After the Fall- The Complete series Box Set

by Charlie Dalton

  Tears burned hot in Min’s eyes. Her lips pull back into a snarl. And then, all at once, Min felt nothing. She was no longer there to feel it either.

  The door opened. The leader’s eyes opened in shock.

  The old herbalist’s body fell from the doorway, mouth wide open, and fell upon the leader. A disgusting groan, followed by a meaty crunch.

  The rest of the gang were distracted by the scene. They didn’t see Min, who had long since lost her own grip on life.

  She rushed forward, fingers curled into claws as she bulldozed through the shocked gang members. Her fingers ripped into soft flesh, a sickening warmth dribbling down her fingers. Their pained and alarmed screams were music to her ears.

  Min lunged and sank her teeth into the flesh of their necks. Yu Ji’s strangled squeal reverberated against her teeth. She could taste the fear thrumming through the vein against her tongue. Min’s jaw clamped tight and with a great and wonderful yank, something hot and wet slapped against her face. The screaming hit new volumes.

  Kill them, a voice deep inside said. Kill them all.

  16.

  MOSCOW, RUSSIA

  ANTON’S FINGERS squeezed the bridge of his nose in a feeble attempt to quell the pain splitting his head. It was barely afternoon. It was usually around this time that the office building became comfortably empty as Anton’s coworkers left for lunch. He didn’t dare leave though, not when there was open violence in the streets.

  His computer screen stared back at him, the little bar in his Word document blinking. Try as he might, the words on his report sheet looked fuzzy, meaningless. Anton gave a soft groan, massaging his temples.

  His fingers shook as he continued to type, body curled over in a miserable haunch. I have to finish the report for Bogdan’s presentation.

  Ah, yes. Bogdan. How nice it would be to punch him square in his perfect teeth.

  A small smile quirked the corners of Anton’s lips. It would be very nice to finally turn and slam his knuckles in his boss’s mouth.

  Would each piece of bone fly out? Would they litter the company carpet like discarded pearls? Would they have traces of bloody gums? Or would they jump to the back of his throat? Would they dig deep and choke him?

  Anton felt a sharp tickle pull behind his nose. He sneezed. The pain in his head doubled and the fantasy disappeared when Anton realized his screen was now speckled with blood. This again.

  Anton dabbed his fingers under his nose and saw red. He grunted with deep irritation, reaching into his pocket to pull out disposable tissues. He busied himself by cleaning the monitor and keyboard.

  “Just trauma from the car accident,” Anton said with a mocking edge in his voice. Now he wanted to punch his doctor in the face too. “‘Take some Tylenol, you’ll be fine.’”

  Anton snorted, sniffing back more blood and mucus before he rammed more tissues up his nose. A stab in his head made Anton stop and hiss a delicate grunt. It shot like lightning through his skull until it sank harder teeth into his neck. Anton bit back a whimper and lowered his head against his desk, waiting for the pain to fade.

  That was the fifth time today.

  Anton’s left hand sank from his desk into his jacket, fingers seeking. He stiffened and his eyes snapped open in a panic. He jerked away from the desk and ran his hands over his neck and chest, patting for any sign of the charm that had disappeared. Then, he froze, eyes wide as realization dawned on him.

  Anton turned and looked at a single white envelope left on the corner of his desk. He glared at it before he pulled it into his bloodstained hand. He gave it an experimental squeeze to feel the thick wad of cash hidden within. This was the payment for his meteorite, the only good thing that had happened to him. He had given it away without even arguing.

  A bubble of anger rose from Anton’s chest and settled behind his throat.

  The pain in Anton’s head escalated to a steady pounding, rattling behind his teeth. Yet the anger in his blood relished each abuse with a slow-rolling fire.

  How nice would it be right now to find those men and take back his rock? I found it. It’s mine. It belongs to me. It would be so nice to find those men and rip open their faces until there was nothing but red.

  Yes. That would be nice. Delicious.

  “Anton?” a voice said.

  Vera snapped him out of the enraged trance. Anton dropped the envelope with a jolt. He scrambled to snatch it from the air, but it tumbled out of his grasp and into an open drawer. He glanced up with his heart in his throat and a chill in his veins.

  A deep sigh pushed through Anton’s chest when he saw Vera standing at the threshold of his door. Her Mickey Mouse watch glimmered under the faint sunlight that streamed through his blinds.

  “Oh, Vera,” Anton said through a shaky breath. “Hello.”

  “Are you alright?” Vera said, honey eyes crinkling in concern. “You look pale. Oh! And your nose! It’s bleeding!”

  Anton’s hand shot up, registering with a wince that the tissues in his nose had soaked through. He turned away to hide his face and find more tissues.

  “Ah, right, it’s alright,” Anton said. “It’s nothing.”

  “Are you sure?” Vera frowned. “I can get you something to drink if you want.”

  “Thanks,” Anton said. “But I’ll be fine.”

  “Maybe you should go home, Anton,” Vera said. “You need to take care of yourself.”

  Anton’s lips curled around mute words, taken aback by Vera’s kindness. He gave her a small smile.

  “Thank you, Vera,” he said. “But I’m really okay.”

  Vera smiled back at him. Anton became aware of how she hung by the door. A breath filled him and the pain in his head ebbed away for a moment. It was enough for Anton to think of saying something. Bravery swelled in his heart just as Vera tilted her chin with curiosity. Would she. . . ?

  “Ivanenkov,” Bogdan’s voice barked behind Vera.

  Vera started in surprise just as Bogdan’s cold expression appeared behind her. Anton’s mouth screwed shut, bravery gone. His headache returned with a vengeance.

  “Ivanenkov,” Bogdan said again with pronounced annoyance. “My office. Now.”

  Bogdan disappeared just as swiftly as he had arrived. Anton stared after him with growing dejection. Vera pursed her lips, uncertain.

  “He’s in a nice mood,” she said, crossing her arms. “As usual.”

  Anton let out a breath of mild relief. It was good she wasn’t blinded by the charm Bogdan was famed for. Anton gave her a small smile that fell to a pained grimace when he stood up too quickly.

  The world spun and Anton’s stomach gave a dangerous lurch. A hand at his chest stopped him from falling over. Blinking away vertigo, he sucked in a breath when he saw Vera’s eyes a little over a foot away.

  “Anton,” Vera said. Her voice signalled alarm. “You’re not okay, you need to head home.”

  “I can’t,” Anton said. “I have work.”

  He pulled away, hating himself for the blood that dribbled down his chin and the unrepentant throb in his skull. He wiped the blood away with his hand and pushed past Vera’s concerned expression.

  “You’re not well,” Vera said.

  Anton blinked. She was in front of him again. The distance made him flinch with insecurity. The last thing he wanted was for her to be so close while he was so ill. There was little doubt he reeked of disease and a shattered self-esteem.

  Anton cleared his throat and ducked around her, before saying, “Thank you for caring,” in a hoarse voice.

  Vera’s eyebrows furrowed in a stressed expression, but she pulled away after he failed to budge at her persistence. She sighed and reached into her pocket to pull out a handkerchief. Anton’s heart fluttered when she placed her too-clean hand so close to his blood-stained fingers. The soft cotton handkerchief teased him with its pristine color.

  “Go talk to Bogdan, then go home, yes?” Vera said sternly, but not without kindness.

  Anton huff
ed with unspoken protests, but a treacherous itch in his throat silenced them. He turned away, shoving the handkerchief against his mouth to stifle the violent coughing that ripped through his chest. Anton realized he had soiled this one gift from pure Vera with blood and sickness.

  “Sorry,” he said.

  Vera smiled at him and shook her head. She reached over and gave his arm a squeeze.

  “Keep it,” she said. “You need it more than I do.”

  “Ivanenkov!” Bogdan said, voice bellowing through the office.

  Anton’s heart fell. Tearing himself from Vera’s soothing presence was the last thing he wanted right now. Vera gave him a soft smile before disappearing behind the threshold of the door.

  He hurried along as quickly as he could, leaning against the wall should his balance fail him. Anton hoped Vera had gone to do something else. He didn’t want her to see him so weak. The elevator doors near the edge of the hall parted with a ding.

  A crowd of people ambled out, exchanging brightened chatter. The chatter fell when people noticed Anton. He ducked from the pointed stares and hushed whispers. He tried not to care.

  The door to Bogdan’s office was open when Anton arrived, sniffling blood and mucus. His mind gave an abrupt lurch. Anton struggled to remain upright when he stood a few feet from Bogdan’s desk.

  If Bogdan noticed Anton, he didn’t show it, busying himself with typing away on his large monitor. Anton waited for a long minute, his patience growing thin.

  “Close the door,” Bogdan said.

  Anton almost missed it, until Bogdan shot him an annoyed glare. Anton hurried back toward the door and pushed it closed. The door slid shut with a click. Anton let out a shaky breath.

  “Take a seat, Ivanenkov,” Bogdan said, voice light and cheery.

  Anton’s insides tightened with a wary squeeze. He did as he was told.

  “How long have you been working here, Ivanenkov?” Bogdan said. “I forget.”

  “Fifteen—” Anton said, his voice leaving him for a moment.

  He dry-swallowed and tried again.

  “Fifteen years,” he said.

  Bogdan leaned back on his desk and studied Anton with a curious expression. His fingers plucked a pen from his desk and began to twirl it. Anton’s eyes fell over the pen, watching it as it turned and flicked between Bogdan’s fingers. His throat worked in a feeble attempt to bring back some energy into his chest. The motions of the pen made Anton feel dizzier, the pain throbbing with every twist.

  “Do you know why the Romanov family fell, Ivanenkov?” Bogdan said.

  Anton’s eyes blinked as he registered the question. It was not quite what he was expecting.

  “Yes,” Anton said, unsure where this was going. “Of course.”

  “Would you mind telling me?” Bogdan said, the pen still twirling between his fingers.

  “The Tsars had done nothing to help provide for the people,” Anton said.

  His throat felt like sand.

  “Revolution at that time was imminent and Nicholas II had not been prepared to rule,” he said.

  “Good answer, Ivanenkov,” Bogdan said with a sage nod. “However, not the correct answer. Would you like to know what it is?”

  Not really, and his guts were hurting, but Anton would play along.

  “Yes,” Anton said.

  “Because of Alexandra Feodorovna,” Bogdan said, looking pleased with himself.

  Anton’s eyes narrowed in confusion until something clicked in his mind.

  “It is common knowledge that Alexandra had weakened Nicholas’ reign over Russia,” Bogdan said. “Her German and English heritage had lost the trust of the people, and she was far too meek and tiny to do anything. Some said Nicholas was too weak a ruler; too kind and gentle to stomach the necessities of war. But, I believe that even a weak man could become great if he has the proper support.”

  Anton sniffed back another slippery trail of blood. Bogdan didn’t pay it any attention.

  “Much like ruling a kingdom, ruling a company has its challenges,” Bogdan said, shifting to place his elbows on his large desk. “There are people who depend on the resources and successes of the company, workers who—if given the chance—would rip this place apart and tear it down. Much like Alexandra Feodorovna, they need to be removed before they do too much harm.

  “Companies, kingdoms, empires. They all work in a similar fashion, Ivanenkov, much like a clock with its cogs and mechanisms. If you put in useless pieces the clock stops working and the empire falls. My job here is to make sure that never happens.”

  Bogdan paused for a moment to give Anton a very uncaring look.

  “You, Anton, are one of these useless pieces,” he said.

  Everything slowed to a complete stop. There was nothing in Anton’s mind. He stared until everything began to catch up. Anton’s eyes began to burn and his throat tickled something fierce.

  He was so far gone that Anton didn’t realize his head had fallen forward to his chest. He didn’t notice the slick, hot blood that dribbled down his nose and leaked from his eyes. All the while, Bogdan just kept talking. Suddenly he stopped.

  “Are you listening to me, Ivanenkov?” he said.

  Anton doubled over, coughing, a mix between a laugh and a sob. Blood spilled from the edges of his lips to splash across the floor.

  “What the hell is the matter with you?” Bogdan said, face contorted with disgust.

  Anton’s head rose to meet Bogdan’s expression. All the color in the businessman’s face drained, exposing his horror. Anton’s chest bubbled with a giggle that exploded into a horrifying laugh. Bogdan flinched and pressed his back against his chair, unable to look away.

  Anton surged forward and slammed his hands on the desk. Bogdan let out a yelp of horror, trying and failing, to squirm away.

  Anton’s fingers dug into Bogdan’s throat, cutting Bogdan’s scream short. Bogdan struggled against his hold, fighting for a handhold that simply wasn’t there. There was nothing of Anton left to grip hold of.

  Anton swooped down, teeth parting to sink into Bogdan’s throat. Bogdan’s scream hitched into a panicked squeal that ended with an awful riiiip.

  The black pen fell to the thick carpet beside Bogdan’s unmoving corpse and did not twirl again.

  17.

  DEMILITARIZED ZONE, SOUTH KOREA

  “YOU LOOK like shit.”

  Private Jeff Roswell glanced up from staring at his bowl of cereal. Soldiers milled about the mess hall and spoke in easy-going tones. Standing ahead of his table was Jeff’s translator and partner, Sae-Kyun. Jeff gave the Korean soldier a withering glare, to which Sae-Kyun responded with a belligerent grin.

  “Sorry,” Sae-Kyun said. “Is that not what Americans say when one is sick?”

  “I’m not sick,” Jeff said, stirring his spoon in his soggy cereal. “I’m just tired.”

  “Then if you’re not sick, why are you sitting like you swallowed a lemon?” Sae-Kyun said.

  Jeff frowned. What an odd thing to say.

  “I’m not—look, I’m real tired today, Sae-Kyun,” Jeff said. “I just want to eat my cereal and go call my sister.”

  “Oh, that’s right!” Sae-Kyun said.

  The soldier slid down the bench to sit beside Jeff. He clapped Jeff on the shoulder, causing Jeff to flick some cereal out of his bowl, over the table. Jeff turned to see Sae-Kyun smiling wide, nonplussed.

  “Today’s your first official call back home!” he said. “Lucky you. Most soldiers wait months for that. You got to wait only three weeks!”

  “Feels like eternity,” Jeff said.

  He smiled after a moment, sniffing.

  “I wonder how they’re doing,” he said.

  “You should worry about how you’re doing, Jeff,” Sae-Kyun said.

  He pointed at Jeff’s nose. Jeff ran a hand over his upper lip. It felt slick to the touch. When he glanced down, a long streak of blood covered his palm. Sae-Kyun pulled out a napkin and handed it to him.
r />   “I’m just feeling lousy, that’s all,” Jeff said, stuffing the napkin up his nose. “I’ll feel better tomorrow.”

  “You better hope so,” Sae-Kyun said. “I just heard they want us to do some extra inspections on the front. Apparently there’s a rumor the northern soldiers are going to attempt something.”

  Jeff snorted.

  “Isn’t that always the rumor?” he said. “I’ve heard that almost every day since I showed up.”

  Sae-Kyun shrugged.

  “You never know,” he said. “Anyway, buck up, soldier! See you soon!”

  Jeff waved his friend goodbye and returned to his bowl of cereal. A wave of nausea and vertigo made him groan. Not today. He rose to his feet, carrying his tray with him, and hobbled over to the mess hall’s food disposal.

  “Private Roswell!” a soldier called from the exit.

  Jeff winced, skull pounding. He drew a deep breath in an attempt to clear his head and headed over to the man at the door.

  “Sir,” Jeff said, jogging to the corporal.

  Jeff sucked in another breath when his vision swam while the soldier relayed his orders. None of it made sense. Jeff shook his head and stifled a groan in pain.

  “Sorry, sir, could you repeat that?” he said.

  “Are you sick, Private?” the corporal said.

  “No, sir,” Jeff said, standing straight.

  The corporal arched a brow at him, unconvinced. The man said nothing for a moment before he pointed in the opposite direction.

  “Get to the barracks, soldier,” he said. “You’re going to get everyone sick at this rate.”

  Jeff wilted, nodding when he couldn’t formulate a proper retort. Jeff did his best to hurry along, every step like stepping on glass, every breath like embers squeezed into his lungs. Sweat poured down his face, slicking the edges of his brows and hollow of his cheeks. Jeff’s hands swatted mindless midges away, his vision blank as he moved.

  “You all right?”

  Jeff heard the voice, but couldn’t pinpoint it. He didn’t stop moving.