by J. Thorn
"...an edge-of-your seat apocalyptic adventure full of twists and turns. I couldn't put it down!"
Vicki Keire
Author of Worlds Burn Through
"A new and refreshingly believable handling of an old story concept. I totally enjoyed the characters who were well rounded out to show the good and bad and sometimes pure evil in the human condition. .Apocolypse with a twist of humanity"
Gayle from Amazon.com
"It makes you gasp at every turn...J. Thorn does an amazing job of flipping every preconception on its head!'"
Jack D. Albrecht Jr.
Author of Osric's Wand
"Very enjoyable, hard to put down, some late nights till finished."
Mate from Amazon.com
The Seventh Seal
By J. Thorn
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Acknowledgments
Other Works
About the Author
Copyright
Table of Contents
The Seventh Seal
Third Edition
Copyright © 2011 by J. Thorn
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.
This book is a work of fiction. The characters, incidents, places, and dialogue are drawn from the author's imagination or are used fictitiously, and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
Cover Illustration by Kate Sterling
Edited by Robert Reed & Katy Sozaeva
For more information:
http://www.jthorn.net
[email protected]
For Adam, my first reader and cohort in crime.
And the smoke of their torture goes up for ever and ever, and they have no relief day or night, those who worship the beast and the image of him, and anyone who takes the mark of his name.
--The Revelation of John, Chapter 14
Take the cup and sip the wine
Until you see the cursed line
--“Paris Green,” Threefold Law
Table of Contents
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Chapter 36
Chapter 37
Chapter 38
Chapter 39
Chapter 40
Chapter 41
Chapter 42
Chapter 43
Chapter 44
Chapter 45
Chapter 46
Chapter 47
Chapter 48
Chapter 49
Chapter 50
Chapter 51
Chapter 52
Chapter 53
Acknowledgments
Other Works
About the Author
Copyright
Chapter 1
Every strand of Sarah’s hair shocked John Burgoyne like voltage from downed electrical wires. He needed to be in her, envelop her. The room glowed through the darkness. The hypnotic guitar of Threefold Law’s “Old Dominion” pulsed through the speakers on tentacles of golden vibrations, surrounding and stifling the other sounds in the house.
The pill dissolved in John’s stomach, quickened by gulps of Great Lake’s finest. The beer settled at the top of his throat and he fought the acidic burn.
Sarah pushed him back on the couch and unbuckled her black leather belt. John spilled the remainder of his warm beer, dropped the bottle to the floor, and – moving his hands to her hips – slid down the garter straps and pushed the miniskirt up to reveal the tops of white, fishnet stockings. John’s body slid beneath hers and into a familiar position. His vision blurred and Sarah’s words took on a wavering quality, as if she spoke underwater. He felt her hands tugging at his underwear and he saw black pants at his ankles. John’s cell phone slid from his pocket and hit the cement floor, punctuating his pang of sexual guilt: Jana.
***
John awoke shivering. His chattering teeth pulled him from a fitful sleep. The stench of vomit and piss pulled at the remaining contents of his stomach. He sat up and glanced at the black plastic through nauseous double vision. John picked up the phone and flipped it open, expecting the screen to come alive. He squinted to prepare for the bright shock of a compounded headache. When it did not happen, John fumbled for the on button, bringing the inanimate object to life. The smudged LCD screen finally lit, but John dropped it to the ground as rays of pallid green bored through his skull like a rusty drill. Shrill beeps emanated from his phone in rapid succession. John rubbed his eyes with sweaty hands, his body convulsing before looking down at the display.
He forced his eyes to focus on the screen, struggling to read the characters on it. The phone looked back at him through an imaginary fog, which obscured the display. John held the phone outward and turned in a slow circle. Bits and pieces of memory raced through his head. John yanked at a white collar hanging from the button on his black shirt. A dime-store rosary twisted as the cheap plastic cut into his throat. The air felt cold and damp, weighed down with silence. Opposite the steps, John ran a hand along the wall and found the light switch. He flicked it up and down several times, failing to dispel the inky blackness. Stumbling over empty beer bottles, he crawled to the circuit panel. Using the weak light from his phone’s display, he saw all of the breakers faced right, locked in the “on” position, but still failing to deliver power to the house. More beeping shot from the tinny speaker on his phone, the source still a mystery. John navigated the basement furniture and tried climbing the stairs. He reached the solid, oak door and listened.
Nothing.
Flies crawled under the door and buzzed around his head, an unusual occurrence for late October in Ohio. A sour stench, which forced John to heave again, accompanied the insects. The locked door forbade him entry to the kitchen.
“Hey!” he said.
This time a bit louder: ”Is anyone there?”
John pounded on the door with his right hand until it became numb. He kept reassuring himself that Reggie would throw open the door at any moment, and everyone would have a hearty laugh at his expense.
John waited.
He sat on the top step, straining again to focus on the phone’s display. His eyes chased a floater from the edge of his vision as the letters on the screen materialized. He pushed the envelope button, which retrieved the first three subject lines from the inbox.
whr r u
johncall
help
Chapter 2
Jana had typed the text messages the night of October thirty-first. The date on the main screen read November third. Had he been here three days? Fumbling, John pushed the wrong button, retrieving his sent texts folder.
wish u whr here
Sent at one in the morning on November first. John se
lected the message and noticed three phone pictures attached to it. The hourglass spun on the screen while retrieving the first picture. Although dark and grainy, he had no difficulty recognizing himself in the photo, lying on the couch in Reggie’s basement. John’s head tilted up at an angle, his mouth was covered with a wide grin, and his eyes stared at a naked woman. Sarah stood to the side, one hand resting on his thigh and the other holding her right breast.
He gasped and scrolled down to the second picture. Long, blonde hair fell down to the top of her waist. She sat astride him, looking back over her left shoulder at the phone, which must have sat on a high stool. The third and final picture knocked the wind out of John. With the phone held above, two white breasts and strands of blonde hair enveloped John’s head while a look of stupidity plastered his face.
Using the phone as his flashlight, John staggered back down the steps. He collapsed onto the loveseat at the opposite wall to avoid the smell of his own vomit. John wiped tears from his cheeks and his thumbs moved across the keyboard before he recognized the “No Service” icon. He shut the phone off and back on again.
“No Service”. John walked back up to the top of the steps and held the phone high above his head.
“No Service”.
According to the phone, it was 5:06 a.m. If that were true, someone in the house would be waking soon. He would hear them and call out. They would hear him, find him, and everything would be fine. But John didn’t believe that lie even as his mind formed it. He tried to open both closet doors but the locks refused to give. John considered launching a shoulder into the door but knew his collarbone would snap before the wood budged.
John took a quick inventory of the room. He noted two couches, a treadmill, a TV, a chair, and a stack of board games on a shelf. His stomach rumbled and grinded with a low moan, and his lips began to crack at the corners.
The pictures and the text kept tumbling through his thoughts. Although the carrier delivered them to Jana, she did not reply. Her text messages arrived prior to his, with her cryptic, desperate phrases. Without any bars, John succumbed to the confines of his new cell.
Reggie’s basement sat beneath the living room and masked any indication of the time of day. John looked at the top of the steps and saw a thin, gray line appearing at the bottom of the door.
John opened his phone and pointed it at the chair, aware of one less bar on the battery indicator. He angled the screen to the floor in such a way as to provide enough light to get to work. John turned the chair over and unscrewed one of the legs. The wooden spindle gave way, and he repeated the process with the other three legs.
He climbed the steps and tried to shove one of the legs under the door as a wedge. The tight gap kissed the ceramic tile, not allowing any leverage. John took one leg and brought it down hard on the glass doorknob. The handle shattered, but the brass innards kept their composure, keeping the door locked. John climbed back down the stairs and decided to try his luck on one of the closet doors. If he could get into Reggie’s tool chest, his chances of getting through the kitchen door would improve.
John brought the chair leg up and struck the door with it. Shards of wood shattered and flew across the room, but the door held strong.
John slid down the wall, fighting a rush of sobs. He thought of Jana and reread her fleeting text messages. Visions of Sarah and their sexual depravity aroused John against his will, followed by bouts of vomiting.
Headaches pounded the inside of John’s skull while cramps wracked his stomach. He shivered from the cold damp rising out of the basement floor. The black shirt and collar provided meager protection from the unheated house. Dark, black circles formed on the edges of his vision and took John into the realm of the unconscious.
Chapter 3
“All clear!”
The shout woke John. Panic seized his heart as he lurched upright. Pain shot through his legs from cramps that imposed their will on his muscles.
“Sir, there appears to be a basement.”
“Then secure it, Private.”
The taste of danger sharpened John’s senses. His legs burning, he dragged himself behind the couch on the opposite wall. Within moments, he heard the crack of wood and saw the gray November light hit the landing near the kitchen. Gleaming black boots crushed the remains of the glass doorknob as they crept down the steps. John took a deep breath, inhaling as much of the renewed air as possible.
He watched as two sets of legs hit the bottom step. Beams of light raced around the room, chasing red pinpoints. They flashed over him a number of times but never remained long enough to reveal his position. John held his breath and bit into his tongue, trying to ignore the crippling leg cramps seizing the muscles.
“Clear.”
A sharp report rang through the air followed by the acrid taste of burning gunpowder. Before the reverberations faded, a second gunshot followed the first. John heard the boots smash each of the closet doors as the hinges protested with a whiny squeak.
“Clear.”
“Clear.”
The two men kicked beer bottles around the floor, pointed their flashlights around the room one more time, and walked back up the steps towards the kitchen. John exhaled, watching tendrils of smoke dance across the clammy cement floor.
Chapter 4
The light pouring through the open kitchen door climbed high on the wall until it disappeared completely. John listened from behind the couch, still unwilling to chance exposing himself. When the light faded, he crawled out.
Two gaping, black mouths yawned at him where closet doors had previously stood. He flipped the cell phone open but did not hear the customary start-up chime. A ragged crack ran the length of the screen, and the battery had come loose from the clip on the back. In his desperation to hide, he’d landed on top of the phone. John shoved it into a pocket and felt his way toward the nearest closet.
The intrusion had scattered the planks, and hinges sagged from the wall. With no light, John ventured inside the black canyon. A smeared, glass-block window provided enough of a glare for John to recognize the flashlights on the shelf. He grabbed one and flicked the switch. Nothing. He slammed it to the ground and grabbed another one. The torch blasted the room with blinding light. John stumbled over the shards of the door as his eyes burned and watered before becoming accustomed to the brightness. John swept the beam around the cramped work room until he noticed a wealth of tools. Grabbing the gym bag off a low shelf, he emptied its contents on the floor. Old baseballs and street-hockey balls rolled under the shelves. John collected a hammer, screwdrivers, a hand ax, and plastic wrap, and shoved them into the bag.
John turned off the flashlight and crept toward the steps. The house sighed with the setting of the November sun, as aged boards protested the temperature change with cracks and pops. Urine stench mingled with the greasy smell of heating oil. He shivered from the approaching chill of night, while climbing the first step toward the kitchen. The wooden plank sagged under his weight. John’s palm felt the ruddy surface of the textured wall, guiding the rest of his body upward. He felt his heart slamming against his rib cage, threatening to burst from his chest. John mumbled, trying to ignore the pulse in his temple.
The door to the kitchen stood wide open. From his position on the steps, John saw broken glass scattered on the ceramic-tile floor. The duffel bag on his shoulder swung with each movement, the contents poking into his ribs. He set the bag down on the top step and waited. He listened. Convinced of the emptiness, John stepped into the kitchen and out of his old life forever.
Chapter 5
The cold November sun sent weak rays onto the floor of the old house. Floorboards snickered, trying hard to hold back snaps of bawdy laughter. The temperature dropped with ease. As his eyes adjusted to the lighting, John’s vision came into focus. The black cape of a vampire fanned out across the floor, with a pool of dark liquid shimmering under his chest. The hardy flies that survived the bitter day buzzed above the corpse. The Bee Lady slumped in
a kitchen chair next to the overturned table, her open eyes fixated on the motionless ceiling fan above. Mascara ran down her face and smudges of black lipstick caressed her chin. Three ragged holes of flesh desecrated the woman’s chest. The wings of the costume fell to the floor and rested on her bare feet.
John stumbled and lunged for the sink. He heaved into the stainless-steel basin, but nothing left his body. He laughed in spite of himself, shaking his head in disbelief. Hints of winter seized the indifferent beast, rattling the old windows inside their rotted, wooden frames.
He stepped over the Count and opened the refrigerator. The lure of bacon preceded a gentle, cool waft of treated air. The fridge bulb was burnt out, so John flicked on the flashlight and exposed the leftovers of a ham dinner on the second shelf. John shoved it into his mouth, savoring the salty burn of the pork. Without hesitation, he ripped open a two-liter bottle of soda and poured it down his throat. The stinging carbonation forced him to pause until his eyes stopped watering. He felt a surge of adrenaline enter his bloodstream. Without even pausing to close the icebox, John devoured the entire ham and attacked several hard-boiled eggs. His hunger subsided to intestinal pain while his body shook with the flood of calories and protein. John dove for the powder room adjacent to the kitchen and found it devoid of dead bodies. He knocked the toilet seat down and dropped his pants in one swift motion. John continued shaking as his body processed the hunger, pain, and shock. He wiped the sweat from his brow and pulled the soft toilet paper from the roll. The motion released the sweet scent of lavender, reminding him of Jana.
Returning to the kitchen, John riffled through Reggie’s cabinets looking for anything of sustenance that would last without refrigeration. He grabbed a reusable shopping bag from Heinen’s and filled it with packaged goods. Rice cakes, peanut butter, crackers, and other dry items dropped into the sack. From the fridge, John grabbed another two-liter of soda.