The tracks were pretty massive to see, the train they belonged to the only of it’s kind, great and thundering in its appearance, it was an animal itself. A beast of burden empowered by human ingenuity. And It needed the space to be such, the tracks being the size of a 2 lane road.
We walked over them without any real thought, though Springer took the time to hesitantly look both ways. It was a pointless gesture, anyone within a mile would be able to hear the ground shaking long before you’d be able to see it.
It was the kind of action that got some of the people walking around to stare at him, an instant of action that proved he wasn’t someone who was from here. Like I promised his friend though, weird looks was all he got.
There was a great station to our right, which would block our entrance, necessitating us to walk past it instead of to it. It held a covered section, like how airplanes would dock and unload people. It was built to take in some of the government supplies they didn't want visible to the rest of the citizens.
The train was split into three main cars. Or rather sets of train cars. The frontmost four carried people. A lot had changed in life, but people still quite liked moving around, and the train was a very useable piece of public transportation. Often, and with a sort of nostalgic annoyance, it’s called “The first and only American train to run on time.” The track it runs is far too big for people to make more than the first couple of stations distance for something like a work commute though, and most of the people inside are either doing just that, or traveling.
The middle 4 were supplies for industrial companies and productions. Raw materials, food, grain, seeds, medical supplies, cleaning agents. It was mostly unloaded by workers, blue collar laborers or low paying positions akin to old dockhands, who’s chief responsibilities were the movement of crates and resources.
Finally, the last 4 were government exclusive cabs, used only though not always for the transportation of supplies, ammo, and people.
The crowds all got denser and denser the further in we got, that dividing line of the tracks crossed, and now we moved into civilization proper. That meant an immense overpopulation.
The footsteps all rattled together like a great thundering of applause, always moving, always active. The chatter from so many people created that sort of indistinguishable noise, where you could recognize individual sounds, maybe even a conversation if you really managed to focus, but the sheer overwhelming volume of noise consumed most of your hearing in sound rendered meaningless by virtue of it’s quantity.
It was clearly pretty overwhelming to Springer, who’s head kept swinging around to look at the various sights and sounds, the people in seemingly endless numbers all walking to some destination or another.
I had to shout slightly to speak to him, grabbing his arm to stop him from getting lost in the crowd. “It’ll calm down at the base!”
“What!?”
I let out a sigh, and used my off hand to sign to him. I spun my finger around in a circle pointing up, then raised my hand flat and lowered it slowly, then did the same gesture I had done with Eleanor earlier, two fingers flat on both hands, rubbing my dominant hand over the non dominant one.
“What?”
I honestly couldn’t tell you why I thought that would work.
Realizing I wasn’t going to effectively communicate what I wanted, I just kept my hand on his arm, continuing to drag him along slightly.
People gave the three of us a wide berth, stares and weird looks as two Plumes guided a very confused looking man around. But no one did more than look, never stopping in their stride or really worrying about it.
Springer was starting to breath heavy, the stimulation for someone who’d never seen anything like this starting to really get to him. I let go of his arm with a sigh, and he swung around to look at me, eyes wide and clearly having been somewhat relying on that contact to keep him grounded.
I looked to Elanor, and held both my hands up with pointer fingers raised, then pointed forwards. Then I pulled Springer towards her. She nodded, grabbing his arm, and the two of them vanished in an instant.
I felt a little bad pushing her to use her powers more, but I knew she could take it. The walk wasn’t too bad, and I didn’t want to have to worry about Springer having a panic attack or something. The military was already going to be treating him like an armed bomb, better to give them less reasons to be anxious about him.
I stuck my hands in my pockets and kept moving, relying on people moving around me to get forwards. A couple of people not paying attention bumped into me, but that was part of the price of moving in a crowded area.
There was a kind of building dread inside me that I couldn’t quite place the source of. A sort of slowly crippling despair that seemed to rise up out of my gut and into my mouth, feeling like each breath gave off fear and anger in some small part.
I realized what was bothering me so much as I came to an abrupt stop, watching the hundreds of different people all going about their business.
They all died.
All of them.
So, so many people. In quantities I could only ever understand numerically, not as real people.
Each one with their own lifes, with their own people, loved ones, hopes, dreams, goals, failings, ambitions. Every single one of these people was relying on me to save them. Every single one of these people will be dead if I can’t do something about it.
It was like my collapse at the end of time all over again, the stark overwhelming sensation of knowing so much. In the same way, the unknown lives of these people seemed to call out to me, threads in a single creation, all moving together as if weaved.
The thundering sound of their footsteps stopped, the overwhelming chatter halted in a moment. I was breathing heavily, and looked around, seeing that I was far outside the city now. Back on the highway, back far from that sensation, far from that experience. That pressure.
I fell to a knee, my heart drumming in my ears. I could almost feel it in my throat, the constant beat beat beat, hitting me like a hammer to the chest with every rapid pulse. Sweat was running cold down my forehead. I felt my fingers grip the dirt under them, having to close my eyes and slow down my rapid breathing.
It’s hard to describe the kind of weakness that overtook me. A sort of nameless panic, a pressure and intensity that had no form but still existed. An invisible weight on my shoulders, like a world bearing down on me.
I had no time to worry about who I was saving, no capability to understand the entirety of the mission. Myself. I had to worry about myself, and no one else. The alternative was almost unbearable. The responsibility I would hold over so many people crippling.
It took me a minute before I nodded to myself, letting out a final calming breath, as I closed my mouth and started inhaling through my nose, controlling myself more.
Collected, I returned to the city, as far as I had gotten before my hasty retreat, and started walking to my destination.
There was a time limit on my powers. I couldn’t just return to any point in time whatsoever. I had about a day as my limit, though it was one that increased or decreased depending on how many people were still alive.
The way to enter into the military part of the station required a little bit of awkward walking around, almost a half circle path from the way we entered to the secluded and guarded entrance. High fences with barbed wire at the top, and two figures with clean shaven faces, military cut hair, and assault rifles to their sides both looking straight ahead.
It was the chief difference between powered units, or Plumes, and regular military officers. Discipline. Plums were trusted with significantly more individuality than a soldier was, often allowed, though not encouraged to dress themselves under their vests, style their hair how they pleased, and like Eleanor, have dyed hair. The main reason was that we by necessity had a lot more autonomy than a soldier. Mostly, we got thrown in a direction and told to figure shit out.
People trained to follow orders to the letter and nothing else weren’t as good at that kind of thing. Thanks to these looser rules, the standard to be a powered unit was a lot higher, and the selection stricter.
I saluted the two, and they returned the gesture. The one on the right spoke. “Present identification card.”
I fished around in my vest and pulled out my card, my face, name, rank and unit all clearly present. The two shifted slightly at the sight, before nodding. “Clear. How's the border?”
He handed the card to me and I took it back. “Full of monsters who don’t like us and people who only barely like us more.”
“Less monsters now though I imagine?”
I smiled, the man returning the expression. “Yeah. A lot less. We wouldn’t be able to leave the base if we didn’t have good soldiers guarding it though.”
“Thank you sir.”
We exchanged salutes again, an entirely unnecessary formality considering I didn’t technically outrank them, but somewhat fun nonetheless.
I moved into the station. From this point on, most of what transpired for me was talking to various government officials, discussing what to do with Springer, and negotiating certain benefits or guarantees for him.
I’ll go into more detail later, but for now, I’m going to turn our attention outwards. Away from myself, Eleanor, and Springer. How exactly I know about things that occurred without my presence, is something that I will reveal later. But for now, let me just assure that everything written is fully accurate to reality. Let me also state that I don’t know these events at this point in the story, however I can’t tell said story in full accuracy without moving beyond myself on occasion.
This tale has been unlawfully obtained from Royal Road. If you discover it on Amazon, kindly report it.
There are 2 people I want us to look at, who will be relevant to the coming days.
To the furthest East of the interior, there's a train station, just like the others. Built around it, in such a way that the military and supply train cars are left outside, and only the cars which carry people run into the bottom layer of a church.
It’s often considered that you can tell what a civilization's culture is just through taking a critical eye to their architecture. As one of if not the only major building created not by our government, I think it would be considered a prime example of this.
It was somewhat ramshackled, and it had the sort of fundamental brutalist appearance which comes with a construction that was done with scarce supplies, but the best minds that money could buy. It was efficient in its grandeur. Mostly built out of stone and mortar, both to resemble the historic churches of a similar make, and also because it was easier with the supplies and powers on hand. The exact thought processes aren’t privy to me, but the effect is still noticeable.
Giant, both in its upward climb, its high spires which poked up into the heavens, and in its width. It was easily the size of a warehouse, probably bigger than some.
To leave the train station, you would walk upwards, as if emerging from the basement, and be instantly caught off guard by the size and openness. Ceilings so high it looked as if they were part of the sky rather than stone and mortar.
Stain glass windows, these ones unbroken, unblemished, displaying probably the entire history of the bible if you took the time to look through all of them. Though, mostly they were just pretty to look at, and allowed the natural light to shine through and into the possession.
No walls were left blank or undecorated, the stonework itself artistry in its own way, elaborate patterns that could’ve had meaning all like its own tapestry on the walls and ceilings.
Rows upon rows of pews filled the place, capable of housing a number in the quadruple digits of sinners, faithfuls, and everything in between.
This main area was built upwards, so that the people walking through the train had to come up to see it, and had to walk down to exit. That way the entrance and exit weren’t close enough for the rumblings of the train to interrupt the preaching.
It always reminded me of St. Patrick’s cathedral in New York. I had grown up close enough, and my parents brought me there once just to see it. Not that any of us were christians, I was named after a norse god after all.
Still, it’s the kind of memory that sticks with you. You always understand the influence of the church as something invisible, like a rumor or a whisper, something unseen but known. But, to actually be in a building that utterly breathtaking for the first time, you get that sort of breathlessness as if the air had been knocked out of you, and are left wide-eyed. Believer or not, you look around that place and think to yourself, “Something about this place is holy.” That devotion to god people always talk about is now stone instead of air, cold and pressing up against your feet, instead of spoken.
Whether there is divinity or not, the echoes of grueling and loving labor are built into the walls, it’s impossible not to feel something looking at it all.
It was itself a message as well. A recruitment effort with its placement undoubtedly, but more than anything, a declaration. Humanity is still capable of great things. We have been shaken, disturbed, knocked down, but we are not dead. It would mean much more to someone who believed in the god that’s being praised, but even for an atheist, its visage was meaningful.
It’s inside this place that I want to look.
At the altar which acts as the helm for this great craft, the centerpiece in which a women stood in long white robes, decorated and embroidered with golden patterns, much like the stonework of the walls, they were intricate and seemed to hold meaning, even if unknown to all but the most diligent readers and theologians. In one of her hands, she held a scepter, an ivory base built out of the remains of one of the teeth of Jormungandr, the giant snake that Adam killed. Its base was decorated with gold and jewels, a rounded head glittering as the light of the day hit them. She seemed, as I mentioned, to be one with the building, built into its works, the alter the background of a painting, like the Last Supper or The Creation Of Adam. Herself that eyecatching center.
She moved her hands as she spoke, the long sleeves of the pristine cloth swaying along with her, her face a steady and quiet mask of diligence and unquestioning belief.
She spoke to thousands, her voice loud enough and the walls of the cathedral echoing the speech out. A vast book opened in front of her, though she almost never needed to glance at it, looking instead outwards towards the people.
This woman is Anna Santoro, the current leader of the church as a faction. The one who implemented the systems which now connect the exterior civilizations, the woman who sends the devoted out to wander the dead world and preach the word of the gospel to the destitute, with bibles in one hand and life saving supplies in the other. If they have faith and ask for more help, more shall arrive, in the form of trucks and trailers full of even more grace. If the preachers are scorned, hated, driven out or god forbid killed in their attempts to preach, then the gates of hell open on earth, and under her command, cities are razed, the land not salted, but burned, so that when something new grows back, it grows back stronger. Any who ask forgiveness, who convert and who will confess their sins, are spared. And, more importantly, god fearing.
Criticism and skepticism towards them is easy, but I can’t deny that the number of lives the churches aid has saved is almost incalculable. Christiaintiy was already a staple of this land, and violence has occurred rarely under her command.
Outside of the high command of the military, she was perhaps the most influential person in America. Up there in the scale of the world.
Her preaching came to its conclusion, and the people all rose, a sort of fullness inside of them that a believer feels in a church, when they have that connection, that belief in a higher power reaffirmed, its connection strong, and their devolution renewed.
She stepped down to speak to the people, and they flocked around her eagerly, all excited to discuss with the person revered as a saint by the more entranced believers.
It took several hours after an already quite long procession before the church was cleared out, and she gave a soft exhale, her eyes closed.
When they opened, a man approached, having just walked in from the outside. He was dressed in a fine suit and tie, from a brand that didn’t exist anymore after the apocalypse. He gave her a small nod, which she returned.
“Another successful sunday, Ms. Saint?”
This man is Duke, or sometimes The Duke. He’s the second in command underneath her in terms of the church’s hierarchy. They didn’t follow the Vatican structure of popes and deacons, but there still was something of an unconscious pyramid of status. He managed most of the infrastructure and economy of the church. The one to accept tithes and donations, as well as structure what money goes where. Though, he had little to no ability to command differently than how she ordered, given her influence over his followers.
She let out another quiet breath. “Duke. That title is unbefitting. I am a lamb unto the lord just as all others are. It was Peter in Acts 10:34, who said “Truly I understand that God shows no partiality.” I am no greater in his eyes than any being who devotes themselves to his good word. For there can be no greater or lesser in infinite love.”
“Spoken as eloquently as expected of the leader of his church.” The man in question was older, in his early 50’s to late 60’s. He had an intricate trimmed face, kept perfectly clean shaven, with salt and pepper hair. “Though, I don’t think it can be unequivocal that God treats his subjects equally in all things. It’s Timothy 2:11 to 2:12 who says “Let a woman learn quietly with all submissiveness. I do not permit a woman to teach or to exercise authority over a man; rather, she is to remain quiet.” Doesn’t quite seem the most equal.”
She straightened her posture, shoulders falling lower and her back straightening. She placed her hands behind her back, and despite being shorter than the man, she appeared much taller, and to be looking down on him. The soft smile on her lips a vipers grin. “God is an all loving creator. And though men and women may have different roles under his command, it is by no means unequal. All of us have our tasks and our responsibilities under the Lord our God.”
“Such as the scriptures' strong emphasis, that the way of godly living is monogamous, and the wife's duties to her husband?”
“Yes.” She closed her eyes once more, the picture of serenity. “That is his word. As I’m sure you know, I too, am merely waiting for the right one.”
The man nodded slightly, running a hand through his hair. “Everyone in the church is well aware of your trial.”
She held her scepter to her side, lifting it up and holding it across her chest. She nodded her head once more. “I am trusted by many to be their teacher, and though it may be perhaps arrogant of me to say, my place in this world seems ordained. Though I desire to be faithful to his word, I will not abandon my duty to fulfill my own peace. Anyone who passed my test therefore, is graced by god to be my husband. And any who fails, not yet the one to whom I shall be lovingly submissive.” She once again settled her posture, her eyes sharper than they should be for the soft expression on her face. “Do you happen to protest this compromise?”
He fixed his collar. “Not at all. It seems quite the intelligent way to keep yourself free from unordained suitors. I just wished to inform you that in the coming months, when you hold the trial again, I shall be participating.”
They stared at each other for a long moment, the womans face unshaken, and her dark brown eyes boring a hole into his. Finally, she simply bowed her head. “My father loved you quite dearly before his passing. I do have to wonder what he would think of a wedding between us.”
“Your trials are open to anyone aren’t they? As you said, It shall be God's decision whether or not that happens. His passage was tragic, but he was a man of God before anything else.”
“Of course. If you don’t mind, I am quite tired.”
“Oh of course, it’s as Peter says, we men must show honor to the weaker vessel.”
She closed her eyes once more, slowly opening them. “That passage referred to how husbands should treat wives. Do not make the mistake of referring to me as such again.”
The slight smile on his face fell to neutral and he nodded. “Sorry, I hadn’t meant to offend.”
“We all make mistakes. Perhaps, you should confess such sins later.”
He bowed his head once more, watching her as she moved through the building. She moved as if he wasn’t there, flanked by a man wearing a thick white cloak, a gray cross up and down its front and back. He had been in the back of the building throughout her speech, close to her throughout the entire duration of her preaching. Almost one of the statues. His only emote though the entire day was to look over his shoulder, glaring at the man, before continuing to walk with her.
The church was built with living accommodations inside. Though they were fairly meager in relation to the absurd luxury of the rest of the building. It was constructed under the orders of the leader before her, her father, who had seen no reason to have more than the bare necessities for his living.
Anna made her way to her room, and let out a long breath, the serenity finally falling off of her face, the breath turning into something like a hiss as she tried to recollect himself.
The man accompanying her stood resolutely to her side. “Saint, shall I-”
“You will do nothing. It’s fine. Though I’m disgusted he’s even forced me to just think of it, there is no world in which he accomplishes the trial. Neither God nor my Blessing will be on his side. It’s more likely he did this to try and incite some form of retribution. The worst thing we could do is sabotage him. He’ll fail on his own and have nothing to whine about.”
“...And if he doesn’t?”
“Don’t even suggest such an awful thought. I don’t have time to worry about petty relationships. There are great works to be done, and I need the ability to do so without having men pestering me for marriage. Much less one as old and power hungry as him.”
He nodded. “As you wish.” He pressed a hand to his chest in a form of salute. “As always, I’m yours if you desire anything.”
“Peace for now. But thank you Antonio.”
He nodded once more, turning and walking out to leave her on her own.
She turned her gaze up, the roof high even in the relatively sparse living area she had taken over. “...You are too unfair sometimes. I ask humbly, as your servant, do not allow any man to interrupt my duties.” She looked back to her room, and moved to a desk, getting herself set up, and beginning to go over paperwork. Supply routes, requests for aid, government communications. Her work would never be done, but that wasn’t an excuse in her mind to stop or slow down.
