Copyright © 2013 by Michaelbrent Collings
All rights reserved.
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website: http://www.michaelbrentcollings.com
email: [email protected]
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NOTE: This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
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PRAISE FOR THE NOVELS OF
MICHAELBRENT COLLINGS
THE COLONY: RENEGADES (The Colony, Vol. 2)
"Fast pace in your face, the action doesn’t stop…. This bestselling author has done it again…. I didn’t want the book to end…." – Horror Novel Reviews
THE COLONY: GENESIS (The Colony, Vol. 1)
"Once again Michaelbrent delivers a smashing novel with The Colony: Genesis, the first book in a proposed new series. From start to finish, this novel is a fresh look into the world of apocalyptic proportions, brought on by anyone's guess.... the action and intrigue throughout is almost non-stop. I read it in less than two days, and I'm glad I did." – Horror Drive-In
"5 out of 5 stars.... I couldn't put it down." – Media Mikes
"One hell of a roller coaster ride!” – Joe McKinney, Bram Stoker Award ®-winning author of Flesh Eaters and The Savage Dead.
"I barely had time to buckle my mental seatbelt before the pedal hit the metal...." – The Horror Fiction Review
"What a refreshing read. This is the first of a series and if this is any indication of what's to come, count me in! .... If I could, I would gladly give this novel a 10 star rating." – Horror Novel Reviews
STRANGERS
"Highly recommended." – Hellnotes
"Collings is so proficient at what he does, he crooks his finger to get you inside his world and before you know it, you are along for the ride. You don't even see it coming; he is that good." – Only Five Star Book Reviews
"Collings’ most polished and horrific tale to date." – horrornews.net
"Move over Stephen King... Clive Barker.... Michaelbrent Collings is taking over as the new king of the horror book genre." – Media Mikes
"STRANGERS is another white-knuckled journey that demands to be read in one sitting." – The Horror Fiction Review
"Michaelbrent spins a tale that keeps you enthralled from page to page…. Overall I give this novel an A." – The Horror Drive-In
THE HAUNTED
"The Haunted is a terrific read with some great scares and a shock of an ending!" – Rick Hautala, international bestselling author; Bram Stoker Award® for Lifetime Achievement winner
"[G]ritty, compelling and will leave you on the edge of your seat.... The Haunted is a tremendous read for fans of ghoulishly good terror." – horrornews.net
"The Haunted is just about perfect.... This is a haunted house story that will scare even the most jaded horror hounds. I loved it!" – Joe McKinney, Bram Stoker Award®-winning author of Flesh Eaters and The Savage Dead
APPARITION
"Apparition is not just a 'recommended' novel, it is easily one of the most entertaining and satisfying horror novels this reviewer has read within the past few years. I cannot imagine that any prospective reader looking for a new read in the horror genre won't be similarly blown away by the novel." – Hellnotes
"[Apparition is] a gripping, pulse hammering journey that refuses to relent until the very final act. The conclusion that unfolds may cause you to sleep with the lights on for a spell.... Yet be forewarned perhaps it is best reserved for day time reading." – horrornews.net
"Apparition is a hard core supernatural horror novel that is going to scare the hell out of you.... This book has everything that you would want in a horror novel.... it is a roller coaster ride right up to a shocking ending." – horroraddicts.net
"[Apparition is] Riveting. Captivating. Mesmerizing.... [A]n effective, emotional, nerve-twisting read, another amazingly well-written one from a top-notch writer." – The Horror Fiction Review
THE LOON
"It's always so nice to find one where hardcore asylum-crazy is done RIGHT.... THE LOON is, hands down, an excellent book." – The Horror Fiction Review
"Highly recommended for horror and thriller lovers. It's fast-moving, as it has to be, and bloody and violent, but not disgustingly gory.... Collings knows how to write thrillers, and I'm looking forward to reading more from him." – Hellnotes
MR. GRAY (aka THE MERIDIANS)
"... an outstanding read.... This story is layered with mystery, questions from every corner and no answers fully coming forth until the final conclusion.... What a ride.... This is one you will not be able to put down and one you will remember for a long time to come. Very highly recommended." – Midwest Book Review
RUN
"[A] tense and intense scary sci-fi chiller/thriller.... RUN is a winner, as fast-paced as it should be, cinematic and gripping, lots of fun but with moments of poignancy and disturbing paranoia." – The Horror Fiction Review
HOOKED: A TRUE FAERIE TALE
"Hooked is a story with depth.... Emotional, sad, horrific, and thought provoking, this one was difficult to put down and now, one of my favourite tales." – Only Five Star Book Reviews
"[A]n interesting and compelling read.... Collings has a way with words that pulls you into every moment of the story, absorbing every scene with all of your senses." – Clean Romance Reviews
"Collings has found a way to craft an entirely new modern vampire mythology – and one strikingly different from everything I've seen before.... Recommended for adult and teen fans of horror and paranormal romance...." – Hellnotes
RISING FEARS
"The writing is superb. The characters are believable and sympathetic... the theme of a parent who's lost a child figures strongly; it's powerful stuff, and written from the perspective of experience that no one should ever have to suffer." – The Horror Fiction Review
Dedication
To…
My Grandpa Collings,
who told a good wolf story...
And to Laura,
FTAAE.
6 FARES
ONE
TWO
THREE
FOUR
FIVE
SIX
SEVEN
EIGHT
NINE
TEN
5 FARES
ONE
TWO
THREE
FOUR
FIVE
SIX
SEVEN
/>
EIGHT
NINE
TEN
4 FARES
ONE
TWO
THREE
FIVE
3 FARES
ONE
TWO
THREE
FOUR
FIVE
SIX
SEVEN
2 FARES
ONE
TWO
THREE
FOUR
FIVE
1 FARE
ONE
TWO
THREE
FOUR
Epilogue: NEW FARES
One…
6 FARES
Maddie told me she wants to live in Sleeping Beauty's Castle someday. I told her that was a bad idea, because she'd be asleep the whole time and wouldn't be able to enjoy it.
She told me she wasn't worried about that; that she knew I would come and wake her up with a kiss. I smiled and kissed her right then and she asked if that kiss would keep her awake and I told her yes so she asked if she could stay up late and watch a movie. I think she had that in mind the whole time. Crafty little fox.
ONE
================
================
Jim's first indicator that he should have waited for the next subway was the skull driving the train.
But no, that was wrong, wasn't it? Because it happened even before that. It came when Jim was holding the picture. Looking at the picture of his two girls, wishing that he hadn't fought with them.
Maddie was looking at her mother, looking at Carolyn, both of them smiling at each other like they didn't have a care in the world, like there was no such thing as sickness or disease or bills or even so much as the occasional shortage of a favorite sugared cereal. Just them. Just love.
No family fights. No angry words. No misunderstandings. No remorse.
Then Jim smelled it. Smelled it before he saw it.
The smell was sweet. But not pleasant. Sweets, as any post-Halloween child could tell you, were great to a point. After that, though, they were nauseating. And, indeed, Jim immediately felt sick as an almost overpowering smell of bubble gum and lollipops and sourballs and Skittles and Starburst and a hundred other kinds of candy that he couldn't define wafted into his face.
"Pretty," said the voice.
Jim looked toward the sound. He felt his nose and mouth wrinkling in disgust at the smell of sickly sweetness. He tried to stop it from happening, but couldn't. Some fights couldn't be won, some emotions couldn't be hidden, not even by someone who was trained as he was.
"Sorry?" he said. And his mouth was still curled, so much so that the word sounded less like he was apologizing for failing to hear and more like he was issuing a threat. Like he was on the verge of punching the man who had spoken.
Maybe he was.
In his travels through life, Jim had found that there were a few, a very unlucky few, who engendered immediate disgust bordering on hatred in others. And the hunched, ferret-eyed, balding man beside him had just that effect. He was wearing a trench coat, the official garb of pedophiles and flashers everywhere, and Jim couldn't help notice the strange stains that turned it from tan to brown in certain spots. The mousy man looked like he was about thirty-five, though he had the balding pate and bad comb-over of a man who could be as old as fifty. Hard to tell with some people.
"I said she's pretty," said the man. He was eating some kind of colorful candy, and had a purple half-chewed lollipop in one sticky-looking hand.
Geez, thought Jim, this guy is diabetes waiting to happen.
Then he realized that the guy was still looking at the picture he held. At his girls. At Carolyn.
At Maddie.
Maddie was only seven, and the picture was small. No way to tell just by the other guy's eyes exactly who he was looking at. And Carolyn was a knockout, no doubt about it. So most red-blooded males that Jim had ever met would no doubt be drooling over the mother in the picture.
But not this guy. No. Jim's hackles raised. He had experience with guys like this. He knew. He could just tell.
He pulled the picture away from the man. Slowly. Like he was someone who had somehow found himself standing naked in front of a hungry lion while holding a piece of bloody meat.
The other man's eyes tracked the picture hungrily. He put the lollipop in his mouth. "Pretty," he mumbled around the sucker, and then slurped on it as Jim put the picture into the small journal he always carried with him. He put the book into his pocket. A tight fit, but it went in.
"Thanks," said Jim. He tried to say it in a way that would communicate "Don't take this personally but leave me the hell alone."
His new friend didn't seem to get it. The man grinned around lips that had been stained cadaver blue by the lollipop and then shoved out his hand. "Fred," he said. "Fred Piper, but everyone just calls me Fred – Freddy, actually."
The air, already almost unbreathable due to the heavy smell of sweets, now seemed almost toxic. Jim felt like he might pass out. It was only the thought of Fred-Piper-Fred-Freddy-Actually rifling through his pockets and removing the picture from Jim's journal that kept him from going over in a nauseated faint.
He managed to stay upright, but beyond that he didn't know what to do.
Jim looked around. It was early, so there were hardly any people on the platform with them.
Closest to Jim: a stunningly beautiful woman with dark hair. She held a leather satchel and wore expensive clothes and four hundred dollar high-heeled boots. Looked like she was probably one of the high-priced midtown Manhattan lawyers that worked ungodly hours in return for bragging rights, a cramped apartment, and the hope of making partner someday. And, of course, those boots. Totally impractical winter wear, but they screamed money. Jim knew that was important to some people.
Just past her stood a thick-necked black man whose dark sweater and winter coat couldn't quite hide the gang tattoos that curled up his neck before disappearing under the heavy knit hat that covered most of his head. Not to mention the four black tears tattooed directly below his right eye. Jim knew from his work what those meant: one tear for every gang-confirmed kill: the equivalent of painting an "x" on the side of his plane during World War II. Only the war this man had – or still – fought in was a gloomier, more unruly war than that fought by the Greatest Generation. A war fought with drive-by shootings and beat-downs in alleys, with rapes of rivals' cousins and sisters and wives, with Molotov cocktails tossed into ramshackle tenements where firefighters dared not go.
A few feet beyond the gangbanger was another man who was even larger and who somehow seemed to Jim even more dangerous: a white man with a spear-bald head. He looked like he was in his late forties or early fifties, and though he wore only a white button-up shirt and a light suit coat, he seemed utterly immune to the late autumn chill that had made its way even down to the underground subway platform. His forehead was a wide block that looked like it had been formed from an exceptionally ill-tempered piece of granite. His nose was crooked and flattened: broken more than once. His eyes stared straight ahead, but Jim felt certain that the man was not only aware of everyone on the platform, but could also tell where the exits were, where the phones were, and everything else of tactical importance.
Jim knew there would be no help from any of them.
New Yorkers weren't actually the jerks that many comedians and television shows made them out to be. Jim found most of them to be pleasant and helpful. But there were exceptions, and he didn't get a "Just call and I'll be there" feel off of any of the folks on the platform. More a "Just call and I'll help whoever's mugging you to hold you down and then we'll split the take" kind of vibe.
All this observation took only a moment. Less. A split-second. Even so, Freddy was starting to jitter, like the trench coat-wearer was considering throwing himself at Jim for not answering him fast enough. He had given his name, and it was clear he expected to get Jim's name – his full name – in return. Not to mention a
discussion of the "pretty" girl in the picture now safe in the journal in Jim's pocket.
And that was something Jim had no intention of getting into. No intention of engaging this creepy guy in a conversation about anything, let alone about a discussion of Carolyn or Maddie. Especially Maddie.
But what should he say?
He looked around again.
And then Freddy jumped. He yelped. Jim thought for a second that the crazy guy was going to jump on him, then realized that the short shout had been one of pain. At the same moment the weasel, who had been holding his half-chewed lollipop when he screamed, also jumped up. He jerked convulsively and his lollipop punched upward into his mouth. He screamed this time as the jagged shards of the candy rammed through the top of his soft palate.
"Ow!" he yelled. He spit, and candy fragments and blood came out. Jim almost smiled. Almost. But didn't. He was still too freaked out. And now worried as well. What had just happened?
A moment later he had his answer as Freddy whipped around, revealing a short, portly woman. Jim hadn't seen her on the subway platform: she must have been exactly behind Freddy. But when the man turned he could see her easily. She looked like she was in her seventies, probably Hispanic, dressed from head to toe in black. She stared up at Freddy from all of five feet three inches of latina fury.
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