The Forever Man: Axeman Read online

  The Forever Man – Book 2 - Prologue

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  The Forever Man – Book 2 - Prologue

  The first pulse occurred in the old calendar year of 2022. A combination of planetary alignment, the Earth’s rotation and the position of the sun combined to produce the perfect storm. A sequence of gigantic solar flares created a series of massive electromagnetic pulses that stopped the heart of our modern world.

  America was struck first. And then, as the world turned, country by continent by hemisphere was returned to the dark ages. The wave of electromagnetic pulses destroyed all electrical and electronic equipment on the planet in an orgy of solar destruction. Airplanes fell to earth. Hospitals were plunged into darkness. Water supplies, controlled by electric valves and pumps ceased to flow. Back up generators burnt out. All communication. All transport. All machinery. Lights. Heating. It all died.

  At the same time…so did our humanity.

  And then they appeared . . .from the realms of fantasy, through a gateway formed by the pulse, came the trolls, the goblins and, leading them all – the Fair Folk. But were they here to help, or to conquer?

  Chapter 1

  Toilet paper. Twin ply. Super soft.

  Nathaniel grinned to himself.

  And coffee. Made with a machine. By a barista. Strong, bitter, honest to God coffee.

  Thousands of years of human endeavor. Countless millions of man-hours of invention had been wiped out by the pulse. Computers. Space travel. Brain surgery. And what did The Forever Man miss the most? Something soft to wipe his ass with and a mildly addictive hot beverage made from the roasted seeds of the Rubiaceae bush.

  Nathaniel’s horse stumbled slightly. Weary from the days’ riding. Snow crunched like broken glass beneath its hooves. The air resonant with the fragrance of pine resin and ozone overlaid by the subtle steel smell of newly minted snow. Gusts of wind shivered the trees, shaking clumps of white from their laden boughs. A giant baker dusting the land with icing sugar. Breath steamed from his open mouth in clouds of condensate, leeching the warmth from his core. Puff the magic dragon.

  Winter had come across the land with a speed that baffled all. And it was the harshest winter in living memory. Nathaniel had heard theories that the unprecedented level of cold was brought about by the fact that there were no longer any factories left in the world. Nor heating of any sort. The cattle population had been decimated and there were no cars to fill the atmosphere with carbon monoxide. Global cooling had become a reality.

  It had been over three months now since the first electromagnetic pulse had struck the earth. Destroying all electronic and electrical equipment in an orgy of solar destruction. And the pulses had continued on a daily basis, apparent by the almost constant glow of the Aurora Borealis, or Northern lights, in the sky, caused by the massive amounts of gamma radiation in the atmosphere.

  But, apart from smashing mankind back into the dark ages, the gamma rays had also had another effect. Somehow they had changed marine master sergeant Nathaniel Hogan’s DNA structure. They had enhanced his speed, strength and, most of all, his ability to heal. He was now capable of sustaining fatal wounds and recovering. However, he was still able to succumb to normal disease and starvation. He wasn’t sure about drowning. Unfortunately he still felt pain. And normal common garden fatigue. But then one doesn’t look an immortal horse in the mouth.

  Nathaniel glanced down at the back of his left hand. The pink scar stood out like a brand.

  

  He had dreamed of Stonehenge and druids one night and one of the druids had cut the symbol into his hand with a sickle. When he had awoken it was there. An ancient Traveling women had told him that it was the sign for Infinity and he had been marked as The Forever Man. And then she had shown him a small magik trick. Conjuring up fire with thought alone. She had told him to practice this every day as he had the gift. He had been doing so for almost two months now but to no avail. If the entire world hadn’t become so topsy-turvy he would have dismissed her as a weirdo, but given the current circumstances he was loath to do so. She had also instructed him to go north to seek his destiny. This he was doing, and, in lieu of any other plan, he was happy to.

  The marine decided to stop for the night and looked around for a likely spot, finally deciding on a fallen tree a little way off the beaten track. He hitched his horse to a tree, took out his collapsible shovel from one of the saddlebags and started to clear a spot, shoveling the snow aside and forming a low three foot wall in a horseshoe shape. When he had finished he spread a tarpaulin on the ground and then a couple of fur blankets. The blankets were black mink, as was the cloak that Nathaniel was wearing. He had come across a specialist fur shop in one of the small towns that he had traveled through and he had helped himself to half a dozen black minks. Then, with clumsy male stitching, he had converted two of the coats into a full-length cloak. The other four had become two separate blankets. It amused him that his little bivouac now contained over one hundred thousand dollars worth of fur at pre-pulse prices.

  He spread another tarpaulin over the walls to make a low roof. Then he collected wood and kindling and built a small fire close to the entrance. The fire would keep the shelter warm and keep predators from coming inside. After that, before the light went, he placed five rabbit snares in likely looking places. Finally he took three skinned and dressed squirrels from his saddle bags, spitted them and placed them over the fire to cook whilst he took the saddle off the horse and rubbed it down before putting a blanket over him.

  After he had eaten, Nathaniel fell into a deep and restful sleep. He awoke the next morning about half an hour before sunrise, stoked the fire and went to check the traps. Two had been successful and he took the rabbits back and skinned and gutted them. For breakfast he threw a couple of old potatoes into the fire and then he melted some snow in a pot for drinking water.

  Finally he packed up, got back into the saddle and continued on his unplanned way.

  As the day wore on he started to pass more and more houses. He stopped to check a few but they were mostly empty. And those that were not empty contained only corpses, desiccated and freeze dried from the sub zero temperatures. The lack of food, drugs and heating had taken a massive toll on the survivors of the initial pulse and now, a mere three months on, Nathaniel estimated that a full fifty percent of the population were dead. Over thirty million people.

  Even so, he had expected to find some people in the houses. But the area was dead. Totally devoid of humanity.

  Late that afternoon he came across the reason why. According to his map he was standing outside the rural village of Acton-on-vale. But what he saw in front of him looked nothing like a rural village. Running left to right the entire area was fenced in with steel reinforced concrete blast panels. Three meters high. Every one hundred yards a scaffold observation post rose another meter above the fence. Each observation post contained a soldier armed with a light machine gun. Far to his right he could see a steel gate. The gate was open and five armed guards stood in front of it. They were dressed in MTP camouflage
and carried the SA80Mk3 assault rifles. One of them was already walking towards him, his weapon brought to bear.

  Nathaniel dismounted and walked slowly towards the soldier, one hand on the horse’s reins and the other held up above his head.

  The approaching soldier seemed satisfied that he meant no harm and he lowered his rifle.

  ‘Can I help?’ He asked.

  ‘Just passing through, lance corporal. Stopped to admire your wall.’

  ‘You’re welcome to come inside and take a look,’ said the soldier. ‘All are welcome as long as they obey then rules.’ The soldier stared at Nathaniel for a moment and then asked. ‘Is that a military uniform under your cloak?’

  Nathaniel nodded. ‘Master sergeant Nathaniel Hogan, United States Marine Corps.’

  ‘The soldier came to attention, shouldering his rifle. ‘Pleased to meet you, sir. I wonder if I might insist that you accompany me inside, sir. The Brigadier has ordered that all military personnel be introduced to him before they go on their way.’

  ‘Lead the way, Lance corporal.’

  Nathaniel led his horse and followed the lance corporal to the gate. When he got there two of the soldiers barred his way.

  ‘Sorry, sir,’ said the one. ‘You need to check in all weapons before you go inside. We’ll keep them safe and issue you with a ticket. Also, we’ll take care of your horse. No horses allowed inside the perimeter.’

  ‘Fair enough,’ conceded Nathaniel. He pulled back his cloak and unholstered two sawn-off double-barrel shotguns that rode in hip holsters. Then he unsheathed a rifle from the horse’s saddle. Finally he removed his double-headed battle-axe from the loop in his belt and handed it to one of the soldiers, then he hitched back his cloak so that it hung down his back, exposing his rank flashes. The soldier raised his one eyebrow but refrained from comment.

  They wrote a receipt out in a small carbon book and gave Nathaniel a copy.

  ‘With me, sir,’ said the lance corporal.

  The marine followed him as he walked through the open gates and headed towards the center of the village. He saw a few soldiers walking around and one or two civilians but on the whole, the place seemed remarkably empty.

  ‘Where is everyone?’ He asked.

  ‘Working,’ answered the lance corporal.

  ‘Where?’

  The soldier didn’t answer and Nate couldn’t be bothered to push him. He would ask the Brigadier.

  Eventually they came to a massive Victorian rectory. Two armed men stood at attention outside the front door.

  Nathaniel and the lance corporal mounted the stairs.

  ‘Someone to see the brigadier,’ said the lance.

  The guards waved him through. The lance opened the front door and ushered Nate in, closing it behind him.

  The entrance hall was huge, Persian carpets were scattered across the mahogany floor, large oils of landscapes and horses lined the walls. A fire crackled in the huge fireplace and the light from thirty or more candles reflected off the stupendous crystal chandelier.

  The lance carried on through the hall and down a corridor, stopping at the second door and knocking twice.

  Within seconds the door was opened by a tall, stooped, gray haired man sporting the uniform and flashes of a warrant officer class 1.

  ‘Visitor for the brigadier, sir,’ announced the lance.

  The warrant officer nodded. ‘Thank you, lance corporal. I’ll take it from here.’

  The lance swiveled on his heel and left.

  The warrant officer waved Nathaniel into the room.

  Nathaniel marched into the center of the room and came crashing to attention in front of the warrant officer and the brigadier. A short, wide man with cropped black hair and bristle moustache. He was dressed in combat uniform with his rank slide on his chest as opposed to shoulder badges. On his hip, a Glock 17.

  The marine whipped up a solid parade ground salute, stood at rigid attention and bellowed in his best master sergeant voice.

  ‘Marine corps master sergeant Nathaniel Hogan reporting as requested, sir.’

  The brigadier’s face registered his approval. ‘At ease, mister Hogan.’

  Nathaniel raised his right knee parallel to the floor and slammed it down as he shifted to the ‘at ease’ position, hands behind his back, thumbs interlocked, left in front of right.

  ‘Stand easy, mister Hogan,’ continued the brigadier.

  Nathaniel relaxed almost imperceptibly apart from the fact that he now looked at the brigadier as opposed to straight ahead.

  ‘So, soldier, what brings you here?’ Asked the Brigadier.

  ‘Simply passing through, sir.’

  ‘We’re looking for more soldiers, particularly non-comms. Could we interest you in staying?’

  ‘With respect, sir,’ answered Nathaniel. ‘I would prefer to continue my journey.’

  The Brigadier nodded. ‘Fine, but I insist that you stay as our guest for two or three days. Take a look around, see what we’re all about. Mayhap I can change your mind. Mister Clarkson here will show you to your quarters and issue you with the necessaries.’

  The marine crashed to attention once more. ‘Thank you, sir. Much appreciated.’ He saluted again and followed warrant officer Clarkson out of the room.

  Clarkson led him to the next room and ushered him in. He went over to a desk and pulled out a sheaf of papers, signed a few and handed them over.

  ‘Here you go, mister Hogan These are permission slips. The yellow ones are for a day’s accommodation, I have given you three. The green ones are for food. One meal per slip. I have allowed you two meals a day, breakfast and supper. Come with me and I’ll show you to your digs.’

  Nathaniel followed Clarkson out of the house, past the armed guards and down the road. Once again it struck the marine that there were next to no civilians present. He didn’t bother to ask Clarkson where they were, figuring that he would find out later.

  The snow had been cleared from all of the roads and pavements and there was no litter. Even the street signs had been cleaned and polished. All of these obvious pointers to the fact that the village was being militarily run.

  After a few turns they came to a small Victorian terraced cottage. Clarkson opened the front door, which was unlocked and showed Nate in.

  ‘Here you go, old chap. The water is running, we’ve set up a gravity feed tower, cold but drinkable and fine for washing in, if you’re a complete Spartan. Please feel free to wander. If you’d like to go outside the perimeter one has to get permission from the Brigadier, I’m afraid. The officers’ mess in the village hall, sure that you can find that by yourself. Any questions?’

  Nathaniel shook his head. ‘No, sir. All self-evident. Many thanks. Oh, maybe one, what about my horse?’

  ‘Shouldn’t worry about that, mister Hogan. The chaps will take good care of it.’

  The warrant officer left, closing the door behind him as he did.

  The marine took a walk through of the cottage. Two rooms downstairs, a sitting room and a kitchen. Off the kitchen was a small shower room and toilet. A stiff towel was hanging over the rail.

  Narrow stairs to the first floor. At the top another two small rooms. Both rooms contained double beds. On the one bed was a set of linen. Sheets, a blanket, single thin pillow and a duvet. There were no personal items to be seen and Nathaniel wondered what had happened to the previous inhabitants.

  He decided to take a shower, stripped down in the bedroom and laid his clothes out on the bed. His spare clothes were in his saddlebags on his horse so he would have to make do for the meanwhile.

  Naked he walked down stairs, went into the bathroom and turned the shower on. The water was ice cold, only a little above freezing but he stepped in, grabbed the sliver of soap and, puffing and blowing, scrubbed himself down and rinsed off. He rubbed himself dry with the rough towel and jogged back up to the bedroom to get dressed, pulling his mink cloak tight around his shoulders until he had warmed up. Then he strapped on his bo
ots and went outside.

  He simply started to meander about the village without any special purpose. After a couple of turns he came across a large military tent pitched in a front garden. Steam billowed out of the side of the canvas structure and a strange smell of vinegar and sugar and fruit wafted through the air. He walked over to the open front of the tent to take a look. A single armed guard stood in the entrance. When he saw Nathaniel he nodded, obviously aware that he was around, but he said nothing.

  The marine peered in to see a long row of villagers working over large catering pots that were suspended above cooking fires. Opposite them were another group of people working at a preparation table, slicing vegetables, peeling fruit, measuring and weighing. It didn’t take him long to realize that they were pickling vegetables and turning fruit into preserves for the winter. Planning ahead. Everyone had their heads down, working hard, so he didn’t talk to anyone. He simply watched for a short while and went on his way.

  On the outskirts of the village in what looked like a horse paddock, he saw a large group of children, eight years to around twelve, marching around the arena. Instead of rifles they carried tools. Spades, garden forks, picks and shovels. A corporal called out time, berating those who fell out of step and complimenting those who marched straight and proud. The children wore khaki shirts and trousers and each had a square badge on their chest. A flag with a red cross of St. George and a sun and a moon in the top corners. On their right sleeves a small rectangular flash of white with the words, “The needs of the many outweigh the needs of the few”.

  The sight sent a shiver through the marine as memories of school history lessons and photo’s of rows of Hitler Youth Children flashed through his mind.

  The corporal saw the marine watching and beckoned to him to come over.

  ‘Greetings, Master Sergeant,’ he said. ‘Taking a look at out budding troops, I see.’

  Nathaniel nodded. ‘Very impressive. Do they learn to shoot?’

  ‘Oh yes. Field craft, weapon craft, doctrine, fitness, survival training. The Brigadier says that these are the future of our new world.’