Ghost Ranger

by Dayne Edmondson

  Ghost Ranger

  The Seven Stars Universe Book One

  Written by Dayne Edmondson

  While every precaution has been taken in the preparation of this book, the publisher assumes no responsibility for errors or omissions, or for damages resulting from the use of the information contained herein.

  GHOST RANGER

  First edition. March 20, 2019.

  Copyright © 2019 Dayne Edmondson.

  ISBN: 978-1386470298

  Written by Dayne Edmondson.

  Also by Dayne Edmondson

  The Dark Tide Trilogy

  Emergence

  Eclipse

  Ruin

  The Mageborn Saga

  Mageborn

  The Cursed Tower

  Halls of Light

  The Seven Stars Universe

  Ghost Ranger

  Space Commando (Coming Soon)

  The Shadow Trilogy

  Blood and Shadows

  Time of Shadows

  Shadows Fall

  Standalone

  The Complete Dark Tide Trilogy

  The Complete Shadow Trilogy

  Watch for more at Dayne Edmondson’s site.

  Table of Contents

  Title Page

  Copyright Page

  Also By Dayne Edmondson

  Dedication

  Part One

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Part Two

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

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  Further Reading: Emergence

  Also By Dayne Edmondson

  About the Author

  About the Publisher

  A special thanks to the typo hunters of my ARC team:

  Kathy Brown

  Brian Busby

  Judith Dickinson

  Dick Kellerman

  Ketan Mehta

  Rob Naylor

  Allen Randall

  Part One

  Chapter 1

  My name is Rachel, and I am a ghost. Not the spooky kind spoken of in children’s tales. But I fit the definition. I am dead, technically, and I am among the living. My story began when I was seventeen years old. It’s the story of how I died, and rose again, and how I became one of the deadliest beings in the known galaxy.

  It started one day in high school. There I was, sitting in history class with my communicator out, doctoring up photos of myself to post to social media. You see, I was self-absorbed back then. My life revolved around sleep, school, social media and sports. The four S’s, I joked. Oh, to joke again.

  I pulled myself away from typing my status update to look over at my friend, Isabelle. She was one of my best friends in the universe. Which wasn’t saying much, since Galatia IV was in the armpit of the Federation and had a relatively piss-poor population to match. Anyway, I leaned over and whispered, “hey, where’s Kimberly?”

  Isabelle shrugged, not looking up from where her hand was splayed. She continued stabbing her pen knife down into the wood between her fingers faster than I could track with my eyes. I remember thinking what kind of person did that for fun? It should have been a clue. “She said out sick when I messaged her.”

  I frowned. That wasn’t like Kimberly, at all. Being out sick would ruin her perfect attendance record. For as long as I’d known her, she’d had perfect attendance every year. She had even refused to participate in senior skip day a month earlier.

  Turning my attention back to my communicator I began typing a message to Kim. Hey, where are...

  Our teacher, Mrs. Vanderwell, chose that moment to step into the classroom. “Electronic devices away, children,” she said in her annoyingly deep voice. I swear she’d been a man. She sniffled and wiped her nose with a tissue. Her face was pale. Paler than usual. “And weapons,” she said, staring at Isabelle amid groaning from half the class as they put away their devices.

  Isabelle finally looked up, after an awkward pause, rolled her eyes and tucked the pen knife up her sleeve. She always looked so bored in history class, which was surprising since she aced the class. In fact, she aced every class with ease. I would be lying if I said I wasn’t jealous of her.

  “I am not feeling well today,” our teacher continued. “So, I will brook no sass from any of you. It’ll be straight to detention. Understood?”

  “Yes ma’am,” came a ragged chorus from the first hour crowd. Only the teacher’s pet at the front of the class sounded cheerful.

  “Good.” She broke into a coughing fit.

  A boy behind Rachel started coughing as well. Was everyone getting sick? No, two people coughing was not an epidemic, but it was unusual for spring.

  Mrs. Vanderwell’s communicator buzzed on her desk. She picked it up and read something on it, her lips moving silently and her eyes widening as she went. She said nothing but turned on the video display in the corner and switched it to a news station.

  A news reporter stood outside Beverly Hospital. “I am live outside Beverly Hospital where police are responding to reports of mass hysteria and violence. I’m told that half an hour ago a distress call came from the hospital and police arrived on the scene and entered. We have not yet heard any...” A loud bang sounded behind her and she ducked and turned. “There’s been an explosion.” The camera rose and panned out to where flames blossomed from one of the top floors. “Additional police forces have arrived.” The camera turned to where multiple SWAT vehicles, police and even FIA vehicles trundled up. Skycopters hovered overhead.

  “There are people coming out,” the reporter said, coughing and wiping her brow. The camera focused on the entrance. A mass of figures emerged. They did not run but appeared to be shuffling forward.

  Police and other security forces lined up and started shouting for them to put their hands up. The figures continued walking forward.

  “What the hell is going on,” I wondered aloud. I looked toward Isabelle to gauge her reaction.

  Isabelle had a distant look on her face. It reminded me of the look my father adopted when he was communicating with work. But I didn’t think Isabelle had a communication implant. “Isabelle? Are you watching this?”

  Isabelle shook her head before meeting my eyes. I shivered at the intensity in them. Something had changed. “Yes, I’m seeing it. I was just communicating with my parents.”

  “Oh.” The mysterious parents who were never home yet found time to sign permission slips for field trips. In the two years I’d known Isabelle I had never seen the inside of her home. I pointed at the display. “Well, that’s some crazy shit. Right?”

  “That’s one word for it.” She eyes Mrs. Vanderwell and the boy who had coughed earlier. Another student coughed on the other side of the room by the window. “We need to get out of here. Now.”

  “What do you mean?” I asked, frowning. “We can’t just skip school. I did it last month and my dad grounded me for a week.”

  She ignored me. “Come to the cafeteria with me.” She stood up and walked toward the door, leaving her backpack behind.

  Mrs
. Vanderwell noticed the movement, turned and snapped her fingers. “Where do you think you’re going, Miss. Perigren?”

  Isabelle paid her no mind. She opened the door and left.

  I groaned. She was going to get a week of detention for her stunt. And I would have to bring her backpack along too. I took one last glance toward the display where... “Holy shit,” I said.

  The police were firing on the people. The camera showed several lasers striking one man in the chest. He stumbled but continued toward the line of police. Okay, that’s weird, I thought. That many laser blasts to the chest should have brought him to his knees, whether they were stun blasts or not. The man’s face looked strange, contorted not in pain but in a sort of...vacantness. “Ah, what the hell? Shit has gotten crazy today anyway.” I stood up, slung my backpack over one shoulder and Isabelle’s over the other and walked toward the door.

  “And just where do you think you’re going, Miss Chaskey?” Mrs. Vanderwell demanded. Sweat covered her face and she looked paler than before. She struggled to rise but fell back in her chair with an oomph.

  I hesitated, just for a second. I was soft back then. “I...uh, I’m sorry, I’m not feeling well.” I exited into the hallway, trying not to think about my teacher threatening not one but two weeks of detention if I didn’t return that instant. I hope this is worth it, I thought.

  “Isabelle,” I called. “Where are you?” There was no one in the hallway. Just me, the deviant one. My dad was going to kill me. I walked toward the cafeteria. I passed Mr. Kold’s class but didn’t look inside. A scream erupted from within. I froze, backed up and peered through the window of the door.

  A student lay on the ground, arms flailing. Someone, I wasn’t sure if it was a student from that angle, straddled them. Blood pooled on the ground around them. The one on top was...ripping at their throat with their teeth! The poor soul on the ground gave a final scream before falling silent, blood spurting from their throat.

  Two students tried to pull the assailant off the dying student. They succeeded but the attacker, who looked like Mr. Kold now that I got a good look, grabbed the arm of one and gnawed at it. That student screamed and stumbled backward. Mr. Kold then grabbed the second student, bit into their shoulder and forced them to the ground.

  Shock had given way to panic and the rest of the class ran toward the door. I stepped aside as the door whipped open.

  “Help!” several students shouted. “Someone help!” They paid me no mind as they fled in either direction down the hall.

  It was as if the flood gates had been opened in Panic-ville. Students and teachers poured from classrooms. Shouting from every direction melded into a stew of confusion. The students and faculty stampeded toward the exits. Screams of pain and roars of anger erupted in the distance. Were more people acting like Mr. Kold?

  I muscled my way through the crowd toward the cafeteria, running as best I could without tripping over people. Was Isabelle okay or had she been attacked? I stumbled back when a blood-soaked student stepped out of a classroom in front of me and I got a close-up look at what was causing the hysteria.

  The bloodied student looked at me with eyes devoid of emotion. There were empty pits of nothingness in place of eyes. Dead eyes. Eyes people say I have now. He moaned and started toward me.

  Shit, I thought. I darted to the right, hoping to skirt around the guy, corpse, whatever he was. But he reached out with surprising speed and grabbed at me. He caught my shirt and scratched me in the process. My momentum caused the shirt to rip and I felt a burning sensation run down my arm. I stumbled but didn’t fall and raced the last few meters to the cafeteria doors, which were wide open ahead of me, but conspicuously no one ran in or out. The area around me had emptied. Not looking back to see whether I was being pursued, I stepped inside.

  Bodies littered the floor. Victims with their throats chewed open, staring at the ceiling with empty eyes. Others with limbs missing or wounds to the head. I even saw one person decapitated. I found the nearest trash can and threw up. Boy was I weak back then. One victim I could handle, but this? This was carnage on a scale I’d never seen outside of television shows.

  Movement at the far end of the cafeteria pulled my gaze away from the corpses, for which I was thankful.

  A figure, a woman I thought, based upon her stature, fought several of the infected. That’s what I was calling them now. The infected. Clearly their coughs hadn’t been harmless coughs. The stories I’d read for fun were right - we were amid a zombie apocalypse.

  The woman wore black armor and wielded a pair of black swords. Where had she come from? That shit was a throwback to the early days of Tar Ebon. She kicked one of the infected, sending them stumbling back, stabbed his eye, and all the way through his skull, before spinning and decapitating another.

  A part of my mind told me to run, to go back through the door the way I’d come and hope the first zombie I’d encountered wasn’t smart enough to follow me. I turned to do just that when a moan warned me I was wrong.

  The guy stood in the doorway, gazing at me with vacant eyes. He started shuffling toward me.

  I didn’t think I’d make it past him a second time, and the scratch on my arm burned with greater intensity at the thought of falling into his clutches. I’ll take my chances with the sword-wielding badass, I thought, before running toward the maelstrom of steel occupying the far end of the cafeteria.

  As I approached, I gasped, stumbling to a halt. “Isabelle?”

  My friend must have heard me, for she met my eyes before ducking a swipe from an infected person and stabbing up into their jaw and through their head. Then the impossible - more impossible than Isabelle fighting off uncounted zombies with archaic weapons in an outfit I’d never seen her wear - happened. Isabelle turned to smoke. Not gray smoke, no, pure black smoke, like ink turned to vapor and thrown into the air. Where had she gone?

  I got my answer an instant later when a shadow cloud formed in front of me and materialized into the size and shape of Isabelle. I admit it, I screamed. “What...what?” was all I could stammer.

  “Listen,” Isabelle began, “there isn’t much time and things have progressed further than I originally thought. I am going to take you home. Take my arm.”

  What? Why? How had Isabelle, the girl I’d known for two years, done that? Those questions and more filled my mind, percolating around. But instead I found myself putting a hand numbly on Isabelle’s arm and staying silent.

  Behind Isabelle, the remaining zombies were regrouping and shuffling toward us. For moving so slow they managed to cause a lot of havoc.

  Isabelle glanced down at my right arm. “Were you scratched?” She sounded neither afraid or overly concerned. Like a doctor asking if I’d broken a bone. Not that I’d ever broken a bone before, but if I had that was how I’d imagined a doctor would ask.

  I followed her gaze and winced. The scratch had festered into an angry red sore with blood and dark green fluid oozing out of it. “Yeah. It looks worse than it is.” It throbbed with pain, but in the moment it didn’t hurt that much. “One of the...infected...zombies, whatever, grabbed my shirt when I tried to run past.”

  Isabelle averted her gaze and said nothing. Behind her, the zombies continued their inexorable advance, while the first dude who had scratched me was still a couple meters away. “Hang on tight. And whatever you do, don’t let go.”

  Before I could open my mouth to reassure her that I would hold on for dear life, the world around me shifted into a grayscale version of itself. Complete with infected people, food and even the sky outside the window colored gray. A moment later the scene shifted, and I found myself standing in front of a gray version of my house. Before I’d had a chance to look around, color returned to the world. I stared wide-eyed and slack-jawed at Isabelle. Had they? Had she? I took a moment to gather my thoughts and then asked, “You can shift?” I’d heard it described but never witnessed it or felt it first-hand.

  I half-expected Isabelle to smirk and tri
umphantly reveal a secret about herself or explain what happened. Had she been injected with a special serum, struck by lightning or something else to give her this unexplained power? But she offered nothing. Instead, she again met my eyes and said, “Rachel, Go inside. I will explain more later. Right now I must go.” She turned, suiting action to words.

  “Go where?” I asked.

  My friend looked over her shoulder, then gave me the smirk I knew so well, removing any doubt that somewhere inside the body of a killer was my friend. “To help save the world, of course.” She disappeared in a cloud of shadowy smoke.

  Chapter 2

  No sooner had the shadowy mist disappeared than I was racing up the stairs of our porch and rushing inside. “Dad!” I shouted. Not waiting for a reply, I dropped our backpacks on the floor, grabbed the remote control and clicked the TV on.

  A well-known news reporter from KLYC Rapid Falls was reporting live from outside my school. The running caption read “Viral Outbreak rapidly spreads.”

  The camera zoomed in on lines of police firing beams of light toward lines of infected, lumbering, ragged looking people who shrugged off bolts of energy as if they didn’t even feel them. Judging by the faces I’d seen, they probably didn’t.

  Another camera in the lower corner showed aerial footage of Beverly Hospital. It was fully engulfed in flame and bodies littered the ground. There was no sign of the poor reporter who had been on the ground.

  My father came out of the kitchen. He wore body armor, suspiciously like what Isabelle had worn in school. Where was everyone getting body armor from and where could I get some? A pair of hilts peeked over his shoulders and two holsters holding pistols hung from his belt. He took one look at me and asked, “Were you scratched, at all, anywhere? Did any bodily fluid from any of the infected touch you?”

  The ferocity of his questions caught me off-guard. He could be intense sometimes, but normally he was pretty chill. I nodded, holding up my arm so he could see it. “Yes, one of them scratched me while I was escaping.”