Ill-Fated (Ill-Fated Series Book 1)

  Ill-Fated

  By S. C. McMurray

  Text Copyright © 2016 S. C. McMurray

  All Rights Reserved

  For my wife

  Table of Contents

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  Chapter Thirty

  Chapter Thirty-One

  Chapter Thirty-Two

  Chapter Thirty-Three

  Chapter Thirty-Four

  Chapter Thirty-Five

  Chapter Thirty-Six

  Chapter Thirty-Seven

  Chapter Thirty-Eight

  Chapter Thirty-Nine

  Chapter Forty

  Chapter Forty-One

  Chapter One

  The messy brown hair hanging carelessly above his soft blue eyes, his perfect lips, his rugged cheeks, even the stubble on his chin seemed so real. Who was this young man? She hadn’t an idea of his name, but she knew him. She was sure of that. Where did she know him from? How did she know him? She couldn’t even venture a guess. She assumed herself crazy for even dreaming about him. How can you dream about someone you’ve never met? How can you dream about someone you’ve never even seen? She feared the recurring prospect of her nighttime visitor, but yet, if she woke without dreaming of him, she felt disappointed. So was the game of chess between the night and her subconscious. She didn’t dream of money or being a princess, she didn’t dream of being the most popular girl in school. She dreamed of him, whoever he was.

  She awoke the morning of her 17th birthday with no ache of disappointment. She had dreamed of him, her blue-eyed sandman. They were walking hand and hand through a meadow of wildflowers. They didn’t say a word to each other. They never did. But she was happy.

  She stared at the ceiling for a moment, trying to hold onto the dream for as long as she could. The intoxicating fragrance of the flowers, the singing of the birds, the feel of their interlocked fingers, it was all so vivid, but fading fast. She blinked as if her eyes were a camera capturing the moment in a photograph, still it faded until all she could see was the bright sun shining against his face. He was happy it seemed, but anxious about something. Anxious for what? That was just another question without answer.

  She pulled off her covers and sat up on the side of the bed. The morning sun was prying its way through the thin, veil-like curtains covering the only window of her bedroom. It was time to get ready for school. She felt around the cool wood floor with her bare feet until she found her slippers. She slipped them on, stood to her feet and stretched her arms toward the ceiling. She could almost touch it. Like her red hair and soft freckles didn’t make her stand out enough already. She yawned and lumbered over to her closet to get ready for school. Picking out an outfit was easy. She wore the same thing every day, a white blouse with a black skirt that, due to her long, skinny legs, didn’t quite reach the bottom of her knees as intended. This lovely ensemble was topped off with a cardigan sweater adorned with a gold patch just above the right breast that spelled with neatly embroidered letters, Cincinnati Girls Preparatory School. She sighed and slid open the closet door and grabbed the uniform hanging on the far left of the closet. With the uniform in hand, she headed across the hallway to the bathroom. She hung her daily attire on a hook located on the door then turned on the tub facet. She sat on the edge of the tub and waited for the water to get warm. As she waited, she tried again to recall the dream. She could see his face, a hodgepodge of nervousness and excitement. She remembered the meadow, just not as vivid as before. Then she felt an impression. They were going to a certain place. But where?

  Still pondering the dream, she ignored the steam rising from the tub and absent mindedly reached her hand under the stream of hot water. The searing pain ripped her back into reality and she yanked her hand out from under the faucet. The top of her hand was as red as her hair and hurt like hell, but the pain quickly went away and was replaced with a strange tingling sensation. As if what she was seeing wasn’t real, she watched the top of her hand return to its normal pale color. Another one of those oddities she’d been noticing about herself lately. She shook it off and adjusted the temperature to her liking. She undressed, turned on the shower and climbed in. She stood under the steady stream of water, wishing that it was Sunday, so she wouldn’t have to go to school. She didn’t like school much anyway and it had only gotten worse since her best friend Lana inexplicably moved six months ago.

  After a few moments of contemplating the precariousness of going to school without her only friend, she climbed out of the shower and dried off, determined to follow her father’s advice and make new friends. Though, she was certain she wouldn’t do much better than she had done in the previous 17 years. Still, she would try. She didn’t like eating lunch alone.

  She dressed quickly then brushed through her hair in the mirror while keeping an eye on the top of her left hand as if the pain and redness would appear again. It didn’t. She finished with her hair and stepped back from the mirror. All that was left to put on to complete her daily ensemble was her black flats and the cardigan sweater. She grabbed the sweater and tossed it over her arm. She went back to her room and pulled her flats from under her bed. As she bent down to grab them, a small package wrapped in newspaper fell from the pocket of the cardigan. She knew who was responsible immediately.

  “Dad,” she said with a smile as she picked it up.

  She sat down on the bed and went to work opening the package. Inside she found a small note and a silver locket. She unfolded the note and read it.

  My dear Evelyn,

  A beautiful locket for a beautiful young woman on her 17th birthday.

  Love, Dad

  P.S. Please excuse the wrapping paper. It was all I could find at work. Evelyn smiled and shook her head. “You’re excused, Dad.”

  She carefully folded the note and sat it on her mostly empty dresser. She then gently pulled out the locket and examined it in the palm of her hand. She pressed a small button and the locket opened revealing a small picture of herself and parents taken when she was a small child. Back when her mother was happy. Inscribed on the other half of the locket were the words ‘when you are lost, you will find that we are never far away.’ She read them to herself twice before she went to her bedroom mirror and placed the locket around her slender neck. She hated her neck, but the locket made her feel better about it. With a quick smile of excitement, she slipped on her flats and headed out of her room in search of some breakfast.

  As she headed downstairs, she wished her father was home so she could throw her arms around him and give him a big hug. He wasn’t, as she’d known he wouldn’t be. It was the beginning of construction season in Satrapy Eleven and the transportation department was overseeing the completion of a high-speed monorail line linking Nashville to Detroit. She sighed. The hug would have to wait till he got home that night.

/>   She wasn’t completely alone in the small apartment. She did find her mother sitting at their kitchen table, staring vacantly out the window at the traffic passing by below, sipping a steaming cup of coffee. Evelyn’s mother was a beautiful woman, tall, graceful and well-proportioned with blonde hair that hadn’t changed since she was Evelyn’s age. Despite how dull and listless she had become, she was still gorgeous and people noticed. Evelyn envied her in that regard.

  Evelyn went to the refrigerator.

  “Good morning, Mother,” she said as she grabbed a nearly empty gallon of milk off the top shelf.

  Evelyn’s mother glanced at her, feigned a smile and said, “Morning dear,” before returning her attention to the traffic below.

  Their typical exchange now over, Evelyn snatched a box of cornflakes from the cupboard and poured herself a bowl. She added the milk, holding the jug upside down until the last drop dripped onto the cereal. Her morning routine was to eat her bowl of cereal in the living room as she watched the latest edition of the United Network News or UNN. She knew she was the only teenage girl who watched the news before school every morning, but she was looking for someone. He never showed. Still, she watched regularly.

  That morning was different, though. Maybe it was the locket and the early memories it carried with it, but she longed to sit with her mother. So, she took a seat in the metal chair across from her. Her mother paid her no mind and continued to sip her coffee as she watched the traffic pass by below.

  “So, Mother, see anything unusual down there?”

  Her mother didn’t answer right away. “No,” she said, finally.

  Evelyn ate a spoonful of her cereal and stared at her mother. This mother didn’t match the one from the locket.

  “Any big plans for today?” Evelyn asked, baiting her for a real motherly response.

  Evelyn’s mother sighed, “Oh…I don’t know. Run to the store, I suppose.”

  No more words were shared between them. Her mother made no mention of Evelyn’s birthday. And it wasn’t because she was planning a big or even small surprise birthday. She didn’t remember, or she didn’t care. As Evelyn slowly ate her cereal, she kept asking herself what she expected to be any different about this morning. She sighed. How can two people married to each other be so different?

  Evelyn finished her cereal and angrily tossed the plastic bowl into the sink.

  “We’re out of milk,” she said pointedly as she hurried out of the kitchen into the living room. She grabbed her school bag off the couch and stepped out onto the apartment hallway, slamming the door behind her.

  That was her life, boring, sad and lonely.

  Chapter Two

  Evelyn rose to her feet along with the rest of her classmates, placed her hand over her heart and faced the flag. As if it was a monotonous prayer, she and everyone else in the room recited The Pledge of Allegiance.

  “I pledge allegiance to the flag of the United People of America. And to the assembly for which it stands, one nation, in solidarity and strength with assistance and justice for all.”

  In unison there were the sounds of chairs sliding across the tile floor as Evelyn and her classmates found their seats. Miss Kline, a rigid woman with a hard face and short hair, marched to the front of the room. She stood for a moment and eyed her students as if she was a drill instructor looking to berate them. She was wearing her standard issue gray pant-suit and she was wearing it proudly. She crossed her arms behind her back and began to pace the front of the room.

  “Today is May 6th. Do you know what is so important about this day?”

  Evelyn thought about her birthday, but she knew that was not what Miss Kline was referring to. There was a moment of silence. This was precisely the time that Lana would have raised her hand and provided the right answer. She was kind of a know-it-all. Finally, a student a couple of rows behind Evelyn raised her hand sheepishly.

  Miss Kline nodded to her and the student said, “Today is Victor’s Day, the anniversary of the day The War turned in our favor.”

  Miss Kline smiled, her cold, indifferent, smile. “Yes, Miss Vaughn, it is the 35th anniversary to be exact.” She paused.

  Evelyn could see that Miss Kline was preparing to regale them with her dramatic retelling of the events that happened to occupy the same date as her birthday. Evelyn sighed to herself and pulled out a piece of notebook paper and began to sketch the face of her dreamscape visitor. Miss Kline continued, but was nothing more than background noise to Evelyn as she drew the outline of his face. She didn’t need to listen to Miss Kline’s story anyway. Just like with all of her classmates, the story had been drilled into her head since she was old enough to hear it.

  In 2026 the world’s financial system collapsed leading to a nearly global depression. Two years later there was a highly contested presidential election with the two major candidates representing two polar opposite views on how to handle the depression and pretty much everything else. Cynicism and political distrust were at their highest. A candidate named Gerald Ross won the election, but shortly after he was sworn in, a couple of journalists uncovered evidence suggesting that the election had been rigged in his favor. The opposing party called for the impeachment of the new President and the automatic election of their candidate. The controversy over the election was like throwing gasoline on a fire. President Ross refused to step down and major protests began. These protests soon turned violent, leading to riots in almost every major city. President Ross called for the military to step in and quell the violence, but the leading generals refused to support a president that wasn’t fairly elected, issuing a joint statement from all the branches. The United States’ experiment with free government came to a violent end as citizen turned against citizen. Then China, the long-time rival of the United States, seeing how weak the division had made our former country, launched a preemptive military attack and invasion of the United States and its allies in Asia. The military, led by General Vivian Thorne, pulled together to fight the attack and the American people rallied behind her. Still, the Chinese numerical and economic advantage was proving too much to overcome and their missile defense system negated any opportunity to use nuclear weapons against them.

  Suddenly, the room became deathly quiet as Miss Kline brought her tantalizing tale to an abrupt halt. Evelyn could feel all the eyes of her classmates upon her.

  “Miss Evelyn Smoak,” Miss Kline’s words were like knives. “Would you like to tell us the rest of the story? Since you seem to know it so well that there is no need for you to pay attention.”

  Evelyn raised her head slowly and covered the sketch with her arm, hoping none of the other girls would notice it.

  “Well, Miss Smoak, we’re waiting.”

  Evelyn was not good in these situations. She slunk down into her chair.

  “Th-The Chinese—”

  “—Stand up, please.” Miss Kline interrupted.

  Evelyn stood awkwardly to her feet as commanded.

  Miss Kline gestured with her arm. “Go on.”

  Evelyn began to tremble. She took a deep breath to calm herself and began again.

  “Th-the Chinese were winning. That is until this date thirty-five years ago when a young captain in the U.S. Rangers named Octavian Thatcher managed to break the Chinese missile defense code and shut it down. Allowing us to use our nuclear weapons against them.”

  Miss Kline stood with her unblinking eyes locked on Evelyn for a long moment before finally nodding.

  “Good. You may sit down, Ms. Smoak.”

  Flushed with embarrassment, Evelyn dropped into her seat to the quick snickers of her classmates. She missed Lana now more than ever.

  Miss Kline began to pace the front of the room again.

  “Do you know why the Chinese attacked us when they did? Because the United States was weak. Why was the United States weak? Because it was a country full of individuals divided by the concept of ‘natural rights‘. But we are weak no more, because we have rid ourselves of the
sources of division: religion, politics, uncensored speech. I could go on and on, but I wish not to bore you.”

  She paused and looked sharply at Evelyn. “However, I do fear that we, in the 35 years since, have lost some of our resolve as demonstrated by one of your classmate’s inability to pay attention to one of our most cherished stories.”

  She turned and snatched a digital marker from her desk and began to write an equation in the air. “To prove wrong my fears, I would like all of you to solve this equation…without a calculator.”

  A collective sigh rose up from the class. The equation appeared on the desk before Evelyn and she flipped over her sketch and began to work on it. Miss Kline patrolled the aisles between the rows of desks, each frustrated sigh and moan registering a cold smirk upon her lips.

  After ten minutes or so, she marched to the front of the room. “Time is up. Do any of my fine students have the answer?”

  She scanned the rows of students, no one was brave enough to raise their hand.

  “Did not one of you solve the equation?” Heads dropped and eyes averted.

  Miss Kline smiled in vindication. “Hmm. Just as I thought. Do any of you even recognize it?”

  Again no hands were raised.

  “This was the equation that First General Thatcher solved 35 years ago that allowed him to break the code…without a calculator.”

  She took up her digital marker and with swift movements wrote the answer in the air. X = 3.589322145.

  Evelyn glanced at First General Thatcher’s answer and then at her own. They were the same, but she didn’t say a word.

  Thirty five minutes of advanced calculus later, the bell rang and Miss Kline dismissed the class. Pent up chatter was released as all the students filed out of the room. Evelyn slipped the sketch into a pile of notes in her folder and headed for the door.

  “Miss Smoak,” said Miss Kline from behind her.

  Evelyn, instantly filled with dread, turned toward her hesitantly. “Yes, Miss Kline.”

  Miss Kline held out her hand and walked toward her. “Let me see your things.”