BloodoftheDead[UndeadWorldTrilogyBookOne]

by A. P. Fuchs

  The sharp stench of sulfur reigned.

  Ankles weak, legs void of strength, August stumbled as he tried to push Billie toward the parking lot.

  Through the glass at the far end, the helicopter appeared different. The dark gray goop that had coated its hull was now light, nearly white, and though from this distance August couldn't be sure, it appeared as if he could partially see through the helicopter to the cars parked on the other side of the lot.

  Growls and roars filled the bank.

  The building shook.

  Screams roared from somewhere deep below.

  Those who were solid and tangible went about their business as usual and August marveled that no one could sense the sudden presence of evil in this place.

  That no one noticed the creatures with insectile bodies and leathery wings.

  He urged Billie toward the window. They'd run through, emerge in the parking lot and see what was happening with the helicopter.

  "Joe!” Billie shrieked and started to turn back but suddenly stopped and slammed into August.

  He turned around.

  The creatures poured out of the floor like wasps escaping their nest. They clung to the walls, dove on top of tables and chairs; they buzzed around the place like flies around a corpse.

  Cackles and cries drowned out the sound of everyday talking.

  Nathaniel was gone.

  * * * *

  The creatures surrounding Joe had begun to ascend just moments ago. Relief washed over him because it appeared he wouldn't be their prey.

  More and more of the things emerged from the dark, their putrid stench of rotten fish and sour eggs twisting his stomach into a knot. He wanted to puke, but everything was locked inside, as if he wasn't allowed even a moment's rest.

  The heat scorched his skin and the reality that this place was to be his permanent home terrified him somewhere deep inside.

  His spirit.

  Most of the creatures slinking out of the dark spread their black, leathery wings and ascended upward, but a few came toward him.

  Long, bony fingers grabbed him from behind, their claws digging into his flesh through the thick fabric of his leather trench coat, hauling him backward, closer and closer to the lake of fire in the distance.

  Unable to fight against them, unable to scream or do much of anything, the sudden sense that he failed something—someone—invaded him.

  Pain soaked through his body; every molecule saturated in torment. He so desperately wanted to scream to help cope with the pain.

  He couldn't.

  He had to endure.

  Suddenly, he was tossed into the air and the bony fist of one of the creatures socked him in the face as he came back down. Green stars burst before his vision and before he even had a chance to clear his head and straighten his legs, another fist came and clocked him on the side of the head. He dropped to the hot ground and fell backward. A long and disjointed foot slammed down onto his ribcage, winding him. His ribs blazed in agony and another foot kicked him in the side of the head. Face numb, brain so dizzy he almost felt like a spectator to the massacre of his own body, he was suddenly jolted back to reality when sharp claws ripped into his thighs, digging in so deep they had enough of a hold on him that he was lifted into the air and thrown across the ground.

  Screams shaking the air, he looked up and through hazy vision could make out light coming from somewhere above. White, beautiful light.

  Suddenly, the light was eclipsed by the dark and disgusting forms of the creatures. Each one of their pale gray eyes pierced him, their harsh gaze filled with so much malice it made him cringe, the feeling of defeat overwhelming him.

  Bony fingers with long, black claws reached for him.

  Joe squeezed his eyes shut, preparing to be torn to pieces. April...

  Light blinded his eyes and he couldn't help but keep them closed, its radiance was so brilliant, like staring into the sun. He forced himself to roll onto his side. It was enough to dim the light just a little so he could open them.

  White was everywhere.

  As his eyes began to focus, the blurred image of a man in a white overcoat ripping into the creatures danced before him.

  The man threw one to the side, kicked another and ripped the wing off yet another.

  "Joseph Bailey,” the man said.

  Joe curled up in a fetal position and covered his head. Shaking, adrenaline and fear wreaked havoc on his system. Dizziness and a dreamlike consciousness embraced his mind.

  He called me ‘Joseph.'

  Two strong bars of iron swept under his body and the sweet smell of clean air filled his nostrils. He opened his eyes. The smell wafted off the man like a fresh breeze.

  The comfort lingered a moment but soon fled when he noticed the man's eyes: bright and brilliant and aflame.

  "This is what you deserve!” the man said and held out Joe, who was cradled in his arms, to the creatures advancing toward them like raptors about to pounce on their prey.

  Then, gently, the man said, “But this is not your time."

  The man grew bright, shining like a star. The creatures quickly covered their haunting eyes with their leathery wings.

  The man's feet left the ground and they rose into the dark sky.

  * * * *

  "We have to find him! We have to!” Billie screamed at August.

  "No!” he shouted and pushed her toward the window. “We have to leave. Right now!"

  The building shook and brilliant white light filled the bank. The creatures flying around shrieked at the sudden light. Some fell from their places in the air.

  Then the light faded and Nathaniel emerged through the floor, Joe in his arms.

  "Joe!” Billie yelled and ran toward him.

  Nathaniel set Joe down on rubbery legs and touched a hand to his forehead. “Go,” he said, “and remember what you saw, what you had experienced, but not until you have left this place."

  Suddenly Joe was able to stand on his own two feet. He looked at Nathaniel with childlike wonder.

  The creatures’ shrill shrieks filled the room and the place shook again.

  More poured out of the ground. There were so many it was difficult to see anything.

  So relieved Joe was here and so afraid to stay a moment longer, Billie pulled Joe by the hand.

  "Come on!” she shouted at him.

  Joe just stood there, frozen.

  Nathaniel turned to him once more. “Go, Joseph. And may the Lord be with you."

  He and Billie just stood there.

  "GO!” Nathaniel shoved them toward August.

  As they ran toward the window, Billie glanced over her shoulder.

  A throng of creatures flew toward them.

  Nathaniel spun, threw off his hat and coat, revealing himself for what he really was. Though she had never believed in them before, Billie believed in them now.

  Angels.

  Nathaniel's long robe with a thousand folds was bronze like flame, a gold belt around his middle. Strapped across his back was an ornate silver shield inscribed with a language Billie didn't understand. The man's hair was a pillar of fire, his feet coated in bronze. White light burst from his eyes. His strong hand clasped the bronze hand guard of a sword hanging off his belt. He withdrew his sword and an electric tingle swept through the air, one dripping with authority and power. He brought the bright sliver blade high into the air. The blade burst into flame and he cut into the creatures without reserve.

  August waved them forward as they ran toward him. “Come on, come on!"

  He took Billie by the hand and the three of them ran through the people in a lineup in front of the ATMs by the door. They passed through the window and emerged in the parking lot beyond.

  They came to a stop just in front of the helicopter. Panting for breath, Billie found herself unable to breathe when she saw the helicopter was only partly there, most of it transparent.

  Growls filled the air behind them.

  The creatures passed t
hrough the wall of the bank.

  They were outside.

  [Back to Table of Contents]

  41: The Return

  The creatures poured out of the building, flying straight toward them.

  The three turned and ran for the helicopter, which was quickly fading from view.

  Joe ran to the side door and when he took hold of it, he found it difficult to get a sound grip. Grabbing the handle was like trying to tightly grab a water balloon. It took two hands to latch onto it properly and it took Billie's help once he couldn't open the door on his own to slide it ajar along its tracks.

  August got inside no problem, he having had left the cockpit door open.

  They scrambled into the helicopter.

  "Close it, close it!” Billie shouted and the two grabbed the inside door handle and slid the thing shut just as the creatures came for them.

  "Take us up, August!” Joe said.

  August tried working the controls. His fingers seemed to be passing through the buttons, but each time he touched them, Joe noticed, his fingers dematerialized on contact.

  The creatures flew through the helicopter doors, invading the tiny space, swarming all around.

  One grabbed hold of Joe.

  Billie screamed somewhere on the other side of the creature.

  "Lord, help us!” August screamed.

  Just then a flaming sword appeared and sliced through the air, cutting the creatures in two. Their scaly bodies fell to the ground and began to melt until they faded completely from existence.

  Catching his breath, Joe peered out the window to see the man with fiery eyes standing next to the helicopter, sword ablaze.

  Then the man faded from view, as did the bank, the parking lot and the brightness of the midday sun.

  Darkness swelled inside the tiny cabin and Billie took Joe by the hand, squeezing his fingers in fear.

  The air went cool and the world changed on the other side of the glass.

  Gray clouds returned, filling the sky, bringing with them the sickening sense that they were back where they started: in an undead world.

  The sky lingered before them then gravity took over and the helicopter dropped.

  Joe's stomach flew into his throat and all three of their backsides lifted from their seats.

  August pawed at the controls and a few moments later the low droning whir of helicopter blades came from above.

  "Hang on!” the old man said and tugged at the collective.

  Billie shrieked.

  Joe screamed and suddenly the man with the fiery eyes’ words from before came to him: But this is not your time.

  "Is it now?” Joe said.

  "What?” Billie shouted.

  He shook his head.

  After all that, after all that happened, was this how it was to end? To die in a helicopter crash in a world of gray skies and walking dead?

  "Arrrrggghhhhh!” August screamed.

  The helicopter lurched forward and the roof of a building occupied the windshield.

  "Pull up!” Joe shouted.

  "I'm trying!” August snapped.

  The helicopter angled back a little, the sky filling the top half of the windshield, the rooftop filling the bottom.

  The whistling of the wind streaked by on either side of the chopper's hull.

  WHOOM—Crachoonkcrachoonkcrachoonk!

  The roof's pavement sprayed toward them as the blades made contact and chewed it up. They lurched forward from their seats and Joe could hear August's body plow into the controls even as his own slammed into the back of the pilot seat. Metal groaned against concrete and Joe covered his head as a barrage of cement sped toward the glass, shattered it and sprayed into the cabin.

  The roar of the blades biting into the cement pierced his ears.

  One of the blades snapped off the helicopter. The chopper rocked back and the three slammed into their chairs as gravity partly righted the thing, freeing the remaining slowing blades from the cement.

  A loud bang resounded within the cabin as the skis hit home against the rooftop.

  Covered in glass, Joe waited, listening for any movement from outside. As the helicopter settled, silence came in and his ears began to ring.

  "Billie?” he said softly.

  She groaned. She was alive.

  "August?” he said.

  Labored breaths came from the other side of the seat in front of him. “I'm here."

  They were alive.

  Joe's stiff and achy body shook, and he wept.

  * * * *

  Billie could scarcely move. She had to consciously remind herself to sit up slowly lest she strain her aching muscles, which had locked up completely during the crash, something, she was sure, would cause her trouble later.

  Joe stirred in his seat beside her and in her peripheral she watched as he sat up, slowly, then turned to her.

  "Are you okay?” he asked.

  "Yeah,” she whispered as she carefully turned her neck from side to side. The muscles on either side of her neck and all the way into her shoulders screamed as she tried to look from left to right. “Sorta."

  "Oh, thank God,” he breathed.

  August groaned.

  "You okay, August?” Billie asked, a hand to her neck.

  "Yeah,” he rasped. “Maybe. I don't know."

  From where she sat, she didn't have a good look at him but from what she could see, his face was covered in blood and one of his eyes was already beginning to swell shut.

  They sat there for a few minutes, just settling, making sure that the helicopter wasn't going to move or tip or do anything that might forbid them from getting out. Once satisfied everything was as fine as it could be given the crash, Joe slowly moved from his seat and tried opening the side door. It wouldn't budge. He slammed his body against it, trying to rock it open.

  "Jammed,” he said.

  He scanned the floor of the helicopter, as if looking for something. Then, pulling the X-09 from the holster inside his trench coat, he turned to Billie.

  "Watch out.” He slammed the weapon against the cracked glass of the side door. The glass spider-webbed. He smacked it again and this time it shattered. “Let's go.” He put the gun away and tucked his hands into the cuffs of his jacket to protect them from the shards of glass bordering the window frame.

  After he climbed out, he held out his arms and Billie eased herself out of the window. Each wriggling movement was enough to make her want to cry.

  But she had shed enough tears already. It was time to swallow it and be as strong as she could.

  Joe's hands held her firmly beneath the arms as he lowered her to her feet, his face wincing as he tried to control her weight.

  "Oh come on. I'm not that fat,” she said.

  Joe smiled. “No, it wasn't that. Just really sore."

  "I was joking."

  "Oh. I meant..."

  She turned to the cockpit door. The entire front end of the helicopter was smashed in. The blades above it were bent and twisted, one of them hanging askew over the shattered windshield, making it impossible to get August out from the front.

  "How do we get him out?” she asked.

  Joe approached the crumpled door and tried to pull it open. It rocked a little on its hinges but not enough to open it.

  He stepped back from the door. “I guess the same way you and I got out.” He got close to the glass. “August?"

  The old man turned his bloody face toward him.

  "I'm gonna pop the glass. Can you lower your head?"

  August nodded.

  "Okay, here we go."

  August disappeared from view.

  Joe pulled out his gun, took aim, then stopped. “What the—"

  "What?” Billie asked.

  He rotated the gun, examining it. “It's different."

  "Different?"

  "This isn't my gun, Billie.” Sleek and black, this wasn't the gun he knew. The rotating chamber was gone, as was the enormous hammer he had grown so fond of
. It was light, too, easier to hold. The only similarity was the sight at the end of the barrel.

  "Then who's is it? No one else had a gun at the bank, Joe."

  He shot her a hot glare. “I don't know whose gun it is, but this isn't mine!” And he took aim at the cockpit window and cracked off a shot.

  The glass shattered.

  "Take it easy!” she yelled.

  Grimacing, Joe checked the gun, furrowed his brow, then stormed toward the cockpit door and peered in. “He's pretty banged up. You just gonna stand there or are you gonna help me?"

  * * * *

  Supported on either side by Joe and Billie, August stepped slowly toward the rooftop entrance. He hadn't looked around enough to be sure, but from what he could gather, they were back on top of the Richardson building. Whatever happened to all of the undead up here, he didn't know. Maybe they had seen the helicopter coming for the roof and, in their own way, had gotten scared and stumbled off the roof's ledge? Or maybe he and the others weren't back where they started? It didn't matter. He was just thankful the dead were gone.

  But that awful gray-and-brown sky. He'd recognize it anywhere.

  They were home.

  "Easy, man. One step at a time,” Joe said.

  "I'm trying. Just find me a place to sit. And make sure the roof entrance is secure. I don't want any of those things coming up here and finding us."

  "We'll have to figure out a way to get down,” Joe said.

  "I know. We will."

  They found him a spot to the side, against one of the large air vents. His body objected to being lowered down from a standing to sitting position, especially his neck and lower back.

  "Here.” Joe tore off the bottom of his already-torn shirt from beneath his trench coat. “Use this to wipe your face."

  August took the fabric. “Thanks.” He patted at the blood. Each dab against the wounds stung like flame.

  But he was thankful he was alive.

  Billie put her hands on her hips and turned to Joe. “How come you didn't notice the gun was different inside the helicopter?"

  "I don't know. Wasn't paying attention. I knew it felt different but I thought that was because my hands were sore because of the crash."