Transient: A Tech Noir Novel (Immortal Wake Book 1) by Wheeler Zachry

Author:Wheeler, Zachry
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Mayhematic Press
Published: 2016-11-08T00:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER 10

Jonas endured a constant stream of propaganda as a child, etching itself into mind and bone. From the confines of a rickety desk, he consumed a steady diet of strategic imagery meant to inspire or revolt. Fanatical tenets festered on an endless loop, day after day, year after year.

A typical day began with a family breakfast, often the peak of solace before descending into lectures and chores. Hector pounded the front door, knocking soot from the walls and ceiling. His guttural voice unraveled the morning serenity. Cringes met the call of duty as trainees lifted from their seats.

Jonas and his siblings emerged from their family abode, a dark and muggy section of the cave compound. They shuffled down a dank corridor to a large meeting room at the rear of the tunnel. The group merged with other broods along the way, creating a small troupe of would-be transients marching to their respective destinies. A stony archway greeted their arrival, stamped with crosses and other religious symbols. The first one inside received the full brunt of Hector’s scowl, so they paused to select a volunteer. Jonas often assumed the burden as a mercy to his younger comrades.

They stepped into a large craggy room that doubled as a school and chapel. A collection of low-wattage lamps illuminated the granite walls. Hector helmed a crude pulpit overlooking several rows of tarnished desks. Dusty bookshelves adorned the wall behind him, full of tattered books, frayed Bibles, and a vast collection of recon journals. His stringy white hair and speckled beard drew shadowy lines across a rugged face. A dirty white robe and corded waist created a zealous portrait. His chiding eyes followed students to their desks. The front two caged his youngest sons, Luke and Tobias, sitting quiet and motionless with heads bowed. The footsteps of a skittish army echoed around the room, their hardened soles scuffing sheets of slate. The metal legs of chairs screeched across the stone floor, stinging nerves and rattling poise. Jonas always claimed a rear desk, a spiteful indulgence that kept Mara within a whisper. Hector raised his chin, which stifled the remaining activity. The gruff sigh of a patriarch signaled another day of brainwashing.

Eyes closed and heads bowed as tired prayers poured from a pious mouth. Jonas stared at the wall with head erect, a small act of defiance unseen by the self-righteous. Mara caught him from time to time and conveyed her disapproval through sour expressions. Jonas replied with playful smirks, drawing the usual eye roll.

With a simultaneous amen, lectures began. Some days focused on the small and technical while others touched on the broad and social, all with a sacred slant. Jonas passed the time by counting the number of blatant references to the almighty. Religion burrowed itself into the hungry minds of his fellow trainees, but Jonas remained immune. He derailed lessons with logical fallacies, hoping to ignite debate. Elders responded with contempt and ridicule, dismissing his points as the venomous words of the Devil.

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