Trail of Blood

by Michael McBride

  TRAIL OF BLOOD

  The God’s End Trilogy:

  Book Three

  Michael McBride

  Trail of Blood: Book Three of The God’s End Trilogy copyright © 2008, 2015 by Michael McBride

  All Rights Reserved.

  Paperback Snowbooks 2008

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either products of the author’s imagination or used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental. All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, without permission in writing from Michael McBride.

  For more information about the author, please visit his website: www.michaelmcbride.net

  Also by Michael McBride

  NOVELS

  Ancient Enemy

  Bloodletting

  Burial Ground

  Fearful Symmetry

  Innocents Lost

  Predatory Instinct

  Sunblind

  The Coyote

  Vector Borne

  NOVELLAS

  F9

  Remains

  Snowblind

  The Event

  COLLECTIONS

  Category V

  TABLE OF CONTENTS

  FOREWORD FROM THE AUTHOR

  TRAIL OF BLOOD

  The God’s End Trilogy:

  Book Three

  FOREWORD

  To my faithful readers:

  It’s important that I say the following up front. I am nothing without my loyal friends and readers, for whom I am eternally grateful. My goal for every title is for it to be better than the last. You deserve no less. It is with this in mind that I write the statement below.

  Statistics show that the average American changes careers five times in his or her lifetime. This trilogy represents a change in mine. I divide my writing years into two distinct segments: pre- and post-Bloodletting. Prior to 2008, I fancied myself a horror author. I wanted to be the next Stephen King, to write stories that would terrify people and make them question the very nature of existence. When the first book in the God’s End Trilogy was released in 2007, things went crazy in a way I never expected. Delirium Books bought the hardcover rights, Snowbooks picked up the UK rights, and Random House purchased the German translation rights. Suddenly, after a few specialty press releases, I was staring down the barrel of a successful writing career and honest-to-God deadlines for the remaining two books in the series. I knocked out Blizzard of Souls and Trail of Blood during the next six months and felt as though I’d written the series I had set out to write. There was only one problem…

  I no longer wanted to be the next Stephen King. I wanted to be Michael McBride. I wanted a distinctive style and a means of telling stories that was uniquely my own.

  So I did what any author hell-bent on derailing his success would do…I took a six-month break from writing to determine what exactly that meant. I discovered that horror was a largely linear form of storytelling—in my opinion, anyway—and I was a big fan of twists and turns. I still loved the darker aspects of the world and human nature, and had an affinity for the crueler aspects of science and nature, so I decided to combine the two with a mode of storytelling in the suspense/thriller vein. The result was 2008’s Bloodletting, and the books that followed. Innocents Lost, Remains, Burial Ground, Vector Borne, Predatory Instinct, Snowblind, The Coyote, Ancient Enemy, Fearful Symmetry, Sunblind, Condemned…

  Please allow me to be direct…this book, and the other two in the trilogy, are works of fantasy and horror. They represent an early phase in my development as a writer and are being re-released for a faction of my readership that clamors for a return to this particular world. If you’re looking for something along the lines of Burial Ground or Snowblind, then this probably isn’t for you. I won’t take your decision personally and certainly won’t hold it against you. But if you’re interested in being swept away into a post-apocalyptic world where the forces of darkness wage war against the light, then continue on, cherished reader, and take a journey with my younger self beyond the end of days…

  Respectfully yours,

  Michael McBride

  December 2014

  Avalanche Territory

  TRAIL OF BLOOD

  The God’s End Trilogy:

  Book Three

  Michael McBride

  For all of my loyal readers/friends. None of this would have been possible without you.

  “The field is the world; the good seed are the children of the kingdom;

  but the tares are the children of the wicked one.”

  “The enemy that sowed them is the devil; the harvest is the end of the world;

  and the reapers are the angels.”

  “As therefore the tares are gathered and burned in the fire;

  so shall it be the end of this world.”

  “The son of man shall send forth his angels, and they shall gather out of his kingdom

  all things that offend, and them which do iniquity.”

  “And shall cast them into a furnace of fire;

  there shall be wailing and gnashing of teeth.”

  “Then shall the righteous shine forth as the sun in the kingdom of their Father.”

  “Who hath ears to hear,

  let him hear.”

  —Matthew 13: 38-43

  Chapter 1

  I

  Mormon Tears

  TIME PASSED ON THE BANKS OF THE GREAT SALT LAKE, THOUGH THE FEAR never did. Each setting of the sun brought them one day closer to the final confrontation, but none knew precisely when it would come; each rising of that celestial orb stirred the deep-seated terror that today would be that day. Two days had come and gone since the siege at the hands of War and his reptilian army, the Swarm. Two arduous days of watching the horizon for the first signs of movement, of looking over their shoulders to ensure that no one was sneaking up on them from behind. It was the worst possible way to live, though vastly preferable to the alternative. After the first whole day had ended without event, they had begun the process of trying to establish some semblance of normalcy, though it was merely a play they performed for one another.

  Adam stood on the white sand with Phoenix, looking to the east, as it seemed he always did. The sun had finally called an end to the nuclear winter, the blizzard now a memory marked only by the drifts of snow remaining against the stone face of the mountain and the spotted chunks of ice floating out on the lake. It wasn’t warm by any stretch, but at least the snowflakes no longer fell and the torrential wind had seen fit to leave them be, if only for a while. The sunshine felt divine on their faces, a sensation all had worried they might never experience again.

  “So what comes next?” Adam asked. “We know there are still more of them out there…”

  “They’re waiting for us to come to them this time.”

  “And what if we never do? The way I see it, they can wait forever.”

  “Staying here is suicide. I’m sure of that much.”

  “So how long do we have, then?”

  “I…don’t know,” Phoenix said, and that was the truth. He hadn’t been able to dream since the battle, and the visions had been elusive and incomprehensible. He knew why, of course, but he wasn’t willing to admit it yet, as it was still tearing him up inside. His silence troubled Adam, he could tell, but the truth would frighten him worse.

  Adam walked to the edge of the water, which had now risen several feet, swelling with the melted snow and ice to the point that the barrier they had constructed on the shoreline was now barely visible over the waves a dozen feet out. The new shore was only ten feet from the mouth of the cave leading to their sub
terranean dwelling. Small bones rolled in with the tide before being stolen away like seashells, the last reminder of the Swarm, whose corpses had been dragged out into the deep lake by the giant sea horses, which dwelled beneath its surface. The very same creatures they were waiting for now.

  He could see them out there in the distance, their coarse, spiny necks cresting the surface like the coils of sea serpents, growing incrementally closer, stalking them. The time had come to make their journey into Salt Lake City, but the walk was out of the question. Evelyn’s truck was useless without the rear wheels, and the gas tank was bone-dry besides. The semi had been consumed by the flames of the barricade they had used to block off the lone point of access from the western side of the mountain and was now buried beneath an enormous pile of charred lumber. They couldn’t afford to be gone for several days, not with the future so uncertain, so they had no choice but to count on being able to mount those amphibious steeds. How Phoenix had called to them, summoning them slowly toward the shore, was beyond him, but so little of the world around him made sense anymore that it was simply easier to accept these things and move on.

  The beach all around them was still torn asunder from the assault, especially where the ground had opened in widening fissures beneath the red horseman War in his death throes. Sand was only now beginning to slide down into the muddy crevasses that channeled the water during high tide. Originally, they had intended to leave all of the tall spikes that had impaled the invaders leaping down from the top of the cliff, but they had begun to stink to high heaven. They could always replace the poles, as the holes still remained where they had been planted, along with the rent earth the creatures had ravaged while trying to rip through their own flesh to free themselves from the pikes. But it was the sections of mounded sand to the south, one beside another, that Adam couldn’t bring himself to look upon. There were six of them in all. Six constant reminders of the debt they now owed and the gravity of the gift they’d been given.

  They’d managed to collect Darren’s and April’s broken and gnawed bones, laying what little remained to rest in the same grave for fear of mixing up the bones. Jill insisted that the young couple would have preferred it that way, regardless. Lindsay was buried beside them, her body mostly intact, as the Swarm had only picked at her on their way to attacking the fresh meat, while Norman was beneath a much smaller mound beside her, his head the only part of him they’d been able to find. Gray’s ashes were beneath the ground next to where he had laid his wife Carrie to rest, the tangled vines with their strange red blossoms already beginning to overtake the haphazardly assembled cross marking her passage. The final grave belonged to the man who had stood up to Richard for them on the island and had been subsequently shot. For his kindness, they had hauled his ashes and burnt bones out of the charcoaled leftovers of the bonfire with Gray’s and committed them to what they all now considered to be sacred ground. Here they could be properly mourned, properly thanked. It was a seemingly pathetic gesture, but it was the best they could do for now.

  A gentle breeze rose from their right, carrying the smoke from the pit warming the kelp and blowing it over the graves and across the water like a mist. What appeared to be a rocky crag broke the choppy surface, parting the gray cloud and gaining height as it moved inland. A spiny mane capped its head and neck, spikes crowned with jagged wire-like filaments. Rather than the smooth contours of the equine it had once been, the taut skin stretched between sharp outcroppings along its neck and into its haunches, sloping down its tapered snout. Its eyes were a puzzle of turquoise and black marble, within which Adam found himself lost. As the strange creature stood at the edge of the lake, its spindly legs shin-deep in saltwater, Adam appreciated its unusual beauty, which had been lost during the previous days, when the reclusive herd had slipped out of the lake at sunrise and sunset to feast on the bloated bodies of the Swarm, consuming their fill and dragging the scavenged carcasses back under the landlocked sea.

  Phoenix approached the steed, allowing it to sniff his open palm. It shook its head and whinnied, but presented its flank for Phoenix. He stroked the skin that felt like fuzzy flesh drawn snugly over a brittle framework of bone, working his hands toward the tall spines capping its shoulders. He swung up onto the horse’s back, gripping the spikes on its neck. It shifted from side to side nervously before adapting to his weight and the gentle touch of the boy’s right hand rubbing it behind the erect ears.

  “Come on,” Phoenix said without looking at Adam. He continued to slide his hand along the side of its neck, tracing the swell of its cheek.

  Grabbing one of the bony spines, Adam swung up behind Phoenix, wrapping his arms around the boy and holding on for dear life. The behemoth’s wings rose upward like the arms of a praying mantis before extending outward to reach their full length.

  As the aura of the dawning sun faded from red to gold, the others emerged from the cave to see them off, shielding their eyes against the blinding glare.

  “Be careful!” Evelyn called.

  “And then some,” Adam said, nearly squeezing Phoenix right through as the horse galloped forward along the tide, its wings billowing. It launched nearly vertically into the air, banking out over the lake. Adam looked back over his shoulder to see the others walk out onto the white sand, too nervous even to wave.

  There was a part of him that wished he could have stayed behind where it was warm and somewhat comfortable. While they weren’t safe in the cavern, at least there was the element of familiarity, which was far better than flying off into the vast unknown.

  They needed to go. It was that or face the possibility of having to defend themselves without the benefit of fortified perimeters. That, and as much as he was thankful for the meals of stewed kelp from Evelyn’s flourishing colonies, which had sustained them through the first two days, he needed to find something a little more substantial.

  With one last glance at his friends shrinking in front of the shadowed orifice, he turned to look ahead at the rising sun and their destination somewhere beneath, mouthing a silent prayer that he and Phoenix would return, and that the others would still be alive when they did.

  II

  JILL COULDN’T SHAKE THE LAST VISION SHE’D BEEN PRESENTED BY HER DISTANT Goshute ancestor. It was there when she fell asleep and again when she awoke, hiding behind her lids every time she so much as blinked. Words couldn’t express her gratitude to the tribe that had sacrificed everything to give her a chance at life by offering their souls to the blizzard. She felt guilty accepting the gift of their lives. She was just a young girl after all, barely a stumble-step into womanhood. The fact that they had considered her life to be of such importance that they willingly passed into extinction was a heavy burden to bear. There was nothing special about her, at least not that Jill would admit. There were so many others who were smarter, prettier, of greater consequence to the world as she knew it. She couldn’t think of anything she could possibly do moving forward into the unmapped future that would warrant the loss of so many lives, but that wasn’t what bothered her most about the images that haunted her. It was the thought of holding her own child in her arms, of the parting words of her spectral ancestor.

  Would you sacrifice everything for the child?

  The words echoed in her mind, scaring the living hell out of her. What was she supposed to sacrifice for this child who hadn’t even been conceived? Her life? That was all she could come up with. She was supposed to give her life for her child as her forefathers had done for her, but would she be strong enough to do so when the time came? It had only been a matter of months since she’d been sitting on her bed in her parents’ house debating whether or not to take her stuffed basset hound Snuffles off to college with her. God, she’d even cried over the decision, hadn’t she? And in the end she had taken him with her! She was just a kid! She couldn’t be a mother, and she definitely couldn’t imagine a situation where she would have to offer her life in exchange for a baby whose existence hadn’t even begun. Maybe it
was selfish, but it was how she felt…and it was killing her.

  She wished she had Snuffles now so she could just bury her face in his big, floppy body and cry until everything reverted back to normal.

  But nothing would ever be the same again. Her parents were dead. Her classmates were dead. She had seen Tina butchered in the bathroom of a roadside diner and helped bury the scattering of April’s remains. There was nothing left to cling to. She was alone, a freak, useful only for her visions of the future. Now that the seed of depression had taken root, it was spreading like crabgrass. She couldn’t snap out of it, didn’t know if she even wanted to. It was far easier living inside of herself than having to face the day-to-day rigors of her life without.

  “I thought you might be lonely,” Mare said from behind her. She’d been so preoccupied with her thoughts that she hadn’t heard him drop down through the hole in the roof.

  “Leave me alone,” she whispered, sniffing back the tears.

  “Fat chance of that,” he said, plopping down beside her. He tried to drape his arm over her shoulder to bring her closer, but she shrugged out from beneath.

  He tried not to let it bother him. There had been so much death, and all of her friends were now in the ground, but it hurt that she was shutting him out. All he wanted to do was make her feel better. Couldn’t she see that he loved her?