by David Lovato
“What are those?” the boy asked.
“They’re torches,” the man said. He had heard of places like this, seen pictures in books, though those were rare. “A long time ago, these lit the paths for people. But they didn’t use fire.”
“Light without fire?” the boy said. “That’s not possible.”
“No,” the man said. “Not anymore.”
“How many people lived in these places?”
Walking alone the terribly uneven road, the man looked at the structures they passed by. A whole stone face had fallen from one, the thing dissected by some long-past force. Inside were layers and layers of empty rooms. What little remained seemed to be broken wooden structures, decayed and molded, crumpled over. All around was stone.
“I’m sure each one housed thousands,” he said. The passing breeze felt thick, as though the diminished ghosts of an age long gone were carried, worn and tired, along with it. The man felt a sinking feeling in his stomach, and he looked at the inside of the structure again. Somehow, he felt that no one had ever lived there, that these were used for something else entirely.
The two passed a small metal box, three of its four legs fused into the ground below, the fourth bent upward over the hole in the stone it had come from.
“What is it?”
“I don’t know.” There was a square hole in its face, and the lock on the side of this told the man that there once must’ve been some material here, that it was not always a hole. But it was gone now, and he wondered what kind of material these people had that kept things shut without closing them off, what kind of thing could disappear like that over time.
They passed a crossroad. Here stood more of the long metal shafts, these ones with arms stretching sideways over the road, and from them hung little metal boxes. The boy thought to ask, but seeing the same sense of wonder in the man’s eyes decided against it. They crossed the road, weaving around the metal shells.
As they traveled on, they saw smaller structures. One of these had been ripped in half, and they could see inside. There were patches on the ground that were soft, like some sort of clothing had once covered the entire floor, though much of it was now worn down to rough fibers. The boy climbed up the rubble and into this place. He took the animal skins from his feet and pressed his toes against the cloth on the ground. It was soft, and it felt nice on his sore, blistered feet.
In one corner of this place was a box. It was mostly deteriorated, and lay on the ground. The man, climbing the rubble to join the boy, lifted it when he got to it. Like the metal box on the side of the road, there was a hole in its face. Inside were contraptions and materials the man could not recognize. There was a wooden table, and the man placed this thing upon it. It teetered a bit, but didn’t fall. There was one of those rope-like things which connected it to the wall, and it was still intact.
“What do you think it does?” the boy said. The man looked around the interior, saw the decayed remains of what appeared to be some sort of bench, and it pointed straight at this thing. Everything left in the room seemed to compliment this box and draw attention to it.
“I don’t know,” the man finally said. “But it looks like it was very important.”
The two left the wreckage and continued down the road. It was tough to walk on, especially compared to the soft ground that had been inside that place, but after only a few moments, their feet grew used to it again.
Nested in a gap between structures was a man-sized metal box. It had metal lids. The man lifted one, and inside, the box was empty. He couldn’t help but think of how useful the thing could be, how it could shelter them from the rain, protect them from the monsters. He couldn’t understand why it would be needed here, among these stronger, better structures. The two pressed on.
The sun was beginning to set, and it had been a nice day. The breeze was cool, and the structures cast long shadows over much of the area the two traversed.
They passed a smaller building. This one had a large, round hole near the top of its pointed roof, which culminated into some metal symbol; the man thought it resembled a tiny metal person standing there, arms outstretched, ready for some embrace. For a shadow of a moment, the man felt like he was not alone, like he was in a room full of people, warm and happy. It passed with the breeze.
The structures began to thin out, and eventually, the man could see that it gave way to a more open plain again. In the middle of the road lay another metallic thing, this one small and thin, with metal handles at the center of one end of it. The man ignored the thing. He and the boy reached the outskirts of this place, and continued on. Before they had passed the last of the buildings, the man felt something on the breeze. It was almost like a soundless voice, like something calling out, a story with no words. The boy stopped walking. The man decided he must’ve felt it too. The two looked back into the town, down the darkening road. The grass blew in the breeze as it passed, but nothing else moved.
“Who do you think lived here?” the boy asked. The man thought. He closed his eyes, he listened to the breeze.
“I don’t know,” the man said. He felt a word calling to him, reaching out from the darkness of his mind. “Angels,” he said. The boy looked at him.
“Angels? What are those?”
“…I don’t know. Maybe they’re like ghosts.”
The two of them took one final look at this strange, empty place, then headed down the road. In the distance, at the farthest reach of the horizon, the man thought the ground looked blue, and a cool smell entered their noses for a moment. It almost reminded them of the smell of rain. But the smell soon died out, along with the breeze, and the shadows of the structures gave in to the heat of the swiftly closing day.
Afterword
Hey. I’m David. If you’re reading this it means you picked up a copy of our book, and for that Seth and I want to thank you.
Writing, editing, and publishing this book has been a long and sometimes painful process. You make it worth it.
We hope you enjoyed our collection, and we hope you’ll continue to enjoy what we write in the future. We aren’t done writing, we aren’t done with the universe presented in this book, and we sincerely hope we aren’t done having a part in your life.
It’s been a long road and there’s a longer one ahead. We hope you’ll walk it with us.
Wherever your road takes you, we wish you happy travels. Stay safe, and don’t get eaten alive out there.
With love,
David Lovato and Seth Thomas
About the Authors
David Lovato was born in California. He spent his early years moving from house to house, eventually settling in Gladstone, Missouri. Seth Thomas moved to Gladstone a year later, and the two met on the school bus, where for years they traded stories they’d written until they decided to write some together.
David’s blog can be found here: http://davidjlovato.wordpress.com
You can also find him on Facebook (personal and fan page) and Twitter.
Also by David Lovato:
“Hole”, a short story, free at most ebook retailers.
Dark Things, a collection of four short stories, available at most ebook retailers.
Six and Seven, a novella, available at most ebook retailers.
Seth’s blog can be found here: http://sevidian.wordpress.com
You can also find him on Facebook (personal and fan page) and Twitter.
Also by Seth Thomas:
“The Morning Light”, a short story, free at most ebook retailers.
After Death, a novel, available in print and through most ebook retailers.
Coming soon from David Lovato and Seth Thomas:
In the Lone and Level Sands, a zombie apocalypse novel.
More info here: https://www.facebook.com/intheloneandlevelsands
Still here? That’s great! I mentioned before that these stories are set in the universe of another work of fiction Seth and I have written. It’s called In the Lone and Level Sands, an
d it should be available November 2013. It follows seven groups of people around the country at the start of the same zombie apocalypse featured in this collection. Some of the characters in here show up there, and both books share a few shadows and ghosts.
The following is a sample chapter from that book.
Thanks again for sticking with us.
9
In the Air
The plane bobbed suddenly, and Layne gripped the arm of his seat tightly. Alex giggled.
“Don’t worry, it’s normal,” she said.
“I know,” Layne said. He didn’t feel any better, though. He knew the chances of the plane going down were low, but he didn’t like high places, and a plane was just about as high a place as one could get. The plane jerked about, and Layne had the same reaction.
“You’re going to rip the arm right off of the seat,” Alex said.
“It’s a natural reaction,” Layne said. “I don’t like heights.”
“You’re not even at the window.” Alex laughed.
“Doesn’t mean I’m not thousands of feet in the air,” Layne said. Alex’s laughing didn’t annoy him; it actually had a sort of calming effect, it let him know how silly he was being.
The plane jerked harder than it had before, and Layne grabbed both arms and shut his eyes.
“Quit that,” Alex said. “You’re going to be fine.” She took Layne’s left hand, which startled him. The plane dipped slightly, and this time, he wasn’t allowed to squeeze. “See?”
Layne smiled. His right hand had still clamped down on the arm of the seat, but at least he was beginning to appear less afraid. Layne looked at Alex’s hand and noticed a rainbow-colored bracelet with dice-block letters on it.
“I like your bracelet,” he said. Alex laughed.
“Thanks. My mother made this for me when I was young.”
“What does it say?”
“It says ‘Hope Perseveres’. She used to say it a lot, whenever we were having trouble. She used to remind me that hope would get us through anything.”
“I like that,” Layne said. The plane shook again. “I can use it right about now, too.”
****
In the cabin the co-pilot, a young man named Oliver, was trying to make small talk, but the pilot gave one-word answers, if he said anything at all. Finally Oliver gave up, and hoped that the next flight would have a much friendlier captain.
It was dark out, so there was very little to look at other than the array of blinking lights and switches before him. Oliver thought he could fall asleep, then wondered if perhaps the pilot already had. It was impossible to tell behind the man’s aviator sunglasses.
A slow, steady beep brought Oliver out of his daydream. He looked for the source, and found that the plane had been slowly dropping altitude, and was starting to approach landing levels.
“Hey, man,” he said to the pilot, “you gonna get that?”
The pilot made no attempt to respond.
“Hellooooo?” Oliver said. He snapped his fingers before the pilot’s face. No answer. The pilot was out cold.
Oliver sighed and pulled up on his control stick. The plane didn’t respond, and he realized that the pilot’s controls were overriding his own. Oliver leaned over the pilot, feeling awkward as he had his face near the guy’s lap. He searched for the override switch.
“Uhhhh,” the pilot said.
“I don’t like it any more than you do, but since you’re so tired—”
The pilot leaned forward and bit into the back of Oliver’s neck. Oliver screamed, and he could feel blood streaming down his neck. Then, he felt his skin tear as the pilot sat up.
Oliver scrambled away from the pilot. “What the hell?” He pressed a hand against the back of his neck, but this only caused a sharp pain to shoot through his body. He thought he felt bone, but he couldn’t be sure.
The pilot struggled to get up, but was strapped into his chair. It was like he didn’t know how to work a seatbelt. Still unsure of what was going on, Oliver took the opportunity and punched the pilot in the face. Oliver’s knuckles split, but the pilot merely recoiled and then returned to his attempt to unshackle himself. Oliver punched him again, and the pilot’s glasses snapped and flew from his face.
The pilot looked at Oliver. At least, Oliver thought he did. The pilot seemed distant, like his mind was somewhere else, leaving the body to do as it pleased.
Oliver got up and headed for the cabin door, but the pilot grabbed him as he was passing. Oliver struggled, but the pilot was stronger, and he took Oliver’s arm in both hands before sinking his teeth into it. Oliver screamed again.
Oliver reached for his headset to radio the ground, but he couldn’t reach. He began pounding on the pilot’s head and face as hard as he could. The pilot went on biting as though nothing was happening.
Another scrap of flesh was ripped from him, and Oliver was suddenly freed, and he fell to the ground. He stood up, but fell back down. He suddenly felt incredibly dizzy and very faint, like his mind was leaving him, like sleep was creeping in. He crawled to the door and reached for the handle. He could grasp it, but he couldn’t open it, and even if he could have, he wouldn’t have been able to walk out. Oliver felt himself fading, and he wasn’t sure why. He was bleeding, but the whole matter had taken only a minute or two, so he didn’t think he was losing enough blood to die from it. What was going on?
Unsure of what to do, Oliver thought of everyone else on board. He reached just below the door handle and locked the cabin door, then let his arm fall to the floor. He almost immediately realized that he had probably done more harm than good, as now no one could get into the cabin to put the plane back into the air. It was the last rational thought he would ever have.
The pilot thrashed in his seat, unable to undo his belts. He began frantically pounding the board before him, and then there was a loud chugging sound.
****
Layne was still holding Alex’s hand when he heard the noise. It was like a loud, sporadic whirring, and then, after a moment, the whirring ceased. Layne looked out through the window and saw nothing but black. He looked back into the plane before him, and saw a bag of peanuts that had been on his tray slide toward him, and then he felt the incline. Then he heard the screams, felt himself lift out of his seat. If he could talk, he would’ve asked Alex if this too was normal, knowing perfectly well that it was not.
The plane was falling.
Copyright Information
“The River”, “Holy War”, “The Living Dead”, “On 68th and Woodland Drive”, “Sanctuary”, “Grampa’s War Story”, “Dead and Gone”, “Alone Up There”, “Thy Neighbor”, “Two Worlds”, “BAZK”, “Ghost Story”, and sample chapter copyright © 2012 by David Lovato.
“On the Road”, “Tragedy in Belford”, “Death’s Robe”, “Concrete Nightmare”, “Acceptance”, “Dog’s Story”, “Grim is the Truth”, “Did Your Mama Ever Tell You the Story of the Day You Were Born?”, and “Like Fish” copyright © 2012 by Seth Thomas.
Cover and author picture designs by Seth Thomas, art by Laura Soret, copyright © 2012 Laura Soret http://suthnmeh.deviantart.com/
Table of Contents
Copyright
These Ain’t Your Grampa’s Zombies!
The River
On the Road
Holy War
The Living Dead
On 68th and Woodland Drive
Tragedy in Belford
Sanctuary
Death’s Robe
Grampa’s War Story
Concrete Nightmare
Dead and Gone
Acceptance
Alone Up There
Dog’s Story
Thy Neighbor
Grim is the Truth
Two Worlds
Did Your Mama Ever Tell You the Story of the Day You Were Born?
BAZK
Like Fish
Ghost Story
Afterword
About the Authors
Copyr
ight