by J. Thorn
It was After.
And he was alone.
CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE
Jorge helped Franklin barricade the compound after their return. The sun was sinking, sending long fingers of shadows across the leaves and grass. The surrounding mountains were striated in bands of black and reddish brown, the thick haze wreathing the horizon. The first flickers of aurora borealis were visible in the far northern sky, lime green and magenta tufts hanging like a shaman’s psychedelic vision.
“Think they will come for us?” Jorge asked Franklin.
“Hard to figure. They weren’t acting right.”
“They weren’t attacking. But they were attracted to the woman.”
“Maybe they wanted her baby.”
Jorge thought of Marina and what he would do if Zapheads took her. The near-hysterical woman was inside, being comforted by Rosa. Her baby was safe, and Jorge vowed to help Franklin defend the compound to the death. This was their homeland now.
Franklin ran a hoe handle through a metal spool of barbed wire as Jorge slipped on a pair of thick leather gloves. He climbed a short ladder and pulled a strand of the wire across the top of the wooden gate as Franklin clipped the wire with cutters. He wound it among the planks in big, loose loops so that anyone who tried to climb the gate would become entangled in the barbs.
Franklin had placed a series of spotlights in the trees on the perimeter of the compound. He’d told Jorge they wouldn’t burn long off the battery system due to their high wattage, but the light was an additional security measure if they needed it.
“You were prepared for defense, not just survival?” Jorge asked as they gathered the tools.
“A lot more going on up here than just me,” Franklin said as they headed for the faint reddish glow from inside the cabin.
Jorge found himself looking forward to sitting around the cozy, candlelit interior with more people to care for. He’d agreed to take the first watch tonight, even though Franklin had declared his alarm systems up to the task. “What do you mean?”
“The parkway. That’s one hell of a road. Government pitched it as a scenic route for the tourists, but it was built to hold up to heavy truck traffic. Real heavy traffic.”
“I don’t understand.”
“I’m not the only one who thought this was a good place to hole up. Some in the Preparedness Network believed there’s a secret military bunker up here. Makes sense. You’ve got a road built to withstand aerial bombing in an area with no real industrial value.”
“Is that why you brought me and my family to your compound, and why you’re willing to bring others?”
Franklin stopped just outside the cabin. From inside came the low murmur of women talking.
“A real survivalist knows it’s not just about surviving,” Franklin said, squinting up at the aurora that was almost bright enough to read a book by, if not for the muting effects of the haze. “It’s about living. Just having food, supplies, and ammunition won’t do you any good in the long run, because what kind of life is that? You hide in a bunker for twenty years, all alone?”
Jorge hadn’t considered survival as anything beyond the next breath. Each day since the solar storms had been a challenge, but he had to admit that he felt more vibrant and his senses –all his senses—were keener and more vivid than they had been since childhood. Perhaps the prospect of losing the world had imbued it with a deeper mystery and richness.
“It’s about community,” Franklin continued. “Getting along and building something better from the ruins.”
“You said others would be coming.”
“I hope so, son.”
Jorge didn’t know how to respond to the term of familiarity. Thus, he ignored it. “We better see how the woman and her baby are.”
Franklin set the tools beside the cabin door, although he kept his rifle slung over his shoulder. They entered to cheerful warmth, with a small fire crackling in the woodstove and several candles ringing the room. Jorge smiled at Marina. She seemed to have grown up in the past week, fully healthy, and now was on the verge of womanhood herself. But Marina didn’t smile back. Her face was grave, lines creasing her forehead and the sides of her mouth.
She and Rosa were flanking the woman, who was nursing her baby.
The woman looked up. “Thank you,” she said, beaming with a mother’s wistful glow. “Thank you for saving us. For saving him.”
She pulled the child away from her breast and turned it toward them. Franklin sucked in a hard chuff of air. Jorge’s chest grew icy and numb.
The child was perfectly formed, its little hands balled into fists, a tuft of wispy hair on the large skull. It was a beautiful little boy.
Except the eyes.
They sparkled with a strange, unnatural glitter, reflecting the candlelight like broken mirrors.
Jorge had seen those eyes before. On the men who had tried to kill him, and on the parkway down by the RV.
The child was a Zaphead.
CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR
Stephen coughed again, sending a trickle of unease through Rachel. What if the boy got sick? Really sick?
DeVontay had dragged a couple of extra mattresses into a top-floor bedroom that had belonged to one of the dead boys. Then he’d gone outside to look for a shovel, saying he wanted to give the family a proper burial in exchange for their hospitality. Stephen didn’t fall for it, and Rachel wondered if DeVontay would simply stack the bodies in one of the barn stalls like so much cordwood.
Stephen was bundled under blankets in the dead boy’s bed, staring at the ceiling. Rachel had found an oil lamp, and its soft, bobbing glow send spooky shadows along the ceiling.
“Will the boy’s ghost come back?” Stephen asked. “Will he be mad that I played with his train set?”
Rachel brushed Stephen’s uneven bangs from his forehead, casually testing his temperature. “Of course not. He’s up in heaven, playing with brand-new toys.”
“Is his family there?”
“I’m sure they are, honey.”
“Does he have a doggie?”
“It wouldn’t be heaven without a dog, would it?” Rachel glanced at the window and the darkness that settled over the forest. DeVontay had left the pistol with her and promised tomorrow they would take some target practice with the rifle.
They’d silently agreed they would stay at the farmhouse for the time being. Rachel was excited about the prospects of the garden and the meals she could prepare, and DeVontay said the place could be easily defended if necessary. “Good lines of sight,” he’d said, as if that didn’t mean having plenty of time to shoot anyone who tried to approach.
“I miss Mommy,” Stephen said, staring at the shadows that flickered and danced on the white ceiling. “I hope she’s in heaven, too.”
“It wouldn’t be heaven without a mommy, either,” Rachel said. She smiled. Stephen coughed again, and something in his chest rattled.
Just the barn dust.
“Tomorrow, we’ll gather some apples,” she said. “And maybe play in the creek. I saw a little boat in the closet. Think that will be fun?”
Stephen nodded and coughed again.
Rachel thought of the three bodies hanging in the barn. She wondered if the farmer had hung his pigs there, skinned and salted for curing.
How long had After preyed on the farmer’s mind? How many times did he tell his children everything would be okay? How hard had it been to shoot his wife after she’d changed?
Stephen coughed again, twice.
What courage it must have taken. The farmer must have truly believed a better life, a better world, awaited them. Faith into action, love into purpose.
She rummaged in her backpack and found it. “How are you feeling now, Stephen?”
He rubbed his eyes. “Sleepy. And tired.”
She was tired, too.
She would tell him to think of his mother, waiting for him. Or would that scare him? What if he pictured his mother the way she’d been in the hotel,
lying on the bed with the flies roiling around her mouth? What if that stench carried with him to the next After?
She recalled the pharmacist’s instructions. First, the antiemetic to prevent him from throwing up. And then, the Nembutal.
A glass of clean, filtered water from the creek sat on the desk beside the bed. Given his small size, three pills would probably be enough.
She bowed her head and closed her eyes. Dear Lord, is this merciful?
For the first time in her life, she felt the question was issuing forth into the deep vacuum of endless, empty space. A phone call with nothing on the other end of the line.
She had never been so frightened.
“Here, honey, I have something to make that cough go away,” she said, somehow managing to keep the tremor out of her voice, although her fingers shook as she twisted open the pill bottle.
“Where’s DeVontay?” he asked.
“He’ll be here in a minute. Take this, honey.”
She gave him the antiemetic, which he swallowed with a grimace. “Yuck. That’s gross.”
“Drink this.” She handed him the glass of water and he drank.
She was about to give him three of the pills when she looked into his face, hoping to see some sign of peace and acceptance. Instead, she saw Chelsea’s funeral face, the pale and powdered baby-doll skin with eyes forever closed.
She tightened her fist around the pills and then flung them toward the corner of the bedroom, where they rolled across the hardwood floor.
“You’re right,” she said. “Medicine’s yucky.”
Downstairs, the door slammed, and DeVontay called up the stairs.
“How long do I get to sleep in the boy’s bed?” Stephen asked, drowsy now.
“For a few days,” she said. “Then we’re heading to the mountains where it’s safe.”
“I thought we were going to Mi’sippi.”
“We’ll get there,” she said. “We’ve still got a long way to go.”
THE END
Look for the sequel,
AFTER: THE ECHO
Amazon US or Amazon UK
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Afterword:
Aside from doomsday capitalists, hellfire evangelicals, and certain nihilistic madmen, most of us are not all that eager for the world to end. But the sun doesn’t care. It is a ticking time bomb that is likely to belch a fatal stream of radiation at us when we least expect it. And we never expect it, do we?
But the heat is on. Just check out a few of my research links:
A solar storm captured by NASA cameras
"Light bulb" solar storm
Electromagnetic storms carry risk
Life after an EMP attack
MichioKaku on solar flare threat
Double solar storm
Best-case scenario, the sun lives to a cranky old age and dies out, turning into a frozen iceball before the universe collapses. Worst-case scenario is…the After series. I hope you will join me for more. Because it can get worse.
Speaking of which (although hopefully it is not my writing that gets worse!), be sure to look for the sequel, After: The Echo, as well as the prequel, After: The Storm.
I am also inviting writers to create their own stories set in my fictional world and I will publish the best of them in related ebooks (Ground rules: non-exclusive use and all rights to the characters, world, and intellectual property remain with me while you own your work. The stories will either be made freely available or any proceeds go to charity—these won’t be for-profit endeavovers.) If interested in writing an AFTER story, please email [email protected].
About Scott Nicholson:
I’m the international bestselling author of more than 30 books, including The Home, TheRed Church, Liquid Fear, Chronic Fear, The Harvest, Speed Dating with the Dead, and many more. I collaborated with bestselling author J.R. Rain on Cursed, The Vampire Club, Bad Blood, and GhostCollege. I’ve also written the children’s books If I Were Your Monster, Too Many Witches, Ida Claire, and Duncan the Punkin, and created the graphic novels Dirt and Grave Conditions. Connect with me on Facebook, Goodreads, Twitter, my blog, or my website.
I am really an organic gardener, but don’t tell anyone, because they think I am a writer and occasional survivalist nutjob.
Sign up for my newsletter for new releases, free books, and giveaways: http://eepurl.com/tOE89
Read these other thrillers because it beats going back to the real world:
AFTER #2: THE ECHO
By Scott Nicholson
Six weeks after a massive solar storm wipes out billions, a small group of survivors must face a future that may have no room for them. A group of mutants called “Zapheads” are evolving to replace humans at the top of the food chain.
See it for Kindle at Amazon US or Amazon UK.
THE HOME
By Scott Nicholson
Experiments at a group home for troubled children lead to paranormal activity—and the ghosts are from the home’s past as an insane asylum. In development as a feature film.
Learn more about The Home or view it on Amazon US or Amazon UK.
MEAT CAMP
By Scott Nicholson & J.T. Warren
In a desperate attempt to save their land from tax foreclosure, Delphus Fraley and his daughter open a camp for at-risk kids, with the goal of building character through experience in the Appalachian Mountain outdoors.
But a strange infection contaminating the camp’s mess hall soon triggers a violent rampage. As the isolated camp turns into a bloodbath, camp counselor Jenny Usher first fights to save the children, and then finds she must fight to save herself.
Because this infection doesn’t just kill, it brings the dead back to life…
Adapted from Scott Nicholson’s original horror screenplay.
View it at Amazon US or Amazon UK.
CREATIVE SPIRIT
By Scott Nicholson
After parapsychologist Anna Galloway is diagnosed with metastatic cancer, she has a recurring dream in which she sees her own ghost. The setting of her dream is the historic Korban Manor, which is now an artist’s retreat in the remote Appalachian Mountains.
Sculptor Mason Jackson has come to Korban Manor to make a final, all-or-nothing attempt at success before giving up his dreams. When he becomes obsessed with carving Ephram Korban’s form out of wood, he questions his motivation but is swept up in a creative frenzy unlike any he has ever known.
The manor itself has secrets, with fires that blaze constantly in the hearths, portraits of Korban in every room, and deceptive mirrors on the walls. With an October blue moon looming, both the living and the dead learn the true power of their dreams.
Learn more about the paranormal thriller Creative Spirit or view it at Amazon US or Amazon UK
Do you like movies? View the screenplay adaptation at Amazon US or Amazon UK
DISINTEGRATION
By Scott Nicholson
When a mysterious fire destroys his home and kills his young daughter, Jacob Wells is pulled into a downward spiral that draws him ever closer to the past he thought was dead and buried.
Now his twin brother Joshua is back in town, seeking to settle old scores and claim his half of the Wells birthright. As Jacob and Joshua return to the twisted roles they adopted at the hands of cruel, demanding parents, they wage a war of pride, wealth, and passion.
But the lines of identity are blurred, because Joshua and Jacob share much more than blood. And the childhood games have become deadly serious.
Learn more about the psychological thriller Disintegration or view it at Amazon or Amazon UK
THE RED CHURCH
Book I in the Sheriff Littlefield Series
By Scott Nicholson
For 13-year-old Ronnie Day, life is full of problems: Mom and Dad have separated, his brother Tim
is a constant pest, Melanie Ward either loves him or hates him, and Jesus Christ won't stay in his heart. Plus he has to walk past the red church every day, where the Bell Monster hides with its wings and claws and livers for eyes. But the biggest problem is that Archer McFall is the new preacher at the church, and Mom wants Ronnie to attend midnight services with her.
Sheriff Frank Littlefield hates the red church for a different reason. His little brother died in a freak accident at the church twenty years ago, and now Frank is starting to see his brother's ghost.
The Days, the Littlefields, and the McFalls are descendants of the original families that settled the rural Appalachian community. Those old families share a secret of betrayal and guilt, and McFall wants his congregation to prove its faith. Because he believes he is the Second Son of God, and that the cleansing of sin must be done in blood.
"Sacrifice is the currency of God," McFall preaches, and unless Frank and Ronnie stop him, everybody pays.
Learn more about the real haunted church that inspired The Red Church or view it for Kindle at Amazon or Amazon UK
DRUMMER BOY
Book II in the Sheriff Littlefield Series
By Scott Nicholson
On an Appalachian Mountain ridge, three boys hear the rattling of a snare drum deep inside a cave known as "The Jangling Hole," and the wind carries a whispered name.
It's the eve of a Civil War re-enactment, and the town of Titusville is preparing to host a staged battle. The weekend warriors aren’t aware they will soon be fighting an elusive army. A troop of Civil War deserters, trapped in the Hole by a long-ago avalanche, is rising from a long slumber, and the war is far from over.