The Precipice: The Chronicles of Altor, page 1
The Precipice
The Chronicles of Altor
Book One
Table of Contents
Title Page
Cast of Characters
Part One | Eat the Rich
Chapter One | Rich Man, Dead Man | 2033
Chapter Two | Quinn Starkweather
Chapter Three | Not the End of the Earth – | But You Can See it from Here | 2022
Chapter Four | The Spark to the Fire
Chapter Five | Dust City | 2028
Chapter Six | The Fifteen | 2033
Chapter Seven | Money for Nothing
Chapter Eight | To Kill an Ancient Warrior
Chapter Nine | Down to the Wire
Chapter Ten | The List
Chapter Eleven | Prophets and Losses
Chapter Twelve | The Recruiter
Chapter Thirteen | Alastair Struan
Chapter Fourteen | Bucket of Sunshine
Chapter Fifteen | Recruits
Chapter Sixteen | Out in the World
Chapter Seventeen | Hendu
Chapter Eighteen | To Bug in or Bug Out
Chapter Nineteen | Right Idea, Bad Timing
Chapter Twenty | United States Army
Chapter Twenty-One | Showdown
Chapter Twenty-Two | What to Do in an Apocalypse
Chapter Twenty-Three | Deon and Nia
Chapter Twenty-Four | So Long and Good Luck
Chapter Twenty-Five | The Cabin in the Woods
Chapter Twenty-Six | Revenge for the Fallen
Chapter Twenty-Seven | Stanton
Chapter Twenty-Eight | When the Army Meets the Weekend Warriors
Part Two | Welcome to the Future
Chapter Twenty-Nine | Dust City
Chapter Thirty | Horns of a Dilemma
Chapter Thirty-One | The First Battle of Altor
Chapter Thirty-Two | The End of the Beginning
Chapter Thirty-Three | Even in the Wilderness
Chapter Thirty-Four | Marshall and Steele
Chapter Thirty-Five | Preparing for the New Normal
Chapter Thirty-Six | Manning the Gate
Chapter Thirty-Seven | Van Arrives
Chapter Thirty-Eight | Welcome to the Dome
Chapter Thirty-Nine | Janus is Everywhere
Chapter Forty | Jazz
Chapter Forty-One | The Dig
Chapter Forty-Two | Smooth Operators
Chapter Forty-Three | The Mission
Chapter Forty-Four | Rescue
Chapter Forty-Five | The Three
Chapter Forty-Six | Into the Dark
Chapter Forty-Seven | Harper
Chapter Forty-Eight | The Second Battle of Altor
Chapter Forty-Nine | The Second Battle of Altor Redux
Chapter Fifty | Aftermath
Epilogue
Epilogue Two
Coming Soon | Book Two in The Chronicles of Altor
Author’s Note
Cast of Characters
Quinn Starkweather—Programmer who creates Janus
Janus – Artificial Intelligence that can predict the future
Marshall Benton—Quinn’s best friend and confidant
Alastair Struan – Billionaire and member of The Fifteen
John Steele – Often called “General,” the head of Altor’s Security Forces
Myla Harrison – Second-in-command of Altor’s Security Forces
Adrian Pierce – Unofficial Mayor of Dust City
Sky Warren – Former military, resident of Dust City
Nyx – Mysterious woman who recruits people into Altor
Kent Townsend –Special operative who is works for The Fifteen.
Van Hoffler – Former Special Forces soldier
Henderson Wilkins – Known as Hendu, a family man trying to keep his family safe, April’s husband
April Wilkins – Hendu’s wife, trying to keep her family safe
Harper Wilkins – Teenager, daughter of Henderson and April
Archer Wilkins – Young boy, son of Henderson and April
Lieutenant Dan Forster – US Army soldier in command of a small unit
Sergeant JT Brewster – Experienced US Army soldier
Deon Armstrong – A family man trying to keep his family safe, Nia’s husband
Nia Armstrong – Deon’s wife, trying to keep her family safe
Shaquille/Shaquem Armstrong – Genius twins recruited by Nyx
Bobby Rogers – Member of The Fifteen
Dean Wagner – Member of The Fifteen
Amy Chan – Quinn Starkweather’s Executive Assistant
David Clanton – Billionaire
Jasmine McCrory – Known as Jazz, schoolmate of Quinn
Shamala – Nee Bruce Mankins, aka The Ten Thousand Year Old Warrior
Taryn Lattimore – Resident of Altor, in charge of Waste Division
Robert McGee – Survivalist who lives in the wilderness
Part One
Eat the Rich
Chapter One
Rich Man, Dead Man
2033
The mob had been forming outside the gates for hours.
They arrived in pickups and SUVs. Each vehicle carried three, four, or five people. Some of the pickups arrived with not just the cab full, but half a dozen more people riding in the back.
No one came alone. This was a team exercise.
They gathered outside the gates and stared at the rolling landscaping, the circular drive, and the massive house.
The architectural style of the house was Twenty-first Century Excess. The home was seventeen thousand square feet, had fourteen bedrooms, twenty-one bathrooms, an Olympic-sized pool, and a gym that was superior to most health clubs. The master suite was larger than the house of everyone who now stood outside the gate. The backyard was big enough to have a par three golf hole and putting green.
The crowd outside the gate was not noisy. They didn’t carry signs that said, Eat the Rich, or Throw the Bastards Out. They didn’t chant slogans or vent their spleens by screaming obscenities.
Instead, they talked among themselves, quietly but fervently. This was business, not altruism.
There were leaders in the crowd, but it would have been almost impossible for anyone to say who they were. All of them were dressed the same, like blue-collar workers, with flannel shirts, Carhartt jackets, and work boots.
All of them carried weapons of one sort or another. Mostly guns—shotguns were popular, as were handguns and semi-automatic rifles—but some just carried baseball bats, long-handled axes, deadly-looking scythes, swords, and heavy hammers.
Inside the house, staring out at the crowd, David Clanton appeared unconcerned by the mob gathering at his gate. In the world he had lived in his entire life, bad things didn’t happen to people like him. He had not gotten where he was—a very wealthy and influential man—by panicking.
He stood in front of the big picture window, sipping a drink and watching the unbelievable scene unfolding in front of him. To his right, the entire wall consisted of a television screen of the size normally found in movie theaters. The screen showed scenes not unlike the one in front of his mansion. Beautiful houses surrounded by manicured grounds were being razed, set fire to, looted. The sound was turned low, but he did hear a breathless reporter say, “For the first time in recorded history, it might be better to be poor than rich.”
“Bullshit. Only someone who has never had money would say that.” He shook his head in disgust at the reporter’s stupidity. Without taking his eyes off the mesmerizing scene in front of him, Clanton said, “Is the artwork being moved down into the vault?” He didn’t look around to see if his assistant was standing there. He knew she would be.
“We’re in mid-process now. Ten more minutes,” Tricia Manning, Clanton’s executive assistant said.
“Have them take care. Some of those pieces are worth more than that crowd out there will earn in a lifetime. And don’t forget the Koons in Maya’s bedroom. It looks like a toy and might be overlooked, but it cost me four million dollars.”
“It’s on the list,” Tricia assured him. “I’ll tell them to take more care.”
Clanton turned and looked at her sharply. “What does that mean? Have they already damaged something?”
“No sir, just passing on your orders to take more care.”
Mollified for the moment, Clanton turned back toward the window, staring at a sight he never thought he would see. He couldn’t help but be fascinated by what was transpiring outside his home. More and more people were arriving by the minute. He looked to his left to see if they were surrounding his neighbors’ houses as well. The house to the east seemed to be already abandoned and was ignored by the mob for the moment.
Maybe the lights attract them, like moths to a flame, Clanton thought.
A man in his early forties, dressed in a dark suit and wearing a nearly invisible earpiece, approached and stood just to the right of Clanton. He didn’t speak but waited to be recognized.
“Yes? What is it?” Clanton asked. His irritation at the ludicrousness of the situation finally showed in his tone.
“We’re ready to lift off whenever you give the word,” the man said.
Clanton nodded toward the mob. “Do you really think they’ll try to breach the perimeter?”
“I do, sir. It’s happening everywhere. I need you to come to the chopper now. It’s not safe to remain here.”
Clanton took a deep breath and held it. He didn’t like having his hand forced, especially by an unruly mob. Still, he was not dumb, and his survival instincts were beginning to kick in. “Fine, Simms, I’ll be right there.”
Dylan Simms nodded but didn’t leave Clanton’s side.
“Well, I’ll be a son of a bitch,” Clanton said, moving one step closer to the window.
“Sir?”
“That’s the man who designed my security system.” Clanton pointed to a man wearing an Atlanta Braves baseball cap and a blue windbreaker.
“He’s part of that group, sir?”
“It appears so.” For the first time, David Clanton felt a small frisson of fear go down his spine.
Clanton watched as the group blocking his gate suddenly moved aside, as though in a choreographed motion.
“That’s better,” Clanton muttered.
“I don’t think so, sir. Let’s move.”
Clanton was also not used to being contradicted, especially by his own employees. He frowned, then stared into the gathering twilight outside.
“Turn the floodlights on.”
Ten seconds later, brilliant white light flooded the entire acreage at the front of the house.
The gathering mob was gone, or at least appeared to be.
Gone, or perhaps hiding just on the other side of the tall, concrete-reinforced wall.
Without warning, everything went dark, inside and out.
Clanton blinked, momentarily blinded after looking into the daylight-brightness of the floodlights.
The moment seemed to freeze in time, static and unmoving, like a prehistoric bug captured in amber. Simms moved toward his boss, laying a hand on his shoulder, ready to guide him away.
The house generator kicked in and the house hummed back to life.
“Sir,” Simms asked, “does the generator also run the electrical system that jolts anyone who tries to climb the fence?”
“How should I know?” Clanton shot back. “That’s your bailiwick, not mine.”
They didn’t have to wait long for an answer. Several long ladders were suddenly propped against the wall, the last few rungs showing over the top. Seconds later, faces appeared. The top of the wall was wired to deliver a shock to anything that touched it. Not enough to kill. Not quite. But if anyone had the temerity to climb the fence, it would absolutely send them flying.
Except here, when it was needed, it did not. The wall, which a few moments earlier, Clanton would have bet was nearly impenetrable, was breached with impunity.
Simms stared down the straight road that led to the gate. He saw two points of light bumping directly toward them.
“Time to move. Now!” Simms said as he locked an arm in Clanton’s and turned toward the back of the house.
An old logging truck slammed into the gate, blowing it off its hinges. The momentum of the truck carried it up the slope toward the house until it jumped halfway up onto the marble fountain that featured four dancing angels.
The moment the truck breached the gate, people poured through the opening. They came over the fence and through the gaping hole where the gate had stood.
The crowd ran toward the house, but most didn’t attempt to break through the front door. Instead, they ran to the sides of the house and toward the backyard, as though they had a plan after all.
Another truck—even older than the first—barreled through the opening where the gate had been. Half a dozen people stood in the way, but the truck did not slow. It ran them over and the driver continued grabbing gears. It accelerated up the hill, straight toward the house.
A few seconds before impact, the driver opened his door and jumped out. He hit shoulder-first and did a neat roll onto one knee. He watched his handiwork as the truck obliterated the huge glass window where David Clanton had stood a few moments before. An entire section of the outer wall crumbled.
A minute earlier, a mansion had stood, unscarred. Now that section looked like the aftermath of a Missouri trailer park after a tornado.
By the time the impact shook the house, Dylan Simms had led Clanton to the backyard. Simms glanced over his shoulder. He judged the speed of the oncoming crowd against how fast he could move with Clanton.
Simms could have made it to the chopper easily if he was on his own. He was half-dragging David Clanton with him, though, and that was slowing him down. He looked at the mob, then at the pilot of the helicopter. The pilot’s eyes were wide and the rotor blades spun faster, as if gearing up for takeoff.
David Clanton’s Bruno Magli wingtip shoe caught on a sprinkler head that had failed to recede below ground that morning. He sprawled forward, his momentum carrying him face-first onto the grass.
Simms felt the tug and knew he had lost his cargo. He had a choice—run to the chopper and safety or do his job. His training overrode his own flight instinct. He turned and ran back to pick Clanton up. He helped his boss back onto his feet and saw that the chasing mob was almost upon them.
He drew his pistol from his shoulder holster and pointed it at the rushing mass.
They did not stop, and Simms did not hesitate.
He aimed at the person in the lead and pulled the trigger, putting them down. He fired again and again, hitting one intruder after another. This was not a zombie horde. He didn’t need a head shot to stop them, but as one after another of the mob fell, the ones behind just pushed over the top of them.
Moments later, both he and Clanton were overwhelmed. They were knocked to the ground, stomped, and hit with bats.
David Clanton looked up into the eyes of an angry middle-aged man dressed in a mechanic’s uniform. The man loomed over him, gripping a shotgun. It was the last thing David Clanton, born into wealth, who had known only privilege and luxury, saw in this lifetime.
When the shotgun blast ended David Clanton’s life, the helicopter pilot knew he had seen enough. The chopper slowly lifted off the helipad.
Dylan Simms tried to rise up and run to the helicopter, but it was too late. He was surrounded by the mob. They kicked and punched him as they ran past. Finally, one of the mob stopped, pointed his pistol at Simms and pulled the trigger three times.
The chopper rose, but too slowly. The crowd reached it before it was more than a few feet off the ground. They streamed through the open door that had been waiting for David Clanton, who, until a few moments earlier, had been the world’s thirty-seventh richest man.
Half a dozen people climbed onto the landing skids and shouted victoriously to those approaching. Five more joined them, celebrating an unknown victory.
Still, the chopper managed to rise. It was thrown badly off balance by the overloaded skids on the pilot’s side. It shimmied and swerved back and forth, trying to gain altitude.
More people jumped and grabbed the landing skids as though they could pull it back to the ground.
They were right.
The off-balance chopper leaned perilously left and the rotor blade impacted the soil.
That was all it took. The chopper was down.
Accomplishing that mission, the mob turned back to the house and swarmed through doors that were left standing wide open. At that moment, any obvious plan was gone and chaos ensued. They rushed forward, muddy shoes ruining the expensive white wool carpeting and rushing over Persian rugs that cost more than a small house. They were looking for whatever they could find that was easily identifiable as valuable.
David Clanton’s house—beyond the artwork that had not been successfully stashed away in the vault when the house was overrun—was not where he kept his money. That was tucked safely away in digital bits and bytes around the world. Stocks and bonds, bank accounts, board seats on Fortune 500 companies and large land holdings.
Not that it mattered to Clanton anymore. His race was run. He was lying face down in his backyard, missing most of the top of his head—a problem that not even many billions of dollars could fix.
Tricia Manning stood, horrified, as the great unwashed surged through the house. She knew that she was suddenly on the wrong end of the proceedings.
She nearly screamed, but thought better of it. Her best chance of survival was not to attract attention to herself. She stepped into a darkened corner of the den and threw off her dark business jacket. She pulled her white blouse out of her skirt and let it hang down. She unbuttoned the top few buttons of her blouse and loosened her hairclips so that her long dark hair fell over her shoulders.
