Trash: Chapter 172 When History Comes Alive (Patreon)

Chapter 172

When History Comes Alive

My heart is racing as I see what amounts to automatic weapons laying before me. As a nurse I was both well aware of the dangers posed by firearms, and of what they looked like. The general rule of thumb was the bigger the barrel the more damage the bullet could provide.

Just seeing the weapons in relatively good condition, I mean they at least looked clean and serviceable from the seat I was in. I chose to sit in the front row, wanting to get as close as possible to what could be yet another tie to my past life. There had been signs to this point, the similar geography of the known world, then the globe at the entrance to the University, even the notice of SySTEM when getting my talents evaluated. Still nothing made more of an impact to my own psyche than seeing the polished stainless steel of two Desert Eagle pistols gleaming brightly at me from ten feet away.

Even being this close, I could feel the anticipation of what I would learn. This was it, a clue. Definitely something. It had to be.

“Have you seen these types of archaic weapons before?” Marcus asks from my side, clearly concerned with my sudden change in demeanor. As I apparently have more interest in these weapons than others he has brought here before. Hearing the question, I turn to him and try to contain myself as I just nod at first, not wanting to say too much or give too much away. Finally, after a ten count, when I feel the need to respond, I am saved by the relic of a history professor. One who looks like he was trapped in amber from my past life and just now thawed out and set free to wreak havoc on the world.

“Greetings class, it looks like this will be everyone that will join us today,” the professor began. “This is a history class, but also a chance to show you about how we have modernized warfare against the undead and ultimately made the world safer for us. To begin, I am going to discuss these relics of the past and how you should avoid them at all costs, when on the battlefield. I will also go into why we used such weapons, and ultimately why we abandoned them.”

As the instructor began his speech, I felt a chill run down my spine as I was hanging on every word. Not that he was a particularly great orator, he wasn’t, as his speech was dry, filled with pauses and ultimately seemed like he was one good cleaning rag away from being removed from the school. But the fact that he was talking about something that interested me, that was what I wanted to hear more about.

“First can anyone tell me what these are?” The instructor began.

After a brief pause it was clear that no one seemed to know the answer.

“Anyone?” He pressed. Finally, after not wanting to sit through more awkward silence I raised my hand.  At which point he called on me directly, “yes you?”

“They are firearms,” I reply. Something about my response catches him off guard as he genuinely seems impressed with my answer.

“Yes, that was the original name used to describe all of these weapons before you, firearms,” he repeated just to make sure everyone knew the word he wanted to highlight. “Now can anyone tell me why we stopped both making these, and using these?”

“Aren’t they inefficient at channeling energy?” A boy my age responds.

“They are. You are correct that they are extremely inefficient at channeling energy. The wood stock didn’t particularly take a charge, most energy that was pumped into these would go to the barrels, the long metal tubes that projectiles would fly out of. And the only real way to ensure that your projectile was charged was by flooding the entire device with so much wasted energy, that even the later versions were ultimately scrapped. But even that isn’t why we stopped making and using these.” There was a pause as the instructor scanned the room once more and tried to see who was still awake and engaged. “Now can anyone tell me why we stopped making and using these?”

Again, he asked the same question, and I could feel his eyes on me, but I cowered as I did not know. Up until I entered this classroom, I didn’t even know that such weapons existed in this world.

“Weren’t they more dangerous to the living, than the undead?” Another female student finally replied.

“Exactly!” The professor exclaimed. “See these weapons were originally used for both hunting, and then ultimately killing off other humans.”

At that comment, there was a gasp I the room as the idea of using firearms to hurt other humans seemed sacrosanct.

“That’s right,” the professor reacted to the involuntary response of most of the students. “At one point the biggest threat facing humanity wasn’t the undead, or wounded warriors coming back to life. It was humans hunting humans. Which is why these weapons were so effective at first, as they would create massive wounds that were almost unavoidable. Then even if you survived an attack from one of these weapons you would be out of combat for weeks or months. A truly terrifying weapon for humans to use against other humans. But why wouldn’t this work against the undead?”

“They don’t bleed?” I finally respond, the answer coming to me in sharp clarity.

“Exactly, part of a firearm’s main advantage is that it pierces into a body, rips open muscles and bones, and continues to burry its way through your body until it either exists, or runs out of momentum and is left to rot, often by vital organs that will react violently to outside contaminants,” the professor replied.

As he spoke, I could see the history of the world that he was talking about unfold before my eyes. He was talking about a world where humans had to shift their priorities, going from worrying about other humans to worrying about the undead.

“So now, I ask the question yet again. Why did we shift away from using these weapons given that they had been so effective for hundreds of years?” The Professor asked.

“Because of Cognitive Resonance Theory?” A girl finally asked.

“Yes, because of Cognitive Resonance Theory, or part of why this theory still holds up. Real quickly can anyone describe the core function of Cognitive Resonance Theory?” The Professor asked. Hearing the question, I realized that my education that I had been provided was clearly lacking compared to what was being given out to everyone else here.

“Isn’t Cognitive Resonance Theory the belief that all undead retain a portion of their life memories upon death? That they can still move and use weapons and objects that they once used in life?” The first boy speaker responded.

“Yes, now I won’t get too much into the specifics. But suffice to say, that using these weapons was both very easy, and could cause injuries to people who were hundreds of meters away. Making it so that just getting near a fallen comrade could be deadly, which was why we shifted from these cruder weapons to weapons that rely on more finesse and skill, two things that we know for a fact take time to transfer over to the undead.” The instructor continued, before painting the world in a much scarier light than I had imagined.

Then not for the first time, I wondered, was this actually my Earth?

***

(Junior Acevedo)

Just under an hour and a half, that is how long Junior had been scavenging in the fields. Looking for wild mushrooms, seemingly edible roots, and an odd assortment of gourds that he found clearly off campus in the woods that felt both haunted and spooky. Even though it was daytime, even though the sun only rose higher with every moment he was out there, Junior could feel the oppressive nature of the woods calling to him, and all but daring him to run away. He didn’t run away, but he was very tempted to do so.

By the end, Junior managed to get a backpack full of edible materials. While he had been homeschooled, that didn’t mean he was at home. For his father and mother both took time to show him how to hunt for wild ingredients that could be used in their family’s confectionary shop. The prize of his foraging haul, a vine of elderberries, which was odd as logically the plants should have been out of season, but these lands were extremely fertile and the crops seemed to possess a particularly long harvesting times, making this a perfect time for a haul.

In his mind, Junior was already going through different combinations of what he could do with his haul. The most obvious was soups, but the elderberries opened up his possibilities, allowing for more pies. While he didn’t have the ingredients to make custard pies that his captain would appreciate, he did have the ingredients for an elderberry pie recipe that he had been thinking about on his way back to class.

Making his way back to class, Junior made sure to stop and wash off the mud and muck that coated his clothes. Having grown up with strict cleanliness standards, Junior assumed that this would be a must for all the other students. Yet, when he made his way back to class, he found that not only had most of the students of his class not cleaned themselves, most found themselves chained like prisoners. Like a wall of shame, Junior found his way past many of the bound students as he eventually made his way to the classroom.

Getting to the classroom entrance, Junior saw one of the aides for the classroom sitting at a table with a ledger, a clock, and a completely dull expression. As if this was a regular Tuesday for the class, which it likely was.

“Name?” The assistant asked.

“Junior Acevedo,” Junior replied, reaching into his pocket for his identification. A gesture that was quickly waved off by the assistant.

“Where did you go?”

Junior paused, wondering if he was supposed to go to a secret spot or not. Finally, seeing no other option, Junior just shrugged and finally answered honestly. “I went out the west gate towards the forests and entered the first mountain pass.”

Whatever Junior said must have been an acceptable answer for the assistant in question just nodded, before making a few markings in their ledger. Then with a wave of his hand, he gestured for an open spot on the table, “place your items here.”

At the noted response, Junior shrugged and poured out his pack of tubers, carrots, zucchinis, and of course his elderberries. There was a brief cataloging of each item along with the number of each item type, before he was told, “okay, pack them up and head to class.”

As Junior began packing up his collection of ingredients, he heard the frenetic pace and panting of someone running and trying desperately to make it to class on time. That was when Junior realized the first thing about this student, first that they pushed themselves to the very limit of time. The second thing Junior noticed about this individual was that they were fast. Just hearing the frenetic pace being set by the individual Junior knew that they were going at a pace that Junior felt he wouldn’t be able to keep up with in a straight open field, let alone in a confined space like the crowded hallway filled with other students who likely got caught stealing. That was what Junior’s mind ultimately came up with, when his eyes flicked to the line of locked up and muddy students, many of which supported a bruise or two on their faces.

Watching the blur run faster, Junior also realized that this person was small. Well smaller than Junior which didn’t really narrow down the pool of perspective people, that this individual could be. It wasn’t until they skidded to a stop right next to Junior that the individual’s hood fell off and Junior was able to see the person in question.

“Name?” The assistant asked in a completely disinterested tone, one that somehow failed to be impressed by both the speed and maneuverability of the tiny person that Junior clearly knew and now recognized.

“Lelia Volica,” the girl replied completely calmly, as if she hadn’t just sprinted at least a few hundred meters to get here as quickly as possible. She also slammed her full satchel down with a loud clattering sound that somehow reminded Junior of windchimes clattering together. Before Junior could think too deeply about the odd sound coming from Lelia’s satchel, the attendant went immediately to his next question.

“Where did you go?” The assistant continued their questioning, but unlike how Junior instantly felt obligated to reply with an answer, the girl just locked up before replying.

“I didn’t think we needed to reveal our harvesting locations?” Lelia replied a touch defensively, as the attendant just rolled his eyes, while pointing at an open field in the ledger.

“I need something to fill in the space with, this way when someone comes back demanding a repayment, we know it is owed by us,” the attendant replied.

“I didn’t steal this,” Lelia replied defensively.

“I didn’t say that you did,” the attendant replied calmly.

“You all but implied it with your phrasing,” Lelia rebuked.

“Fine then, can you give me a direction?” The attendant asked.

“Out.”

“Out, that’s it, just out?” The attendant asked.

“Out there,” Lelia clarified even offering a hand gesture towards the way she just came from.

“Fine, let’s see what you managed to get from out there,” the attendant said and pointed to the same section of table that Junior had just used to showcase his collection of foraged foods. Seeing the gesture for what it was, Lelia opened the satchel revealing long clear sticks that Junior instantly assumed were frozen icicles. The only problem was, well there were a few for the frozen icicles theory. First, it was a shade too warm for icicles to still be out, second and probably the most telling was the look of complete shock that the attendant had while staring at the pack of icicles. Icicles that glowed with an almost electrical current as Lelia touched them with her bare hands and began separating them into nice, neat piles.

Suddenly drawn out of his semi-contemptuous posture the attendant shot to his feet and began staring at the pile of icicles that clearly weren’t icicles, before making a lunging motion to grab Lelia. A gesture that Lelia easily avoided as she seemed to have been ready for just such an action. Not being deterred by her sudden cat-like reflexes, he spoke with a low and serious tone.

“I need you to tell me exactly where you went, to find these!”