An Imprint Of Brighter Books Publishing House

Book One in The Saga of the Radicals

Matti MClean

Illustrations by Davyd Oram

Text Copyright © 2011 Matti McLean

All rights reserved. Catalyst fi rst published in Canada by Brighter Books Publishing House. No part of this publication may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopy, recording or by

any information storage and retrieval system now known or to be invented, without permission in writing from the publisher.

Solar Storm, an Imprint of Brighter Books Publishing HouseVisit our website at: www.brighterbooks.com

First Published: July, 2011

The characters and events portrayed in this book are fi ctitious. Any similarities to real persons, living or dead, is coincidental and not intended by the author.

ISBN 978-0-9865555-8-9 - Trade Paperback Edition

Library and Archives Canada Cataloguing in Publication - pending

Illustrations © 2011 Davyd Oram

Many thanks to our awesome Editor Kelly BerthelotAnd a big thanks to Dennis Martin for all your help

Printed and bound in the USA on acid-free paper that contains no material from old-growth forests, using ink that is safe for children.

To everyone who said I could...

Frozen Night AssociatesTrackHeavensEscalatingRealizationDangerElectricAnonRageEmptySafetyTroublesJerichoAssistanceCaughtObstinateBurnEpilogue

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108117122138147158168183199216224234

Contents

1The Catalyst

rozen NightF

2 Matti Mclean

The night was cold, chilling Micah to the bone

as he walked through the dark city streets.

He gripped his thin, brown jacket in an

attempt to keep warm, but the worn fabric

did little to protect him from the wind’s

biting chill. Micah sighed, causing a long,

snake-like vapor to escape from his lips and

disperse into the night sky. In a desperate attempt to retain heat,

he buried his red, frozen hands in his pockets.

Above him, the moon hung like a giant eye, monitoring

his every move. He felt like he could run to the edge of the

world and never escape its eerie presence. Behind him, the big,

black walls of Jericho loomed high in the sky, casting a long, dark

shadow over the smaller concrete buildings. His normally famil-

iar surroundings now seemed dark and forbidding, as though

he was an alien walking through a strange, surreal landscape.

Turning back for a second, Micah caught a glimpse of the large,

concrete building where he worked. In his mind he could still

see his computer screen in screen-saver mode, waiting for him

to return the next day.

This Tuesday was just like every other Tuesday, and

Micah hated them all. On Tuesdays he was required to work

past curfew. It wasn’t the extra work that bothered him; it was

the walk back home. With every step there was a danger he

could be caught, and if he was the ramifi cations could be deadly.

Even though his excuse was valid, the idea of actually being

3The Catalyst

stopped by an offi cer was terrifying enough to propel each foot

forward with increasing momentum. Behind him, his brown

scarf fl uttered wickedly, pulling ever tighter around his neck as

he walked. The speed made his boots clunk on the dilapidated

pavement, echoing throughout the empty streets.

An unexpected gust ripped through Micah’s clothes and

sent a shiver down his spine. He began to shake; he was unsure

whether it was due to the weather or his nerves. The cold wind

stung his ears, and he ducked his head into his collar to make it

easier to walk through the bitter night. He kept his eyes on the

ground and squinted, as if it would make him more invisible in

the dark.

As Micah turned around a corner, absorbed in his own

worries, he stopped dead in his tracks. Before him stood the

stocky frame and vicious face of his worst nightmare. He stared

at the man’s large black boots, and eyed his way up his large

frame, taking in the black and red uniform with dread. Micah’s

heart began to beat furiously and he could feel himself starting

to sweat. The man had cold blue eyes, eager to see right through

him; his large, fl at hat capped off his head and made him look

rigid and menacing. Pulling his coat even closer against his body,

Micah straightened up to his full height, which brought his head

to around the offi cer’s nose level, and clenched his hands to stop

them from shaking. Although Micah was not short, he suddenly

felt very small.

4 Matti Mclean

“G-good evening, offi cer.” Micah managed to say

through a stutter. He tried his hardest to sound brave, but his

voice barely came out as a squeak. He’d never been caught by

an offi cer before; he’d always managed to make it home unseen.

Tonight was most defi nitely not a good night, and he could feel

his cold legs shaking.

“Why are you out past curfew?” The offi cer asked with

a frown plastered on his unpleasant face.

“I’m coming home from work.” Micah stammered as

the man peered down at him. His eyes darted back and forth as

he tried to fi nd a safe place to look.

“My house is not far from here … I work at Jericho,”

Micah managed to say. Mentioning where he worked was

perhaps his best opportunity to get out of this ordeal intact. One

wrong move and he could fi nd himself jailed, or even worse. It

wasn’t uncommon for people to just disappear in the middle

of the night. Terrifi ed, he watched the man’s expression for any

sign of pity or empathy. The cop didn’t move a muscle, which

only served to fuel Micah’s paranoia.

“You know the rules of curfew.”

“Of course I do, offi cer.”

“Then you know the penalty for breaking curfew.”

“Sir, my home is right up the street. Can’t we just

pretend …?” Micah asked, but the offi cer was steadfast and

gripped him by the shoulder. The gesture made Micah’s stomach

tie into a knot.

5The Catalyst

“You’ll have to come with me,” the offi cer said, closing

in on Micah. Intimidated by the man’s brick-like build, Micah

found himself backing up. Within a matter of seconds Micah was

trapped, pinned to the wall by the cop’s crushing grip.

“Please, offi cer! There must be something I can do to …”

“Two thousand,” the offi cer said.

“What?” Micah asked, looking up at the man with a

confused expression.

A sneer spread across the offi cer’s vicious face. “Give me

two thousand credits, and I will let you go.”

“Two thousand? You must be kidding! I don’t have two

thousand! I have hardly enough to live. Please, there must be

something else …”

“It’s two thousand or nothing,” the cop said.

Desperate, Micah fumbled as he searched his pockets, his

hands still shaky and clumsy, and fi nally got out his small brown

wallet. Quickly he reached inside and produced his gold card.

Looking fearfully at the measly amount on it, he off ered the card

to the cop.

“This is all I have,” Micah said. There was almost

nothing left on it; at that moment he had seventeen credits

to his name. The number was displayed prominently on the

electroluminescent display located on the card’s metallic surface.

The man reached for it, but upon seeing the number, his expres-

sion soured and he shook his head.

6 Matti Mclean

“Keep your money,” the offi cer said, his face turning

into a disappointed frown as he knocked Micah’s hand down.

“Thank you, sir,” Micah said, breathing a sigh of relief.

He felt as if a tremendous weight had been taken from his

shoulders. “I’ll just be on my way.”

Micah tried to sidestep the behemoth, but before he

could get by, the offi cer threw a punch, barely missing Micah’s

cheek and solidly connecting with the wall. The man’s blow was

so strong it caused the bricks to crater underneath the sheer

force of his fi st.

“I never said I’d let you go,” the man said.

Micah’s heart froze as he recognized the bloodlust in

the man’s eyes and came to a realization: this policeman was a

clone. Micah could tell by the way his eyes seemed to refl ect

the light unnaturally like a machine, and by the way his mouth

started to foam a blue substance at the corners. Clones were

notorious for their brutality; knowing he had been caught by

one terrifi ed him all the more. Micah could see the cop’s temple

twitch as a streetlight briefl y passed over them, right before the

street plunged into darkness once again.

With a hand that now behaved more like a claw than

a real human appendage, the clone grabbed Micah’s scarf and

began to pull. With the other hand he gripped Micah’s throat

and eff ortlessly lifted him from the ground. Micah clutched at

the clone’s forearms, desperately trying to get him to loosen his

grip, but to no avail.

7The Catalyst

“So, this is how I die,” Micah thought to himself as he

stared at the clone through blurred and teary eyes. The clone

was draining him with such ease that Micah felt completely

helpless. He wanted to fi ght back, but couldn’t. He kicked

madly, his toes dangling inches above the pavement as his back

was forcefully pressed into the wall behind him. Feeling his

mind slipping away, he grabbed the clone’s hands and gripped

them tightly in a desperate attempt to stay conscious. Micah’s

struggle seemed hopeless; after a few seconds, his grip weakened,

his kicks became feebler, and a sudden weariness overtook him.

He was as good as dead, and he knew it.

Suddenly a streetlight passed over them again, and Micah

could feel the light on his skin. Feeling an abrupt burst of energy,

he opened his eyes to see the deranged face of the clone looking

straight at him. Acting quickly, Micah pushed against the clone

who retaliated by slamming Micah back into the wall. Micah

pressed his feet against the wall and pushed off with all his might.

With his left foot planted fi rmly against the wall, he kicked his

right foot out and hit the clone in the groin as hard as he could.

The clone stumbled, and his grip on Micah loosened instantly.

The massive creature fell into a fetal position, and Micah wasted

no time in making his getaway.

He only had two blocks to go, but the streets were long

and heavily monitored. Keeping his eyes peeled, he ran as fast

as he could, but found it incredibly diffi cult. His breathing was

shallow and he could hardly see through the tears that were

8 Matti Mclean

streaming down his face. His whole body was still reeling from

the offi cer’s attack. Despite stumbling a few times, somehow he

managed to remain standing.

After running a block Micah thought he was in the clear,

but just then, a series of red and blue lights refl ected on the walls

in front of him. Cursing under his breath, he looked around

and saw the opening of an alley. With a leap, he dashed in just as

the car rounded the corner. The headlights missed him by mere

inches as the police car made its way down the alley. Micah

pressed himself against the grey brick wall and tried to catch

his breath.

Unsure of how far he’d have to go before he’d be safe,

Micah began to make his way down the alley. There was less

chance of him running into an offi cer in the back alleys, although

it would take longer for him to get home. Thinking about what

could happen made his stomach churn, but he couldn’t stop

himself. Breaking curfew was bad enough, but now he had this

to worry about too. He just wanted to get home, crawl into his

bed, and forget that this whole night had ever happened.

With a deep breath, Micah made his way down the alley,

trying to remain as calm as possible. He moved as quickly and

quietly as he could, being careful to keep his breathing shallow

and his thoughts under control. He tried to convince himself

that soon he would be at his house, safe and sound, away from

the nightmare that enveloped him. But despite his best eff orts to

stay positive, he could feel a deep, primal fear pressing in on him.

9The Catalyst

He felt trapped and desperate, like a rat in a giant maze with no

cheese at the end and a cat around every corner.

As he made his way to the next alley, Micah heard the

sound of footsteps on the loose gravel. He stopped, held his

breath and pressed himself against the wall. Peering around the

edge of the wall, he saw to his dismay that another policeman

was also in the alley. The uniformed man was scanning the walls

with his fl ashlight, moving slowly and deliberately, as if he was

looking for something.

Was this man looking for him? If so, how many people

were after him? Perhaps they were out to punish him for what

he’d done to the other offi cer … Could that be the reason there

were so many policemen around? He had never even seen a cop

after his Tuesday night shift before, and tonight there were two

of them. It made no sense.

Micah watched the man carefully, ducking his head down

low as the fl ashlight scanned the edge of the building he was

hiding behind. The light missed him, but the offi cer continued

to search the alley, inching closer every second. Micah had to

fi nd an escape, and quickly. He turned to go back the way he

came, but was frozen solid as another fl ashlight began to scan the

walls behind him. He realized that his time was running out, and

any moment now he would be caught.

Luckily, just as he was about to shine his light directly

on Micah, the man checked his watch and let out a yawn.

He dropped his fl ashlight for only a second, but it was all Micah

10 Matti Mclean

needed; with a bolt, he ran across the gap. Even though Micah

was wearing heavy boots, by the time the man had whipped his

fl ashlight at him, Micah was already out of his reach.

“Stop! You! Stop now,” the man yelled awkwardly.

It became immediately apparent that he had no idea that Micah

had even been there. “Stop! In the name of the law!”

“Not a viable option right now,” Micah thought to

himself as he ran. He listened to the sound his clunky boots

made on the pavement and the way they echoed loudly off the

buildings. If there was anyone else around he would surely be

caught within a matter of moments. “Just my luck, the one day

I don’t wear my sneakers …”

As predicted, within seconds, there was someone hot on

his trail, presumably the offi cer. Micah gulped as he heard a click,

which he assumed came from the man’s weapon. Micah felt a

shiver of fear shoot down his spine. He had to get home and he

had to do it now. His life depended on it.

Just as Micah passed a dark corner, a hand reached out

of the shadow. It gripped him by his shoulder and pulled him

into the darkness. Micah tried to yell, but before he could make

a sound, another hand covered his mouth. Whoever caught him

was much too strong to resist, and within a matter of seconds

Micah was in a headlock.

“Be quiet or they’ll kill you,” a voice said in a whis-

per. Micah struggled for a moment, but then went quiet and

instantly stopped resisting as the policeman ran past them.

11The Catalyst

“Stay here,” the voice said, barely audible. The pressure on

Micah’s mouth eased and Micah knew he could talk again,

although he didn’t dare try. He didn’t want the cop to see him,

and though this stranger hadn’t hurt him, it didn’t mean he

wasn’t planning something later on.

The man stepped into the light, tracking the policeman

like a panther. He was wearing a black trench coat that danced

in the night air, and his hands were covered with thin, black,

fi ngerless gloves. A black hat was pulled purposely low, hiding his

face in shadows. There was something very strange and powerful

about this man.

By the time the policeman realized he was being

followed, the man in black was practically standing behind him.

After a moment, the policeman turned on his light, fl ooding the

man with a bright white light. Micah grimaced; he wanted to

help, but was frozen in a mixture of fear and curiosity. Who was

this man? What was he doing? Surely he would be killed if he

tried to face the policeman alone. Wondering what to do next,

Micah watched and scanned the alley for any way he could get

out in case he was spotted. For several moments the policeman

stared at the man in black, seemingly as shocked as Micah at the

stranger’s boldness.

“Who do you think you are?” the policeman asked. His

voice sounded shocked and disgusted. He scanned every inch of

the man in black with his fl ashlight as if searching for something,

but the man simply stood there. This stranger was unlike anyone

12 Matti Mclean

else Micah had never seen. His clothes were unusual, and his

entire attitude seemed defi ant and strong.

“Who do you say that I am?” the man in black asked.

“I don’t answer to street punks,” the offi cer snarled, a

touch of rage breaking into his voice.

“It was a rhetorical question,” the man said. “Even if you

knew who I was, you wouldn’t recognize me.” The stranger

stood with his knees slightly bent and his hands opened to his

sides, like a cat just waiting to pounce.

“I don’t have time for this. You’re breaking curfew. Come

with me,” said the cop as he reached out and tried to grab the

man in black by the coat.

The man sidestepped and defl ected the offi cer’s reach.

“No.” He said this with such authority that Micah’s

knees felt weakened. Talking back to the offi cers was another

thing punishable by death, and yet this man did it with such

certainty that it almost seemed casual to him. Had he done this

before? Who was this man?

“You dare talk back to me?” the offi cer demanded, his

face contorting as his voice escalated to an animalistic growl.

“You come with me now, or I’ll see to it that you don’t go

anywhere ever again,” he said, clutching the weapon at his side.

Upon seeing this, Micah’s fear made him creep back

against the wall. He longed to yell and warn the man in black of

the danger, but the fear kept him paralyzed. Micah could hardly

move, hardly breathe … He felt like the exact opposite of the

13The Catalyst

man who stood there, biding his time, exuding confi dence and

displaying a quiet comfort that somehow made Micah think

everything was going to be okay.

The cop lifted his weapon, which looked like an antenna

charged with electricity. Typically used like a baton, one slug

from that weapon, known as a stinger, would render a man

incapacitated. Without warning and with tremendous force, the

cop brought the stinger down, aiming at the stranger’s head.

The man in black, however, was too quick. With refl exes unlike

anything Micah had ever seen, he evaded the stinger, jumped

behind the offi cer and slammed his hand against the back of

his neck. With a loud cracking sound, the offi cer dropped

to his knees.

The offi cer howled and swung his arm back, hoping to

connect his stinger with the leg of the man in black. The man

jumped, and with a speed Micah could hardly follow, he kicked

the offi cer. The kick connected with his hand, which snapped,

causing the man to release his grip on the stinger as he let out

a quick sharp yelp. Landing hard on the cop’s hand, the man

in black raised his other leg and unleashed another kick which

connected with the offi cer’s shoulder. The offi cer’s head instantly

hung, and he collapsed on the ground.

“They never listen,” the man in black said. Casually,

almost nonchalantly, he bent over and wiped off his trench coat.

He grabbed the stinger, which had fallen from the policeman’s

hand, and threw it at Micah. “Catch.”

14 Matti Mclean

Micah obliged, catching the cold, steel weapon in his

hand. He was surprised by how light it was. This weapon was

lethal and weighed less than a pen. How could it be so easy

to hold?

“You should go home,” the stranger said, turning his

back. Micah looked up to see that he was turning around and

preparing to go, and immediately leapt in front of the man who

had saved him from the offi cer.

“Wait!” Micah said. “Who are you?”

“That depends on who you ask,” the man said. “Do you

mind moving?”

“I’ve never seen anyone …”

“I have to go.” The man raised his hand, eff ectively

cutting him off as he brushed past Micah.

“Wait, please!” Micah said, gripping his shoulder. “That

offi cer could have killed you … But you stopped him. I’ve never

seen anyone fi ght like that!” A part of Micah was very excited.

He had just witnessed someone doing something that he never

even thought was possible.

The man looked at Micah curiously. He smiled, seeming

amused by the way Micah had gripped him.

“He wouldn’t have been able to hurt me,” the stranger

said calmly.

“But he …”

“Trust me. He wouldn’t have been able to hurt me,” the

man repeated. “What’s your name?”

15The Catalyst

“Micah … What’s yours?”

The man looked intrigued for a second, but the shift in

emotion was quickly suppressed as the man turned to leave.

“I really must be going.” Micah watched as the man

disappeared into the shadows.

“No! Please, just one more minute. I have questions …”

“They shall be answered in time,” the man said as he

walked into the shadows of one of the alleyways. Micah didn’t

notice where he went; his attention had been drawn up to the

rooftops. He couldn’t be sure, but it looked like there were

people on the roof. “You’ll be hearing from us soon, Micah,” the

man said, although Micah couldn’t see him anymore. Instead, a

small, black card fl ung out of the shadows and landed at his feet.

Almost instinctually he bent down and picked it up, examining

the front and back. The card was black with one silver question

mark symbol on one side that seemed to glitter in the darkness.

Stepping into the shadow of the building in an attempt

to follow the man, Micah noticed that the fi gures on the roof

had disappeared and quickly brushed it off as consequences of

his over-excited imagination. The man had also vanished into

thin air. Micah looked up, but the building was much too tall to

jump over. He scanned the wall for a door or some way the man

could have escaped, but he didn’t fi nd any.

It wasn’t until he heard the whirling sound of a fl oating

camera that Micah was slapped back into reality. Its large, alumi-

num body fl oated as it carried a streetlight along its pre-set path.

16 Matti Mclean

He held his breath and backed up until he was against the wall.

If this camera caught even the slightest piece of him it would be

disastrous, especially after he had narrowly escaped death at least

once tonight. As luck would have it, the camera didn’t notice

him and proceeded on its predetermined path. Once the buzz-

ing piece of metal was out of range, Micah exhaled and almost

collapsed from relief.

Gripping his chest, he began to run. He had to get home,

and soon. He was much closer now. Using the back alleys he

easily negotiated his way to his house, which, thankfully, had a

back door. Micah pressed his thumb against the touch pad on

the door and entered the large, dark house. He closed the door

and rested his back against it, hoping the terror of the night

would melt away. He waited a moment before moving, allowing

the silence to penetrate his thoughts and help him think about

everything that had happened.

Micah could fi nally breathe; if only he could remember

how. His head felt as if it was spinning out of control, even

while he was standing still. Moving to the kitchen, his hands still

trembling, he clung to the sink, trying to steady his breath as the

lights fl ickered on. He tried to calm himself down, but his body

felt wired. Why was he still so afraid? His heart felt as if would

burst from his chest at any moment.

Looking at his refl ection in the sink, Micah almost

couldn’t recognize himself. He looked frazzled. His black hair

was disheveled; his grey eyes looked sunken and bloodshot. He

17The Catalyst

had always been average in height and weight, but tonight he

felt very small. Biting his lip, he splashed some water onto his

pallid, angular face in an attempt to regain some color.

Climbing up the stairs to his room took a long time

despite the fact that his house was not large. The new housing

regulations dictated that houses be two stories, with rooms

seldom big enough to fi t three people in at a time. This was

meant to prevent socializing after curfew. That was when the

terrorists and Radicals met. Micah paused as he sat on his bed.

Could that man be a Radical? If so, who was he? What did he

want? Why had he helped in the alleyway?

Feeling his wallet jab him through the fabric of his pants,

he quickly removed it and watched a card fall out. It was the

mysterious black card, which had practically jumped out of

Micah’s pocket. He brought it up to his face and examined it. It

seemed blank except for the logo, until he tilted it back in the

light and caught a fl icker of what looked like writing. He fi ddled

around with it, tilting it back and forth like a hologram; fi nally,

he found the right position and was able to read it.

“Under Our Protection.”

“Curious,” Micah thought to himself. He fl ipped it

over and, after examining it from many other angles, put the

card down.

“Why me?” he asked himself.

He wasn’t anything special. He had no family since his

mother had died. He had no real friends to speak of; his job was

18 Matti Mclean

unremarkable. He certainly had no money … His life was a pic-

ture of adequacy. He hated it, but what choice did he have? He

had to work to live, and the job he had been assigned to off ered

hardly enough to survive. What would happen if he was stopped

again? He got lucky tonight, there could be no doubt about that,

but what could he do now?

Micah looked at his hands as if deep inside them he

would fi nd the answers he was looking for, but unsurprisingly

there were none to be found. He took a deep breath and at long

last managed to calm himself down before falling asleep.