Deathless

By Shayn Fite

Everything changed when The Architect arrived.

With it came fresh technology, clean energy, and new talents.

It also brought its enemies . . .

Now, nearly a century later, the bloodthirsty creatures known as the apexes reign supreme, while humanity clings to survival behind the walls of a few fortified supercities.

Hope

• Language: English
• Publisher: Lost Tracks Publishing
• Release date: May 17, 2024
• ISBN: 9798869383648

Book preview

Deathless

Shayn Fite

Copyright © 2024 Shayn Fite

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system without permission in writing from the publisher.

Lost Tracks Publishing——Pasco, WA

ISBN: 979-8-218-39672-5

eBook ISBN: 979-8-8693-8364-8

Library of Congress Control Number: 2024909401

Title: Deathless

Author: Shayn Fite

Digital distribution | 2024

Paperback | 2024

This is a work of fiction. The characters, names, incidents, places, and dialogue are products of the author’s imagination and are not to be construed as real.

Dedication

To my wife, Allison.

Hope deferred makes the heart sick, but a dream fulfilled is a tree of life.

Proverbs 13:12 (NLT)

"The end of a thing is better than its beginning;

The patient in spirit is better than the proud in spirit."

Ecclesiastes 7:8 (NKJV)

Prologue

A

blushing sun made its decline toward the horizon, shining above the blighted earth. Where animals, people, and vegetation had once lived in abundance, the land was now sparse in all manners of life. Much like the year’s current season, this era was also the one for dying.

Mykha Searcy sat atop the Banech Site’s roof, looking out over the dry, empty plain. The air was smoky, but not as bad as others had made it seem. It reminded her of how Mr. Wesley smelled, who was often scolded for smoking his handmade cigarettes indoors.

The scavenging party should be back by now, she thought. Back before dusk. At least, that was the general rule around here. If you stayed out in these wastelands everyone called The Fades, your chances of an apex encounter elevated drastically after dusk. And if you encountered an apex creature, your chances of seeing tomorrow went down. Way down.

She kicked her legs over the dusty loudspeaker perched next to the disabled siren she sat upon. A long time ago, these devices alerted Banech residents to an incoming attack. Unfortunately, the noise had also brought a lot of unwanted attention from all the other dangers roaming about the Fades. So the outdoor sirens and speakers were quickly unplugged in favor of the indoor alarm system that could only be heard underground.

A cloud waded across the sun, darkening the sky momentarily. Mykha’s pulse quickened. Other people in the settlement were scared witless by the dark. And probably for good reason. She, however, had never seen the night sky before. Heck, she’d barely been outside at all! A week ago, she’d been on her deathbed, half-paralyzed from Boennivak’s syndrome, and sporting signs of premature decay on her skin, nails, and hair. For the past few years, she hadn’t been able to walk by herself, dress herself, or clean herself. Most of her favorite foods had to be avoided too, because there wasn’t much she could keep down.

But now?

Now she was strong.

I should go inside, her reasonable side prodded. A chill ran down her back: one part fear, one part exhilaration. The apexes would be out soon.

How amazing would it be to travel with the scavenger team though? All those adventures and experiences they shared. It’d be just like living out one of her favorite novels.

Mykha!

She jumped at the booming voice, turning toward the access ladder to find . . .

Her dad.

Uh oh.

Are you kidding me? Eugene Searcy scolded. I leave you alone for ten minutes and you wander off to do the most dangerous thing imaginable?

I’ve imagined more dangerous things than—

That’s not the point! Eugene paused to take a deep breath and massage his temples. Mykha, I . . .

She stood up. Dad, look. It’s okay. I’m not a bedridden little girl anymore. I’m not helpless. I can run if something goes ‘boo.’

Honey, the Fades are dangerous for anyone. Don’t you get that? And you’ve only been . . . he hesitated, unsure of what to say. He finally just gestured to her legs. "Like this, for a few days. We don’t know if it will last. What if the disease comes back when you least expect it? These are the things I have to think about."

And there it was.

The part where Mykha became a burden again.

Most people were scared of normal things, like torture or a horrible death. Having lived most of her life on the verge of dying, she wasn’t so fearful of it. Her fears involved the negative impact she had on the lives of others.

Mykha unconsciously reached up and rubbed the necklace she now wore. I’m sorry. I just . . . never thought I’d move like this again, you know? I want to know what it’s like to do things. To have an adventure. Like you and mom.

Eugene sighed. Then he walked over and hugged his daughter. She noted that he smelled faintly of alcohol, which worried Mykha. He’d never been much of a drinker as far as she knew. But the day after her miraculous recovery, she’d found him sitting on his bed with a bottle of Luna.

Why don’t you hang out with some of the other girls your age? You’ll be taking classes with them soon.

They don’t like me.

What? Of course, they do.

Pretty sure I creep them out.

Mykha! They’ve barely ever talked to you. What makes you think something like that?

I tried sitting with some of them at breakfast but Brianne Bessell said, ‘Let’s get out of here, she gives me the creeps.’

Oh. Eugene cleared his throat. Well, people are dumb sometimes, honey. Just give it time, okay? Things will work out. He patted her back as they headed for the ladder. You really do remind me of her, you know that?

Mykha smiled at that. She didn’t have any memories of her mother, the woman had died when Mykha was a baby, but she enjoyed hearing all her stories. From what Mykha could piece together from old diaries, pictures, and her father’s retellings, her mother had been a wonderful person. Honest, courageous, and skilled, Aria Searcy had been a high-ranking officer in some important division of the Climax military.

An engine growled in the distance. Mykha and Eugene looked out into the Fades and spotted a series of vehicles approaching.

Scavenging team cutting it close tonight, Eugene said. Hope everything is okay.

The Searcys made their way down the ladder and entered one of the lifts that led underground to Banech’s bunker. This was the real settlement. They exited at the second basement floor where a traveling tradesperson had set up a display of goods in front of the cafeteria.

Hi, Sidonia, Mykha waved to the chipper blonde who visited a few times every year to trade with the Banech site residents. Sidonia Dahlen was a petite woman who was forty-ish and always seemed to have a coat or sweater or cloak that matched her emerald eyes.

This trip she sported a long jacket with lots of buttoned pockets. Oh, my lord, Sidonia said after a sharp gasp. She stepped away from her display case to come closer, her eyes flicking toward Eugene before she grasped Mykha’s hands. Look at you . . . I heard the rumors but . . .

Before she could finish, the other lift doors opened to a loud commotion.

The hell was that back there, Ledbury? You almost got us killed!

Mykha, Eugene, and Sidonia stopped to watch as Victor Esquivel marched after Casey Ledbury as other residents melted away from the confrontation.

The two men stormed into the cafeteria while the other members of the scavenger party followed. They all looked miserable.

And wet.

Ledbury, a long, skinny man with the same short layer of dark stubble on his face that was on his head, stopped by a table and met Victor with a glare of his own. Vic, you’re full of it, you know that? You act real tough down here where you think it’s safe, but don’t forget; we’re all just mice. You can lift all the weights you want, and shoot all the targets, but that’s never gonna change.

With a bang, Victor slammed his hands down on the table between them and threw it to the side. Arms flailed about, shoving and grappling and swinging. People screamed and scurried out of the way to avoid the scuffle.

Enough!

Jessie Mae might have been an older, frail-looking woman, but her voice carried powerfully when she needed it to. At seventy-three years of age, she had finally stepped down as the Lead Administrator for the Banech site, relinquishing the role to someone else a few years ago. But that was only a title—akin to a sledgehammer wearing a nametag. Jessie didn’t need to wear it for people to know her authority.

Why are two men, both damn near forty, fighting like children in front of all these people? Jessie Mae laid into people in a way that always cut deep, which was apparent in the faces of Victor and Casey. "That’s right. Don’t tell me, ‘cause I don’t want to be ashamed of y’all today. Now gon’ somewhere! Get! The two men gathered up their things and left without so much as a glance at one another. Jessie’s voice settled back into a reedy, grandmotherly tone as she turned to face a child down by her knee. And what happened to you, princess?"

Little Kaylee Gardner, who was crying into her mother’s lap, looked up at the older woman with streaks running through the dirt on her cheeks. Mr. Ledbury always says we won’t be here anymore. He said the doors are gonna open and the monsters are coming in! she cried. It should have been a ridiculous notion; no vessers had been sighted on Banech’s grounds in years, and never had they actually gotten inside the compound.

Jessie Mae blinked at the girl. The old woman’s blue eyes could change from frosted ice to soothing water in an instant. Dropping down into a seat close by she said, Come here, young one, and hoisted the tiny brunette up into her lap. After whispering something into the girl’s ear, she said aloud with a sense of finality, Okay?

Okay, the little girl agreed. Whatever the former administrator said seemed to ease Kaylee’s trauma for the time being. Chatter started to build among the people in the cafeteria.

Jessie helped Kaylee over to her mother and rose to her feet, knuckling her back. Someone in the back, fix me a plate for our guest. Please and thank you. She began looking around the room absently when her eyes fell on Mykha. Her hand covered her mouth and then fell over her chest. Oh, Mykha. How good it is to see you on your feet! You decided to venture out then. Good for you.

Being a true friend of the Searcys, Jessie Mae was one of the first people to learn of Mykha’s recovery. Mykha smiled and gave a slight bow of the head, unsure of what to say. A thank you came to mind but seemed awkward somehow. Someone from the kitchen who had come to rush a plate of food out to Jessie stopped to stare. Soon Mykha realized everyone in the cafeteria was staring in her direction and the uptick in noise seemed directly related. She couldn’t make out every word, but what she did hear was hurtfully unpleasant. Folding her arms, Mykha wished she could disappear under the floor tiles. This is why she wanted to be alone.

That’s when she noticed her father was gone. Did he head back home? Mykha wondered. Then she ducked away from the crowd as well.

Hurrying back the way she’d come, Mykha re-entered the lift with some members from the scavenging party.

Joining a scavenging party was dangerous but important work. Although they had to navigate the deep trenches of the Fades and face its many threats, they were the settlement's main source of supplies, materials, and intel. Unlike official colonies such as Carmichael, settlements like Banech didn’t receive funding or support from a super city.

What a nightmare, said a small, hard-bodied woman named Rose. Mykha had met her on a few occasions. Can’t believe we wasted an entire trip.

The other man in the lift was Mr. Pritchard. He lived close to the Searcys on the bottom floor of the bunker. Mr. Pritchard was about 6’6" with a bushy, graying beard, but he was also one of the friendliest men around. Right now though, he looked like he was about to puke.

It wasn’t . . . ugh . . . It wasn’t an entire . . . waste, Mr. Pritchard said between gulps and mini dry heaves.

You doing alright, Mr. Pritchard? Mykha asked as the lift came to a stop on their floor. You don’t look so good.

The man’s hands cradled his abdomen as he winced in pain. Just a little stomach bug, he said between gritted teeth. Nothing a little rest and water won’t take care of. Or maybe a long sit down on the porcelain throne.

Alan, that’s gross, Rose said, coming out of the elevator with a frown. Not in front of the kid.

Mr. Pritchard wheezed a shaky laugh and waved as Rose headed in the opposite direction. The Pritchards were only a couple doors down from where the Searcys lived, so Mykha started down the hall beside him. They were almost at their apartments when Mr. Pritchard doubled over with a cry of pain, slamming himself into the wall.

Mr. Pritchard? Mykha leaned over him awkwardly, unsure how to help. It’s not like she could carry the giant man into his bed.

The door to the Pritchard home opened and Mrs. Pritchard poked her head out. Alan? Was that you? What’s wrong?

He said he’s got a stomach bug or something, Mykha said, but Mrs. Pritchard just shoved past her and laid a hand on her husband’s back.

C’mon dear, let’s get you inside, she said, ignoring Mykha.

We’ve still got a lot of medicines in my room, Mykha offered. Some stuff for pain and others for fighting infections. I could bring some over if you’d . . .

"No thank you." Mrs. Pritchard quickly ushered her husband into their home. The door slammed without her ever bothering to look at Mykha.

The Pritchard family had three children, one of whom had been diagnosed with a rare type of cancer last year. It didn’t seem like he’d make it to see next summer.

Mykha stood outside the Pritchards’ door for a while wondering if she should tell them her secret. She held up the white, arrowhead-shaped stone at the end of the thin chain necklace she now wore. The little rock had blue freckles on it. Kind of like an Architect Shard.

Would you believe me if I told you a strange man from nowhere brought me back from the dead? Mykha whispered. No? Didn’t think so.

Technically, that man had asked her and her dad not to tell anyone what had happened. With a deep breath, Mykha decided not to go against his wishes. Instead, she headed toward her own home and found the door already unlocked.

She pushed it open to their living quarters, Dad?

No response.

The living room, her father’s bedroom, and the kitchen were all empty. Perhaps Mr. Searcy had gone down to the workshop for some reason. As Mykha rounded the next corner she found the door to their stairwell ajar.

There you are, she thought.

She took a step toward it and paused. A woman’s voice was coming from down there.

Odd. Her dad rarely allowed guests in. Maybe it was a recording of some kind? Mykha almost called again, but something in her wanted to listen. So she slipped through the partially open door, careful to avoid squeaking its old hinges, and crept down the stairs.

...arguing here, Eugene? Do you understand the magnitude of what has happened? the woman said.

Yes, I understand! I’m not saying we stay here forever. But do we have to jump to a hasty decision right now?

Her father was near the back of the room, on the other side of his worktable, standing before the monitors he kept on the wall. He appeared to be on a video call with someone. Mykha never heard her father engage in this type of heated exchange. She peered over the railing, squinting around his head to find out who had fired him up like this.

"Yes! You do. Whatever that man did to our daughter sent a massive blast of Surge energy rippling across the . . ." the woman continued talking but her voice suddenly seemed miles away.

Our daughter?

Mykha struggled to catch her breath as she stared at the monitor, waiting for her father’s head to move. She had pictures of course. Even a few short recordings her parents had taken together during their expeditions through the Fades.

But Mykha needed to see it. She needed to see the face of that woman on the screen to confirm what her heart already knew to be true.

Tears welled up in her eyes as she waited in silence. Our readings have never picked up anything like it since The Shards were still active, the caller continued. Eugene, I’m begging you. Come back to Climax. We’ll figure things out from there. Don’t make me do something I don’t want to.

At that moment, Mr. Searcy dropped his head with a heavy sigh . . .

On the screen, Mykha’s dead mother gazed down at her.

A cry left Mykha’s lips as a stab of pain pierced her chest. Neither of her parents heard it though.

Because the Banech site’s security alarms had just started blaring.

They were under attack.

Acknowledgments

T

he tales revolving around the Architect and its shards have lived rent free in my heart since my junior year at Northwest University. They baked and boiled and simmered. They sat out for weeks, then got reheated and burned. Out of frustration, I threw them in the trash but didn’t give them time to cool, which inadvertently started a dumpster fire and set my house ablaze. It was chaos. Thankfully, we salvaged the ingredient list. With slight changes to the recipe, I was able to cook again. Then they aged.

Honestly, if it wasn’t for the love and support God provided through friends and family all these years, Deathless, and the collections to follow, would be dead and gone while I continued to enjoy someone else’s takeout.

So yes, there are a lot of people to thank.

First and foremost, I want to thank my beautiful wife. Allison has had to share me with a bunch of invisible people for the entirety of our relationship. Not only has she been loving and patient with me and my glossy-eyed, mental outings, she’s been my biggest supporter, motivator, and fan.

Next, I’d like to thank my family. My mom, dad, sister, brother, Grandma, son, and daughter are gifts from God. I’m very thankful for them all.

My cousin Shantel gets a special thank you for her words of wisdom many years ago that completely changed my thinking about writing fiction.

Thank you to the Pacific Northwest Writers Association for the amazing conferences every year. And thank you to Carrie King for your feedback and kind words! So glad I got to meet you in person after you anonymously read and critiqued two different versions of this book in consecutive years.

Thank you, Mr. Nusrat, for the work you did on the cover.

Many thanks to everyone who took the time to read one of the many drafts of Deathless and give feedback! Sandy Hull, Silas Goewey, Necia Poulson, Brandon Custy, Ashleigh Schulz, Destiny Salter, Lindsey Mielke, and several others. Thank you, Trevor Jebb Paul, for all the friendship, all the laughs, all the creative fuel, and the confidence boosters you give.

I also want to give a special shout out to my teachers and professors: Stephanie Frazier, Lenae Nofziger, Julia Young, Kara Heinrichs, Connie Rice, Debbie Pope, and of course, Dr. Martha Diede.

And finally, thank you Em Hughes and the New Book Authors Publishing team. It’s been a pleasure working with you.

Contents

Deathless

Dedication

Prologue

Acknowledgments

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 Forty-Two

Chapter Forty-Three

Chapter Forty-Four

Chapter Forty-Five

Chapter Forty-Six

Chapter Forty-Seven

Chapter Forty-Eight

Chapter Forty-Nine

Chapter Fifty

Chapter Fifty-One

Chapter Fifty-Two

Chapter Fifty-Three

Chapter Fifty-Four

Chapter Fifty-Five

Chapter Fifty-Six

Chapter Fifty-Seven

Chapter Fifty-Eight

Chapter Fifty-Nine

Chapter Sixty

Chapter Sixty-One

Chapter Sixty-Two

Chapter Sixty-Three

Chapter Sixty-Four

Chapter Sixty-Five

Chapter Sixty-Six

Epilogue

About the Author

Chapter One

Caul

Thursday

H

ideous weeds of all shapes sprouted haphazardly from the gravel driveway. I cursed, already anticipating the prick of sand spurs and foxtails I’d find in my boots later. This scorched and blighted part of town was a fitting environment for me to face my greatest challenge of the day:

A geriatric old woman.

This was my fourth assignment today, and after bombing the first three, I seriously needed to complete this one successfully.

Upper-district rich folk don’t put up with this.

My ankles ached from the crappy boots. My stomach groaned from the lunch I didn’t eat. And now my head throbbed from the stupid ticket I had to process!

My current assignment was a low-level ticket of the generic retrieval variety. Ugh. Generic retrieval tickets sucked. I hated them as much as Climax City citizens hate apex creatures.

Okay, that was an exaggeration. The apexes were responsible for the destruction of the world, so it probably wasn’t fair to compare them to a day job. These tickets were still a pain though. On I went, mumbling something like a mantra while taking the townhouse’s steps two at a time.

Last of the day. Last one, I repeated. "Last one. Last of the day… Bruh, I am not feeling this." I gave the door three polite knocks and waited. It wasn’t that all retrieval tasks were bad—quite the opposite really.

Climax City was one of the only remaining supercities following the apocalyptic event known as The Collapse. So there was a ton of wild stuff the government paid people to handle for them. Many retrieval tickets, for example, had requests to find missing people, or criminals, or reclaim property from dangerous places. Those objectives had the thrill of competition behind them. Me versus the hiding criminal, or me versus the clock.

But this ticket—

—This ticket was trash. Literally.

I looked over my shoulder at the truck parked on the street. Harlan, my licensed supervision, gave me a nod from behind his dark glasses. I sighed. If the graying, stone-of-a-man had a superpower, it’d be the ability to make people feel undoubtedly safe—or incredibly judged. Having just turned sixteen, I was barely old enough to get my Retrieval Agent and Processor permit. In order to get my license, I’d need Harlan’s signature confirming that I’d completed fifty standard tickets. I was just about to knock again when the door swung open.

Whaddya want? crowed a little old lady. She was hunched in the middle with a cloud of bluish hair floating atop her head.

Uh, good evening ma’am. Requisitions Agent and Processor, Caul Bato here, I said, showing the badge at my waist. Sorry to bother you, but we believe you were traded some stolen items while at The Market. Do you mind if I come in?

The old woman regarded me blankly, apparently processing what I’d said. Suddenly her eyes refocused as if seeing me for the first time. "Aw piss! It’s the RAPs!"

What happened next was not really a burst of movement, (though that is clearly what she’d intended), but the woman was in a rush to put some distance between us.

Everyone, scatter! she squawked, shoving her walker aside and hobbling away on stiff, creaky joints. I turned to Harlan with a flat stare before following her into the building.

It’s a chase then, I thought, mustering up a little more motivation.

Inside was a quaint, old-fashioned home filled with fluffy furniture and knit-work crafted for various decorations. The old woman teetered on one leg as she drifted (in slow motion) around the first corner. I calmly set her walker to the side and closed the door before pursuing. Pausing at the turn, I looked both ways. Ahead, two more elderly people were seated in a living room, facing a television. Snoring.

What was this place? Some kind of frat house for seniors?

Rounding the turn, I found the woman scuttling down a narrow hallway. "You’ll never catch me, wreckie!" she hollered, using the derogatory term for my line of work, then grabbed hold of a nearby shelf and tipped it over between us as she shuffled down another hallway.

With a sigh, I stepped over the shelf and walked after her. I had a feeling this job was going to be a pain in the ass when I caught Harlan’s low-browed exchanges with his colleagues as we picked up the ticket from the Department of Licensed Requisitions and Recovery.

Climax was one of the last great cities on earth, and as such, its infrastructure was…lacking in some areas. To say the least. The city’s military, sometimes referred to as hellcasters did what they could, but with the civilian population overflowing, there was a whole mess of law enforcement-like duties that fell to the wayside. That’s where the RAPs came in.

Ma’am, please, I called. Don’t do this… I stopped to flinch as she tripped on a cat’s food bowl, narrowly avoiding a bad spill thanks to a nearby sofa. She picked up the food bowl and threw it at me. "Hey! Come on!"

I trailed after her into another living room and found her struggling with a sliding door. I ain’t do nuthin! she wailed. Wrenching the slider free, she stumbled backward into a massive, leaning wardrobe that teetered and began to fall on top of her. "Ahh!"

Crap.

I leaped forward, using some haste now, and managed to catch the thing with one hand before it crushed her. A snow globe on its middle shelf tipped. I nearly caught it, but the smooth surface slipped out of my fingers, shattering on the ground.

The old woman gaped up at me. "You’re strong."

Lady! If you don’t sit yo’ wrinkly tail down somewhere! I pointed a scolding finger. You too old to be actin’ like this! You not even in trouble!

Once I got the case upright again, I helped her into a chair next to the fallen books and retrieved a bandana from my pocket for my bloodied hand. Then I pulled out my notes. Now... I took a deep breath. A couple of days ago in The Markets, did you make trades for two large power cells, a black combination safe, copper wire, and heavy, synthetic fabrics?

She blinked twice and frowned. Y-yeah. But that was fair trade! We agreed on a dozen baskets of my finest fruits and vegetables.

I swallowed my annoyance. "Yes, ma’am, I know it was a fair trade on your end. But the man you traded with stole those items from a home in one of the middle districts last week. He’s been apprehended, but I need to recover those items and return them to their rightful owner. You’ll be recompensated with twelve hundred government-issued slips."

Her eyes grew wide at that. Hot mama, she wheezed.

A