© Walt Browning 2020
All Rights Reserved
Cover Design by Deranged Doctor Design
Edited by Sara Jones
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either products of the author’s imagination or used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events locales or persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental. All rights reserved. No part of this publication can be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, without permission in writing from the author.
The Extinction Survival Series
Lost Valley
Satan’s Gate
Cost of Survival
Warrior’s Fate
Contents
Foreword by Nicholas Sansbury Smith
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Epilogue
Acknowledgements
About the Authors
Foreword
by Nicholas Sansbury Smith
Dear Reader,
Thank you for picking up a copy of Warrior’s Fate by Walt Browning. This is the fourth book in the Extinction Survival series. The first book (Lost Valley) was originally published through Amazon’s Extinction Cycle Kindle World. The story transcended to far more than fan fiction, but unfortunately, Amazon ended the Kindle Worlds program in July of 2018. Authors were given a chance to republish or retire their stories, and I jumped at the chance to republish the series through my small press, Great Wave Ink. Today, we’re proud to offer the Extinction Survival series in paperback, audio, and to readers outside of the United States for the first time ever.
For those of you that are new to the Extinction Cycle storyline, the series is the award winning, Amazon top-rated, and half a million copy best-selling seven book saga. There are over six thousand five-star reviews on Amazon alone. Critics have called it, “World War Z and The Walking Dead meets the Hot Zone.” Publishers weekly added, “Smith has realized that the way to rekindle interest in zombie apocalypse fiction is to make it louder, longer, and bloodier … Smith intensifies the disaster efficiently as the pages flip by, and readers who enjoy juicy blood-and-guts action will find a lot of it here.”
In creating the Extinction Cycle, my goal was to use authentic military action and real science to take the zombie and post-apocalyptic genres in an exciting new direction. Forget everything you know about zombies. In the Extinction Cycle, they aren’t created by black magic or other supernatural means. The ones found in the Extinction Cycle are created by a military bio-weapon called VX-99, first used in Vietnam. The chemicals reactivate the proteins encoded by the genes that separate humans from wild animals—in other words, the experiment turned men into monsters. For the first time, zombies are explained using real science—science so real there is every possibility of something like the Extinction Cycle actually happening. But these creatures aren’t the unthinking, slow-minded, shuffling monsters we’ve all come to know in other shows, books, and movies. These “variants” are more monster than human. Through the series, the variants become the hunters as they evolve from the epigenetic changes. Scrambling to find a cure and defeat the monsters, humanity is brought to the brink of extinction.
We hope you enjoy the Extinction Survival series and continue to the main storyline in the Extinction Cycle.
Best wishes,
Nicholas Sansbury Smith, NYT Bestselling Author of the Extinction Cycle
— 1 —
It is not the strongest or the most intelligent who will survive but those who can best manage change.
— Charles Darwin
The Variant ambled toward him. Its movements were slow and uncoordinated. The creature was thin, but not quite gaunt in appearance. It was slowly starving.
He had come here with the same purpose, to find something to eat. Since arriving in the area, he had been sustained by a few animals he’d managed to find. A rat here and a few bird eggs there. All provided some nourishment, but he was slowly losing the battle, and his weight and strength were dwindling. He was going to die unless he found more to eat.
The Variant lurched and stumbled over debris as it picked through the rubble in search of any kind of protein. He understood the creature’s desperation; his own stomach reminded him constantly about the lack of nutrition. Occasionally, the malformed creature lifted its nose into the air and sniffed, searching for any smell that would lead it to its next, much-needed meal. After a few moments, the Variant growled in frustration and began to search the trash-covered ground again. He waited for the creature to turn away then slid into a doorway and hid in the shadows. He hadn’t been noticed and, for that, he was grateful.
The last six months had been a disaster. The healing of his wounds, following his near-death experience, had taken a physical toll. He was not what he once had been. Before the injuries, he had been a leader, a beacon of strength. Now, he was just trying to survive.
The Variant wandered toward the doorway where he had taken shelter. He shifted further into the shadows. He wasn’t used to hiding, but he only had one arm, and his strength was low. He had to hide. He’d be killed if discovered.
The Variant stopped over a large pile of debris. The big, infected male lifted some of the larger things off the top of the stack and flung them to the side. A rat shot out from under the remaining detritus and ran directly into the darkened doorway where he’d taken refuge.
He froze at the crashing sound of the Variant pursuing the tiny meal then pushed himself further into the shadows. The collapsed ceiling lay behind him, preventing further retreat. The Variant stormed through the opening just as the rat scurried between his legs and into a pile of rafters at his back.
The Variant was quick and hungry. Its glowing yellow eyes locked onto him. It screamed. The sound pierced his chest, squeezing the breath from his damaged lungs. It coiled to strike, sensing a weak and injured enemy. He was as good as dead.
Gone were the listless and disjointed movements he’d seen earlier as it was scavenging for food. The Variant saw him as a large stash of protein that would sustain it for days.
It moved with amazing speed as it launched itself at him. He dropped down and pushed it over his body with his one good arm. The Variant crashed into a pile of lumber, particle board, and drywall behind him. It let out a frustrated howl at its failed attack.
He rolled and ran for the opening. Escape was his only hope.
He made it to the doorway before the creature slammed into his back. He was thrown forward. He dropped to the floor and rolled over. The Variant was already crouched in front of him, preparing for its final strike.
He crawled back, trying to put just a few more inches between him and the monster. His efforts failed to buy him any more time. The Variant leapt onto him and began to attack. It tore his shirt from his weakened frame, and its claws just missed eviscerating his chest.
His one good hand came down on something hard, something cold to the touch. H
e grabbed it just as the creature was beginning to strike once again. He held up his arm in defense, knowing he was doomed. He closed his eyes, waiting for the fatal blow. The Variant’s strike came down on his hand, or rather, the hard object he still grasped.
It screamed in pain.
He opened his eyes and stared in disbelief. The Variant flung itself back from his body, holding up its arm. The claw, once a human hand, had been cut away.
He looked at the object he held and stared in amazement at the shiny, blood-soaked metal. It gleamed in the filtered moonlight as he rolled it back and forth, examining the object that had just prevented his death.
His brain grappled with lost memories. Something about the shiny object was familiar.
Deep down, he knew what this gleaming thing was but struggled to identify it. Like trying to recall an early morning dream, it flittered about in the back of his consciousness and refused to reveal itself.
Another roar came from the Variant as it coiled to once again strike.
He pushed back on the ground, trying to get up. He refused to let go of the cold, metal object. The Variant flew at him, its remaining hand stretched out to grasp his neck. It was going to tear out his throat.
He brought his arm up again, putting it between himself and the monster’s jaw. The razor-sharp teeth and fetid breath hurtled at him. He was too slow to stop it. He didn’t move, his brain freezing with the knowledge of his impending death.
The creature slammed into him then rolled past, coming to rest against the nearby wall. Nothing else happened, and he opened his eyes. The hard object was gone from his hand.
He turned and looked at the Variant. The shiny thing was imbedded in its face, half of it sticking out of one of its eyes, while the rest had penetrated its head. Its other eye stared blankly at the ceiling, and it made no sounds nor movement. Its body lay still. He had killed it.
His mind began to strain. Something struggled to come to the surface. A remembrance or, perhaps, a thought. It had been many months since his brain had gone down this road, and the sensation was both painful and familiar. He sat motionless as ghost memories of a not-too-distant past pushed at and bubbled up from just under the surface of his consciousness.
He struggled with this new feeling. Existence had been simple up to this point. Eat, sleep, and repeat. Survive at all costs. His life hadn’t required anything else.
He stared at the dead Variant then crawled over to the corpse and examined the shiny object that stuck out of its face.
A memory.
From the past. A memory.
He turned and grunted. He remembered.
The one-eyed creature that had once been his companion. It had died like this, the shiny weapon piercing its skull.
Weapon. Yes. He remembered what a weapon was.
Somewhere in the back of his brain, the concept of a weapon materialized.
He could use a weapon to protect himself. He could use a weapon to get food. He could use a weapon to become a leader once again.
He felt something wet on his chest. He looked down and saw a dark liquid, speckled with chunks, oozing out of a wound. The rivulet of blood dripped onto the floor.
He grasped the weapon from the Variant’s skull and yanked it out. It gleamed in the bluish light of the room.
He stared at the dead creature, the hunger within demanding to be fed. He crouched down and plunged the knife into the dead monster’s body. He tore open the gut and began to eat, gorging himself on the Variant’s organs. It wasn’t as desirable as fresh human meat, but he hadn’t had this much food in a long time. He relished the acidic-tinged blood that was infiltrated with the black chunks of infection. His meal crunched as he chewed. He filled his stomach.
With no room left in his belly, he stood up and stared around, looking more closely at where he was.
Shattered bits of clear, sharp glass were scattered on the ground while more of the shiny weapons lay on a small table nearby. He walked over to the case and snarled when he saw a human lying flat on the nearby floor. He raised the weapon to strike, but the human didn’t move. He sniffed the air. He could sense no smell other than that of the dead Variant.
He crouched down and touched the flat body. It was stiff and lifeless. It was an image of a human. A life-sized advertisement poster. It stirred more memories, but they quickly faded away. All he knew was that it wasn’t anything to be feared.
He was about to turn away, when he noticed that the image had a weapon just like his. It looked to be attached to the human’s waist. He stared down at his pants and noticed his belt for the first time. He looked at the image then slid the knife between the belt and his body. It stayed there, immobile, waiting for him to grasp it. He felt strong and safe once again.
A roar echoed from outside.
He rushed to the front entrance; its glass doors had been shattered months ago. He stared out onto the street. A massive horde of Variants was moving up the road.
He panicked and ran back inside, staggering past several metal display racks that were arranged across the floor of the former sporting goods store, sending them tumbling to the ground. Those crashing sounds brought a cacophony of answering cries from outside. By the time he found the back of the building, dozens of Variants had stormed into the abandoned store, barking and growling, searching for the source of the sound.
He tried to hide, but several of the monsters had already seen him. They stormed toward him, their eyes blazing with hunger. He would never live through this.
He found the same hallway where he’d been attacked earlier and slid inside. At least they’d have to come at him one at a time. He withdrew the weapon and turned to the opening. He didn’t have long to wait.
The first Variant was a huge creature, its shoulders barely fitting through the narrow opening. He struck it in the face before it could raise its hand to strike. He pulled the Bowie knife from its skull as it fell lifeless to the tile floor.
The second monster was nearly as large and met the same fate. Both bodies clogged the opening, making it more difficult for those outside to push through. The third creature made it past the bodies, but it was decapitated by a strike to its neck. The body dropped down and blood sprayed across the walls, collecting on the floor. He slipped on the chunky liquid just as a fourth Variant entered the hallway.
It sprang at him. He thrust the knife up into its jaw, sending the ten-inch blade through the floor of the beast’s mouth, up into its palate, finally ending in its frontal lobe. He slid out from under the body as the next two grabbed him by his shoulders. They flung him out the door.
He landed in the middle of a crowd of creatures.
He jumped up and held the knife out. One of the two Variants that had thrown him to the ground went down, bowels dropping to the floor, from a slashing strike that eviscerated its stomach. A Variant leaped at him from the crowd, only to be met with a strike to its neck. The blow left its head dangling from its spinal cord, limply hanging as more blood sprayed the crowd.
An earsplitting roar echoed from the back.
The crowd parted and the largest Variant he’d ever seen strode forth, flanked by massive guards that shoved the slower crowd back. The king had arrived.
He slouched to the ground, worn out by the battles he’d just fought. The giant Variant walked to the edge of the crowd and looked around at his dead minions. The bodies were scattered on the floor, blood pooling at their feet.
It looked at him, scanning him like a piece of fresh meat.
He stood up and brandished his weapon, pointing it at the leader. He grunted, challenging the leader to strike.
It stared at him, moments dragging by, the room eerily silent as they all stood quietly.
“Teach us,” it said.
He stopped. The words tickled his brain, teasing out lost memories.
“Teach us,” it repeated, pointing at the knife.
He understood. He put the knife in his belt and walked to the leader. It stood quietly in f
ront of him, a long scar running diagonally from its face to its hips. Gouges and bite marks marred its flesh. It had been through many battles, and now, it had made it to the top. It was to be respected.
He grunted and nodded his head. The redheaded monster barked at his guards then turned and walked away.
Within moments, the mob descended on the corpses, carrying them away to be consumed later. The rest followed the leader, other than a few dozen fierce-looking males who remained behind, looking expectantly at him.
Several hours later, half of the guards had absorbed the concept of a weapon. He taught them what a knife was, and all the store’s supplies of edged weapons were carried away. When he was finished, sixteen of his fellow Variants had learned how to use a knife or ax. They had evolved.
As he turned to leave the store, he saw the remnants of his shirt on the floor. He picked it up and gazed at the tattered material, staring at two patches that were sewn onto its front panels. He dropped it back to the ground. It wouldn’t be needed anymore.
The one-armed warrior followed his new companions out into the night air. As the cotton garment fell listlessly to the tile, the patch that had attracted him lay facing up.
The logo was from a security company. The nametag read Charlie.
— 2 —
The art of war teaches us to rely not on the likelihood of the enemy’s not coming, but rather on the fact that we have made our position unassailable.
— Sun Tzu
Lost Valley
Four Months Later
Carver rolled to the side of the bed. Dropping his feet to the floor, he sat motionless, giving the overhead fan a chance to blow the room’s stagnant, humid air over his sweating back. It provided no relief.
He grabbed his watch and pressed its illumination button. He silently cursed when his G-SHOCK Mudmaster failed to light up. The battery had finally died.
Extinction Survival Series | Book 4 | Warrior's Fate Page 1
