The Rotting Souls Series (Book 5): Charon's Vengeance

by Ray, Timothy A.

  He had awoken that morning with a hangover and no amount of Tylenol could get the headache or light sensitivity to back off. Yet, he had been determined not to spend another day in this cabin, surrounded by the memories of his fallen family members, seeing his wife in every inch of the place, his son’s ghost playing in every corner.

  They had a place to go and now it was time to get there.

  The mini-van had been in no shape for making the drive, the engine compartment having drawn carrion creatures and flies, the windshield shattered by skull fragments. The SUV might have been worth using, but with it banged up the way it was, why chance it? After all, there were two glorious trucks lying unused in the parking area across the road, why not take advantage of that? They’d handle off-roading a hell of a lot better, and the beds would hold far more in the way of supplies.

  So, he’d found the keys on the coffee table in the cabin’s living room, relief flooding him that he hadn’t needed to search any of the corpses for them, and though it was tempting to do otherwise, he chose the truck that hadn’t been drunkenly parked on a log, the F-150’s towing cable and floodlights making it more of an ideal choice for the journey ahead.

  Penny helped pack, giving her something to concentrate on other than her dead mother and brother, and slowly she was starting to get a bit of her grin back. It would take time, for both of them, but all was not lost; they still had each other.

  Time healed all wounds, or so they said. Unlike in the old world though, who knew if they had any?

  With the truck packed, there was only one other thing to do.

  “You ready?” he asked his daughter as they walked hand in hand to the nearby cabin.

  “They are already in heaven, right?” his little girl returned, her eyes still swollen and her cheeks wet.

  He nodded. “We’re just going to say goodbye, that’s all. It’s the way the Vikings used to do it when they lost someone. The Knights of the Round Table said goodbye to their beloved King Arthur in the same way. Why not give them a funeral fit for a King?”

  “Or Queen,” Penny corrected.

  He felt a slight chuckle in his throat, but it died before being realized. “That’s right.”

  Taking gasoline from the tank behind the cabin, he had poured a generous amount within the interior of the Peterson’s place, a cloth over his face soaked with apple juice in an attempt to mask the smell of decay permeating throughout; it hadn’t worked.

  The dead bodies of both families were held within and with a quick look at his daughter, he lit the cloth he’d wrapped around a piece of pine, the wood full of sap, making it a sure thing to burn. Watching the flames, eyes seeking the orange and yellow bits of light, he stood for a second and thought of all that had happened since this all began, the losses he’d suffered, the things he’d done. He didn’t know if life was worth living at this point, but what would be the point of any of it if he just gave up now?

  Tossing it through the open window of the living room, he picked up his daughter with his good arm and lugged her back down the stairs and away from danger. Then, he set her down and turned to watch the blaze that had flared in the few seconds his back had been turned.

  He’d used a generous amount of gasoline.

  Why not? He wasn’t going to be back to use it, and the thought of the fire going out before it did its job was too appalling to consider.

  The fire spread faster than he had anticipated, flames reaching for the sky out of every window, the inferno giving off heat stronger than the driest summer day. It would more than likely catch the neighboring forest as well, then sweep around and take their cabin, igniting the tank behind the house, and making an explosion that would devastate a good portion of the surrounding land, but so what?

  The point of fire was to cleanse, and this world dawning around him was in bad need of it. Burn it all down and start over. That’s what nature did, and it’s what the survivors of this apocalypse would have to do if they wanted to forge a future for Mankind.

  Well, he wasn’t in it for Mankind, he was in it for Penny. He would do whatever it took to keep her safe; she was all he had left.

  “Come on, let’s hit the road. I talked to my buddy Rosilynn and our new home awaits,” he told his daughter, lifting her once more. He gave the fire a final lasting look, said goodbye to his wife and son, then turned and walked away.

  It was time to venture into the world once more.

  He helped his daughter up into the cab on the passenger side and told her to buckle up. Hopping into his seat, he tried his best not to look at the blazing cabin, the rearview mirror churning with red and orange light, reminding him of the life he was leaving behind. Turning the engine over, he threw it in reverse, paused to glance at his father’s cabin and let out a slight sigh.

  Goodbye.

  Slamming it into drive, he hit the gas and drove onto the dirt road leading to the highway, a cloud of black smoke swirling in his wake as the surrounding forest began to catch fire; the cleansing had begun.

  The End

  The following is an excerpt from my upcoming novel:

  Legacy: Sanguis

  Book 1 of the Legacy Series

  Chapter 1

  I

  He was no stranger to the idea of death. It had been with him most of his life, having lost both parents in early childhood, and later the grandparents that had raised him as well. He had been to too many funerals, always the silent observer, feeling more alone in the universe after each one.

  In fact, he had met his wife at one.

  It sounded like some hick joke, but it wasn’t a family member’s passing that had brought them together; it had been a friend of his from school that died in a drunk driving accident. Despite the dire circumstances surrounding their first interaction, they had clicked, the world moving past while they hovered in a space inbetween; completely oblivious to everyone else. The universe had suddenly made sense and all the pain of his past vanished with just one look into her bright blue eyes.

  As he sat on the edge of their bed, he shrugged off his black coat and threw it on the floor. The last twelve years had been the best of his life and now it was over. The anguish he felt at her loss was more than he could ever explain. It took a travesty of similar impact for a glimmer of understanding from those that looked at his now vacant eyes and lost expression. That he had gotten out of bed at all was a miracle, that he had stood in front of her casket was something altogether unbelievable to him, even now. The only thought that had gotten him through the day was that if she had been in his place, she’d have done it for him.

  Death had taken on a new meaning for him. The finality of it struck harder than ever and he realized the final truth that every soul has to understand before the end; death was oblivion. There were no second chances, there was no coming back, once you stepped across that threshold you were forever lost to those that you loved. He had seen a lot of death in his life, but nothing had hit home as bad as this.

  There had been a wake, but he had declined attending. Her side of the family had made up for the lacking numbers of his. The majority of them lived until old age, something that had been a comfort to him during their marriage and was a travesty now that she was gone; they were a constant reminder of what he lost.

  His heart ached, and he felt nauseated. Lying down on the bed, he crawled to her side, letting his head rest on her pillow and took a long deep breath. The scent of her shampoo caused the lurch in his throat to let go, all the repressed rage and pain began to swell within. He reached over and turned out the light, a duty that she had taken over since they’d moved in together. She liked to read before bed, and he had grown accustomed to the light being on when he turned in at night. It would have to be a conscious decision to turn it off while he slowly became adjusted to her absence.

  He held her pillow in tortured hands and let the pain flood out through his tears.

  Time passed without his knowledge, only the setting sun and the slight rumble in his
stomach made him aware that something in the world had changed. He should eat, but he didn’t have the strength. All he wanted was to curl up and die. Half of him was dead already; he would never meet anyone that would complete him like she had. They could finish each other’s sentences, anticipate reactions, they had lived a synchronistic life; his soul was alone and dying in anguish.

  He rolled over and a flash of white caught his eye.

  Rubbing a hand across his face, he fully opened his tearful eyes and stared into the darkness of his room. Near the doorway was the silhouette of a body and a pale white face staring at him. Startled, he came fully awake. “Who’s there?” he demanded, left hand reaching for the light.

  His ears were straining but he couldn’t hear anyone breathing, no indication other than that brief glimpse to suggest that he was not alone in the room. His fingers found the switch, but flipping it yielded nothing; the light wouldn’t turn on. He looked to his right and the alarm clock was off.

  There was no power.

  The faint light coming through the bedroom window told him that the street lamps were working. His body tensed in expectation, his mind fully alerted to the fact that something was seriously wrong. Slipping out of the bed on his wife’s side opposite the door, he felt the eyes on him, the intensity of their glare. His mind was racing for possible weapons but came up empty; she had never let him have a gun in the house.

  “I thought you’d be happy to see me,” came the soft purr from across the room. The figure stepped forward and the moonlight streaming through the blinds made the woman’s body slowly take shape. She was wearing the dress she had been buried in and his heart lurched into his throat with recognition.

  Amanda!

  Only the impossibility of it kept him from running to her. His mind was no longer sure he was awake, that this wasn’t some sort of nightmare torturing his already aching heart. Amanda?” he asked, tentatively taking a step forward. He saw a grin appear on the face of his beloved as she stepped closer, moving silently and gracefully, despite the darkness. “How is this possible?” he asked himself more than her.

  It’s not, his mind insisted; fighting to keep him sane.

  “Come to me lover,” she purred again and this time he felt a tug in his mind.

  Even though every part of him was wary, shaken, and upset, he felt the yearning in him grow stronger and found himself taking a step forward before she had even finished the sentence. He reflexively resisted, the logic part of his brain screaming at him to stop, and his footing faltered. One hand shot out for balance on the edge of the bed and he saw her face change in the moonlight; it had turned feral, her eyes blazing even through the shadows of the night.

  She was on him before his mind registered movement, throwing him down on the bed with force he’d never experienced from her before, her legs straddling his hips as her hands forced his wrists against the mattress. Like some strange sexual fantasy her hips locked on his, her face peering down at him in a way he had never imagined her capable of. Her eyes focused on his and he felt the fight in him begin to dissolve. Relinquishing himself to her, even though his mind insisted he was in danger, he gave himself over to her; to whatever darkness that was about to take him.

  He was ready.

  If he had gone mad, at least he wasn’t alone in his insanity any longer. He watched helplessly as her head went for his throat and he almost cried out her name in joy.

  Lights flooded the room, blinding him and he was suddenly freed of her embrace. Amanda was backed into the corner on her side of the bed, hissing, her face contorted with rage and her teeth bared.

  Startled, he looked towards the doorway. A figure garbed in black riot gear was standing just inside the room, a shotgun and flashlight in hand, the light near blinding as it shifted from him to her. He had seen what his grandfather could do to a flock of quail with one of those, he wasn’t about to be in the pathway of that. He leapt off the opposite side of the bed, unsure if he should attack the intruder or let them do whatever they came here for.

  This is fucking insane. Can I wake up now?

  Whatever spell she had put him under was wearing off and he could once again think clearly, though he wished for the moment that he couldn’t. He had spent the last week praying that she would come back to him, that it had all been some elaborate prank; he would not have to go through the rest of his life without her. And there she was, standing in the corner of the room, moving like a cornered cat trying to find a safe path to freedom.

  He could see her more clearly now and his heart nearly stopped. The dress she had been buried in was torn and covered in dirt, the white more a gray now. The paleness hadn’t been the moonlight; she still had the look of death upon her. Her mouth was frozen in a sneer and he could see there was something different about her teeth, her canines looked longer than they should have been. He was looking at the love of his life and a shiver involuntarily snaked down his back.

  This is definitely a nightmare, he told himself sternly, because even though his first thought was vampire, he knew it was a fact that they didn’t exist.

  Amanda’s eyes never left the figure at the door and as soon as she twitched the shotgun went off. In close quarters it was deafening, and he felt his heart explode with his ears. The spot she had been cowering in was empty; she’d crossed the room in a blink of an eye and was busy struggling with the armored figure in the doorway. Screaming, he watched in confusion as her hands began to steam and she let go with a look of extreme anguish, her face filled with terror as she took a few faltering steps backwards.

  Casting him one final look of rage, she leapt on the bed and out the window.

  II

  “Hoops, she’s on her way to you,” a female voice uttered as the armored figure walked to the window and looked out, her gun lowering as she pushed the white drapes aside.

  “On her way to who? Back to the funeral home? We are on the third floor, that fall would have killed her—again,” he muttered, his voice coming out in a rush as he tried to make sense of what was going on. Had his dead wife just come back to life and attacked him? Had this unknown figure just saved his life? Or had a miracle happened and they were preventing her from returning to her place at his side?

  The woman glanced back his way, then back outside, “we’re going to need Benji up here to talk to the husband. Ezio, cover the south side of the parking lot in case she heads that way. I’m on my way.”

  Standing there in his boxers, he moved to the right and blocked the doorway. “You’re not going anywhere until you tell me what’s going on. Was that my wife?” He didn’t know what he was going to do to stop her; he was in his underwear, she had on armor and was loaded to bear, but he also wasn’t going to let her leave without answering his questions.

  The Hispanic woman was a few inches shorter than him with brown eyes and a pitted scar over her left eye, her thin cheekbones pulled together as she ground her teeth in frustration. She was sporting a black helmet, the faceplate pushed up, and her gaze chilled him just as much as the sight of his undead wife cowering in the corner. The black armor had originally looked like SWAT gear, but now after closer inspection it had to be a custom job, tailor made for some unknown purpose. It was the shoulder plates on the pads that gave that away, it protected her neck in a way that only old platemail armor had been known to do.

  The shotgun had disappeared into a holster on her back, an AR-15 coming up in its place. “¡Tienes cojones, Gilipollas! I don’t have time to fuck with you,” her stern voice snapped. “My associate will be here momentarily to discuss tonight’s events with you. Until then, get some fucking clothes on and get out of my way.”

  There was nothing he could do as she pushed her way forward but stand aside and let her pass. He was in shock, adrenaline was pumping through his system, and his mind was struggling to make sense of what had just happened. Getting steamrolled by an angry Latina with a gun was only going to make matters worse.

  Temporarily blind with the flash
light’s absence, he made his way towards his dresser out of memory and repetition; he wasn’t going to follow after while in nothing but his boxers. He wanted a pair of pants on at least.

  He noticed a bulge in his shorts as he bent to the lower drawer to pull out a clean pair of pants; his body had reacted when his wife had jumped him. Had the strange woman seen that too? His face flushed, his mind in overdrive. Too much stimuli was threatening to shut him down. He fastened the buttons on his pants and nearly jumped two-feet in the air as a man’s voice spoke just a few feet away from him.

  “I’m sorry for the rude awakening Mr. Crawford. I appreciate the unique situation you are in and I am here to answer any questions you might have, though you’ll probably have more than I can give. Should I wait out here in the living room? I would have waited there for you to get dressed, but I didn’t want to startle you when you chased after my compatriot,” the man told him in a formal tone.

  “So you settled for startling me in my bedroom instead. Got it,” he snarked, pulling a white T-Shirt out of the upper drawer and pulling it over his head.

  The stranger standing in his doorway was atleast six-foot with short cropped gray hair, clean shaven, and wearing a dark suit and tie. It looked like he’d just come from a funeral himself. In fact, he looked familiar.

  “Were you at my wife’s funeral?”

  “Sir, I understand that you are upset, and I realize you think that is important, but of all the questions you could’ve asked, that one is the least,” the man returned.

  He nodded, “I thought so. Is this some insidious science experiment? What the fuck did you people do to my wife? She’s dead, I touched her cold hand while she lay in her casket. No way that was her, it’s just not possible.”

  “You’re confused, you’re pushing to understand but you don’t have all the facts. If you will calm down and come sit with me in the living room, I’ll do what I can to explain it to you,” the man responded, his voice as calm as ever. Then he paused and cocked his head a bit as if listening to someone talking into his ear. “Did she get tagged at least? Okay. Yes, I’m with him now. What do you—are you sure about that? Okay.”