Next section of Walters backstory. Growing up during the War that never seems to end. What is the price of honor? **************** “Where are we going now?” Jocelyn asked. Father helped her to climb over a rough pile of rocks and branches, as they continued in their escape. “Far away from these tyrants,” he said. “And to find the others who still believe in justice.” There was a strong conviction in his voice, as well as contempt, as they paused to watch the distant sight of the Kaezer’s transport ships. Hovering like small black spots on the horizon, as swarms of robots poured forth from them. “Wherever we go, I want to help fight,” Jocelyn said. “Those troopers won’t even know what hit ‘em, once I get my chance.” Father had looked at Jocelyn with an expression that spoke of his many years of turmoil and fear. “My brave girl,” he said. Threw an arm around her shoulders, and hugged her. Only Walter saw the glimmer of tears in Father’s eyes, as they hurried away from the strongholds and toward the safety of the wooded hills beyond. Water, of course, was the most valuable and important thing to find, once they’d headed out on their own. Society divided itself into two parts. The obedient slaves behind the Kaezer’s barbed wire fences and walls. And, the thirsty, yet determined, water rebels scraping their way along without. The rebels formed small bands, huddled in makeshift camps around whatever water collectors they could erect. It was a tough, precarious life. But they were brave, and resolute in their cause. Meager, yet palatable water, could be stilled from morning dew, rain barrels, and other tedious yet ingenious methods, that resourceful and well-experienced people could manage to invent. It was tight, still rationed. But they managed. And, they refused to give up hope. That somehow, they might be able to fight back, and drive the brutality of the Kaezer out of their land. Always on the move. But that had long been the forced reality of things, anyway. Walter had heard tell, of a place called home. It was a hollow word to him, in a physical sense. Home, he’d discovered, was not a physical location. But a presence, when things would just for a moment, settle into place. Even if only for a while. When everyone seemed at peace with the surroundings, and with the people in their company. There were moments like these, every now and then. As his family found themselves accepted into a camp, and soon became a part of the resistance. A wandering community of about forty people. Both individuals and families, those who were still able and trustworthy. Traitors, or those who committed violent acts against other members of the camp, were dealt with harshly and swiftly, no matter who they were. In this way, the group stayed tight-knit and efficient in their cause. It was the last stand of those who opposed the oppressive ways of the Kaezer. Several months passed, and he quickly adjusted to his new role in the group. Everyone, even the children, did their part. Walter had just turned fourteen. He liked being given a job, a purpose. It made him feel like he was of value, and doing something to help in the resistance against Kaezer, rather than just running from him all the time. At first, he was assigned to be a scout. He was posted at a lookout with another boy about his age. A quiet, solemn lad, with tousled dark hair and green eyes that were always searching, watching. His name was Nathaniel. Walter and Nathaniel took the south and east watch every other day, from dusk to dawn. Up all night. They’d talk about the War, their experiences. Sometimes they’d even talk about things like girls, and life’s more gentle side. Nathaniel became a friend. The first person outside of his family that he felt he had a real connection with. Growing up on the run, had afforded him little time, or trust, to pursue social relations with other young people. He found himself feeling more of a conviction than ever, to help the rebels oust the Kaezer, so that life could settle into some sort of normalcy. The forces of the Kaezer were always following them, always trying to catch them. They adapted, in spite of the losses they endured. Became experts at evading, and disabling, the Kaezer’s robots. And, even better at stealing water from them. By working together, utilizing the talents and knowledge of everyone in the group, they developed a synchronized strategy, which became a vital part of their success. The Kaezer had taken control of all known sources of Earth’s safe remaining water. There were a number of these, scattered around the landscape in remote places. Isolated springs, lakes, places where the water flowed up from the planet’s crust. Fresh pools, too deep or hidden to be tainted. They were precious, as they meant both power and life to those lucky enough to possess them. The resistance discovered quickly where all of these lay. And they wasted no time in learning how to sabotage them. They had a circuit of targets, and would rotate in their attacks. In hopes to always take the robots and troopers stationed to guard the sites by surprise. Walter’s first experience in what came to be called the water riots, came when the leader of the camp, Owen Liscomb, pulled him aside one afternoon. Walter had always regarded Liscomb with both awe and respect. Liscomb had been an officer in the forces of the previous regime. A man with incredible knowledge and experience. To have earned his attention was both alarming, and an honor. Liscomb had laid a hand on Walters shoulder. “You’re getting taller every day. Marlow. Another year, you’ll be looking those walkers in the optical. Have you ever given thought to joining the riot team?”
Posted on: Sat, 13 Dec 2014 07:02:25 +0000
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