Night: Final Awakening Book Three (A Post-Apocalyptic Thriller)

by J. Thorn

  All three girls looked to him for answers, and he was opening his mouth to reassure them when he felt lightheaded and dizzy. Dax stumbled and collapsed onto the bed. As soon as he hit the mattress, the room disappeared.

  It was as if he had been magically transported.

  There he was, in front of the lone tree again. Rain hammered the dirt road, creating rivulets of mud that ran over the tips of his boots. The wind blew, and the tree groaned as it leaned over him.

  Dax could see the barn, the houses, and the truck. But the undead army had vanished.

  A vision?

  “Yes.”

  Papa Midnight stepped out from behind the tree. He wore a white suit, but he was dry, as if he had the ability to dodge raindrops.

  “Terrible timing, old man. What am I doing here?” Dax asked. “We’re about to be attacked by an army of Screamers. I have to get back.”

  The voodoo priest shook his head. “You had to believe in yourself, Jackson. I had to remove myself. You were using me as a crutch.”

  Dax made a tight fist and drew a deep breath. He felt a flush of anger followed by a growing sense of enlightenment. Something was happening, and he couldn’t quite tell what the voodoo priest was talking about.

  “You found him. The Angel. He’s been waiting for you. Redemption has been waiting for you.” Papa Midnight glanced at the tree behind him.

  “That’s a fucking tree.” Dax felt a flutter in his stomach like he was about to leap off of a cliff into deep water.

  “Why yes, it is. In fact, it is an oak tree. The folks in these parts like to call it the ‘Angel Oak’ since it has been looking after them for hundreds of years.”

  “Huh? You mean the Angel is a tree?”

  “Not just any tree. The Angel Oak. And it is the weapon you need to destroy the Masters.”

  Dax shook his head. “A tree? I don’t get it. What am I supposed to do with a tree?”

  “The storm is raging, Jackson. You must go back and do what you know must be done.”

  He felt a warmth spreading through his chest like a shot of expensive whiskey. Dax looked at Papa Midnight as the old man looked up at the Angel Oak.

  “Goodbye, Dax.”

  “Goodbye, Papa Midnight.”

  “Vondell,” the voodoo priest said, tipping his white hat at Dax. “The name’s Vondell.”

  Dax smiled as he noticed a spark shoot from the tip of Papa’s cane. It turned into a flame, and within seconds, the old man wore a suit of fire, and yet his flesh remained untouched. He walked toward the tree. Into it. Dax watched as Papa Midnight disappeared while fire raced up the trunk of the Angel Oak, engulfing the entire tree within seconds.

  The wind whipped the flames into a cyclonic cloud and ash fell like snow from the blackened sky.

  When Dax opened his eyes again, he was still on the bed. The three Casket Girls moved towards him.

  “Are you all right?” Zoe asked.

  “Another vision.”

  “Vision?”

  “Yeah. I think I said goodbye to Papa Midnight.”

  “You only had your eyes closed for a few seconds,” Alex said. “Was this talk with him different than the others?”

  “Yes,” he said. “But there isn’t time to explain now. Do you all trust me?”

  Alex, Zoe, and Saw nodded in unison, without hesitation.

  “Good. Then I need you to follow my lead and do what I say, and we’ll defeat the Masters.”

  “Okay, Dax,” said Alex. “Tell us what to do.”

  “I need matches and gasoline.”

  “Why?” Zoe asked.

  “I told you, there isn’t time to explain. I need matches and gasoline, and I need you three to distract the horde long enough for me to get out of here. Can you do that?”

  Saw nodded, and then her face lit up. “There’s a can of gasoline in the truck. If I got there, then you can get there.”

  “But there are way more Screamers now,” said Alex. “How do we run interference for Dax?”

  Zoe raised her finger and raced to the back of the house. She practically jumped up and down, pointing out the window.

  “Maybe we can use that.”

  52

  “You sure you know how to drive that thing?” Dax asked.

  Saw laughed. “My uncle worked on every type of engine you could imagine. And I was always at his side. I could probably fly a plane if you put me in the cockpit.”

  “No way in hell I’m getting on that plane,” Zoe said.

  Alex and Zoe stood on each side of the tractor while Saw climbed into the driver’s seat. Although Dax thought Zoe had come up with a crazy plan, it just might work. The tractor would distract the Screamers, and it would give the girls leverage as they battled the oncoming horde.

  “Can you shoot your crossbow and drive at the same time?” Dax asked Saw.

  “This thing moves like two miles per hour. Will you quit being such a misogynist cock and stop worrying about me?”

  Dax laughed. “Okay.”

  “We’ll be fine, Dax,” Alex said.

  Smiling, Dax reached his hand up. “I couldn’t have done this without you guys.”

  Alex shook his hand. “Go. End this.”

  Across the highway, the vampire army grew as new soldiers joined their counterparts.

  Saw started the tractor, hollering as the engine turned over. She took a few seconds to get used to the controls, turned on the headlights, and drove forward.

  “Woooooo! We’re coming for you bastards!”

  The Screamers roared.

  Dax nodded once more at Alex before she turned around and readied for battle. He picked up the bag of stakes and hurried around to the front of the house.

  The truck sat on the side of the road, a five or ten-second sprint from where he stood. Refocusing his mind, he visualized both the matches and the gas can he’d need to get out of the truck. But an image interrupted his thoughts—Chloe. Dax thought of their time together in high school. He’d gone to every one of her track meets. She’d been so good. So fast. So beautiful.

  “This is for you.”

  Dax ran.

  He pumped his arms and splashed through the puddles that had begun to widen from the downpour. The invisible hands of heavy winds pushed against his chest. His calves screamed, his quads and hamstrings aching. Dax gritted his teeth and kept running.

  When he reached the truck, he leaned against the side and fought to catch his breath. The rain did little to cool him, and the humid air made it feel like he was breathing cotton. He glanced back to check on the Casket Girls. The Screamers leaped at the tractor, but all three women stood, taking down the vampires and drawing more attention—keeping it off him.

  Dax pulled the passenger door open. He ripped the glove box open and grabbed a pack of matches. He flipped it open and saw about ten matches, then shoved them into his pocket and ran to the bed of the truck. Saw had been right—the gas can was there. He picked it up, finding it to be about half-full.

  “Look at you, all by yourself and lonely.”

  Bronwyn’s voice sent a shiver through Dax as he turned around with the gas can in his hand. She stood in the road with Ambrose.

  “You’ll be a great asset to me. Especially once I destroy him,” Bronwyn said, gesturing at Ambrose.

  “There’s still time to take my deal, Dax,” Ambrose said. “Help me destroy her, and everything I promised can still be yours.”

  “Where are the other Masters?” Dax asked. He found the juxtaposition of the two warring Masters—standing right next to each other—odd.

  “They’ve already decided,” Bronwyn said. “They will swear allegiance to whoever is victorious. They know they can’t defeat us. And neither can you.”

  Rain beat down on Dax as he gripped the handle of the gas can tighter. “You’re both going to die.”

  Bronwyn tilted her head and grinned. “You’re so sexy when you’re angry.”

  Her eyes glowed. She flew forward then, her a
rms reaching out.

  Dax ducked and rolled out of the way. He dropped the gas can, spilling some of its contents onto the road through the relief valve. He picked the can up and shook it—still plenty left inside to do what needed to be done.

  He heard a snarl and rolled again. This time, Ambrose flew by him and slammed into Bronwyn, sending her tumbling into a nearby field.

  By the time Dax stood up, Ambrose was charging. The rain had slicked back his hair, and his glowing eyes pulsed brighter than the lightning flashing in the storm clouds. The Master grabbed Dax with both arms, taking him to the ground.

  “You’re responsible for their deaths. All of them!”

  He wrapped his hands around Dax’s throat. Dax gasped, his hands slapping at Ambrose’s. Ambrose flew off of Dax, yanked into the sky as if attached to a bungee cord.

  Bronwyn threw Ambrose against the tree with enough force to shake the branches. She floated over to him and punched him in the stomach three times, and then connected several more shots to his face before tossing him onto the highway. She then stepped away from the tree and stood over the fallen Master.

  Dax jumped to his feet and reached for the gas can. Bronwyn thrust her hand toward him—an invisible force knocking Dax backward, sending him flying into the side of the truck. His head slammed against the door. Double-vision accompanied a painful throb in his skull. A voice spoke up in his mind.

  Do not quit, Jackson.

  I don’t know if I can do this, Papa.

  You can. You must.

  Dax heard the Casket Girls scream—the horde surrounding the tractor and now rocking it back and forth, threatening to knock them off.

  On your feet. Hurry.

  Dax shook the cobwebs from his head. Orange eyes approached.

  Bronwyn lifted him off the ground and slammed him against the truck again. She grabbed him by the neck, her nails digging into his throat. He felt the burning sting and the blood seeping down his neck. Ambrose was nowhere to be seen.

  “I win,” Bronwyn said. “You are mine.”

  Although Dax struggled to breathe, he managed to mutter two words.

  “Fuck you.”

  Bronwyn’s eyes brightened. She ripped open Dax’s mind. He closed his eyes, trying to push her out, but she was too powerful. When he opened them again, he saw what she wanted him to see.

  Gabby swung from one of the branches of the tree. She wore the same outfit she’d been wearing when Dax had found her hanging in her closet. In front of the tree, her head twisted completely around, sat Chloe. Blood leaked from her eyes, her body limp.

  Lightning struck, illuminating the grotesque mental imagery.

  “No!”

  Bronwyn laughed. “This is your future. Every day, I will show this to you. Your brain will go numb. And when I am finally bored with you, perhaps years or decades from now, I might put you out of your misery.” She bent over, laughing even harder. “This will be—”

  A hand appeared on the Master’s shoulder, yanking her back and away from Dax. Her body fell next to Ambrose’s, who had begun to stir again. The two other Master vampires—Jaraca and Jing—both grabbed one of Dax’s arms. They dragged him forward, then dropped him to the ground. Dax was struggling to catch his breath now. He coughed, spitting blood and rain.

  “He is ours,” Jaraca said.

  “The war ends now,” Jing said.

  Each Master drew a weapon. Jing held a Katana, while Jaraca pulled out a dagger with a thick, curved blade.

  Bronwyn made it to her feet before Ambrose. She rose and drew a sharpened rapier from a hidden sheath strapped to her back.

  “I don’t need the human,” she said. “I will kill the three of you right here, right now.”

  Ambrose drew a long sword and raised it as he stared down Jaraca and Jing. He screamed, and the shrill cry nearly split Dax’s eardrums.

  The sounds of metal on metal filled the air as the four Masters fought. They leaped about, slashing and striking at each other with their conventional weapons while also using their ancient mental powers. Ambrose intensified the aural attack by raising the volume of his war cry. Jaraca cast a spell at the feet of Jing which turned the dirt to molten lava. The leader of the Asian faction materialized a wave of throwing stars which he then sent flying at Bronwyn. She continued to maneuver through the air faster than the other three Masters, landing to strike and then leaping up again to avoid a strike.

  Dax’s ears continued to ring as Ambrose refused to relent.

  As the four Masters fought, Dax looked around and saw that the horde had toppled the tractor. The Casket Girls continued to fight them off, but Screamers were swarming them from all sides.

  He caught his breath and looked down at the gas can. It sat upright in the road where he’d left it. In the sky, the clouds had turned black, roiling and sending bolts of lightning to the ground in bursts of lethal voltage. Dax could barely lift his legs. He stumbled toward the gas can, but the closer he got to the can—to the tree—the harder the wind blew. He walked into it, his eyes closed and his head down as he fought the gale. The can was almost within his reach.

  Five feet from the gas can, Dax’s legs gave out. He crawled to the base of the tree and pulled himself up.

  More screams came from behind Dax as the Masters battled. Dax grimaced and reached for the gas can. The wind intensified, throwing him off balance. He looked up into the tree, almost certain the elements had conspired with it to keep him from doing what had to be done.

  Now, Dax. You must do it now.

  Dax unscrewed the cap and dumped gasoline at the base of the Angel Oak. He swung the can around, splashing fuel onto as many branches as he could reach. A gust knocked him over and he dropped the can, some of the gas spilling into the dirt. Dax grabbed it and stood up. Pouring gas at the foot of the tree, he then walked backward—creating a trail of gasoline going from the tree to the edge of the highway fifteen feet away. He knelt down, taking the matches from his pocket.

  The rain paused for a moment, but the thunder cracked the sky as a battle raged above the earth as well as below.

  He’d torn a match from the book and lit it when a gust of wind blew it from his hand. Dax ripped another match out, but this one wouldn’t light.

  Hurry.

  Dax grabbed a third match and struck the surface. This one stayed lit. He cupped his hand around the flame to keep it from blowing out.

  Ambrose was the first to notice what Dax had done. He dropped his sword and took a step away from the fight. Bronwyn followed, and a few seconds later, Jing and Jaraca came, as well. The four Masters looked at Dax holding a match, the gas can, and the tree.

  “Darling?” asked Bronwyn with a smile that twitched at the corners of her mouth. Her voice cracked as she addressed Dax. “You know what happens when you play with fire?”

  “Fire can’t hurt us,” Jing said.

  “Shut up, fool,” Ambrose said.

  “You probably never thought to even look at this old, dead tree. Did you?” Dax glanced down at the flame on the burning match which was almost to his finger. “It’s an oak tree. And when it burns, it’ll spew ash of oak.”

  “Honey, wait.” Bronwyn wiped a real tear from one eye.

  Dax felt the match beginning to burn his finger. “Go back to Hell.”

  He dropped the match, igniting the gasoline trail that went from Dax’s feet to the Angel Oak.

  Ambrose’s eyes went wide as he contemplated his impending mortality. He pushed the other Masters out of the way and ran into the fields, screaming. Bronwyn stood next to Jaraca and Jing. She cried silently while the other two Masters looked from Dax to the tree, not yet realizing what was about to happen.

  The flames crawled up the trunk of the Angel Oak and ran across the branches, creating an instant red fireball which knocked Dax onto his back. He blinked and rolled over. Flames engulfed the tree and ash began to float to the ground.

  Wind tore across the fields and created a secondary, invisible explosion at
the tree. The storm grabbed the ash and tossed it around like dust inside of a tornado, the Angel Oak burning inside of it.

  The ash hit Jing and Jaraca first, coating their bodies. Jing had time to look at his hand before his body crumpled into a pile of dust. Jaraca’s did the same a split second later.

  Ambrose had made it thirty yards into the field, but the ash surrounded him, seeming to stick to him like a swarm of hornets. He stumbled and fell while the ash buried his body. The Master cried out one last time before he dissipated into a trail of oily smoke.

  Bronwyn stared at Dax; she was the last Master standing. She grinned and held up the palm of her right hand as if to wave goodbye. A force of heat and smoke blew past him and struck Bronwyn. Dax covered his face, and when he looked again, Bronwyn was gone—nothing but a rapier and a black dress left where she had stood only moments before.

  He collapsed into the dirt and laid on his back, letting the cold rain wash the sweat and dirt from his face. Dax listened to the distant thunder as he drifted away.

  53

  The sun burned his face. Dax struggled to open his eyes, covering his face with his forearm to block out the light. He tried rolling onto his side, but a sharp pain in his ribs slowed him down. He remained on his back for a few moments before fighting through the pain and sitting up, then pushing himself up onto his knees.

  Dax coughed. When he looked up into the sky, he was surprised to see a blue sky and blazing sun rising over the eastern horizon. A hazy fog hung over the fields while flakes swirled in the air. He reached up and caught a few in his palm.

  Ash.

  He stood up and almost toppled right over. He had rubber for knees. The pickup truck lay on its side several yards away. Hunks of wood, tire, and remnants of clothing littered the fields.

  “Dax!”

  He turned around too fast, feeling a head rush that threatened to knock him off balance. At first, he grimaced, but then he laughed. Alex, Zoe, and Saw were hobbling toward him.

  Alex looked as if she had been dipped in a vat of blood. Zoe had a makeshift bandage wrapped around her right thigh, and Saw still held her crossbow. She winked at Dax with her right eye, her left eye swollen shut.