Beyond Horizon

Hej alle sammen,

Dette er siden for min engelsksprogede, post-apokalyptiske "roman" "Beyond Horizon". Idéen er, at jeg vil lægge et nyt kapitel op hver uge (Hvis det passer ind i dagsordenen), indtil jeg når til konklusionen på værket. Det vil sige, at man kan følge historiens udvikling som en dårlig amerikansk tv-serie, men mit håb er, at denne historie vil fange læseres interesse.

Det er dog vigtigt at notere sig, at dette er siden for historien og ikke diskussionen. Da mit projekt nok ender med at være langvarigt, vil jeg ikke oprette en ny tråd for hvert kapitel, der bliver lagt op. Jeg har derfor taget mig den frihed at oprette et diskussionsforum, hvor i kan skrive jeres tanker om kapitlerne, efterhånden som de bliver lagt op. Dette vil også give jer en chance, for at have indflydelse på historiens forløb og for at stille spørgsmål til historien, efterhånden som den udspiller sig.

Link til diskussionen her: https://forfatterens-bog.danskforum.net/t59-beyond-horizon-diskussionsforum#205

Jeg håber i vil nyde at udforske min verden og at i vil give respons, efterhånden som i kommer længere ind i historien.


Resumé:

What would the world be like, if an ice age suddenly struck? Polar bears walking past your windows. Would you even survive? Some people would, no doubt, but would you be among the people, who would build a bellow-surface society to save your species? That is at least what some people did, when the icecap hit Denmark in 2029 This is where Jacob, a boy at the age of sixteen, grew up in the 2070's and just entering his adulthood. However, the news of the disappearance of his lifelong friend Joanne send him on a cross-ice adventure, with his friend Thomas and the mysterious Martin.

Slowly, very slowly, I move along the wall, trying not to give myself away as I peek around the corner. My muscles are tense with anticipation as my eyes scan the area. The unmoving figure is just sitting on a bench, his back turned towards me. This may be my only chance. Cautiously, I make my way around the corner, moving towards my target as if on broken glass, carefully choosing the next place to put my foot. I reach into the deep pocket in my pants, taking the long metal rod into my hand. My breath is staggering and it takes some time to convince myself, that the boy in front of me can't hear it. Within a few steps of the unsuspecting teenager in front of me, I raise my hand, preparing to strike.
SNAP! In an instant I'm pulled off my feet and thrown screaming into the air. As I hang by my ankles about a meter above the ground, I observe my target as he rises from the bench, moving around, then crossing the pavement towards me, that blonde hair of his covering big parts of his face in light shade. I watch as those green eyes spot the rod where I dropped it, as I was dragged towards the lamppost. He picks it up, a smile showing on those dry lips of his. He walks closer, almost bumping into me before he bends his knees, so that our eyes meet. His voice is soft and cocky as he speak the words: “So, trying to sneak up on me, are we?” He points the rod just above my heart: “You've lost.”
“It seems that way, doesn't it?” I say, almost unable to say the words, before I feel the smile claiming its place on my face: “Now cut me down Thom.”

Being a sixteen year old boy in Horizon is a pretty simple task. Having finished school as fifteen, yet not being able to become an apprentice of any sort until you turn seventeen, most of your days go by without all that much going on. We can basically do anything we want, as long as we do not try to leave the dome.
That's why many of us make up games to play, such as Thom and I have been doing for almost two years now. The games usually reflect the profession you're going to take with in the future. In our case, that means a game of hunting. We got accepted by the Hunters about a year ago and ever since then, not three days get to pass without this game taking up our time. Before that it was tunnelling.
Horizon is a pretty large area, almost covering fifty square kilometres, build inside an enormous ice dome, with only one exit point, a hole at the very top of the ceiling with a ladder though it. The elders say that it was build before the ice age, but I have my doubts. The diggers have yet to uncover a building caped in the ice, and I refuse to believe in its existence, until I can put my hand on the walls. My theory is that it was dug into by hunters, lost in the blizzard and that the buildings were first build afterwards.
I'm sitting on the bench with Thom, rubbing my ankles with gloved hands, trying to get the blood, that Thom's trap stopped in my veins, flowing again. I have known him for as long as I remember, though I don't remember much from before I started school as a four year old boy, covered in mud. The ground is usually pretty soft here.
We call this area the Hollow, though I can't really come up with any reason for it. It could be because of the fact that almost no scholars live here, but I don't think that's the reason. Beyond that, Horizon consists of four more areas. The Rock got its name, because it's the only area that pays to get their pavement renewed once in a while. It's here you'll find the scholars, doctors, priests and politicians, among which you'll eventually stumble upon the Senate. The Bazaar is named so for obvious reasons. If you need anything out of the ordinary, that's the first place you want to look. It's also the largest area of Horizon, where the ordinary population is allowed. The Reject is basically what it sounds like. This is the area of the people, who can't scrape two coins together and more often die from starvation, rather than accidents or old age. The last area is the Terminal, which is almost as large as the Bazaar and the Reject combined. It's a massive area of industrial buildings, greenhouses, research facilities, power plants and barracks for the Soldiers.
There is technically another area, but no one ever takes into consideration that the Hunters have one of their own. The Cottage is by far the smallest area in Horizon, holding only about eighty people. It's placed right in the middle of Horizon and as such, it's the only place where the inhabitants can go outside the dome. That is where I'll be living in just about two months.
I turn my head towards Thom, who's been staring at the hole, or as it's more commonly known, the Gap, for the past fifteen minutes. A smile emerges on my face as I say: “Imagine, in just two weeks from now, we'll be the only two from our class that ever set foot outside the Horizon.” Every new recruit of the Hunters have to go through a field-test, where their skills will be trialled. Even though we finished school, our new mentors are allowed to test us, to see if we have the proper skill-set. Most will get in, though, because of the many tests that lie before, but this is the most important. I only think I've ever heard of one guy failing this test. A boy from the Reject who panicked, as a lone wolf approached him, and ended up shooting one of his mentors in the leg, rather than the wolf in the eye.
Thom turns his head towards me, showing the grin on his face, as he replies, in a very enthusiastic voice: “Have you thought about it? When we've passed this test, we'll be the first addition to the hunters in seven years.” I didn't think my smile could get any wider, but that's definitely what I feel going on. I like that thought: “Come on, let's see what Jo is up to.”
Back in school, Joanne was the third member of our trio from the Hollow. The three of us were almost always together, performing the most ancient tricks in the newest ways. We share almost everything, neighbourhood, age, being born in march, she was even part of our dream of becoming tunnellers for some time. When Thom and I decided to join the Hunters, she chose the Medical Corps. I even think she passed all her tests already.

We find Joanne in the Hollow square, poaching through some of the stands, looking very frustrated about something. She flips carelessly through the wares, that appears to be thick sweaters, with such ferocity that some of them end up getting airborne. She's even ignoring the anxious man beside her, who's apparently the owner of the stand. All his babbling, about how unpurchased goods should be handled with respect and how this is utterly unheard of is completely deflected by her persistence. It is almost as if she's deaf.
“Isn't this a lovely day to go shopping?” Asks Thom, when we are only a few steps away, in a very obvious attempt to imitate the girls, when they're small talking about such things. With a smirk all over my face, I reply, in the same manner of speaking: “Yes, this stand in particular seems to have some very neat merchandise. Perhaps the best stuff is at the very bottom.”
“A mystery that must be solved!” Thom points towards the sky, as if illuminated by some mystic source.
“Please, you two. Not now.” Even in this condition of stress, Joanne's voice sounds incredibly calm, soft and melodic, as it always does: “Besides,” She adds and I imagine that she's smiling: “You two sound so much like girls, you might as well be so. Quite frankly, it's scaring the living hell out of me.”
“Well,” Thom replies with a neutral shrug: “You're the one going through this man's stock like your life depends on you, finding one exact product.”
“Well, I kinda am, Mr. Thomas Smith. It's just that it's not being purchased today.” She makes a gesture with her gloved right hand and I exchange looks with Thom, saying: “By all means Jo, why do you insist on wearing your trinkets on the outside of your clothes?” That has always been the thing about Joanne. She always wears her rings on the outside of her gloves. This habit has off course been the reason for hours upon hours of us, looking for one of them in the most obscure of places. The school, the Hollow Infirmary, we even once found one inside one of her books.
The look Joanne sends me could kill braver men than I and if I hadn't known her, I'd probably be scared of her, but since I do know her, all I do is laugh as I hear her out: “First of all, Mr. Jacob Miller, do you have any idea of how much it hurts, to have your fingers inside both ring and glove? It leaves marks and sometimes even burns. Second, what would the point of wearing rings if you can't even see the damn things? And last, but certainly not least, how else am I supposed to make you guys ask questions, if I don't do something out of the ordinary? The answer is simple. It will never happen.”
“Wow, go easy on us, will you? It was just a joke.” Thom raises his hands, showing his gloved palms, as if to surrender. Though I get the feeling, he hasn't got the slightest intention of letting it go for more than a few hours. Joanne turns towards the stand again and I hear a mumbled: “Though hardly an appropriate one.” A smile finds its way to my lips. I simply can't help it. The way the two of them always argue about everything, kind of makes you happy, because it means that nothing has changed. No matter how many years have passed, how many different kinds of trouble we've been through, these friendly arguments still take place.
To make the two think about something else, I ask: “So, why did you even come here in the first place?” Jo shrugs, clearly not present in the physical world. I look at Thom, who is staring sceptically at me, his one brow raised. I can't really figure out what to say or do, so I simply turn on my heel and say: “Well, good luck with that.” Then I start walking, not entirely sure where I'm headed.

I don't stop walking until I sense that certain smell in the air: Rot and sweat mixed with the sweet stench of illness, that you often find in the Hollow infirmary, and the smell of the black smoke, that fills the air with a dense fog. I look up and my eyes fall upon the Reject. I rarely set foot here. It almost never feels appropriate and it's such an eerie place, that most people from the other areas usually stay away. People from the Terminal only come here when they have to and I don't even think, that I've ever seen anyone from the Rock around here. We, from the Hollow, don't go to the Reject all to often either, but I think we are the ones who come here the most. As for the Hunters of the Cottage, I truly cannot say. I guess I'll just have to wait and see, though I don't see what they'd be doing here.
My steps are wary, as I walk deeper into the mist. Shady figures look up from their tasks to give me a glance, then quickly returning to their work. My eyes pace across the scenery, as I walk, trying to catch a glance of pickpockets, before they have a chance at my coat. Of course this is ridiculous, I don't think I've ever heard of anyone losing something here, but old habits die hard and the old folks are extremely paranoid, when it comes to the contents of their pockets.
As I continue my walk, my eyes fall upon a shrouded figure, at the far right of a broken ball-cord, where a bunch of teens are passing a ball between them. It looks like a man, though the long trench-coat and the black hood makes it hart to decide. I think I can see the contours of a beard, but it's so hard to be certain, taking the smoke into account. A sudden gust blows the hood away, showing the entirety of his face (Now it's pretty obvious, that it's a man).
And that's when I see it. The bleached skin, surrounding the enormous scar, that stretches from the top of his right temple, to the jaw on the left side. It's without a doubt the most renowned trademark, that you can possibly find in Horizon. Martin Winters, also known by the children as Mangy Marty, the only person alive, who got kicked out of the Hunters. Some say, that he always had that scar, others, that he got it as punishment, when he got thrown out, to set an example. Either way, parents all over Horizon tell their children, that if they don't stay in their beds at night, Martin will cut off their arms as punishment.
My blood turns cold and I'm pretty sure, that I could count every hair on my back individually, as they stand up along my spine. Slowly, I back away, bumping into a few things and people along the way. After about ten meters of this, I turn and walk away, as quickly as my body allows me to. I can almost feel his glare upon me, as I pace along the twisting road, not daring to take a look over my shoulder.
I've been seeing him an increasing number of times, over the past few weeks. I can't see why he would have taken interest in me, all of a sudden, but somehow I feel like it can't be a good thing. Well, soon enough I will be living in the only area of the city, where he can't follow me. That's one bright thing about it, I guess. Then he just might end up following someone else, but he'll at least be off my back.
Deep in thought, I just want to find the fastest way to get back to the Hollow. Going through the Bazaar would be the shortest route, by far. However, at this time of day, it's near impossible to even get five feet into that district. As I reach the crossroads, instead of heading for the market, I take a right turn and walk towards the Rock.
The hard, slippery surface beneath my feet tells me my exact location. I don't even have to look down to see what I'm walking on. This is the pavement of the Rock. If I end up actually stepping on something, I will know before my boot even touches the ground.
I always feel out of place when I'm here. Not only is the ground too flat for my taste, but just as in the Reject, people stop whatever they're doing and start staring at me, as I walk by. Up here though, their glares are more uncomfortable, because they make me seem small and insignificant. I try to send them polite smiles as I walk by them, but I feel like I look more constipated than accommodating. I pick up my pace, almost ending up marching, as I haste through the wide streets, the grinding sound of the soles of my boots connecting to the hard surface bellow.
Some of the elders of the Hollow tell stories of the time before the “Freezing”, as they call it, when no man was better than the other and no one was segregated. It seems more like wishful thinking than fact to me, but, then again, how would I know? My mother wasn't even born then, let alone I. It might even be their dementia talking. Many often begin mixing truth and fantasy when they become old of age. It's a shame though. I like the stories of green fields of grass, warm breezes and the rippling sound of wind in the trees, stories of a time with different seasons, instead of only this ghastly winter. Anders, one of the oldest scholars in Horizon – actually one of the oldest people in Horizon, at all – once told me, that there just might be a place on, what he calls the Globe, where this might still be reality. I don't believe this to be true, but if I did, according to Anders, it would be somewhere far to the south. It would take more than one year of travelling to get there, but still, the thought of a more abundant place is always an intriguing one, something to hope for or ponder, if nothing else. As for now, I will just have to cope with the freezing cold and unwelcoming glares.