Ronin

Ronin:

A Tale of the Future Collapse

Written by: Matthew Gilman

Copyright 2015 Matthew Gilman

All rights reserved.

ISBN: 9781515053811

Preface

There were several things I was hoping to accomplish while writing Ronin. I wanted to get away from the format of several characters with their separate stories tied together. The idea of following one character on their adventure in this world appealed to me.

My inspiration for this tale came from my love of Japanese samurai cinema and the Conan novels of Robert E. Howard. I was hoping to capture the adventure and feeling of those tales, molding them into the world of the future collapse.

I hope this new format is easier to follow and will limit any confusion that I know has happened in the previous books.

I would like to thank the following: Stephen Wolthuis, Benjamin Petersen, Kevin Tibbs, Nate Hartmen, Chris Schoultz, Becky Slater, Angela Lynn, and the Atheist Airwaves Podcast Crew.

Anybody not mentioned here that gave me words of encouragement and inspiration you are not forgotten and you know who you are.

I would like to give a special thanks to Tibbs Brewing Co. for providing a great place to work and put my books together when the rough draft was finished. Kevin, your beer is amazing! Nuff said.

To all those people that encouraged me to pursue this career and your positive encouragement you will never be forgotten. You are what has been missing from my life.

-Matthew Gilman

November 23, 2014

(Tibbs Brewing Co. Kalamazoo, MI)

Part 1

Hagakure

The dishes continued to pile up. The rush hour at the mall was at its peak. Using the sprayer, Phil rinsed the food off the plates and bowls before stacking them in the trays to be slid into the high-power dish washer. Dish washing is an art. He slides the plates in the tray in a specific way, using as much of the tray as possible, being sure that the water still works its way between them.

The machine is finished, he lifts the handle and the two doors slide up. The steam stings his arm. He hardly notices now after doing the same job for years. He pulls the tray out filled with clean glasses and slides in the next tray filled with plates and lowers the handle. The sprayers turn on and he carries the tray out to the kitchen.

Phil navigates around the servers and cooks, lifts the top tray of glasses from the counter and places the still hot glasses underneath. He had many glasses explode on servers when they put ice in them and they were still hot.

Going back to his corner of the world he turns up his radio. His taste has been shifting towards punk rock these days. While most of the staff listens to rap or pop he continues to bring his own music since he is the only person that works in his area. The manager had told him only to listen to the radio but it was easy to ignore her since the lower level of the mall didn’t receive any radio signals to tune in. It was either CDs or nothing. He even resorted to bringing in the cases to show they didn’t have any parental advisory labels showing they were safe for his ears.

Phil only made eight dollars an hour as a dishwasher. Not much by modern standards. The mindless task of his job was an escape from the world. He was good at his job. Underpaid, unnoticed and yet the brightest person in the restaurant. He was exactly where he wanted to be.

The end of his shift came and after he finished the last of the dishes he was sent home after a four-hour shift.

Home was a small studio apartment in the lower-class side of town. No roommate, no girlfriend, he existed in his own world that continued on in his imagination and in the past, half way across the globe. After college he looked to the world for answers. In the post 9-11 world nothing made sense to him and nobody had answers to his questions. With the wars in Afghanistan and Iraq going into the military was not an appealing option. Yet he wanted a code to follow, something that would give him a way.

Phil still owned a lead screen television. It almost guaranteed his apartment would never be broken into. Many of his movies were on VHS and that too was a crime prevention device. He picked up movies from the local library, the only form of entertainment that he could afford. After a year of working his way through the library’s collection he came across the Jim Jarmusch movie Ghost Dog. The story of a man that lived by an ancient samurai code in modern times appealed to him. During the movie, Forrest Whitaker read passages from a book called the Hagakure. Every line seemed to talk to Phil. Somehow a man who lived hundreds of years ago was giving him answers in a world that he didn’t feel a part of.

We watched the movie, then watched it again. He took notes and the next day went to the library to see if they had a copy of the Hagakure, they didn’t. He went on the internet and found the book available on Amazon.com and eBay.com. It was the first and only book he ever bought new.

Phil waited a week for the book to arrive and when it did he ate it up. He read through it front to back. It wasn’t designed to be read that way, a collection of parables and short stories in no order. He made notes and highlighted passages. At the library he looked up other movies that were similar to Ghost Dog and was quickly in the foreign film section checking out Akira Kurosawa films and other Japanese movies from fifty years ago. The best one he found was The Seven Samurai. At three and a half hours he watched it three times in a row fascinated at how complete of a story it was and the depth of the characters. He made VHS copies of the movies and added them to his collection so he didn’t have to check them out all the time.

Until this point in his life his home security was a baseball bat. Now he looked at buying a sword, a katana. There were plenty to choose from. Cheep 440 stainless steel American styles that looked good sitting on a shelf but would bend or break on the first use. He did some research and found one that fit what he was looking for. In a small shop he forked over two hundred dollars and left with a high carbon steel blade and a polishing kit.

At the library he checked out books on sword kata (forms) and practiced at home. There were schools in town that did teach how to use a sword but at a hundred dollars a month he couldn’t afford it. He practiced every day for an hour. Watched his movies and continued his art of dishwashing. Then the Day happened.

Phil was working, prepping food for the kitchen. It gave him a few extra hours on his check and it was mindless work like dishwashing. As he worked around the kitchen he heard a loud scuffle in the mall. The doors weren’t open yet so it had to be employees. After a few minutes of hearing people running around he finally put his knife down and looked out the doors to see what was happening.

Washington was bombed! a security guard said.

Phil thought about 9-11 and wondered what was going to happen next. Was there going to be more bombs? What did he mean by bomb? A pipe bomb? A dirty bomb?

What do you mean? Phil said.

It was Nuked, a janitor said pushing his cart to the maintenance area.

D.C. is gone, another security guard said.

Phil stood in the doorway, maybe he was in shock, or he was lost at what to do. He didn’t move. He was stuck.

A decision should be made in the span of seven breathes. He wasn’t sure if these were the exact words but Forrest Whitaker’s voice narrated the phrase. He was well past seven breathes. Not the thinking process of a Samurai.

Phil turned around and went back to cutting the tomatoes that sat on the counter. Regardless of a city being destroyed people still needed to eat.

Many of the staff didn’t show up for work. Customers were sporadic throughout the day. The manager asked Phil to stay over since people were not showing up to work. He stayed and did his job as he did any other day. That night he went home after a 16-hour shift and slept well. A week later he woke up late. His alarm wasn’t on.

He grabbed the alarm seeing the sunlight high into the sky. Checking the fuse box he decided it wasn’t the alarm that was malfunctioning. He picked up his cell phone and although it was charged it did not have a signal. He was late for work. He wondered if there was a job to go to if there was no power at the mall.

Phil dressed and packed his lunch in his bag. He checked the time on his phone and saw he had twenty minutes before the next bus showed up. He waited at the bus stop. He checked the time and saw it was a few minutes late. Cars were either speeding around or nonexistent. It was not the usual traffic that he watched at this time of day. When the bus was thirty minutes late and he never saw a bus driving the opposite direction he realized it was never going to show up. He picked up his bag and began to walk home. The other people at the bus stop watched him walk away and began wondering the same thing.

Instead of heading straight home he decided to change direction and see if he could withdraw money from his account. The bank was closed. It wasn’t the weekend or a holiday. He went to ATM and found an out of order sign on the screen. His only option was to go home.

When he was back at his apartment he started to unlock the door and noticed the door open across the hall. It was a single mother that lived there. He didn’t know how to feel about her. She always had abusive men over. Fighting and yelling was common from her walls. The children never appeared to be completely taken care of. Insecure and codependent was what he saw when every time she appeared.

Do you know when the power is coming back on? She said.

I have no idea, he said turning the deadbolt.

What about phones, does your phone work? she asked.

No, I haven’t had a signal all morning, he said starting to open the door.

Well, have you heard when things are coming back on? she pushed further.

I have no idea of how to find that out. He wondered if she had realized how dumb her last question sounded.

This is bullshit, she said slamming the door shut.

Phil was happy to have her finally leave. He wondered why he was supposed to have all the answers. He closed and locked the door behind him.

He looked around at his stuff and in the one room there was only a handful of things that he could do without electricity. He conserved the power on his cell phone in case the power didn’t came back on and it never did. Days went by. He found that the stove still worked. A gas oven, he lit the pilot with a match and burned the hair off his fingers and hands in the first day. Breakfast, lunch, and dinner consisted of Top ramen noodles and other items added to them from his cabinets and fridge. On the second day he took everything out of his fridge and had a feast before all the food went bad. He watched the world out of his window and saw people running around. He wondered where they were going. Many of them had a look of panic on their faces. He watched men siphoning gas from a car in the street. Broad day light and they didn’t care. It’s been nine days since the Day.

Where were the police? Where were the buses, ambulances, fire trucks?

How quickly could things really fall apart?

Pounding came from his door. He stood still. The muffled sound of voices came from the opposite side of the door. He looked at his sword resting on his dresser. The pounding started again.

Come on, he doesn’t have anything in there, a voice from the hallway.

The pounding continued but instead it was the door across the hall. Could she be stupid enough to open her door? The sound of the dead bolt answered yes. Phil grabbed his sword. Looking out the peep hole he watched as the two men pushed their way in to the neighbor’s apartment.

The girl screamed and the men told her to shut up as they closed the door behind them.

Seven Breathes.

Phil opened his door. Looked across the hall. He took two steps forward and kicked the neighbor’s door open. Wood flew off the door frame and the crash left everybody inside looking at Phil. He held the katana at his hip and waited to pull the blade.

Who the hell is this guy? one of the men said. It was the guy that must have been pounding on his door. He had a knife in his hand and was working his way through the girl’s kitchen searching for food. The second guy was keeping the girl and her son on the couch while they stole all of her food.

The man by the couch walked towards Phil holding a wooden club in his hand. When he came in range Phil pulled the blade, a swift slicing motion. The belly of the man fell open, intestines and blood falling to the floor. With his abdominal muscles gone the man dropped to the floor unable to stand. He picked up his innards and looked at them in his hands.

What is this? he asked. The man was in shock.

The second man pulled a large knife out of the wooden block sitting on the counter. He rushed at Phil. Phil raised the katana over his head and lowered his arms to drop the blade. The blade didn’t drop. He pulled down and nothing budged. He looked up and saw the sword lodged into the ceiling.

Oh shit, Phil said realizing he didn’t have a plan B.

You’re mine, the second man said.

What is this? the first man said trying to stuff his intestines back in his stomach.

Phil backed up into the hall then into his apartment. He closed the door then locked the deadbolt. He looked at the door and around his apartment. He grabbed the frying pan from his stove and waited in the middle of the room.

Kicking in the door, the second man entered the room still holding the knife.

Snoopy motherfucker, why can’t you mind your own business? The man lunged at Phil with the knife. Phil stepped to the side and hit the man’s hand with the frying pan. He paused, surprised that he was able to knock the knife out of his hand. The man didn’t pause and hit Phil in the face with his fist. Phil fell back onto the floor. The man stood over him and started kicking him.

You should learn to mind your own business, the man yelled kicking Phil several times in the ribs and abdomen. The man turned around and picked his knife up from the floor.

Even if a Samurai’s head were to be cut off he should still be able to finish one final act with certainty.

Phil stood up and rushed the man. Wrapping his arms around the man Phil picked him up and threw him on the floor. Somewhere during the act Phil was cut on the arm and he noticed he was bleeding from the shoulder. The man started to stand up and Phil ran back to the woman’s apartment. He grabbed the Katana from the ceiling and swung it horizontally. He didn’t feel the blade touch anything. The ease of the cut made him wonder if he had sliced too early, if he had done anything at all. The man dropped to the floor with his head rolling off his neck. The woman screamed as the body continued to pump blood onto the floor. The heart would continue to work as long as there was blood to pump.

Phil looked at the first man who hadn’t noticed that his friend’s blood was splashed all over him. The first man was still trying to put his intestines inside his body.

What is this? the man said again.

The woman stood from the couch.

What the is wrong with you? Look at what you did. Why couldn’t you just leave us alone? Get out, get out. The woman continued to yell and scream as Phil went back to his apartment. He tried to close the door but with the frame gone he was unable to close it. It was time to leave. He no longer had security and he had to go on the move. He pulled his satchel out and filled it with the remains of his food. He took a small used water bottle out of the trash and put that in the bag. The only other items he brought were his copy of the Hagakure and his katana.

Changing his clothes, he wiped the blood off his face and body. He put on a new t-shirt, durable jeans and his best shoes. He would never come back to this place. The woman was still yelling.

Phil stuffed the katana into his belt and walked out of the building into the new world. He was surprised not to find more people in the streets. The people he did come across either didn’t notice him or stayed away after seeing the sword in his belt.

He thought about places to sleep and going back to his apartment. He decided against it. This was his place now. He was ronin. He needed work.

Wearing his sword, he stepped into a market that was still open. A new sign on the door read CASH ONLY, NO CARDS! The clerk immediately noticed Phil walking in and pulled a gun from behind the counter. The clerk placed the gun on the counter as a way of saying don’t even think about robbing me. Phil looked at the gun then at the clerk.

I’m looking for work, Phil said.

Work? What kind of work can you do with that sword? the clerk asked.

Bodyguard, you can pay me what you think is fair. Phil answered.

I think I’ll take my chances with this gun, thank you very much. the clerk said.

Phil walked out of the store and back to the street. After he walked out two men ran into the store with their own guns and Phil heard shots ring out. He heard the clerk yelling for help. Phil walked away.

Be true to the thought of the moment and avoid distraction. Other than continuing to exert yourself, enter into nothing else, but go to the extent of living single thought to single thought.

The yells for help stopped after the shooting stopped. The two men ran out of the store carrying arms full of food and one with a six pack of beer. More people went into the store and soon everything was gone as the body of the clerk laid behind the counter.

Phil continued down the streets and walk ways. He knew his place now in this world. He is the warrior that has been missing.

The sun was starting to set. Phil wasn’t sure where he would sleep. His life was nomadic now.

From an alley a man ran out with fear was on his face. The man saw Phil and ran to him.

Hey, hey, you got to help me. These guys are trying to kill me, the man said as three more men ran out of the alley. One had a gun and Phil wasn’t sure if it was loaded or not. Why not shoot a man that runs from you? Wouldn’t that be easier?

I’ll pay you, the man said.

Phil looked at him. He was older, at least in his forties if not older, white silver colored hair, trimmed beard. His frame was skinny and average height.

You want me to be your retainer? Phil asked.

What? the man asked not understanding him. He pushed the question aside in his head. Yes, yes, whatever you say.

Phil moved between the man and the three that approached them. Placing his bag on the ground Phil stepped forward and drew his sword from the scabbard.

Look at this guy, one of the men said.

The other two laughed.

Phil held the sword out in front of him. He waits for the men to move. They stand back and watch Phil.

Well, do something? the middle man said.

Phil stayed silent and watched as they grew impatient. One of the men ran at Phil with a baseball bat and swung. Phil steeped to the side and swung his blade up as the man’s hands came down. The bat and hands continued down to the ground as the man’s arms traveled back to his body.

The clinking of the bat on the ground and the sight of the limbs drew everybody’s attention. The man looked at his arms and saw his blood rushing out of his forearms.

What the? what the? the man said stepping back.

Fuck this, the man in the middle said as the two remaining assailants ran off. The one with the gun dropped it and ran with his friend. Phil wiped the blood off his blade using a rag from his pocket. He threw the rag at the handless man and picked up the gun. Sheathing his sword, he popped the cylinder from the revolver and noticed that all the shells in the gun were spent. He ejected the spent rounds and closed the gun. He handed the revolver to the silver haired man.

You may need this, Phil said.

You’re giving me a gun? the silver haired man said.

"I’m your retainer.