by SD Tanner
Dead Alive
(EDEN LOST BOOK TWO)
SD TANNER
Dead Alive
Copyright © SD Tanner 2015
All rights reserved.
No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, distributed or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior permission of the author, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other non-commercial uses permitted by law.
Disclaimer: This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.
Dedicated to Mousey
And to Angel Brudnicki for bringing the hunters to life
Authors Note
To keep the action exciting, this story is told through multiple points of view. Please see the character name in the Chapter heading to know which person is narrating.
Although this series is preceded by the Hunter Wars series, it isn’t necessary to read the first series to enjoy this one. If you’re interested in viewing the first series, please click here to link to Hunter Wars Series.
I really hope you enjoy the Eden Lost series.
Table of Contents
Authors Note
PROLOGUE: TL
CHAPTER ONE: Hunter Luke
CHAPTER TWO: Pax
CHAPTER THREE: Cain
CHAPTER FOUR: Leo
CHAPTER FIVE: Mac
CHAPTER SIX: Hunter Luke
CHAPTER SEVEN: Gears
CHAPTER EIGHT: Pax
CHAPTER NINE: TL
CHAPTER TEN: Roy
CHAPTER ELEVEN: Hunter Luke
CHAPTER TWELVE: Cain
CHAPTER THIRTEEN: TL
CHAPTER FOURTEEN: Gears
CHAPTER FIFTEEN: Benny
CHAPTER SIXTEEN: TL
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN: Faith
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN: Gears
CHAPTER NINETEEN: Cain
CHAPTER TWENTY: TL
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE: Axe
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO: Mackenzie
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE: Gears
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR: Demons
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE: Ruler
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX: Demons
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN: Gears
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT: Pax
CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE: Greg
CHAPTER THIRTY: Jack
CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE: Gears
CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO: Gears
CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE: Cain
CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR: Greg
CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE: Gears
CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX: Jack
CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN: Pax
EPILOGUE
PROLOGUE: TL
Leaves rustled gently in the breeze, the sun shone low in the sky, and small rabbit like creatures were grazing on the thick blades of grass. After the dense forest, the top of the small hill opened into a flat, wide expanse, with several roughly carved benches each facing three stone figures lying in state.
Under the effigies were granite coffins with an intricate pattern weaving its way around the base. Each sarcophagus was the same size, equal distance apart, and only the bodies carved in the stone made clear these were graves for three different people.
Climbing up the low hill was tedious, and his machete was sticky with the juices of the plants and bushes he’d hacked. There was no path to the flat area, and his hands and ACUs were stained green from the climb. Curious about the graves, he dropped his pack and machete, and walked unencumbered towards them.
Stepping to the one closest to his position, he noticed its boots first. They were typical military grade boots, much like the ones he was wearing. Each boot had thick hardwearing soles, leather panels, and a tightened set of laces disappearing under the carved trouser leg. Glancing down at his feet, they weren’t just similar to his boots, they were identical.
His gaze travelled from the bottom of the effigy, and slowly made its way along the prone body, taking in every tiny detail. The figure was a tall male wearing ACUs, and by its side, carved into the stone, was an M4A1 exactly like the one he had slung over his right shoulder. With one stone hand resting on the gun, he noticed the chunky service ring on its finger. He wore one on his own hand, his had a red stone set deeply into the heavily etched, thick metal.
Already knowing what he would see next, he took another step closer. A perfect replica of his face was lying still and somber, with its eyes closed and lips slightly parted. Next to him, only five feet away, was the profile of Gears, and beyond his stone face was Pax. Someone had gone to a lot of trouble to build three sarcophaguses, and carve their exact images into the dense stone.
It wasn’t the first time he’d seen stone versions of their bodies lying on top of a grave. Ip had shown them an almost identical design in hell, only there they were wearing and old-fashioned style of armor. These graves were clearly new and they matched their living selves in every way.
“Ah, Conquest, you’ve finally come.”
A tall, heavyset man was walking across the grass towards him. The rabbit like creatures continued to graze peacefully, while he trod just inches from their heads. Wearing heavy canvas work pants, a loose fitting, hard wearing shirt, the man had a shock of grey hair and a deeply lined and tanned face. He was the sort of man a person could walk past and barely register his presence, much less be able to identify him again later. Nondescript would have overstated his physical appearance.
Sitting on one of the stone benches, he said, “No need to stand. Come sit. I’ve been waiting for you.”
Unsure what to do next, he sat on the other seat and studied the man curiously. “Do we know one another?”
Swiveling on the bench until he was facing him, the man laughed amiably. “Since time began, my old friend, but you never remember me.” With an almost familiar wave of his heavy knuckled hand, he added, “It’s all good.” Leaning closer, his eyes twinkled. “I get to tell you the same stories and you never get bored.”
Despite his lack of memorable features, he was pretty sure he’d never met this man before. Scanning him again, he didn’t seem to be armed. Loosely tied around his waist was a leather belt, with a pouch and collection of metal instruments he suspected were used to carve the sarcophaguses.
He flicked his head at the graves. “Did you make them?”
“Yes. They’re a good likeness, don’t you think?”
They were alarmingly accurate, right down to the deep scar on Gears’ face. Not only were they right, it was as if the man had frozen them in stone.
“Did you build the ones in Ip’s hell?”
Giving him weary look, the man replied, “Don’t you recognize my work? It takes a lot of skill, you know. It’s a lost art.”
“Who are you?”
“I don’t have a name of my own, but for the last few centuries you’ve always called me Overwatch.”
CHAPTER ONE: Hunter Luke
He remembered being cut, but looking at his arm now, he couldn’t see any evidence he had been. He’d tried running his hand across his forearm, and he knew it didn’t feel right. The skin had been dry, almost leather like, puckered and lumpy to touch. His eyes weren’t right either. Everything had taken on a sharpness he didn’t remember seeing even with his glasses. Thinking of his glasses made him want to reach for them on his face, but he knew they weren’t there, and without them, he shouldn’t be able to see anything.
There
was a row of strong metal bars in front of him. They were more familiar to him than his own arm, and he wondered how long he’d been behind them. Next to his head was a metal frame, and he thought he might have seen something like it before. On the other side was a metal bowl, dulled by dust and grime, and next to it was similar one, only it sat higher against the wall.
All these things were familiar, but he couldn’t quite grasp why. Cocking his head, he tuned his hearing into the noises around him. Instinctively, he sniffed at the odors circling the air, and the stench of sweat alerted him to the approaching men long before he saw them.
“It won’t eat,” a voice said in a complaining tone.
“What do you mean?” Another male voice replied.
“Just that.”
“What have you tried feeding it?”
“Sinners. What else is there?”
“What does it do?”
“Nothing. It just lies there.”
Without knowing it, they were giving off the sweet odor of blood, and it was making his heart quicken. He was hungry. A part of him wanted to reach through the bars and tear into their flesh, but before he could instruct his body to move, another part of his mind told him not to. It wasn’t right to kill them. He didn’t know why he thought that, but the desire to feed was being overwhelmed by something else he couldn’t identify.
“What about the others?”
“Some of them eat and some don’t. The ones that don’t are slowly starving.”
The tall man wearing a long, dark robe gave out a frustrated sigh. There was something strange about his odor, and he didn’t think he’d ever eat this man no matter how hungry he was. There was a sourness under the sweet smell of his blood as if his core was rotten.
He was lying on his side, with his head resting against the concrete floor, and he wasn't breathing. It wasn’t that he felt weak or docile, he just couldn’t find a reason to move. He wasn’t cold, hot or uncomfortable in any way, and nothing hurt or ached.
“Have you offered it anything else to eat?”
“What do you mean? Like a rabbit or a cat?”
“Something other than a human.”
“I thought they only ate humans.”
“Why would you think that?”
“It’s all I’ve ever seen them eat.”
Cat was a word he almost understood. With it came the image of a fluffy animal and the feeling of pleasure. Black and white with wide white whiskers and almost a smile, he recognized the sensation of fur under his palm. He was hungry, but he didn’t want to eat a cat any more than he wanted to eat the man wearing the heavy cloak.
“Do we have a cat?”
“I dunno. I s’pose so.”
“Well, try feeding it to him.”
With that abrupt order, the man and his cloak swished away, leaving the other one staring at him wearing an unhappy expression.
“What a fuckin’ nuisance. Now I gotta find a fuckin’ cat.”
After the man left, his mind continued to drift loosely. He could hear other voices, but they weren’t from within the room. They were whispers and feelings with flashes of images, much like an old-fashioned slide display. A picture of a house, a little girl with pig tails, a dog, a car, a building, a street. He didn’t know what the images were or where they came from. Maybe they were things he’d seen, but he didn’t think so. There was nothing familiar about them or the voices, and he was sure none of it came from within him.
Allowing the flashing pictures to wander through his mind, there was one he thought he knew. It was a man and he was grinning at him. A name drifted through his head. Mackenzie. No, that wasn’t right, his name was Mac. Holding onto the image, he wondered why he recognized the face.
Wake up.
He never seemed to sleep, so he didn’t know how he could wake up. At best, his awareness would drift away, sound would become muted and his sense of smell dulled. It wasn’t sleep exactly, more a state of deep relaxation. Deciding the order was meaningless, he let his mind wander again.
Wake up soldier!
The voice was more insistent this time. From somewhere deep inside he reacted instinctively, and for the first time in what must have been weeks, he moved his body.
Wait.
Wait for what? He guessed he wasn’t supposed to move yet so he stopped. The voice wasn’t exactly commanding, but he knew to obey it. His life depended on that voice and without it, he could die. Settling back into his original position, he waited, but now he was alert. Something was about to happen. Something he needed to react to.
He didn’t know how much time had passed when he heard the frightened yowling of an animal. He understood what it was saying. Its fear was in its tone and he caught the odor of its anxiety.
The same man appeared at the bars, only this time he was holding a small sack that was moving frantically. Another man stood beside him and they studied him dispassionately.
“I don’t think the cat’ll stay in the cell.”
“Whatdaya mean?”
“If you let the cat outta the bag it’s gonna run away.”
“That’s no good. It took me two hours to catch the fuckin’ thing.”
The bag was jarring at all angles, jumping energetically, and the animal continued to howl pitifully. Its anxiety was catching and his gut contracted with fear. Terror seized him and he didn’t know what was going to happen next, only that it was dangerous and he could die. They weren’t his feelings, they belonged to the cat, but he wanted them to stop.
“Maybe we could kill the cat and throw it in.”
“Nah, hunters like their meat still breathing.”
“Well, then you’re gonna have to hand feed it the cat.”
“I’m not goin’ in there. It might eat me.”
“Don’t be stupid. This one hasn’t moved in weeks. I’m not even sure it’s still alive.”
There was a clatter of metal on metal. Something tinkled, and an image of chimes hanging from a porch flashed through his mind. It was a picture he owned. The porch was attached to a house, which sat in a field with horses grazing in front of it. A feeling of peace washed through him. It was his home and somewhere he belonged.
Stand ready.
The orders came again from a voice he was sure he knew. The man’s face flickered through his mind again, only this time another quickly followed it. The next face was blue-eyed, square-jawed, and had a tousle of blond hair. Emotion followed the image and he was flooded with regret. He loved this man, but he’d failed him. The name Ted drifted through his thoughts and a deep sadness came with it.
The tinkling sound was replaced with the clunking noise of a key in a lock, and the door creaked sharply as it was eased open.
Wait.
He heard the voice and understood the intent. It was almost time to move. With no outward sign, his muscles tensed and power flowed to his hands and legs. Any moment now, he would be ordered to move, and when he did, he would explode into a frenzy of action. Already his head wanted to vibrate and his teeth ached to injure. His desire to move, to attack and to tear into the men was like a sexual drive. It was always like this for him, but for once his mind and his body were aligned. No part of him wanted to hold back. He welcomed the opportunity to finally unleash the anguish of need that he had yet to fulfil.
The man was standing over him and struggling with the over excited bag.
“Here, you hold it and I’ll pull it out. I shoulda brought fuckin’ gloves. The damn thing’s crazy as a coon.”
While the man reached inside the sack, the other held the animal firmly through the coarse fabric. The cat continued to howl, only now its cries were desperate. Its fear only added to his anger, but he waited for his orders, knowing when they came both he and the animal would be vindicated.
A fluffy, warring cat emerged from the bag, hissing and spitting, and its claws swiped widely for a target it couldn’t reach. Holding the terrified animal at arms-length, the man dropped it on his head. The cat scrambled,
desperate to escape. Finding its four paws, it sprinted across his body and through the open door.
“Aww, for fucks sake!”
Kill.
He was leaned to a level he’d never been, and he exploded to his feet with an ease that defied normal human movement. Unencumbered by any need to protect his body or organs, he grabbed the man who’d dropped the cat on him. His mind was empty of his conscience, unleashing the instinctive hunter that lived inside him. Without thought, he held the man under the chin, lifting him above his head, only to lower his jugular into his waiting, hungry mouth. Blood burst in a warm, thick stream, drooling down his throat and the overflow dribbled out the sides of his mouth.
His teeth strained against the unfamiliar use, pushing into his gums, and causing them to leak the dark red fluid that now stood for his blood. In the few seconds it took to tear his prey’s throat open, the other man was scrambling backwards towards the door. It was not his intent to eat, although he was grateful for the meal. Before the man had stepped even a few feet from him, his other arm shot out, and he clutched his shirt. Pulling him closer, as if he wanted to hug him, he dropped the bleeding body of the first man.
The second man wildly punched and kicked at him, each blow successfully making contact with his impervious flesh. With both arms free, he pulled the man into an even tighter embrace. He felt stronger than he ever had, and with an almost casual air, he pushed the man’s head backwards and bit deeply into his esophagus. The effect was instantaneous, and again warm blood flowed into his mouth. This time he tore the flesh, and a morsel came loose between his teeth.
Without bothering to chew, he swallowed and ate for what felt like the first time in his life.
CHAPTER TWO: Pax
Each big foot was landing one after the next. Slipping on a juicy fern sitting on top of the slimy muddy ground, his knee twisted slightly, sending a sharp pain across the joint. He was getting pretty damned fed up with jungle warfare. Regaining his footing, he continued to run swiftly through the dense bushes, pushing ferns and other annoying plant life out of his way.