by A. P. Fuchs
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REDEMPTION OF THE DEAD
by
A.P. Fuchs
Published by Coscom Entertainment at Smashwords.com
This book is also available as a paperback at your favorite online retailer like Amazon.com or through your local bookstore.
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The fiction in this book is just that: fiction. Names, characters, places and events either are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events or persons living or dead or living dead is purely coincidental.
ISBN 978-1-927339-28-2
Redemption of the Dead is Copyright © 2012 by Adam P. Fuchs. All rights reserved, including the right to reproduce in whole or in part in any form or medium.
Published by Coscom Entertainment
www.coscomentertainment.com
Text set in Garamond; eBook Edition
Second Printing
Cover Art by Gary McCluskey
Interior “Zombie Head” Art by A.P. Fuchs
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For Keith Gouveia, fellow writer, editor, but most importantly, best friend.
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REDEMPTION OF THE DEAD
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Prologue
Completion
One year ago, outside of Time . . .
The demon Bethrez moved quickly through the rocky tunnels of Hell, the news he had been waiting for finally about to become a reality.
As he emerged into a cavern at the end of a long corridor, he came to a sudden stop atop his reptilian feet. His commander, Holgrack, stood before him, with dark eyes the size of eggs and rough scaly skin that made even Bethrez’s own appear smooth by comparison.
“Is it true?” Bethrez asked.
Holgrack simply nodded.
“Are you certain?”
“I would not have summoned you if it wasn’t. The master had called a meeting and I was in attendance. The whisperings are true: all is ready.”
“And the converter?”
“Come, this way.”
Holgrack led Bethrez through another long corridor lit by the ambient light from the great lake that burned with fire beyond its walls. At the end of the corridor, they turned left and emerged into a sunken room made of stone. Toward the rear wall was an oblong frame carved out of the ancient stone from the bed of the fiery lake itself. Along the frame’s border was the master’s name in every known tongue, both presently spoken and extinct, even in the languages only known to those of the unseen realm. Written within the characters of the master’s name was another phrase: “To merge, to change, to die, to live in death.”
Bethrez asked, “And it works?”
“You will soon see, my friend, but take pride in this moment for what stands before you is the fruition of your labors.”
“But it was you who brought it to the council and was appointed overseer of this project.”
“Though true, it was still your idea, your genius. I foresee great exaltation for you should this operate as you suggest.”
Bethrez inspected the structure. “It seems properly put together. The last two had flaws, even just in the characters written. One out of place mark and it will not work as planned.” He gazed up at the frame.
“What is it?” Holgrack asked.
“Which chamber are we in?”
“Cave D-S-Seventeen-Lateral-J.”
Bethrez muttered the name back to himself. “This is in the wrong location!”
“How dare you raise your voice to me!”
“And how dare you and your men once again go against my instruction.”
“You are in no position to tell me what to do, underling.”
“I might not be, but I know someone who is.” Bethrez pushed his way past Holgrack and headed into the dank corridor beyond the room.
A sudden force knocked out his legs from under him and he hit the stone ground, chin first. Flipping over onto his back, he put his arm out to block Holgrack’s fist as it came down on him, and instead was able to deliver a swift blow of his own.
“Get off me!” Bethrez shouted.
The shouts of other demons a few passages over echoed throughout the corridor.
Holgrack removed his sword and brought its jagged blade against Bethrez’s throat. He applied so much pressure that Bethrez’s esophagus was collapsing against his vertebrae.
With a grimace, Bethrez lashed out with his claws and cleaved a chunk of flesh from Holgrack’s face, tearing away scaly skin and sending a spray of black blood into the air. It was enough of a distraction for him to grab Holgrack’s wrist and push it and the blade away from his neck.
He struck his commanding officer again and got out from under him.
“I will kill you!” Holgrack shouted.
Bethrez simply shook his head. His commander has never been bright, but had been chosen to lead after centuries of being one of the finest warriors in all of Hell’s ranks. What Holgrack didn’t know was Bethrez was also highly skilled, though it was something he never showed to his kin and only unleashed on the battlefield when going up against those blasted angels of Heaven.
Holgrack lunged into the air, angled the blade, and brought it down into Bethrez’s shoulder. Bethrez turned away, then swung back with a backhand to Holgrack’s head.
“Fool,” Bethrez said. “You just gave me your weapon.” He pulled the blade from his shoulder, ripping out scaly flesh and gobs of stringy blood in the process.
Holgrack moved in and Bethrez feigned to bring the blade in from high up, then switched hands and brought the blade from down and low, plunging it deep into Holgrack’s chest. As Holgrack reached for the blade, Bethrez swatted his commander’s hands away, removed the blade and jumped over him. Once behind, he brought the blade down into Holgrack’s skull. His commander dropped to his knees, then fell forward, the blade still stuck in his head.
Holgrack’s fate was sealed. Despite being immortal, his evil spirit would leave his scaly body and be forever chained to the fiery lake, never to escape again.
Bethrez spat on his commander’s body then stormed down the corridor just as other reptilians emerged from the tunnels.
“What have you done?” one of them asked him.
“Go see for yourself,” he said, and went off in search of Vingros, the very one Holgrack answered to. “It must be tested. The portal must work.”
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1
Devil Rising
The Present . . .
Sharp bits of jagged glass pierced Joe’s lips and cheeks as the truck spun upside down across the pavement. Billows of dust blew against his skin like coarse sand, scratching across its surface. Eyes squeezed shut, mouth the same, he could barely breathe through his nose, each tiny breath a miniscule sip of dirty air. He shoved his hand back against his mouth, trying to filter out the debris flying around inside the cab. Tracy was somewhere in here with him. A couple of times he felt her body knock against his as the howling wind outside tossed the truck around like a beach ball.
Ear piercing, nails-against-a-chalkboard screeches wracked Joe’s hearing. It came from right beneath him, the cab’s roof scraping across the cement as it slid along pavement.
He wanted to call out Tracy’s name, but when he opened his mouth, a thick puff of dust managed to get past his hand and dump into his mouth. Scraping the filthy paste off his tongue, he spat it out as best he could, most of it landing against the hand in front of his lips only to get shoved back in his mouth again as the truck moved.
The finely-tuned ping-ping-ping of dusty debris raining against the truck’s hull grew louder as a huge gust of wind blew the truck off its roof and back onto its side. It rocked a couple of time
s before the sound diminished and the truck finally stopped moving.
Coughing, Joe slowly moved his hand away from his mouth, using the other to brace himself against the steering wheel, his elbow caught by the gearshift. Spitting, then swallowing gobs of mucky dust, he hacked them back out, his stomach sick with pronounced nausea.
Coughing again, he finally managed to bark out Tracy’s name.
No response.
“Tracy,” he wheezed as his breath caught; he coughed out another gob of wet dust. He blinked his eyes open. The entire interior of the cab was coated in light brown at least half an inch thick. Beneath him, the dust was even thicker—several inches—so much so that his leg, which had gotten itself parallel to the front seat and hung down by the passenger side, was covered in dust up to his ankle.
“Tracy,” he said again. Joe pushed against the steering wheel and straightened himself as best he could before having to adjust to get his elbow free from between the gearshift and ashtray. Glancing over to the passenger side, he saw her body upside down, her knees up against the passenger seat, the rest of her torso hanging over onto the cab’s floor. Her head was mostly covered in dust and gravel. “Tracy!”
Joe scrambled to lunge his body forward and get himself in a position to pull her up. Able to get beside her and keep gravity’s pull at bay by pressing his knee against the radio, he grabbed her by the waist and pulled up and back. Her head was so far under the glove box that he couldn’t hoist her any higher lest he risk smacking it against the box’s underside and possibly complicating any injuries she had sustained.
The passenger window was blown out; glass mixed with the dust and gravel littered the cab. Stretching past her, he reached up and grabbed the edge of the passenger window’s frame and pulled his body up. With a quick bend forward, he was able to shift his weight and climb out of the cab like climbing out of a pool. Now on top of the cab, knees against the truck bed, he tried to open the door. The handle moved, but the door only budged a half-inch and no more, and it wasn’t gravity keeping it down. The entire door mangled, the metal and plastic crumpled, part of the cab side was ripped and bent over the door, acting like a mini latch. He tried to bend it upright so as to free the door, but he wasn’t strong enough.
Wiping the sweat from his forehead and coughing out some more dust, Joe straightened his body, got as close to the open window as possible without losing his balance, then brought his knees back up under him. He reached in slowly so he wouldn’t tip, and once again put his hands and forearms around Tracy’s waist.
“Have to get her head free,” he said, straining. She’ll suffocate, otherwise. “Come on, Tracy.” He pulled against her, this time able to have the leverage to pull her away from under the glove box before dragging her up.
Joe got her upper body free. Her arms and head hung limp. He quickly debated checking for a heartbeat, but thought better of it and decided the best course of action was to just get her free from the truck.
“I won’t let you die. Not you, too.”
April had died at his own hand, but she had already become one of the undead creatures before that. Despite the wall he’d put around his heart since that day, he found his kinship with Tracy had penetrated it enough for him to care about her.
He quickly adjusted himself so he sat on the truck door, his legs now dangling inside the cab. He reached low and readjusted his grip on Tracy before pulling up with everything he had. Her body turned in his arms, her legs dropping beneath her. He held her tight and with a heave, pulled her up hard enough so he could momentarily let go and get his hands and arms under her even more securely. He did the same thing again, and was able to jerk her body up so her upper half was now across one thigh, her legs hanging between his.
Gravity no longer an issue, he put his fingers to her neck and listened for breathing.
She wasn’t, and with the hollow moans of the giant undead floating on the air from downtown distracting him, he wasn’t sure if he felt a pulse either.
“Tracy!” he said and shook her. He forced her mouth open, pinched her nose, and pressed his lips against hers. He breathed out, hopefully getting enough air in her lungs to jumpstart her breathing. He listened. Nothing. He yanked on her harder and got her out of the truck even more. He pressed his palms hard against her chest and pressed down three times. He breathed into her again and pumped her chest once more.
Joe kept up the CPR, whatever it took, however long.
Please, God, no. Don’t take her. Not Tracy. I need . . . “. . . I need her.”
He breathed into her mouth again, pumped his hands against her chest, waited a moment, then resumed trying to resuscitate her. Screaming, he cursed at the sky and got back to work, the heavy dust lingering on the air not helping him any.
Once more and . . . Tracy wheezed.
“Yes, yes! Breathe! Breathe!” He leaned in to give her air again and about halfway through his breath, she coughed wet dust up into his face and started to gag. “Yes, yes! Cough. Get it out.”
Invigorated, adrenaline pumping, he hoisted her into a sitting position and tapped her firmly on the back several times. Tracy kept gagging and coughing as she let out wads of wet dust.
Somehow in the middle of all this, Joe clearly heard the word, “Ow.” He stopped slapping her on the back.
“You’re . . . hurting . . .” She coughed and yacked out some more moist dirt. “You’re hurting . . . me.”
He stopped and wanted to hit her on the back again to ensure she got everything, but stopped himself.
Tracy coughed some more before finally getting in a deep, long breath. She exhaled then panted hard and fast.
“You’re alive,” Joe said. “You’re alive.” He couldn’t believe it and the emotions flooding through him caught him off guard and sent his thoughts into a whirlwind. Barely able to concentrate, but so happy she was okay, he reached around her and hugged her tight. “You’re alive, Tracy. Thank God.”
“Joe . . .” was all she said before coughing again.
* * * *
Body shaking, every muscle weak from strain, Tracy held onto Joe as tight as she could as he piggy-backed her away from the truck and further from the city, the aim trying to clear the cloud.
She had nearly died. There had been many close calls since the dead began to rise, even since meeting Joe, but she had felt herself go to that place of darkness where any thought and idea of herself and her body was gone. All she remembered was a strange sense of awareness that she was on the edge of being transformed into something new. Whether something good or bad, she didn’t know. Just some kind of transformation. Yet there was also an extreme heaviness, one not physical, but almost spiritual.
That was all she could recall.
She closed her eyes and rested her head against the back of Joe’s shoulder.
“You okay back there?” he asked.
“Mm hm,” she said.
“Hey, Tracy, you okay back there?”
“I said yes,” she said louder.
“Didn’t hear you.”
The dust eventually began to clear. They were in the suburbs, a fairly modern neighborhood that looked to have been built in the eighties, one they passed when driving back to the city.
Finding shelter under a large pine, Joe eased her down. When she landed on her feet, she wobbled and fell against him. Joe grabbed her and slowly lowered her to the ground.
“Is it . . . is it okay here?” she asked.
“I think so,” he said. “While trying to get away from that dust cloud” —he coughed— “I saw the shadows of a few of them, but made sure to keep away. Didn’t see any in this neighborhood, though.”
“Do you have your gun?” she asked.
Joe’s eyes went wide as he patted himself over. His expression sank. “I gave it to you.” He started to get up as if he was going to take off back to the truck, but stopped himself mid-stand and squatted down again. “Do you?”
Tracy couldn’t feel the solid security of
a weapon resting anywhere against her. “No, I’m sorry.” She saw the disappointment in his gaze.
She took a deep breath and coughed some more. It would probably be a few days before she expelled all that had built up in her lungs during the accident.
“How are you feeling?” he asked.
She was sore all over, especially her gut and chest. She didn’t think anything was broken, just strained. “I’ll live.”
“Wonder what caused that dust storm?”
“I don’t know.”
He was running through a mental checklist, she knew, because she was, too. “It’s sheltered enough under here, but nowhere near safe. Why don’t you rest here for a bit then we’ll get up and take it from there?”
She nodded, her head pounding. A rest sounded amazing.
* * * *
To greet the devil.
Nathaniel’s words were all that lingered in Billie’s mind ever since he said them.
She was in the woods, the angel having lifted her and Hank, a man with a few screws loose, into the air and set them upon a thick tree branch four or five stories from the forest floor. A lake separated them from the other side where hordes of the undead had gathered, some from within the forest itself, others having traversed the bottom of the lake before climbing up onto the shore.
The lake stained with gray rain looked like liquid clay. Already the stench of the dead had wafted across the lake, causing Billie to ensure she only breathed through her mouth. Nathaniel stood between her and Hank.
“This going to happen like you said?” Hank asked the angel.
“Yes, it will.” Nathaniel’s voice seemed strangely calm.
“How’s what going to happen?” Billie asked. “You said these things are going to greet the . . . the devil.” Though she had never been a church-going girl, she, like almost everyone else, had heard of this master of evil. She just never believed he was real, and even now wasn’t sure what to think of what was about to supposedly happen.
