The Battle for Twins Hill is an assortment of stories from different perspectives that’s under the Sector Four universe. Twins Hill is a mountainous region that was once a secure refuge base after the wars, that’s become one of many humanities efforts to restore civilization. However, a tribal war looms and a resistance fight will surely follow.
The following story introduces most of the main characters in the Battle for Twins Hill series, coming from the perspective of a kid named Lukas.
Lukas’ older brother stood at the edge of Peak’s Eye; a slab of dark rock high that surveyed the Southern forest. Glued to his binoculars, reading every texture of the rolling landscape, especially the embankments of the river flowing north of the Forbidden City’s edge, his older brother was visibly upset. A full moon removed from his twelfth birthday, the young boy woke to shouts an hour ago, “Call the defenses and send out a scouting party”.
The Administrator’s best Captain, John Hando, geared up without protest, volunteering the Hill’s four best riders. When the wars devastated transportation, cars, buses and trucks, and the fuel that makes the engines breathe, the Administrator accumulated the strongest horses soon after becoming the Hill’s leader. A stable, one hundred paces behind the Great Gate’s that split the Intersect, cared for twenty Friesian breads that stood kingly with thick black manes and muscles chiseled around their legs and neck.
Beautiful, Lukas awed at the horses riding away, trailing a haze of dry dirt that sat in the air like an overnight fog. It was with a grin to see those black Friesians riding underneath the silhouette of a milky sky into the deadwood forest. Often catching himself wondering when he could mount the Friesians as a rider, he was reminded that his older brother thought of him as too young; and the young pony a mother Friesian bore isn’t of age to ride beyond the Great Gates, he was told. Lukas was wiser than boys his age; he knew his older brother cared for him, but sometimes that care felt like a smothering blanket. It didn’t prevent him from daydreaming during his occasional rendezvous, running his stubby fingers through the pony’s long silky hair while whispering to her the annoying limitations of their youth. Lukas comforted her, like one does with a certain destiny, “soon, we ride”. Lukas resigned to riding around the Great Halls of Hills Peak to the wicked looks of dodging inhabitants. Reprimanded by his older brother, he still thought of himself as skilled as any rider.
While staring at his brother, who looked obsessively, if not resolute, into the night like a man coming facing an unknown destiny, another memory yanked him. Four seasons ago, while riding behind the Great Gates near the plantations, on a dusty road that split corn, beans and grazing cattle allowing wagons and riders easy transport, Lukas kicked his heals and Wind sprinted like a beautiful song without instrument. Sprint, Wind. And for as long as her lungs sustained her, she did. I beat you, Lukas remembered telling his older brother. A pony and child beat the Administrator of Hills Peak. His older brother simply laughed as they returned for snacks and juice. Lukas beamed when his brother told him he’s as good a rider as even John.
Lukas dreamed of riding with the Scouting Parties under John’s command, fighting Wildmen and the warring Clans to defend the Hill with the nodding approval of his big brother. Lukas knew he would never ride without his big brother’s permission. The militia director accepted his own riders into the elite ranks after years of advanced training. John left the decision to big brother whose only family remained a 12-year old boy after the sudden disappearance of their sister that darkened his resolve and froze his heart.
Lukas phased back to the dark winter cold, now standing behind his brother’s right shoulder, curious as to what shook him from his sleep. After the fires in the sky several years ago, Lukas’s older brother led him and their surviving sister North towards Hills Peak. A chance encounter with a mouse with burnt black eyes told them to make way for the Twin Mountains.
“Follow the river north,” he said. “There will be a peak where humanity makes its stand against extinction. This is where your path begins.” The mouse explained the fortunes that lay ahead before fading like a ghost submitting to a cold winter breeze.
Lukas was filled with suspicions. The collapsing world around him was all he knew, being told that the only rule that mattered was surviving at any cost. By this time, old American communities turned into warring tribes, fighting for land and, above all, resources. Fuel was worth the eradication of entire towns. Before reaching Grayville, a small town north of the Main City, the smell of decaying flesh was far too recognizable.
“We should go,” Lukas remembers his older sister saying.
“I’m not sure, he looked scary,” said Lukas.
“We don’t have a choice. If what he says is true, there will be shelter, food, water, and above all else, protection. We can’t stay in Grayville much longer. I think we should go.”
Even though Lukas was far too cautious to trust the mouse he saw that night, his sister and brother were searching for that leap of faith they could take. The conditions were horrible when they arrived. Children without parents cried against the cave’s cold walls, hungry and terrified of being alone. Scarce food claimed the weakest, raiding parties killed the strongest and the savage wildmen kidnapped the youngest, resorting to cannibalism as substance.
The first Administrator, a balding man named Tavos, was mad with rage and paranoia. The original survivors called him, Tavos the Mad building a mountain city without defenses, transportation, food, water, medicine or even rule of law. Tavos, with his guns, led a charge to rebuild civilization in the Hills on the premise that his guns would defend everyone. In reality, he barracked himself out of fear near an isolated corner of a cave, barking orders to desperate people that would follow a roach into a bath of stink and filth because they had nothing else. Some rise during crisis, many fall and most follow without protest from their minds lost to hopelessness. One night his older brother disappeared and became the Administrator the following morning. Lukas he was far too analytical to think that something didn’t add up, even if his brother didn’t admit to anything.
Was it really that bad though? His older brother established rule and order, hunting parties gathered twice daily, older women tended to vegetation in a naked grassy patch near the rivers while children returned buckets from the Intersect to the kitchen for a boil. Survivors that once traded as engineers and scientists improved medical care and facilities, plumbing and treatment, even a solar panel was erected to sustain the cave with an unlimited power source. Strong men gathered supplies to build a massive wall made of wood and stone while scouting parties traveled to cities for supplies; including weapons, food and even fuel to bargain with.
Ultimately, Lukas concluded that his older brother either murdered or exiled the old administrator. Life was better. Families became families again. The weak grew stronger and purposeful. Children played and ate cookies and juice when that old dark woman allowed. Wine was served during dinner. On every seventh day, a movie was shown in the great hall; typically the same black and white movie of a world that appeared foreign to Lukas. Once boys came of age, they learned how to become men; riding horses, fighting with weapons and, most importantly, scouting and hunting in stealth.
Five years ago, his older brother, already the Administrator, left the safety of Hills Peak in search for survivors; mostly strong men that could defend the Hill. Three long painful months later his older brother, mounted on a white horse, leading a group of fifty men from an old Air Force base where the Administrator reunited with a young John Hando, who quickly accepted an offer to lead the Hill’s militia. John, ever loyal, trusting and strong, led the riders, rallied the guards and trained the next generation of defenders. Lukas’s older brother refused to call the riders, warriors. They are defenders of the Hill, no more, Lukas heard his brother conclude. John and his family grew close to Lukas and his older brother, even naming him godfather of their eldest son. They joked to Lukas that their daughter were betrothed to him. After a playful gag and shriek of “ew” the adults howled in laughter. Adults like stupid kid stuff.
In the seven years as the Hills Peak Administrator, Lukas’s older brother created a self-sustaining civilization; everyone accepted their part for the greater good. More importantly, people were given things to do, keeping them busy while adjusting to an entirely new life. His older brother feared absolute power for any single man, a lesson Tavos taught him well. So a Council was erected with the Administrator and four directors; the militia director John Hando, the engineer and science director Benjamin, the agriculture director Bobby, the life and law director James Harbinger.
After all that, all the hard work, the fighting with Wildmen and Bloodstripes, what has my older brother worked up so much that his eye on the South must hold firm?
Before the wars, Lukas’ older brother had a soft body, kind brown eyes peering through oval glasses and baby face cheeks. Now he stood tough as nails with a firm jaw line, steel black eyes and streaks of white intertwining with jet black hair and random patches of gray in his unshaven black beard. When the sun finally broke the horizon, Lukas could also see that his brother was pale like a full moon.
“You’re sick,” Lukas blurted out. Holding his tongue was a lesson that his older brother refused to give. Always speak your mind, Lukas was taught many times. While young, he figured his older brother wanted honest council from innocent and trusting eyes.
Lukas’ older brother turned to him with a forced warm grin and simply assured his sweet younger brother, “I’m just tired. Why don’t you run to the kitchen and bring us breakfast. We’ll eat together. But leave those cookies alone,” he grinned.
“You got it.”
Lukas spun around from the ledge of Peak’s Eye and ran down the twisted man-made stone stairway so narrow that many of John’s warriors have tumbled. Lukas, experienced a thousand times over, ran with the grace of his second best friend in the entire world, Wind.
The Great Hall, a massive gut inside a mountain standing a mile high and ten miles wide, centered the civilization with a great opening that led outside to the Hall’s east. Large canvas sheets stood from walls carving out offices, stores and kitchens. Additional openings led to areas with security; like housing, treasury, arms and fuel depots a good mile north from the Great Hall.
Lukas could feel stares against his chilly body walking towards the main kitchen surely thinking that he knew something of the Scouting Party’s haste. Lukas was the Administrator’s aide and young brother. Should I say anything, Lukas wondered. What could I say, I know nothing myself. Could they be thinking my older brother now like they did Tavos? That betraying thought scared him.
The smell of frying eggs and sausage warmed Lukas’s cold bones. Bobby Valitonio, the agriculture director, built a miniature farm with chickens and hens for eggs and meat; though chickens were rare enough that Lukas often craved the sweet suckling juices pouring off the meat.
“Ah, Lukas, good morning to you,” said an older dark woman wearing a light head bandana with spots of yellow pedals blotched throughout the material.
“Good morning, Cookie,” Lukas said acting the part of young boy scanning for the ultimate treasure. Cookie slapped his hand away like an ant at a picnic the instant his eyes ogled the prize. Cookie was the Hill’s untitled grandmother. She cared with meals, nursery tales and words of advice like sleeping if you’re tired, eating if you’re hungry or smiling if you’re sad. It was her addiction to Chocolate Chip cookies and grandmotherly love for the Hill’s children that granted her the childish title.
Anyone caught with a hand in the cookie jar that lay dormant in a bowl with white flowers interlocked across the bowl’s rim, was rewarded with a rather aggressive slap on the hand. They were hers and she would reward the kids with kind acts and good behavior.
“Breakfast first, Lukas. You’re still growing and if you’re ever to become a rider, you need your strength. After your duties past noon, you and I will feast on fresh warm cookies. I promise.”
Lukas smiled, but his stomach frowned impatience.
“I’m holding you to that promise, Cookie” Lukas pouted.
“Oh, I’m sure you will,” Cookie laughed, “Wait here a minute and I’ll get you breakfast.”
“I need one for my brother also,” Lukas amended.
“Work is no excuse for any means to miss his feast.”
“That why I’m here, Cookie, to make sure he gets breakfast. Should I get rewarded for my generosity?” She laughed like a cough to Lukas’s feeble attempt at a free prize.
Lukas grew serious. “It’s not work. Something has him bothered,” Lukas confided. “Plus he’s not looking like he normally does.” Cookie’s grin faded and her eyes grew serious. “How so?”
“He doesn’t sleep because of these nightmares. I can hear him shouting her name from my room,” Lukas said looking away from Cookie wondering if he was betraying his brother’s trust by disclosing this sickness he didn’t understand. He had to tell someone that would listen to him with a care more than personal ambition, he figured. Cookie was always trustworthy, that didn’t concern him. However, his brother might get upset – not angry, he never got angry.
“You are your brother’s aide, right?” Cookie asked with a stern grandmotherly look Lukas instinctively nodded at. “You care for his business, right?” Lukas nodded again, but not sure. He cared for his brother, but his brother’s business was so boring. “Then, what we must do is get your brother to eat and sleep. Then perhaps his ills will cure themselves. Wait here a moment and I will get plates ready.”
Lukas nodded while Cookie white knuckled her cane against the kitchen’s backdrop and into a room that flowed with steam, buzzards and beeps. Normally Lukas would assist older ladies with canes. Cookie would have nothing of it slapping Lukas’s hand for his efforts. Lukas held his right hand loosely determined not to have that old woman slap his hand red ever again. She made great cookies, Lukas thought, but she slaps my hand like a skilled assassin, quick, efficient and effortless. His gaze went back to the cookie bowl, mind plotting a perfect scheme without Cookie’s notice. Four stacks of cookies, perfectly aligned, filling well past the bowl’s rim. Taking one from the top, he could shift the top cookie of another stack and cover both, like the cookie slipped onto another stack. No, he couldn’t, he realized. Cookie would notice that. Would she really notice one missing cookie? And what is the harm of having one cookie? It’s not like his body would shift from a 12-year old to a sickly fat old man that would snap Wind’s back.
His mouth watering and fingers stretching at their sides Lukas’s plan was partly in mind, but mostly in his stomach.
“Tell me, Lukas, what are you scheming with those cookies, this time?” a young girl’s voice said behind him frightening him out of his “perfect plan”.
Shocked and embarrassed, Lukas struggled to hide the radish hue that harassed his face. “What are you talking about,” Lukas said unconvincingly. “I’m just waiting on breakfast.”
“You’ve always been a horrible liar. My grandmother’s caught you too many times scheming for those cookies,” she laughed. “What were you planning? Take one off the top stack and cover the missing cookie by systematically shifting another cookie on the missing one? You know my grandmother set up those cookies in that manner to catch you and only you. You better hope for bags of ice with that red hand of yours.”
Cookie did take ‘caught red handed’ seriously. Too seriously.
“Shut up, Lyanna,” stupid girl, Lukas thought. She ran her soft hands through his long raggedy blonde hair with another gently laid across his heart. Lyanna was not much younger than Lukas reflecting her grandmother’s dark skin, full lips leaving a smile that makes Lukas’s stomach jittery. I’m only hungry. Only slightly, Lyanna differed from her grandmother with sparkling green eyes glowing like light bouncing off trees and long straight hair grown past the middle of her back that’s never been cut.
Lukas was only seven when Cookie and Lyanna found refuge in the Hill after Bloodstripe raiders ransacked their village killing everyone unfortunate enough to be in the streets. While Lukas saw Cookie as the prototypical grandmother, Lyanna was his best friend. Most nights they were found sitting at Peak’s Eye at night, playing games and always plotting the perfect plan for those tasty Chocolate Chip cookies; which, they’ve concluded long ago, was impossible. No matter how perfect their perceived plan was written, Lyanna’s grandmother always knew. Both were subject to punishment with red welts on the top of their hands. Lukas’s older brother only laughed when he came to him holding his hand asking him, what is it that you can’t plan? Lukas enjoyed a hearty laugh when even his older brother couldn’t achieve the impossible holding onto his own red hand when Cookie first arrived. He hasn’t tried since.
Lyanna took her hands off Lukas and walked straight to the cookie bowl, in haste, removed the top cookie and filling it entirely in her mouth. Lukas’s surprise was as illuminating as Lyanna’s red face; though he wasn’t sure if she was choking or laughing really hard.
“What are you doing?” Lukas panicked while she laughed harder with her hands resting on her knee caps.
While she was finishing the final chew of her massive bite, Lukas feared the worst hearing, “Lukas, what did I tell you?” from the old dark skinned woman who replaced her bandana with a standard hair net. Holding his hand still seven steps away from Cookie, he could already feel the growing welt that didn’t exist, yet.
“It wasn’t me, Cookie,” he protested. “Lyanna just took one, look at her. There are crumbs everywhere.”
“I did not,” Lyanna sweetly said batting her beautiful green eyes to her grandmother. Unfortunately for Lukas, it worked.
“Just for that Lukas, there will be no cookies for you today,” Cookie said handing him two plates of steaming eggs, a link of sausage, two pieces of butter melted toast, sealed cups of strawberry jelly with a half gallon carton of orange juice for the brothers to share.
“I swear, it wasn’t…” Lukas began.
“Don’t lie, cookie thief,” Lyanna giggled.
“Look at her,” Lukas continued, “She’s guilty, it shows on her face.”
“I will hear no more,” Cookie said raising her voice. “Get going with your bother’s breakfast, he needs to eat. And I expect to see both plates to return empty.”
“Yes ma’am.” Lukas said with defeated courtesy.
Stupid girl, Lukas shouted at Lyanna in his mind. At least you didn’t get a rose colored hand; he knew could hear her giggling back to him. He planned to see her later today and started scheming how to repay her in kind. Lyanna tried to keep a straight face when Lukas turned, but he could feel her laughing so hard that even a smile broke across his face.
Holding a plate in each hand and the carton of Orange juice inside the elbow of his right arm, Lukas broke the plane of the kitchen’s doorway when a loud horn sounded for two seconds declaring that the gates are to be opened; “the Scouting Party’s return”. Lukas returned the plates quickly to Cookie and took off ignoring her protests. He knew that Cookie would hold onto the plates and reheat them when Lukas and his old brother were ready. The Scouting Party took precedence right now and he wouldn’t miss the riders returning for the world.
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