Dark of Dawn:
4Horsemen
BOOK ONE IN THE
DARK OF DAWN
SERIES
Sebastien Woolf
By Sebastien Woolf
DARK OF DAWN SERIES
4 Horsemen
Island of the Dammed
Evil’s Legacy
* * *
DARK OF DAWN NOVELETTES
Warrior Princess
Bone Hunter
Shadowmen
Goth Squad
4th and Dead
Dead Fare
* * *
DARK OF DAWN SHORT STORIES
Fear the Dawn
* * *
First published 2016
Copyright © Harem Scarem Publishing 2016
All characters in this publication are fictitious and any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.
The moral rights of the author have been asserted.
Editor: Cynthia McNabb
Cover by jimmygibbs (Fiverr)
Artwork by opikgoo (Fiverr)
All rights reserved.
No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or by any means, without the prior permission in writing of the publisher, nor be otherwise circulated in any form of binding or cover other than that in which it is published and without similar condition being imposed on the subsequent purchaser.
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Dedicated to the living.
Dark of Dawn: 4 Horsemen Chapters
Prologue
1 New World Knights
2 Dawn Strike
3 The Art of Dying
4 Secrets of the Dead
5 Company of Strangers
6 Night on the Town
7 Warrior Princess
8 Darkest Hour
9 Revelations
10 Hashtag Dead
11 Bank Job
12 Path of Ruin
13 The Zoo
14 Lamb of God
15 Lake of Fire
16 Great Escape
17 Fugitives
18 Debriefing
19 Lunch Date
20 Room Service
21 Oasis
22 Shadowmen
23 Troubled Times
24 Tragedy
25 Heartache
26 Mercy
27 The Siege
28 The Chase
29 Sanctuary Lost
30 Exodus
31 Perilous Journey
32 Tent City
33 Bazaar
34 The Collector
35 Hearts of Stone
36 Madness of Night
37 Rage and Fury
38 Spread to the Wind
39 Dawn of Dreams
40 Dead Zone
41 Cracking of Bones
42 Docklands
43 Gates of Hell
44 Lands End
Epilogue
Glossary
A note from the author
About the Author
DARK OF DAWN SERIES
DEATH:
The act of dying;
End of life.
The most powerful force known to man.
Prologue
A deep sadness engulfed François as he made as he made his way along the dirt road to the airport. His mission to the African continent had been a failure and hundreds of lives had been lost, all accelerated to due to the Z-182 serum. Only one patient had shown any signs of recovery, but he too had met a violent end.
“Charles Mbabwe.” François rubbed at his hand as he mumbled the name.
“What was that Sir?”
“Ahh… nothing,” he said, ignoring his driver.
Water splashed up the side of the jeep as it bounced through yet another deep puddle. François sat there, pondering on what had happened at the hospital. He was confused, baffled somewhat by the day’s events, which he ran repeatedly through his mind trying desperately to come to a conclusion. There had been clear signs of death, every instrument and test confirmed this. Then he was alive again.
“Reanimation,” he muttered.
“Sorry Sir?”
“Reanimation my good man. Reanimation.”
“If you say so Sir.”
Bing!
“Ladies and gentlemen,” came a female voice, polite yet authoritative. “As you can see the Captain has now turned on the seatbelt sign and we have now started our descent.” The dark-skinned African steward smiled to the passengers as she continued on with her well-rehearsed announcement.
Hanging up the phone she shared a joke with a colleague as the two of them set about closing the latches on cupboards in their area. They tidied and stowed, cleaned their station completely, then fixed their hair and makeup and strode out into the aisles to commence their pre-landing routines.
For the most part their sweep was normal as they tightened seat belts, raised window blinds and returned seats to upright positions. A final warning was given to an obnoxious intoxicated passenger and several youngsters were told to turn off their electronic devices. Nothing at all out of the ordinary.
Two rows from the rear of the aircraft a passenger lay slumped in his seat. With his head resting on a pillow the well-dressed bespectacled man appeared to be sleeping, so the stewards chose not to wake him. Outside his window a dark starry early morning sky stretched as far as the eye could see.
Descending, the jet’s engines whined.
Passengers disembarked in an orderly fashion, laughter and chatter followed them right through the terminal into the arrival lounge. Standing at the door the cabin crew thanked the departing passengers for flying with them, smiled and wished everyone well. The plane emptied quickly.
Both women chatted briefly and shared a joke at the expense of a fat man who had waddled past them, careful to speak in their native tongue so as to avoid any embarrassment. Their conversation was interrupted abruptly by the discerning sound of moaning that came from deep within the cabin towards the rear.
“Did you hear that?” said the co-pilot, who had stepped out of the cockpit to join the women.
“What was that?”
None of them could quite make it out. Then it came again, reverberating loudly through the interior of the aircraft. Those at the door looked at each other with wide-eyes, blank looks filling faces rapidly. Once more the sound rumbled, this time it was a lot closer. A low sickening moan.
“What the ….?”
Cautiously the two stewards went to investigate.
Seconds later guttural screams followed.
Dawn broke.
The darkness came.
1
New World Knights
The sun-browned newspaper swirled in the gentle breeze, darting along the dusty sidewalk and eventually wrapping itself around the wheel of an abandoned vehicle. An eerie silence consumed the inner-city suburb, the only sound to be heard was the flapping of the newspaper’s tattered edges as it fought to get free. Another gust of wind eventually wriggled the tabloid loose, sending it flying down the abandoned street. In big block letters across the top the headline read, HOPE FADES.
Lined with trendy cafes, upmarket boutiques and funky bars, this once vibrant shopping strip now lay in ruin. Sales signs that still hung in shop windows offered huge reductions, yet no-one had taken advantage of these special deals. Cut-price inventory lay untouched on shelves or hung on racks gathering dust.
Registers filled with cash and coin lay open on grimy, dirty countertops. Paying customers had long since deserted this place.
Moss and lichen had spread over damp surfaces everywhere, covering most curbs in a green spongy carpet. Weeds had grown wild, sprouting through cracks in the sidewalks, dancing in the gentle breeze. Dust particles rose in the wind, spinning in mini twisters before being carried off and deposited further down the street.
Towering high above street-level, glass-clad office buildings stretched as far as the eye could see, disappearing into the clouds. They stood as monuments of excess of a world now long forgotten. Beyond them the motorway, once a busy thoroughfare lay coiled like a sleeping snake, some four blocks away. No vehicles had travelled down this now lonely street for some time.
From deep within the bowels of a building at the far end of the street, the silence was broken momentarily. The sound was a strange one, quite odd in fact, similar to that of a phlegmy cough, combined with the noise one might make when solving a difficult problem or puzzle. Again it came echoing, rumbling out on to the street. An almost unnatural sound, a deep sickening moan.
Tyler froze. “You heard that, right?” His green eyes fused wide open darting around in all directions. Having heard the sound before he knew what it signified, it was a clear warning.
“Yeah man,” Stuart replied, with an apprehensive look on his young face. Glancing nervously in all directions he too desperately searched for signs of movement. “Where the hell are they?”
“Behind us still, I think. Can’t be certain though. It has to be a new group, there is no way that they could have tracked us though is there?”
“Let’s fucking hope not.”
Tyler listened intently to the sounds around him. Lifting his dark glasses he peered down the scope, panning his rifle slowly through the street searching for the slightest movement. The crosshairs swept past open doorways, broken windows and dark alleyways, but there was nothing to be seen anywhere.
At nineteen Tyler was the youngest of three children. Up until the time the world turned he had been enjoying life as a typical teenager, living every day for friends, Facebook and fun. Hooked on having a good time his former life as a college student had consisted of parties, girls and alcohol with binge drinking, social drugs and casual sex being everything that he lived for. Sadly, all that was now nothing but a distant memory.
Another moan. Then another, the second coming from an entirely different direction.
“What the fuck….?” exclaimed Tyler.
“Are they….?”
“Communicating? Damn. It sounds like it doesn’t it.”
Both boys stood momentarily with their mouths ajar, listening, looking. The moaning came again from both sides of the street, deep inside the buildings.
“Can they even do that?”
“Dude, I’m over wondering what these fuckers can and can’t do.”
Despite being a year older than his friend Stuart both looked and acted several years younger. He was somewhat shorter and fatter than his friend, but hated to admit it; preferring to label himself as stockier rather than chubby. The two of them had been inseparable since Stuart had been rescued from the gas station where he had worked, they had become best friends. Everything they did now they did together.
“I think we should just worry about getting home.”
“Yeah,” Tyler said, nodding. “I’m with you on that.”
Another series of moans echoed loudly.
Having ventured out further than they ever had before overnight, it had been a long day for the two boys. They had been on a scavenging hunt and reconnaissance exercise, foraging deep into the deserted city overnight. Both their backpacks were weighed down heavily and filled to the brim with packets of dried food, sweets and canned drinks. On this particular trip they had also come across a bounty of other much sought after items as well, which they could not wait to share with the rest of their group.
Tyler desperately wanted to be home by nightfall, but the temptations of additional loot had provided them with a distraction that set them back a while. Time had simply gotten away from them and now they found themselves exposed, caught out in the open and facing a real threat from deep within the shadows.
Jon Armstrong stood on the veranda, casting his eyes through the intersection into the streets beyond. From his vantage point on the verandah of the large house that was built high on a corner, he had unimpeded views in all directions. This was a leafy affluent suburb of a once prosperous metropolis and the intersection that crisscrossed at the verge had been a busy gateway to the city, with motorists passing by on their daily commute.
Due to its high elevation there were no direct street frontages into the property. Instead, a towering un-scalable, white-washed wall ran all the way along the front and side of the house, bending around at right angles following the contour of the intersection. This provided the compound with ample protection and concealment from the street below.
Olivia joined her husband on the porch. Placing a hand on his arm she stared in the same direction into the city and swallowed hard. “Where is he?” she said softly, a slight waiver evident in her voice.
“He will be home soon,” replied Jon. “He is our son after-all.”
“Oh, he most definitely his father’s son,” Olivia said with a smirk.
Jon gave a deep laugh. “That he is my love that he is.” Smiling, he gave his wife a comforting kiss on the cheek.
Jon was a proud and protective individual who worked hard to keep his family and new-found friends safe. After the world had turned this had become more and more difficult as each day passed, with life never having been as tough as it was now.
In his former life he had been a tough uncompromising business owner, more often than not getting his own way with most things. With most people too. Those who met him for the first time where often intimidated by the thick-set, middle-aged man, but Olivia knew him better. Behind the tough exterior he portrayed he was a kind, considerate and loving family man with a heart of gold. She had never been more in love with him.
Crossing his arms Jon leaned against a post on the open wooden verandah, a plank creaking underfoot. “Where are you son?” he whispered quietly to himself.
Tyler and Stuart did not lack for courage. Often on these types of excursions they pretended they were Soldiers of Fortune on a relentless and urgent mission for the betterment of mankind. Other times they were Foreign Legion fighters, or rebel guerrillas. In reality though, what they had become through their experience on the road, were skillful, well-trained, fearless warriors – New World Knights.
Moaning.
Tense minutes passed.
Silence.
“All clear,” whispered Tyler, checking the way ahead. “Let’s move.”
“Hold up mate, I need to take a piss.”
“Are you fucking serious?”
“Chill out man, I’m busting.”
“Just hurry the fuck up then.” Tyler fired a stare at his twenty-year-old blonde-haired friend. Not for the first time on this excursion, he gave a slow blink as he shook his head in dismay.
Turning to face the wall Stuart relieved himself with a satisfying sigh. There was a certain recklessness about him that made him a danger to himself and to others. He had little concern for his own safety, which immediately put the lives of everyone around him at risk. Tyler often wondered how his friend had managed to live this long.
“Are you done yet?”
Stuart zipped up his fly, tightened his belt and collected his weapon. Lifting his head he turned then nodded, his blue-grey eyes glinted in the sunlight as he continued to smile with satisfaction.
“You are such a bloody worry,” Tyler said, shaking his head once again.
Hustling, the pair made their way out on to the road and readied themselves for the short trip home. Nervously their eyes flitted from building to building, searching again for threats. Almost immediately they felt alone and exposed, which
was one of this dangerous city’s new tricks.
Moaning.
The threat was now close.
Gripping the handle of his axe Stuart reacted first, stepping forward boldly positioning himself in the center of the road. As he stood there poised and ready he genuinely felt as if he was ten feet tall and bullet-proof, but in reality there was nothing imposing about him at all. The former gas station attendant had an average physique and was not muscular, strong or threatening in any way. Average looks to boot. However, what he lacked in strength, size and ability he certainly made up for with a healthy dose of bravado.
Tapping the axe head on the ground, Stuart called out jokingly, “Come out, come out wherever you are.”
“What the fuck are you doing?” Tyler snarled through gritted teeth.
“No point pussying around. Let’s deal to this lot and get home. I’m starving.”
“Fuck man!” Tyler was pissed. “You are truly an idiot at times.”
A thin veil of cloud cover shifted and bright sunlight poured onto the street immediately bathing Tyler and Stuart in warmth. As the sun’s rays reflected off the transparent façade of the skyscrapers high above, they seemingly were brought back to life. Another of the dangerous city’s new tricks.
Around them shapes shuffled in the shadows created by the shifting sun. Movement caught Tyler’s eye, causing him to immediately sling his rifle and draw two hatchets from pouches on his belt. Sliding his football helmet over his head the red-haired young man twirled the two small weapons menacingly in his hands and braced himself.
Then they came, a swarm of vicious hideously repulsive savages that swarmed forward as one, emerging from the shadows. Experience had taught the two young men that their attackers never had a planned or organized attack, it was haphazard at best and this assault was no different. The creatures had been lurking in the darkness, meandering aimlessly and as soon as they detected the scent of human flesh, they had sprung into action. As they began to scramble towards their targets it was obvious to both Tyler and Stuart that this ambush in the wastelands was nothing more than sheer coincidence.
Dark of Dawn 4Horsemen: Book one in the Dark of Dawn Series Page 1