This is the first installment of the serialized novel, Omega Consensus. Subscribe at the end of this post to receive automatic updates as new chapters become available (twice each week).

PROLOGUE

From behind a boulder, George Ho shielded his eyes. A small cloud of dust rose on the road; a faint low rumble could be heard. Someone was approaching, coming this way.

“Son of a bitch,” he muttered, glancing behind him. Thankfully, his granddaughter, Aimee, was out of earshot. His grip tightened on the shotgun, and though he didn’t raise it, he was ready.

“I haven’t seen action like this since the old days,” Ho murmured.

The motorcycle came to a sudden stop just twenty yards from him, kicking up loose gravel. The helmeted rider looked quite unfriendly, and George was hesitant to face a confrontation. The old man was not much help, even with a weapon. He backed up the sidewalk; his foot slipped in the mud. The stranger noticed him.

“Lefty,” the rider shouted. “Hey, old man, don’t you remember me?”

No one called him Lefty anymore, at least not that often.

“Who the hell are you?” he shouted back. “And where did you get gasoline?”

“You son of a gun! It’s been a minute.” The rider tore off his helmet. His once ebony hair now had streaks of white. George relaxed a little. Jake Barnes still wore the rakish grin that made Senator Willson’s wife swoon.

Jake slammed his kickstand into the dirt, leaving his bike amid a cloud of dust hanging in the air.

“Well, I’ll be. Jake, you old hound dog.” George’s voice wasn’t friendly, nor was it a snarl. “What in the Sam Hill are you doing in Utah?”

“Little of this—little of that. Doing odd jobs on the side,” Jake smiled.

George Ho gave his old colleague a once-over. Jake didn’t look a day over 40, and that was a mystery.

“You been taking a bath in the Fountain of Youth, boy?”

“Nah, I’m pretty much over the hill. These old bones ache like a bad tooth.” Barnes brushed off his pant legs and sat on a mossy berm along the creek bank. “I heard you’d settled out here. It’s nice.”

“Yeah, it is. Where on God’s earth did you find gasoline, you shifty son of a bitch?”

“I’ve got some friends who got lucky. We have a supply that should last for a while.”

“I haven’t seen gasoline in years—land sakes, it’s been five years if it’s a day.” George walked over to Jake’s vintage Harley and ran his hand along the engine—it’s as hot as a damn cook stove.

“Haven’t heard the sound of an engine in so long; I almost forgot what it sounded like.”

“Gasoline is very scarce. You’ve got to trade a lot of goods to get a gallon. It doesn’t matter, though. Not many folks have a working vehicle anymore. When I passed through Tennessee, I saw a family living in a pile of cars welded together. Made quite a cozy little cottage.”

“That’s strange. Someone’s newfangled idea of a mobile home, I suppose.”

“You can’t fully understand people. Did you know some are living in dugouts carved into the side of a hill? Guess they don’t have to worry about a twister destroying their home.”

“Great idea for hill country, but some parts are really flat.”

“True, but an old cellar works for them. A bit on the dark side, but what the hell. How are you doing, Lefty? Are you well defended?”

“I can’t get used to that Lefty thing. Nobody’s called me that in years. Why do you ask about defenses, Jake? Are you planning to raid our canned peaches? Or are you after bigger game—like the old days?”

“There are bands of thieves and troublemakers around here, Lefty,” Jake’s eyes narrowed. “I don’t remember you being squeamish about a little violence now and then. Back in the day, you were a pretty good shot.”

“You’re out of line, Jake. The old days are gone. Nothing much happens around here. We’re a peaceful group. Sometimes an outsider comes looking to steal a cow or pig, but mostly folks just keep to themselves.”

“The Eastern Reserve has reinstated the mail system. Do you all have it?”

“Nope, word of mouth works just fine for us. I don’t miss it—no bills and no damn tax man. The government snoops are out of commission, no offense, of course.”

“Sure, none taken. I heard Nick Blake lives around here. Have you seen him?” Jake kept his voice steady, so no inflection would tip the old man off.

“He’s around. Been working on setting up a new government. He’s gathered quite a few young guys for a Western Reserve militia.”

“Do you know where I can find him?”

“Maybe. He’s still the big boss. I guess once a President, always a President. He doesn’t have a title yet because we haven’t ratified a constitution. Funny thing is, these days people don’t care much for politics, which makes it hard to get them to leave their fields.”

“I’ve heard that. People say Blake is an approachable guy.”

“He rolls up his shirtsleeves and bales hay like the rest of us.” George watched as Jake took off his boots and submerged his feet in the murky water.

“Jake, lift your feet up.” The detective in him came as naturally as a burp after a cold beer. George’s fingers clenched around his gun. He felt like Lefty Ho again.

“Why?” Jake asked, but he quickly pulled his feet out of the water anyway. His cuffs spilled their water, and his strong calves looked shiny. The old man’s eyes locked onto Jake’s foot, and he turned as pale as an Asian man can get.

“You aren’t Jake Barnes,” George Ho said. He stood and aimed at the stranger who looked like Jake’s twin. “Who are you?”

“I’m Jake. I recognized you, didn’t I?”

“Get off my land,” George ordered. “Get your ass off my creek bank and haul that Harley back to whatever Hell you rode in from.”

“You’ve turned into a real gasbag, Lefty. I guess you deserve everything you get.” Jake shoved his wet feet back into his boots. He stomped off and mounted his dirt-encrusted road bike.

“And don’t come back,” George shouted. He fired a blast over the pseudo-Jake’s head. Then he heard a sound behind him and spun around, aiming the gun directly at his granddaughter’s pretty head.

“Good God, Aimee. I almost took your head off. You shouldn’t be here. Get home.”

“Grandpa, you’re such a grump. Why were you upset with that man?”

“That’s not a man,” Ho replied. “That’s a demon from Hell, and I sent him packing.”

“You said he wasn’t Jake Barnes. How did you know?” Aimee persisted.

“Because the real Jake Barnes lost his big toe to a shotgun blast years ago. And unless there’s some new-fangled regeneration technique I don’t know about, he’s what we used to call a dead ringer.” The air felt heavy as Lefty sighed. “That fellow had every one of his little piggies intact.”

The Harley coughed up a cloud of dust. Barnes was gone, winding his way through the hills back to the netherworld.

“Grandpa, are you scared?” Aimee asks as she slips the frog into her pocket.

“Someone walked over my grave, little one.”

He took a deep breath and knelt next to Aimee. “Do you have plans for that froggy?”

George Ho’s twelve-year-old granddaughter was his only child’s only child, Evan, who had passed away. He could see a faint memory of his son’s eyes when Aimee looked at him. His heart ached.

“That creature doesn’t look very happy, Aimee.”

“I’m going to keep him.”

“Don’t you think he might prefer his lily pad over the shoebox in your closet?”

“Oh, Grandpa,” Aimee sighed as the frog struggled.

“Frogs don’t like being shoved into pockets, boxes, or jars. And neither do people.”

“I don’t have anyone in my pocket,” Aimee giggled. “A person wouldn’t fit. Why did that man call you Lefty?”

“He called me Lefty because of this.” The old man waved the stump that used to be a hand with fingers. “Lost it in a mine accident in Angola. Blew my nose pickers clean off.”

“Grandpa, that’s terrible. Anyway,” she said. “Tell me about the Great Fall.” She sat at his feet, her long black hair forming a curtain around her slender, golden frame.

A cluster of gray nimbostrati collided with a black wall of rain somewhere near the mountains. Thunder echoed through the canyon, and the wind picked up.

“See the clouds stirring? It was the same way back then. A thunderstorm was forming, but we were all busy with our lives and got caught without our umbrellas. It’s kind of like what will happen if we don’t get up to the house.”

“I hate storms. Boogeymen come out whenever there’s lightning.”

“In the old days, boogeymen walked among us, Aimee. They were right under our noses”.

“Like Jake Barnes?”

“He was one of the good guys. But I’d bet my next harvest that he’s turned as bad as a cracked egg on a hot day. There’s something nasty afoot.”

“Because he grew a toe back?”

“Exactly. That’s not doable, is it? Plus, there’s been an unsettled vibe lately, and I really don’t like it.”

“Tell me everything about the clones, Grandpa. Tell me about Azara’s Land and Digby Brown.”

“You’d be fast asleep before I was finished,” George replied. “Anyway, I think your mother should tell you. I’m swamped.”

“You’re as unbusy as my frog,” Aimee laughed. The object of her affection was splayed out on a lily pad and looked half dead. “Tell me the beginning, Grandpa. Then tomorrow you can tell me the middle, and the next day you can tell me the end.”

“Why don’t you just ask me why the Earth doesn’t spin out of its orbit and hit the Sun?”

“Okay? Why?”

“I give up. Okay, it all started with a little girl named Sarah, and without her… well, who knows what might have happened? Her death was like a stone rolling down a hill. The whole thing picked up speed and kicked up plenty of debris along the way. Once things started to fall apart, there was no stopping them.”

“Sarah’s name was really Azara, I know that,” Aimee said. “She was a little redheaded girl.”

“That’s true.”

In the distance, George Ho saw his daughter-in-law, Helena. She stood on the back porch, waving her dish towel to get their attention.

“You get home, Aimee. I’ll be there in a minute.”

“Okay, but I want to hear about Sarah and Sanctuary as a bedtime story. And about Natagna.” Aimee rushed to the house, leaving George to wrestle with the dragons of his past.

The old man crouched on the steep bank. The pond reflected the darkness of the sky and his thoughts. He zipped a blade of grass between his lips and tasted the bitterness of the weed. Like a rusty pipe with a slow leak, unwelcome memories seeped into the stew of his thoughts.

He’d been just an ordinary detective. It was a routine murder case. Thoughts of the past dragged him into a swamp of memories that pulled him back to those dangerous days before the Great Fall.

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