Sign Journeys: Sign Series Book 2

Also by Bart Hopkins Jr.

A Blaine Hadrock Novel

Playtime

Game Time

Sign Series Book 1

Sign Changes

Sign Series Book 2

Sign Journeys

Standalone

Coffee Break Murder Blues

Mind Views: A Little Book About Thought

Zombies: A Love Story

Watch for more at Bart Hopkins Jr.’s site.

Sign Journeys

Bart Hopkins Jr.

Copyright © 2014 by Bart Hopkins Jr.

All rights reserved

Cover Design by Book Beautiful

No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by

any electronic or mechanical means including information storage

and retrieval systems, without permission in writing from the

author. The only exception is by a reviewer, who may quote

short excerpts in a review.

This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places,

and incidents either are products of the author’s imagination

or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons,

living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

Published by Bart Hopkins, Jr.

Galveston, Texas

ISBN-10: 1497441099

ISBN-13: 978-1497441095

First Printing April 2014

Like the children in some ancient stories,

 mine have many times seen farther and better

 than their father. This one is for Krystal and Bart.

Table of Contents

Chapter 1: 100,000 Years Ago

Chapter 2: 1500s

Chapter 3: Present Aftermath

Chapter 4: Future

Chapter 5: 100,000 Years Ago

Chapter 6: 1500s

Chapter 7: Present Aftermath

Chapter 8: Future

Chapter 9: 100,000 Years Ago

Chapter 10: 1500s

Chapter 11: Present Aftermath

Chapter 12: Future

Chapter 13: 100,000 Years Ago

Chapter 14: 1500s

Chapter 15: Present Aftermath

Chapter 16: Future

Chapter 17: 100,000 Years Ago

Chapter 18: 1500s

Chapter 19: Present Aftermath

Chapter 20: Future

Chapter 21: 100,000 Years Ago

Chapter 22: 1500s

Chapter 23: Present Aftermath

Chapter 24: Future

Chapter 25: 100,000 Years Ago

Chapter 26: 1500s

Chapter 27: Present Aftermath

Chapter 28: Future

Chapter 29: 100,000 Years Ago

Chapter 30: 1500s

Chapter 31: Present Aftermath

Chapter 32: Future

Chapter 33: 100,000 Years Ago

Chapter 34: 1500s

Chapter 35: Present Aftermath

Chapter 36: Future

Chapter 37: 100,000 Years Ago

Chapter 38: 1500s

Chapter 39: Present Aftermath

Chapter 40: Future

About the Author

Chapter 1: 100,000 Years Ago

Kpol is dying. Yesterday he had felt strong and able, if diminished from his youth, but this morning when he opened his eyes, fully awake almost instantly as always, and rolled over to rise, his body had refused to obey him, and reluctantly, he had lain back down on the ground, groaning.

 He closes his eyes and says to himself: So it comes. His mind drifts back over the years. The days of his youth are distant and shadowy now. It was a time before talk. The memories seem sharper in his adult years and especially after the coming of the words.

 The words. They had changed everything, he thinks, as a soft, almost silent, grunt of pain escapes him. He remembers when he had realized the tribe was going to die, all of them, in the cold, and had led them across the mountains into the new land. The taking of the women by the strangers, and the journey through the night with the flickering torches. The stampeding of the giant long-noses, and the routing and killing of their enemies.

 He tries to rise again, and again his muscles refuse him.

 He cannot remember his body ever turning against him this way.

 He had led the people to safety and regained their women. They had found mostly peace and good hunting in their new land. He thinks of the cold on the other side of the mountains and the passage over them. The big cat dragging Doni away through the grass, disappearing into the brush as the rest of them gave fruitless chase. The dance down the mountain trail. His mind flits from image to image without pause.

 He blinks up at the sky and tries to move again, but cannot. This is the end for me, he thinks.

 They will find my empty husk shortly, but I will be gone. I do not want to die, he thinks, but if this is that, then so it is, he thinks again. I am not afraid. I have fought the giant beasts and hunted all that walk and fly and swim. I have had my woman and my children. I have not faltered, he thinks, and struggles to rise again, but again cannot.

 When his eyes open once more, he looks up, and Seli and Poli are standing above him. He sees Poli's mouth move, but the roaring in his ears drowns out whatever noise she is making. Then they are kneeling next to him, one on each side, stroking his arms and chest gently. He sees the moisture in their eyes as they come closer and embrace him. Suddenly, they are thrust aside and his woman Sera is there. She calls his name, but he cannot answer. He smiles at her to show her that everything is all right. She kisses his lips, wailing and gnashing her teeth, calling his name again, and he answers, softly, faintly, and summons up every last ounce of his strength to reach his one arm up … and touch her face, her hair.

 Then … she is gone, the children are gone, also: all just some sort of bad dream, he is thinking distractedly, because he has never been that old. But it doesn't matter. All of that is gone now; he is young and standing. In his prime, in a meadow that is green and full of life. He is tall and proud with his spear in one hand, hunting; and in the distance he catches the flicker of movement and gives chase, strong and fleet.

Chapter 2: 1500s

Jack hangs from the shackles attached to the dungeon wall. His arms hurt, but he knows it could be much worse, and probably will be soon. King Henry is not a forgiving man, is what he has been finding.

 He sighs, head hanging downward, and thinks back to the green meadow and the tiny shack where he had spent his youth, the first 10 years or so, anyway. Pictures the smoke curling up from the tiny hole in the corner into the sky. I knew so little then, he thinks. I could not read: knew not how to spell a single word. I knew nothing of history, of the great thinking men who had gone before and left a trail for us. He thinks of old man Haynes, and hopes that he is all right. He had taught Jack so much … And he thinks of Mary. Beautiful Mary.

 He remembers seeing the Thames for the first time, and then crossing the great bridge into London, the heads on pikes that he thought were statuary, and the way that old man Haynes had laughed at him when he realized they were real. The wooden shacks and structures that appeared to go on forever. More people and noise than he had ever seen in his life. The way Haynes had chopped the finger off a would-be robber, and the young ruffians scampering down the streets. The stink and sight of piss and shit everywhere. Colors abounding.

 All that he has learned. Reading, which had really taught him a new way to think. The way the old man had introduced him to Aristotle and other great thinkers, till he had begun to look at the world in a different light, something sparkling and multi-hued, different from the drabness he had known. All imbued with new depth.

 Ma and Dad and Granma and Sis. He vows that if he manages to somehow get released from here, he will go and find them straight off, go and tell them all how much he has missed them. Even the hiss of Granma's quiet, sighing farts and the thrusting noises of his parents in the early morning darkness.

 Because with all he has learned, it is family that he remembers and thinks of now.

 He strains against the chains, shivering in the damp chill of the tower. Rats scurry boldly around his feet, and he kicks at them, though they seem to realize that he does not have full motion, due to the leg hasps, and only go just a little way before they rear up to look at him with fearless, curious eyes.

 He remembers a carriage trip with old Haynes, after he had met the king for the first time, saying something about him seeming nice, and Haynes snorting at him. Should have paid more attention, he thinks.

 His entire body aches from standing in the one spot, arms and legs both constrained. He shifts his weight, which doesn't end the pain, but at least moves it to another part of his body. He wonders how long they will leave him like this. He will piss his pants in a bit. He is nearly there now.

 Another carriage trip: the first one into the city, seeing the Tower and asking Haynes about it. How he'd been told that it sometimes held those who had opposed the king. Like robbers and thieves, he had asked Haynes, and the old man had shaken his head. No, not the common types, he had said. Reserved more for the high and mighty who had fallen. There is a rumor that two princes, one of them the rightful heir to the throne, had been murdered here and the bodies hidden. They had never been found. Maybe Jack should feel honored.

 Finally, two guards come through the door with some food, and they release Jack down to eat. His entire body is stiff and sore, and he feels like he might collapse. He shakes his arms and legs to get the blood flowing and stomps toward the corner to piss in the bucket, as they look on.

 He finishes up a long stream, and sighs in contentment, turns over his shoulder as he shakes, says, Come to set me loose, then, mates?

 Lucky you get to piss and eat, the tall one with the pockmarked face says. Might not be able to use either of those holes much longer, or any of the others, either. Jack takes that as permission to sit at the small table in the corner with the bowl of gruel and slice of bread they have brought. His body may be aching and the gruel horrible, but he shovels it into his mouth like it is the best thing he has ever tasted.

 He is watching the men from the corner of his eye as he eats. No telling how far he could get if he managed to overpower them and run for it, but he might not have to go too far to melt into the surrounding countryside. Change his name and hide from the king. Maybe get into one of the many forests and live the life of an outlaw. Or run for the coast and the continent. Maybe hunt for that cave where old man Haynes had found the paintings of those he thought were Jack's ancestors. Those with the wild faces and the reddish hair like his.

 If they gave him a chance … this would be the hard part. If he could make it into the city, and then the countryside, they might never catch him. But, getting out of here is a different kettle, altogether.

Chapter 3: Present Aftermath

When they first come out the shelter door into the sunlight the appearance of normalcy fools Able and Leah. It could be any summer day.

 Except for the quiet.

 The lack of planes in the sky. The absence of the hum of traffic in the distance. As the days and weeks pass, however, the magnitude of what has happened begins to sink in.

 No, none of the bombs had fallen nearby. But many of the things they had taken for granted are gone. Electricity. Modern plumbing.

 They have a large stock of canned goods, and the seeds that Leah had brought into the shelter, and the garden she had begun so carefully in the weeks prior to the apocalypse. The word sounds funny to Able as he rolls it around his tongue and then his mind, but no other is as apt and descriptive. Apocalypse.

 The EMP had taken out almost everything that was electrical and in any way complex. Most vehicles with computers would not run. No computers running, period, anymore. At least not where they are, and maybe not anywhere. They have no way of knowing. And with no electricity and plumbing, the world has been thrown back into something akin to the middle ages. Worse, because the folks in those days had grown up in their circumstances and were accustomed to these conditions.

 Not so for modern people. Without electricity to keep food fresh, and vehicles to transport it, people began to starve within days. Law enforcement was only a memory. Looters flitted through the streets, hunting for whatever they could find, on foot and ravenous. Singly and in bands. All the large stores and warehouses were emptied almost immediately. At first, the refrigerated items were the most sought and treasured. But soon they were gone or spoiled. Canned goods became the new gold, durable and of the highest value, in a land where food was vanishing into the hands of the searching mobs. The line between what was yours and others blurred. People began to die shortly from lack of food and medical care. Sanitation became mostly non-existent. Bodies became common sights, both singly and in piles. People burned them, at first, but quickly learned that the fires were as dangerous as the bodies, and soon, even without their help, there were flames in the sky every day, and you could see their light, often too, in the night.

 When the fires weren't lighting up the night sky, it was the deepest, darkest dark that Able and Leah had ever seen. Sometimes they would extinguish the lanterns they had brought with them from the dank interior of the shelter, and just sit in front of it looking at the night sky. It is the way it must have looked thousands of years back, Able thinks, before technology had changed things. It is a huge, frosty-white blanket of stars, a swath of light across the sky like he'd never seen before. It is one of the things he does like about the change.

 One night they are sitting that way when strangers came rolling out of the darkness, fleet and insubstantial like ghosts, guns blazing, almost on them before Able has a chance to reach for the weapons he always keeps by his side now. But a twig snaps, gives him warning and his shotgun comes up just in time, and the fiery blasts from the barrels put 3 of the intruders on the ground as fast as he can fire.

 And Leah's hand comes up with the old Colt she likes as the last of them looms over Able, and she sends him into some other unknown universe in a blink. They look around, panting from the adrenaline, Able now with his revolver, another Colt, in his hand. Back to back, surveying the night, fighting to pierce the darkness and see if more of the looters are there.

 Able is checking his weapons, reloading the shotgun; then looking at the chambers on the Colt he favors, and the Glock he doesn't. But what are you going to do. It is an efficient killing machine. He takes it now, and puts insurance rounds in one of them who had been twitching, and another he is not sure of. He prods the other two with his boot, uses it to shift their faces around and check their breathing. Dead.

 All is silent, then, and after a bit, they realize they must do something with the four bodies that litter the ground. Leah says, I wish we'd shot them someplace else.

 We shot them in some pretty good spots, Able says, and smiles at the look on her face. He knows what she means. We'll haul them out of here in the morning, he says. Before they begin to turn. There is no talk, or even thought, of burial. Burial is pretty much a thing of the past. Put some of the gloves on, take the barrow, and haul them out into the woods when it gets light.

 Okay, Leah says matter-of-factly. Search their pockets?

 I doubt they have anything, Able says, but yes.

 All this in normal conversational tones. People dying, and killing them when necessary, is the new norm.

 You were pretty frigging quick with that shotgun, she says, brushing hair out of her eyes with the hand that is not holding the Colt.

 Any slower, Able says, grinning a small grin, almost a grimace, and we'd be the ones lying on the ground right now. And she can hear, feel, just a trace of triumph in his voice. She realizes she is grinning slightly, too. The bastards are dead and they are alive. The night air may have radioactive waste wafting in the wind, but suddenly it seems pure and precious, and the breaths they are breathing seem golden. She looks at Able and can tell he feels the same way. She unbuttons her shirt slowly.

 What are you doing? he asks. Then she shimmies her jeans down her legs, and he knows what she's doing. His breath comes quicker,