soiled and torn in various places, exposing the fold beneath her breast to the cold winter temperatures.

I’m compelled to stare. It is such a trivial thing. I know, because it...it exposes her in ways that had she been sane, I’m sure, she would not have chosen. Also, she has chosen to wander the streets, especially among us who would not waste time in making obscene, jeering comments. The dress is almost invisible--naked--against her pale skin, like a sea of dying fronds, yellowed from the sun’s light, high upon a hill in the death of winter. It says something about her, her life, her people.

Am I aware for the first time? Or, has it always been before my eyes, a truth I have only refused to acknowledge? Is it possible that I’m alone in this, in this awakening of sorts? I look around for clues. I see many Purestkind walking with their heads held high, some peering into shop windows, eyeing their next purchase, some with their Underkind just a few steps behind, weighed down with shopping bags, with their heads held low in submission, waiting to receive their next instructions.

Looking at her now, I can’t deny the reality of our society, harsh and merciless, the haves and have not’s, the free and the enslaved. But these are feelings that I must keep close to my heart, for I betray my own kind. And that alone is punishable by death. Besides, why am I concerned? I’m Purestkind, and I have nothing to fear. Right?

Still, I stare. And I can’t deny what I’m feeling beneath my inured heart. I’m being held hostage.

Her hair, yellow--thick as yarn--is knotted in strands, with each strand seeming to go in every direction, a wild entanglement of self-abandonment. I suppose that she doesn’t see the point in keeping herself in good appearance when her inside is already dead.

She moves closer toward us. Now she’s shrieking like a banshee. Devils, devils, she is saying. A Cold chill runs through me. I pull the collars of my coat closer to my ears. Yes. I’m afraid. And now I know why. It’s like I’m in some type of day-mare if there is such a thing--dreaming, but awake--reliving the nightmare which I just had the night before. It is the reason for my fear, and it is why I see her. I think, because I saw her in my dreams, just before a Nighthawk, fiery red with burning eyes, swooped down and sank its massive talons deep into my shoulders. It flew away, my body swinging in the wind like a helpless animal, screaming at the anticipation of my death when it finally decides to sink its hooked beak into my brains.

She raises her head unexpectedly as she passes by, like a possum that’s been playing dead, and suddenly springs back to life. She looks at me. Pointedly! Right in the eyes with her sunken, yellow, slivered almond shaped eyes, glaring into my thoughts and fears as if she knows me, as if she knows that I’m afraid. She is looking straight at me, defiant, as if she is ready to die. How dare she? Who does she think she is, exacting power over me? I am Purestkind, and she is a Shiller--Underkind! Doesn’t she know her place in this world?

I feel my body tense, my toes squeezed by my leather boots, my trousers sucking all the blood from my legs and butt. What is she going to do to me, to Anicey, and Mother? My eyes are wide and fixed on her, gaping at something dark and foreboding. But I will stand firmly. I will show her. I will not let her see me cower like a small child, although it’s probably too late for that now.

Lines--deep, worn with age--traverse her soiled face like earthworms coiling themselves around in a dance of perpetual mating, tunneling and feeding voraciously, lost to the pain and suffering of their victim, oblivious, or perhaps, just choosing to live in the dark, instead of in the light because they are afraid of death.

Devils, devils, she says, grimacing, her words laced with hate.

Fenesia! Mother yells at me. I jump, startled by the tone in her voice. Don’t stare at that woman.

She forgets that I’m no longer a little girl. In fact, I’ll be eighteen soon. And I will damn well stare at whomever I like. This is what I would like to say to her, but I won’t, out of respect. Nevertheless, I roll my eyes as I often did when I was a little girl.

Mother doesn’t understand. She doesn’t understand that I stare, not only because a part of me loathes the Shiller, but because she is a Shiller. Another part of me pities her, and because I’ve seen her, or someone like her in my real dreams, except that, it...it was my face that I saw. I think this is why I fear her. I’m afraid of being poor and invisible, uselessly living, desperately searching for the freedom to find happiness and purpose to life. And most of all, I’m afraid of being a slave like the Underkind. I’ll say it again: though I hate to admit it, part of me feels some kind of empathy for the woman, at least as much as my Purestkind heart will allow.

Mother is giving me the look. She notices the obvious grim look in my eyes. Don’t feel sorry for that woman.

Anicey has her eyes fixed on the Shiller, too. I can tell that she’s afraid, too, as she is always afraid of something. Everything.

She’s a victim of her own doing, just like the others. Mother’s eyes follow the Shiller as she lumbers down the road like the walking dead. She passes by other Purestkind going about their daily lives, some of which stare at her in a deprecating way. Some make unkind comments. Others even spit at her as if she is a disease walking on two legs, while to a few, she’s virtually invisible.

I wonder if they, if any of them, feel any measure of empathy for her or for any other Underkind. Are we all so cold and lifeless? Or do we just pretend to be? Am I the only traitor? Am I?

Mother sighs. I wish the Purest would exterminate every last one of them. They’re like vermin, feeding off the rest of us, she says with sadness in her eyes. They serve no other purpose than to multiply and create mayhem. She says it in a stage whisper, as though no one else can hear her. However, that seems to be her goal. It has to be. She wants everyone to hear her profess her loyalty to the Purest, the leaders of Kakus, as we all must, if we are to survive.

She doesn’t mean it, though. I think. I hope. The sadness in her eyes gives her away. She has a talent for being over dramatic--a theatrical queen in a Kakusian opera. Besides, it would be easy for her accuse Jules--our Besmirchian house maid with her purple skin, deep black eyes, and black woolly hair--of plotting against the Purest, if she really believes this about the Underkind, since Jules often rages about the unfairness and treatment of the Underkind--freely, when the mood hits her. For this offense, the Purest would not hesitate to execute her in Prosperity Circle. Instead, only at home though, Mother treats Jules almost as though she is part of our family. Jules, dear, will you take care of this for me? Or Jules, dinner was wonderful." Although, most evenings we eat at Wildgoosemully, our restaurant in the Town Square--the pretty part of Manorville. In fact, Jules may be the best dressed Underkind in all of Kakus, with the exception of the Underkind servants--the Rubrics, Besmirchians, and Shillers--working in the Capital House. There, a faction of one hundred Purest--acting as overseers, protectors of Kakus--go about the business of running the country the way they see fit. Complete autocracy. Death to those who dare to oppose them.

Anyway, it doesn’t matter what Mother says. I’m still twisted. Something in me still feels fear and empathy for the woman. Maybe it’s guilt. After all, we, the Purestkind are the chosen. We enjoy the best that life has to offer. The Underkind? Well, they fight for what’s left over or what we allow them to have. We force them into fighting to win our favor: Shillers against Besmirchians, Besmirchians against Rubrics--red skin, black eyes, and slick black hair--Shillers against Rubrics, and the other way around. They often will make false reports of treason against each other in return for food and clothing, or they will fight for the last scrap of bread or whatever remains in the bottom of the bowl, so to speak.

Under watchful eyes of the Kakus Guards, we do not permit the Underkind to grow their own food. In fact, the Purest Government owns all lands in Kakus.

If any Underkind is found growing their own food, or taking food, even if sown by their own hands, then they are immediately taken to the fields and shot. And this happens very often. In Validia, near the Hinterlands, near Lake Orion and the Orion River, the Besmirchians produce the Hemp grass used for making clothing, baskets, and furniture. They also plant and harvest our northern fruits like apples and pears.

The Rubrics in Manovic produce foods like corn and beans, and certain leafy greens, while the Shillers produce crops like wheat, cotton, and southern fruits.

All food must be grown for the Purest. Once harvested, our Purestkind farmers ship the food by train, to the Capital Market, the day before Market Day. Then it is distributed through a hierarchical system: Purest, Purestkind, then, the Underkind, who must compete for the next distributions. This is where it gets interesting.

Market Day is usually very festive, at least for us Purest and Purestkind. We often go with Father to purchase food for our restaurant and home, on this day. We preserve most of our food in glass jars and cans, since Market Day happens only four times per year. Purestkind farmers will harvest meat for market, however Father and Moe usually like to go hunting for game.

The Underkind, however, well...they are forced to compete for their pick. One half mile out on the train tracks, leading from Prosperity Circle, the Underkind will fill large bins, on metal wheels, with large rocks.

Each group of Underkind must choose two of their strongest young men or women. Each group gets two chances. Each competitor gets one chance to attach the thick metal chain, attached to the bin, around his or her waist, and pull the bin--with sweat, tears, and blood seeping from the raw mangled flesh caused by the chafing of the chain against the skin--as far as they can, back toward Prosperity Circle. People line the tracks on both sides: Underkind and Purestkind alike, each cheering, and yelling, Go, go! for their favorite to win. We usually cheer for the Besmirchians, maybe because of Jules. The time and distance is recorded, once they have completely stopped. In the end, the group with the best distance and time becomes the victor. The Prize: a stock of food for the next few months. But that can be a long time. And often, on the return to their hometowns, the victor is raided by the losing groups, beaten, sometimes killed, and robbed of most of their food. And so, they end up right back where they had begun--hungry and filled with hate and malice, forced to serve Purest and Purestkind for their daily bread.

Chapter 2

Our attention turns back to the large viewing window of Mrs. Em’s Dress Shop--our favorite store. In two weeks, my life will change. Completely, I think. I have been keeping my eye on that dress for weeks--the short, strapless peach chiffon with