CONTENTS
Title Page
Copyright
Dedication
Prologue
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty - One
Chapter Twenty - Two
Chapter Twenty - Three
Chapter Twenty - Four
Chapter Twenty - Five
Chapter Twenty - Six
Chapter Twenty - Seven
Author's Note
About the Author
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SURVIVE
Ashley Shannon
Survive
Copyright © 2017 by Ashley Shannon
All rights reserved. This book or any portion thereof may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever without the express written permission of the publisher except for the user f brief quotations in book reviews.
This novel is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and plot are all either products of the author’s imagination or used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons - living or dead - is purely coincidental.
All rights reserved.
Dedicated to those who helped to guide me along the way.
This one is for you.
PROLOGUE
The entire class was huddled around Professor Einstein, looking at a tiny spore in a glass vial. Everyone except for Paige and Sada. Paige was picking through a clump of hair looking for split ends even though there weren’t any. Paige knew that her hair was healthy and had recently been trimmed, but looking for non-existing split ends was more exciting than listening to drab Professor Einstein talk. That wasn’t really the professor’s name, but Paige hadn’t bothered to retain what the plain looking woman had said when she introduced herself to the class. The Professor was tall and slender, with thick dark glasses and an ordinary looking outfit. Even though she twitched in a weird way when she talked, Paige was sure she could be pretty if she tried. Obviously, this woman did not want to try. She more concerned with droning on and on about science stuff that Paige couldn't care less about.
Science wasn’t really Paige’s thing. If she was being bluntly honest, school wasn’t really Paige’s thing unless you counted cheerleading and lunch, her two favorite subjects. The fact that she was being dragged to a school field trip to listen about spores found in South America on a Friday after school was nothing short of torture. She felt as if she was being punished, something she had loudly stated to her teacher as they loaded up on the bus. He told her she should open her mind, broaden her horizons, and see this as an opportunity. Paige thought he sounded like he was quoting an inspirational poster and promptly stopped listening to the rest of Mr. Thompson’s speech.
“This is the stupidest thing ever. We should have skipped school today.” Paige said to Sada, her always there companion. Sada was the girl Paige could always count on. She was the one who’s pictures were labeled with “partner in crime” and “bae”. They were inseparable and even now could be found six feet away from the rest of the students crowded around looking at a bit of fluff that looked like a dead dandelion.
“Even worse than that time Mitch made you go fly fishing?” Sada said with a giggle.
“Yep. Its even worst than that. This is a waste of a perfectly good Friday night.”
Paige’s eyes scanned the room, her fingers letting her blond locks fall back to her shoulder. Mr. Thompson, they're overly eager science teacher was standing right next to the professor. His eyes were practically bulging out of his face, reminding her of that wolf cartoon who always went “hubba hubba” when a pretty girl walked by.
“Mr. Thompson is looking pretty pathetic today.”
“Even more than usual,” Sada said, checking her phone, not even bothering to look up at their teacher. Mr. Thompson was one of those teachers who was so geeky it wasn’t even amusing to make fun of him. That didn’t stop his students from cracking jokes at his expense. He was about as round as he was tall, with thick circular glasses and shaggy unkempt hair. Paige assumed he was going for a cute in a disheveled kind of look, but mostly he just looked a mess.
“He’s practically drooling on that poor women,” Paige said, a look of disgust on her face.
“I bet she can smell what he had for lunch.”
“Only because there’s still some left over on his tie.”
The two girls touched hands, a sort of ritual they had created in grade school when they both decided that high fives were so yesterday. Paige took out her own phone and flicked through her newsfeed on Facebook. Most of her friend group, including her boyfriend Mitch, were ice skating tonight. They had already posted pictures. Envy crept up inside her as she tried hard to block out what Mr. Thompson was saying to the rest of the class.
“These spores actually latch on to an ant and take over its body. They cause the ant to eventually climb to the tallest part of a tree and then kill themselves. It really is just incredible.”
Mr. Thompson wiped a fresh layer of sweat from his forehead, then rubbed his hands down his slacks. Paige wrinkled her forehead in disgust before she turned back to her phone. She wasn’t paying any attention, her mind wrapped up in the fun she wasn’t having, the fun she could be having, if she weren’t stuck listening to a lecture from the future Mr. and Mrs. Thompson. Their voices droned on and on, creating a dreary hum in the air. It wasn’t until Marnie Whittle let out a scream, that Paige looked up again.
The scream Marnie emitted froze Paige’s blood in her veins. Instantly her eyes shot up towards the small freshman girl. Marnie’s hand covered her mouth, while the other pointed ahead of the class. Following Marnie’s extend hand, Paige turned towards the head of the room. It was then that she saw the blood spurting from Mr. Thompson’s neck. Professor whatever her name was, had ahold of Mr. Thompson by the head and was digging her mouth into the side of her science teacher’s neck. The crazed women’s nails were scratching at his face, causing more blood to spill from his flesh. She continued to gnaw on the thin skin of Mr. Thompson's neck, as the class watched on in horror. No one moved. Not a single student knew what to do.
“Someone do something!” Paige yelled, but she didn’t move forward either.
The Professor pulled Mr. Thompson's body to the floor. His arms moved wildly, trying to pry the woman off of him. He yelled for help. His voice sounded desperate, but his students failed him. They were all frozen where they stood. With one savage bite, Mr. Thompson suddenly stopped screaming. His mouth moved but nothing came out. His hands dug at the fingers wrapped tightly around his neck, but he couldn’t pull them away. A small gurgling sound escaped his lips and after what seemed like a long time, his hands fell to his side. The professor began tearing at his shirt. The buttons popped off of his overly tight button up. The shirt was a pretty blue. Paige remembered that it had matched Mr. Thompson's eyes. It was a nice color on him, but now it was stained red with the blood that had poured from his wounds. His chest was exposed, his skin a pasty white color, covered with thick curly black hair. Paige watched in horror as the women she had earlier dubbed Professor Einstein, clawed into his stomach.
With that, the class began to head for the door. Nobody was going to wait to see what happened next. They ran, jumping o
ver chairs.Some stumbled in their rush and no one stopped to help them up. It was a mad dash towards safety, every student leaving their trusty teacher behind to be devoured.
“Come on,” Sada said, tugging at Paige’s arm, her voice filled with alarm. “Let’s get out of here.”
Paige followed her friend to the door, her hand in Sada’s hand. When she was about to close it behind her, Paige looked back at what was left of her science teacher. The scene was straight out of a Saturday night horror feature. The woman, who she thought only moments ago could be pretty with some effort, had turned into a vicious, feral creature. Red, sticky liquid covered both of the educators. With a swift motion, the Professor looked up at Paige. Her eyes were a brilliant yellow and when they locked with Paige’s, a chill ran through her body. She was crouched like a kind of animal, hovering over her kill. But she wasn’t done yet. The professor’s hands hit the floor and she began to run towards the door. Paige shut it firmly behind her. As if that would keep any of them safe.
CHAPTER ONE
“Bastard.”
The sun shown in through the broken blinds that hung across Nolan’s window, causing his eyes to hurt as they blinked open. The plastic blinds were cracked and falling apart, unable to do the one simple job required of them. Blocking out the sunlight. The string that hung down from the aged mini blinds was knotted in a ball. It had been that way as long as he could remember, though he supposed they had been new and untangled at some point. Maybe when they moved in and his mom was still here. His eyes closed, and he began to think about his mother. Her smile, how her teeth were so white and framed with lips the pinkish color of the lipstick she always wore. The soft, aged sweaters that felt comforting when pressed against his cheek each time he hugged her. Each morning she would sit on his bed, quietly coaxing him away. It was a much different reality then the one he woke up to now. A small pain pushed against his chest and he opened his eyes. The balled up string from the mini blinds swung a little from the movement of air made by his fan and shrugged off the small thought about his mother. This wasn’t a time he could let himself think of her. He wasn’t ready. He rubbed the sleep from his eyes and reached for a cigarette on his nightstand. His hand curled around a soft empty pack, the plastic crinkling under his fingers.
He cursed.
Nolan reached down and pulled on the closest pair of jeans he found on the floor. The belt was still in the loops from wearing them yesterday, but he didn’t care. His fingers ran through his long, pale blond locks a few times before he was satisfied with his coif. His hair was much longer than most guys he knew. Now it looked sufficiently messed up, exactly the way he wanted it. A red and black plaid long sleeve shirt was tossed on the edge of his bed. His fingers dug into the front pocket to see if there were some cigarettes. Success was his and he perched a smoke on his lips and lit it. The end smoldered and he took a quick puff. The shirt then was tied around his waist before donning the final piece to his outfit. The weathered leather jacket his old man gave him when he turned sixteen. It had been his father’s when he was in high school.
“From the glory days.” His dad had said, handing him the unwrapped coat. To listen to his dad tell it, this leather jacket had scored him babes left and right. It wasn’t having the same effect on Nolan, but that was probably because he had been dating the same girl since his freshman year. Every good thing that had happened to his father happened when he was wearing that jacket. From homecoming to the day Nolan was born, though he wasn’t sure his father counted that as one of the good things.
Nolan shuffled to the kitchen, his sock covered feet sliding on the fake wood floor of the trailer. He flicked his cigarette against the ashtray that sat on the kitchen counter. The tray was full of cigarette butts and needed to be emptied. Nolan noted that fact but turned towards his first priority.
Food.
Like always, cold air and a few condiments filled the fridge. He wasn’t sure why he bothered to open it in the first place. He knew it was going to be empty. Without mom around, no one did any grocery shopping. Nolan took a swig from a soda can sitting on the counter. It was warm and flat, but better than water. Nolan turned to greet his dad. It took too much time to drunkenly stumble to his bed in the back of the double-wide, so Frank could usually be found either on the couch or on the rug in front of it. When he was in a state, Frank wasn’t particular about where he slept it off, as long as he was under his own roof.
The odd thing of it was, Frank wasn’t there. Nolan walked back to Frank’s bedroom, just to check. The sheets were pulled every which way. The comforter was on the floor in a heap. But the bed was empty. He moved on to the bathroom. Sometimes Frank passed out in the bathroom with the rug crumpled under his head acting as a makeshift pillow. But the bathroom was empty as well.
“Frank?” He questioned, wondering where his dad could be.
About the only thing, you could count on with drunks is that you couldn’t count on anything. Sometimes they would come home, sometimes they wouldn’t. But Frank wasn’t like that. He preferred his own house. He didn’t sleep around or crash on people’s couches. No matter how drunk he was, Frank always made him home. Nolan pulled on his boots to head out the door.
The garbage can at the end of the counter was filled with beer cans. Some scattered the floor around the bin. Reaching down to pick them up, he realized that Frank’s drinking had gotten worse. Nolan didn’t talk to his old man much and he especially didn’t talk to him about how much he drank. Everyone grieved in their own way and if Frank chose to drink until his liver was useless, it wasn’t Nolan’s place to tell him not to. The keys to his truck sat beside the door, along with the only picture they displayed in the house. Frank stood in the middle, holding Nolan on his hip, a burning cigarette perched on his lip. Next to him, with an arm around her shoulder was Nolan’s mom. She smiled, beaming beside her husband and her toddler son. His eyes flicked over the photograph just long enough to register her smile and then grabbed his keys.
The rusty old Ford started up just fine, even though it was below freezing outside. Nolan took a few laps around the blocks closest to his house. If Frank was stumbling home from his favorite watering hole, The Bull Room, he would be somewhere close. He looked out the window, cursing his dad and questioning where he was all at the same time. The clock on the dash shown bright. 7:32 a.m. Nolan had to be at the high school for detention by 8:00 and it was a ten-minute drive from their trailer. The old Ford pickup made a rumbling noise, protesting the cold, as he circled a few blocks from the trailer park. His dear old drunken dad was nowhere to be found. Nolan’s palms started to sweat and he gripped the steering wheel tighter because of the moisture. The sound of his heartbeat rang loudly in his ear as he gazed out the windshield and searched. After four slippery laps around his neighborhood, Nolan let out a sigh. He had exhausted all his options he had time for and decided on another plan of action. It was a last resort, but with no sign of Frank, Nolan had no choice but to contact the police.
He rounded the corner and headed toward the police station. At least it wasn’t out of the way. He would have just called, but he knew it was already going to be a hard sell to get them to go look for Frank. The cops didn’t tend to take things too serious when Frank was missing on a bender. A bell tinkered as the door opened, giving the station a sense of small town charm. The smell of coffee hung in the air. Two deputies were chatting about the upcoming Super Bowl when Nolan walked in. They ignored him. Nolan cleared his throat, but they didn’t even turn. He waited a few more seconds before slamming his fist down on the counter.
“Hey!” He yelled, “You guys feel like doing your job today?”
The two officers both stood up. Their body language was tense and one started to make his way over to Nolan. Before anything could happen, Tripp, a cop who was only a few years older than Nolan step out from a room in the back. He motioned for the other two to sit back down and finish their coffee.
“I got this one guys.” He said, trying to
defuse the situation before turning back to the tall, lanky high school student. “Hey, Nolan. What’s up?”
Tripp knew Frank, so Nolan thought he would be up to looking around for him, but as he explained what was going on, Tripp didn’t seem open to the idea.
“Nolan, come on, I can’t send guys out to look for your dad. How long has he been gone?”
“I don’t know, Tripp, maybe a few hours.”
“He’s probably somewhere sleeping it off. He’ll turn up.”
Nolan shook his head. “No,” He said, “you don’t understand he always comes home. Always. No matter…” His voice trailed off. He didn’t like talking to people about his dad’s drinking. It wasn’t a secret, the whole town knew Frank liked to have a few, but that was family business. If Frank had taught him anything, he had made sure he knew that family business was for the family only, and nobody needed to know shit about it.
“I can’t report him as a missing person until it’s been 48 hours. I’m sorry Nolan, I know this can’t be easy.” Tripp put his hand on Nolan’s shoulder. He left it there, squeezing a little. The gesture made Nolan feel uncomfortable and he shrugged off Tripp’s hand.
“Well, thanks for nothing,” Nolan said, shifting away from a guy he thought was his friend and heading out the door.
“Nolan! Wait!” Tripp jogged out after the seventeen-year-old. The deputy caught up with him by his truck.
“I can ask the guys to keep an eye out for him when they patrol. That’s really all I can do. I wish it was more.”
“Well, at least it's something.”
“I’m sure he’ll turn up.”
Nolan nodded and got into his truck. What Tripp said echoed in his mind. “I’m sure he’ll turn up.” People said that kind of thing to Nolan all the time. They meant well, but it was the kind of thing that twisted Nolan’s insides. The way they smiled at him with their sad eyes, it screamed sympathy. He didn’t want their sympathy, he didn’t need their sympathy. As far as he was concerned they could keep their well-meaning smiles and sad looks to themselves. They weren’t doing him any good.
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