by A. Rosaria
She heard heavy boots behind her. Gloved hands closed on her shoulder and pulled her up, preventing her from turning Ralph on his back. The hands went down and closed around her wrists and zip tied them behind her back. She was briskly turned around. In front of her stood a broad-shouldered man, clad in a soldier‘s black uniform, a baklava covering his face. His eyes were hidden behind night-vision goggles. Two shorter men, similarly clad, came running down the slope.
The man holding her said, “I‘ll be damned. It‘s her. You better have information for us.”
He pushed her to one of the other guys. “Take her to the chopper.”
“And you, check this guy.” He pointed at Ralph.
Sarah screamed for them to stop. Tears rolled over her cheeks as she watched as the soldier walked over to Ralph. As long she had not seen his face, felt his pulse, Ralph was alive to her, and if she had to die, she wanted to die with the thought of him living on—no matter how short her life would be.
“Sir, we got incoming.”
Two zombies came from around a boulder, one on each side. From the moans and growls, they were not the only ones near.”
“Belay that order. The bastard is dead already, and if not, they‘ll take care of him soon enough. Return to the chopper. Time to leave this place. Taught them fuckers not to mess with us again.”
They dragged Sarah away from the sight of the zombies closing in on Ralph. This was not how she wanted to remember him. Then, she saw his hand move. Containing a cry so as not to alarm the men, she allowed them to drag her out of sight. Her heart felt lighter with hope. He had awakened in time to get away safely. She wanted to believe it, so she had something to fight for and maybe one day she would see him again. Though her tears didn‘t stop flowing, deep down she knew this was the end. They had lost. And whoever these soldiers were, they had won a world with no real winners.
The End
Ralph heard screams. Sarah? His head hurt. What had happened? He turned his head. No one was around. He pushed himself up. His arms trembled with the effort. A current-like feeling passed through his body. He fell on his side and rolled onto his back. The ground was wet near his head. Sticky and wet. He touched his temple where it hurt; he was bleeding. The bullet had scraped a groove into his skull. Biting the pain back, he ran his finger the length of it. It would leave a nasty scar when it healed. Another quarter of an inch to the left and he would be dead.
He looked around. Sarah was nowhere to be seen. They must have taken her. The scream. It was a female. Her? Other sounds reached him as his dulled senses awakened. He heard their feet scraping over the ground, their moans and snarls. The smell of rot made him retch. He saw them now. Four of them. Two coming straight at him, and one closing in on each side. If he didn“t move soon, he would be surrounded.
With pounding a head and aching muscles, he crawled. His vision flashed white. Wobbling, he staggered forward and fell on his knees with his next step. No, he couldn“t give in. Not now. If he moved now, he might stay away from them. He stood, but his knees buckled, sending him down again.
They were close. His back was turned to them; he couldn“t see them, but he heard and smelled them. From their stench and noise, he knew they were at most ten feet away, probably closer. He kept staring ahead, resting his butt on his heels. Maybe it was for the best if he didn“t see it coming. If only he still had the gun. He would have ended it while he still could. He was fighting hard to stay conscious. The pain throbbed, and his battered mind begged to be allowed to go into a stupor.
He regretted not being able to keep his promise to Sarah. They got separated again. This was the last time he failed, for his fate was sealed. They had taken her to the research center and only Sarah knew where that was. Even if he could get away, he wouldn“t be able to get to her. As if he could do anything anymore. A few more steps and they would be upon him. It was a small consolation, the idea that at least he would not join them.
His muscles tensed. It would happen soon. His sight was getting blurry, on the verge of blacking out. It would be just like sleep, only he would not wake up. He was food now, zombie food. He hoped they got food poisoning from him. Ralph chuckled at the thought—as if the dead ever got sick.
Well there was no helping it. They were there. Death had finally showed up for their appointment. He pressed his fingers against his wound, igniting the mind-numbing pain. Consciousness was slowly leaving him, though not fast enough. He pushed his fingers along the ridge the bullet carved in his skull. Ralph gasped as the pain took over. His eyes rolled back and he slumped forward.
“Ralph? Ralph!”
It was a young woman“s voice, and his last sound he heard before fading out.
Also by A. ROSARIA
Soul Eviction
Red Impish Demon
Absentis: Pamela Pearson
Ghost Worker
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Red Impish Demon
RED IMPISH DEMON
A door, one of many in the rundown apartment building in Chester, a large town on New York City‘s outskirts, was situated near a railway, a factory, and many more rundown buildings like itself. It was by all means a shady part of a town that by the standards of the country was a shady place to be in. As bad as the neighborhood might be, it had nothing on the creature behind that door. And pity the soul that had to go in, the poor soul being Lance Magon, a simple librarian working at a small independent library in a less upscale part of New York City.
Insane as it was to enter the room, his hand still drew out and grabbed the doorknob to turn it. He breathed in the damp, musky air and held his stomach tight with the sudden tensing of his muscles. His body struggled, perhaps knowing better than his mind the dangers that waited for him. Though, if he ever wanted to see her again, he had to go inside.
He pushed the door open and stepped on a faded and stained carpet. The apartment had caked and cracked plastered walls, muddy lights, and molded furniture. But what took his eyes and kept them transfixed was the red, grotesque, short and stocky thing standing in the corner of the room. The size of a full-grown toddler without any of the cuteness. It stood hunched in the shadows with its goat slit pupils and yellow glowing eyes glaring at him. The pupils had the color of the nothingness before creation. Malice beyond Lance‘s understanding oozed out of them. He shuddered. The body of the thing was covered in thin, but slightly long, whitish hair, though not enough hair to cover the bright red of its skin.
Lance‘s body wanted to flee and so did his mind in a sudden lapse of newfound sense, but still he moved forward instead of backward. A small shuffle of his body, an inch at a time, brought him closer to the demon, and with each step nearer his body trembled harder. By the time the gap between them was a foot, he trembled all over and was barely able to stand straight.
“So finally you came,” the creature said with a raspy voice that made Lance‘s vertebrae tremble.
Of course the demon knew. Lance simply couldn‘t leave her alone in hell with the filth residing there. He had to get her out, had to.
“What do you want from me,” Lance asked between clattering teeth.
“You know what I want.”
The impish demon was right. Lance knew all right. It was his soul it wanted, one of two things he would never give up to them, the other one being her.
“Never,” he said.
The creature grinned, showing a row of vile, yellowish rotten teeth. “Yes you will.”
Without a soul it would make it impossible for him to be with her. His soul was only for her to have. He balled his hand.
“Kill me, tear my arms off, shred my whole body to tiny pieces, promise me heaven, hell, whatever I want or abhor, and I still will not give it to you.”
The impish demon glared at him; his grin turned into a nasty snarl. “I see.”
“What else do you
want?” Lance said.
“If not yours, then three other souls.”
Lance‘s eyes widened. What else did he expect, he knew from the research he had done that demons only dealt in souls, if not yours than those of others. A proxy for the devil. He could do that. More than enough evil people walked the earth who deserved a piece of hell. He could find them and trick them into signing the contracts on the dotted line.
The impish demon smiled broadly from one ear to the other, displaying rows of sharp, rotten teeth. “Not any souls. I want souls brimming bright with innocence, souls from two children and one from a nun, though never a priest. Too many priests are matched in wickedness to us demons in hell. That‘s it, them instead of that soulless soul of yours.”
Lance gulped bile down, which suddenly crept up. Kids and a nun, innocent beings. It scared him, not the prospect of getting the souls but that he couldn‘t reject this offer. To get her back he would take those souls no matter how horrible a deed he thought it was. To him it would be a small price to pay to have her back, but had he a choice, he wouldn‘t give them to that demon. Maybe he could find a way. He nodded. He wouldn‘t be the first to deceive a demon.
“So it‘s a deal.”
***End Excerpt***
Red Impish Demon
Table of Contents
TABLE OF CONTENT
CHAPTER ONE
CHAPTER TWO
CHAPTER THREE
CHAPTER FOUR
CHAPTER FIVE
CHAPTER SIX
CHAPTER SEVEN
CHAPTER EIGHT
CHAPTER NINE
CHAPTER TEN
CHAPTER ELEVEN
CHAPTER TWELVE
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
CHAPTER NINETEEN
Also by A. ROSARIA
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