Humanity's Death [Books 1-3]

by Black, D. S.

  It swooped down and took what souls It could from those fighting at the farm, those that had just died and were weak and easily consumed.

  For some, taking their souls meant a serious struggle, at least out here. Back in its nest, what the Militia called Dead Zone Black, eating souls no matter how strong they were was easy, taking spiritual candy from a dead baby.

  The souls It felt coming were not that kind. These men were strong, but as the saying goes; the harder the fight, the better the spoils.

  A Troubled Return

  1

  Blood drenched Pinky’s face. His hair was thick with blood. His eyes looked out from his red splattered face and took in his surroundings. The dead laid everywhere. The bodies were piled on top of each other like a World War II battle field. Stench ridden mounds of death. The putrid smell of decay. White mangled faces; green bloated skin. Shriveled corpses, rotting eyes.

  Candy was now among them; she’d been so brave. What a valiant last stand she gave. The women would not stop talking about her.

  “We’ll take this back to her brother. It belongs to him now,” Rainmaker said and then stuffed Candy’s blood covered revolver in his belt.

  The day was a cooking inferno. The air damp with thick humidity. This caused the smell of dead bodies to intensify even as they moved away, heading back to the farm the smell stayed with them, rife with decayed flesh.

  Pinky put his pink handkerchief over his mouth. It did little good, he eventually pulled it away and threw it down onto the pine needles. He would get a clean one when he got back to the farm; this one smelled of blood from countless cadavers.

  They moved through the shadowy trees as the day grew old. Pinky thought of many things as he walked. He thought of Candy and her bravery, thought about how he might break the news to her brother, thought he might just let Rainmaker handle that. He thought about Carla and their glorious moment in the barn, how sex with her was the best he’d ever had; he loved that woman like she was the last one on the face of the earth. He wanted to get back, shower, and make love to her till all the bloody memories of this trek left his mind; he needed her to cleanse him of all this debauchery; the wickedness of the New World seemed never ending, yet Pinky refused to allow his hope for a better future to falter no matter the cost, no matter the pains that he must go through to achieve it, he would see a better future; he would build it. He would cut down any Militia thug that still stood in his way, that included the Mountain King hiding away in his upstate lair, it was only a matter of time till Pinky would go for him; it was time to end this once and for all.

  They were sorely depleted of man power. His gang of men were weary and in need of rest. Could they rest during fall and winter? Scout the Upstate with small parties and then decide how to act? Could they find more men to fight beside them? How many men did the Mountain King have?

  Pinky wanted answers but knew patience was now the only virtue that might save him. They would wait. Refuel their souls with the fortitude they needed. They would seek out new people and increase their forces. Were there more people out there to find? Of course! Had to be. They could travel up to North Carolina. Surely, they’d be refugees of decent people willing to band with them or would they only meet more hostility? Or would there be nothing but emptiness all along the North Carolina low lands?

  The ground crunched under Pinky’s boots as he pushed through the trees, and still the smell of decay followed him like a specter of things to come, or things that had been; things that were inevitable. He looked at the women they had saved. Saved from the clutches of the rotted souls of the Militia. These women looked tired, but they also looked resolute. Seeing Candy fight to the death for them clearly woke something up inside their hearts and minds. New courage grew in their eyes. Pinky could use that, he thought. He could shape these women into warriors. Use Candy as their guiding example of feminine bravery in the New World. Now that they’d seen what was possible when one chose to fight back, they would never want to feel weak again; never would they want to go back to the Militia; back to dark sexual captivity.

  Look at how they are moving. With pride, with a new valor. A new hope. A brand-new way of seeing themselves and their place in the New World.

  And Jack should know what his sister did for these women. He should have pride even amid the inevitable pain that will come from learning his sister perished, but there are worst ways to die. She died more than a hero; she died a legend; she died so that others may live; she sacrificed herself for the greater good, saving these beaten down women and young girls. Saved them not just from death but from the despair that had taken over their minds from a year of slavery; Candy freed them from an attitude of victimization.

  Candy was not dead. Oh no! She lived on in the burning passion radiating from these women. Look how they walk. Tall and proud. Free!

  Free to fight. Free to die their own way. Free to see humanity rise and vanquish the evils of the Militia. If there was ever a group of people willing and incentivized to learn how to go to battle, it was these women.

  The Militia would rue the day they tried to ruin their spirits, trap them in despair’s dark chains; now a hunger beamed from their faces; budding warriors, huntresses now stalking through the Palmetto wilderness.

  Pinky watched them; they walked side by side, shoulder to shoulder; a line of empowerment born in blood; bred in hate and now shined in hope’s ever ending glory.

  2

  Johnny Rainmaker Hudson’s warrior nature was undeniable. His heart and soul vibrated with the energy of a thousand soldiers. Blood and war, love and kindness, honor and valiant heroism, were all part of him. Before the Fever, he was a Marine Recon, black ops assassin. A seasoned killer, a battle-hardened testament to the American way of life.

  Rainmaker never met his biological parents, never cared to. A man and woman that would abandon their child didn’t deserve his attention or recognition. Johnny didn’t play games; he was one serious motherfucker.

  He marched through the pines and oaks of the palmetto wilderness. His buzzed head was covered in dried blood, his eyes burned with hot passion; his ax was held in a strong grip, ready and willing to step into battle if needed. His pistol was empty, and he’d left his rifle somewhere behind them. He could chop his way back to the farm. He could handle anything that came his way.

  His adopted father, a Vietnam era Marine trained Rainmaker from an early age to be tough in the face of danger and fear. Fear was an illusion; fear was nothing more than false reality appearing real. Danger was real, but fear was only a mechanism of the imagination. A biological absurdity. Fear did no one any good. Fear was meant to be conquered at all costs. Some men taught fear was necessary, said fear was important for survival; but Johnny didn’t agree, and neither did his adopted father.

  Fear can cause a man to freeze up and that will bring only death. One must meet fear with bravado and bravery. Bravery is the definition of conquering fear, and only by conquering fear can a man defeat danger.

  His boots hammered the earth as he worked his way back to the farm. He was on point, leading the way for the rest of the survivors. Pinky was in the rear, and Rainmaker trusted him to cover his six.

  Rainmaker’s ears were sharp and alert for any sounds of the dead or living. He’d let his guard down back there and had been waylaid by zombies. He would not let that happen again.

  Candy’s revolver was tucked in his belt. Johnny wanted to give it to Jack and tell him all about his sister’s courageous ending. Few get to die in such an incredibly honorable way, Jack needed to know. From Johnny’s perspective, that should lessen the blow of the loss. He didn’t know Jack tittered on the edge of suicide.

  Suicide could never be an option for Rainmaker. It would never even cross his mind. For him, that would be the ultimate act of cowardice. One must always fight on. Battle to the last breath, just as Candy did. Johnny Rainmaker was still in awe at the way she battled the dead, even as they sunk their teeth into her. He now wished he had a chan
ce to know her, to even love her in an intimate sense; not just as fellow warriors, but as humans enraptured with physical passion. He was quite certain she could have held her own in the bedroom.

  But alas, Candy made the crossing. She was now one with the universe. She was with her girls; this world was no longer her problem.

  But was that true? The dead roamed, and the spirits intervened on an unprecedented level. The New World was a strange and complex tapestry of intermingling dimensions and realms.

  But even with the emergence of supernatural phenomena, the world was not that much different. Western civilization fell, but blood shed still and would always remain a constant on planet earth.

  3

  Johnny’s adopted mother was a full-blooded Cherokee. She loved Native American culture and history. She especially enjoyed folklore, specifically ghost stories.

  And as Johnny moved through the trees a sudden chill ran over him. He’d been here before with his mother. What was this place?

  He held up his hand, and the others stopped behind him. There was a strangeness to these trees. Something was here. Not a flesh eater, at least not a normal zombie. This was a burial ground, he had to look closely. The small relics had been trampled by both the living and dead, but this was it. This was the place his adopted mother brought him many years ago.

  Suddenly, darkness came like the sun had been blotted out. Shadow and mist rose around them. Behind Johnny, he heard one of the former slave women proclaim: “Let them come! Whatever hell this shit world has, bring it on!”

  Johnny smiled. Candy indeed had sparked a fire in their souls.

  But what was happening?

  “Over there!” Pinky shouted.

  “Stay close to each other!” Johnny said.

  Green and yellow eyes peered out of hollowed trees. Like lanterns in the night, they shined all around them. Then came snickering, strange hypnotic laughter.

  Johnny felt himself getting sleepy. He shook his head and then slapped himself hard across the face. He turned around and saw his group lying down on the ground like this was a peaceful camp site and it was time for bed.

  In his mind, Johnny heard his mother’s voice:

  This area is protected by the Lost Elves, Johnny. They can turn the day into night and put those that trespass asleep, and when you wake you’ll be one of them. You’ll be a Lost Elf and will have to protect this area for all eternity.

  Johnny had no intention of becoming a Lost Elf. He didn’t intend to let any of his friends become one either, but how do you stop this? How do you fight the Lost Elves? Think! Think damn you!

  He could think of nothing and his mind was slowing. Soon he would fall over and become a Lost Elf. He did the only thing he could. He gripped the ax with all his remaining strength and charged the nearest set of glowing eyes.

  He screamed a loud warrior’s cry.

  The creature jumped from the hollowed tree with a screech. Johnny planted the blade through its greenish gray face.

  Johnny screamed as scolding hot blue blood spurted on him, bubbling on his skin like acid. The trees emptied of the creatures, they charged at Johnny.

  Then gun fire, not ordinary gun fire. Blue bullets whizzed by his head and connected with three of the Lost Elves.

  “Get down, Rainmaker! This is a job for a woman!”

  Johnny fell to the ground. He knew that voice. He looked up and it was her.

  Candy’s eyes burned bright red. Her body was a blue hue with pale white mixed in. The hat on her head was black and it smoldered and sparked with red flame. Her hair flowed out from under her hat like ginger fire. Her revolver was bright white steel. She was laughing. Beside her, Johnny saw two little girls. They danced and sang; he looked over and noticed his entire group was asleep, Pinky and all.

  The Lost Elves were screeching and yelping. It was a horrible noise, like dying cats.

  Candy fired at them. Her supernatural revolver reporting loud, deafening shots that seemed to disrupt the very fabric of the reality around him. It was as though they were trapped in a bubble where all time had stopped.

  Whatever the hell this was, Candy was a sight for sore eyes; at least for Rainmaker’s sore eyes. She was mythical, powerful, unstoppable. A New World paranormal gunslinger. He could see her bright white teeth; a blue hue glowed around them.

  The Lost Elves dropped in smoldering ruins. Their bodies burned holes into the earth. Shot after shot, dead elf after dead elf; they ran at her; some flew at her, but her mystic revolver never missed. Elf skulls shattered in midair, splattering their hot and oozy brains against the trees, burning holes into the bark.

  All the while Candy’s girls danced and pranced. Fearless! Happy. Their laughter was like music. Johnny had forgotten about the pain on his body. The elf blood had burned his skin down to the bone. A portion of his cheek bone was showing.

  Yet in that moment he didn’t feel it. The air around him was like a freezer. He laughed, he couldn’t help himself. It was the sound of those little girls, they enchanted him.

  They stopped and looked at him. They smiled, and pointed their fingers at him like little guns, and silently mouthed pow pow.

  The Elves continued to clamor and fight, their dying cat like howls rising up and down; the loud KA-POW of Candy’s revolver; the blue streams that followed the bullet; the musical laughter of her dancing girls. It was an insane supernatural fun house, and Johnny was the only breathing mortal seeing it all. The others were snoring. This brought on another bout of laughter. They were sound asleep! Not a worry in the fucking world! A supernatural bubble of pandemonium echoed around them yet they slept and snored.

  4

  While Johnny watched the supernatural battle unfold, Pinky slept and dreamed. He was back in college, graduate school. The smell of desk wood and books. Books everywhere. He was in the Hollins library. He sat near a window and saw a gray and icy white day outside. Cold wind howled against the window pane. Faceless women walked around the library. A fog floated around their ankles. Pinky could smell something rotten like old meat.

  “Pink I really don’t think this plot works.”

  Pinky turned and saw that the voice came from his college girlfriend, Alicia Martin. It was her, but not her. Her face was pale blue; her eyes crusted over with ice. Her lips were purple and bulged. Her tongue looked black and her teeth were rotted and yellow.

  “None of this works, Pink. I’m sorry. The farm. You and all those people creating some little Eden that survives the apocalypse. Come on, Pink. It’s just not believable.”

  Pinky found himself unable to answer, even though he knew this was a dream. He knew that none of this was real, but at the same time it felt as though it may be some kind of strange and cold vision. A vision of something that may or may not matter.

  He forced words. “I really believe it’s possible. We can survive all this. Start over,” he finally said with great effort.

  Bugs crawled out of Alicia’s mouth as she responded. “Even now they are dying. Even now they don’t stand a chance in hell.”

  “They’re prepared to repel any challenge. They can do it.” Pinky didn’t know exactly what she was talking about, but his intuition told him something was happening at the farm. Something bad.

  “Not this Pink. No one can survive this world. Don’t you get it? The plot you’re trying to build just doesn’t work. This isn’t the end of the world, but it is the end of humanity. You have to accept that. It’s easier that way.”

  Green bile leaked from the pits of her icy eyes. A front tooth fell out and chattered onto the desk. A worm crawled out of the hole and fell onto her black tongue. She swallowed it and continued. “Think about it like this, Pink.” She crossed her fingers together. They were swollen and covered with sores. “The longer you hold onto this ridiculous plot, the longer you think you can survive in the New World, the harder it will be on you and those you care about. Just give up, Pink. It’s better that way. Human flesh cannot survive anymore. It’s a decree f
rom nature herself.”

  Pinky saw the faceless women now surrounded him. Their bodies were bloated with death; their hair strings of decay; their faces nothing but a blur of lifelessness.

  Pinky couldn’t move. He was frozen to his seat, he shivered. His teeth rattled, yet his resolve hardened. “We’ll never give up, Alicia, never! Ever!” His words came out shaky with the chill that ran through him; he felt it deep in his bones. His mind felt numb, but he forced himself to fight it. “We’re stronger than you think. More resilient than most. Our love for each other hardens us while at the same time softening our hearts for a hopeful future.”

  A chorus of dark laughter erupted around him. The faceless women howled; Alicia cackled and more teeth fell against the hard grain wood desk. More worms crawled out, she swallowed them all; then her face turned to black shadow, and a darkness swallowed the room.

  “HUMANITY IS A CURSE!” Her voice was gone. Something angry and powerful boomed and Pinky unfroze from his seat and fell to the floor. “DARKNESS IS YOUR FUTURE! PAIN AND MISERY YOUR KNEW SONG! PINKY! PINKY! PINKY! MY DEAR, STUPID FUCKING PINKY! DIE BOY! DIE NOW!”

  Pinky realized the floor was moving. Bugs, bugs everywhere. They crawled over his hands, up his arms, and wanted to enter his mouth. He jumped up and brushed them away frantically. The room was vibrating, shaking with hatred and rage. The room was alive, but it wasn’t a room at all, and Pinky didn’t think this was a dream anymore. He’d been swept away to some demonic realm, a black hell. Whatever it was, it fed off fear and tears, pain and suffering.

  “What are you?” Pinky wanted to shout, but it came out in a frozen whisper.

  Alicia disappeared. The women vanished, only black shadow remained and a booming angry voice. “I’M THE BLACK WHICH. I’M THE NEW WAY. I’M THE FUTURE, PRESENT, AND PAST. I’M ALIVE IN YOUR WORLD NOW. BEFORE I COULDN’T EXIST IN YOUR REALM, BUT NOW I CAN STEAL YOUR MINDS. EAT YOUR SOULS. FEAST ON YOUR ESSENCE. I AM THE BLACK BEAST FROM BEYOND. THE CREATURE WITH NO FORM. I AM THE DARK LIQUID SHAPING YOUR FEARS, YOUR INSECURITIES.”