This is the End 3: The Post-Apocalyptic Box Set (8 Book Collection)
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Learn more about the supernatural thrillerSolom or view it at Amazon UK
THE GORGE (UK)
By Scott Nicholson
An experimental rafting expedition, an FBI manhunt for a delusional killer, and the worst storm in decades collide in the remote mountain wilderness...and then THEY come out.
Learn more about The Gorge or view it at Amazon UK or view the original screenplay adaptation at Amazon US or Amazon UK.
OMNIBUS EDITIONS
You can also save with the omnibus editions
Ethereal Messenger at Amazon US or Amazon UK (contains The Red Church, Drummer Boy, and Speed Dating With The Dead)
Mystery Dance (contains Disintegration, Crime Beat, and The Skull Ring, and bonus stories and essays) at Amazon US or Amazon UK
Horror Movies: Three Screenplays (The Gorge, Creative Spirit, and The Skull Ring screenplays) at Amazon US or Amazon UK
Ghost Box: Six Supernatural Thrillers (contains The Red Church, Drummer Boy, The Dead Love Longer, Burial to Follow, Creative Spirit, and Speed Dating With The Dead) at Amazon US or Amazon UK
Mad Stacks: Short Stories Box Set (Contains Gateway Drug, Head Cases, and Missing Pieces)
Bad Stacks: Short Stories Box Set (Contains Ashes, American Horror, and Curtains)
Odd Stacks: Short Stories Box Set (Contains The First, Flowers, and Zombie Bits)
Scott Nicholson Library, Vol. 1
Scott Nicholson Library, Vol. 2
Scott Nicholson Library, Vol. 3
Scott Nicholson Library, Vol. 4
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Look for the rest of the AFTER series in 2013!
Man's Ruin - A Dark Fantasy Novella
(The Seventh Seal Sequel #1)
By J. Thorn
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Acknowledgments
Other Works
About the Author
Copyright
Table of Contents
Man's Ruin - A Dark Fantasy Novella
(The Seventh Seal Sequel #1)
Fourth Edition
Copyright © 2013 by J. Thorn
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.
This book is a work of fiction. The characters, incidents, places, and dialogue are drawn from the author's imagination or are used fictitiously, and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
Cover Illustration by Kate Sterling
Edited by Talia Leduc, Katy Sozaeva, Laurie Love and and Rebecca T. Dickson
For more information:
http://www.jthorn.net
jthorn.writer@gmail.com
Dedicated to those with the courage to speak up and stand out.
Table of Contents
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Acknowledgments
Other Works
About the Author
Copyright
Chapter 1
Thirty years later
The old man took a drag on his cigarette. He rolled it back and forth between two stained fingers while exhaling smoke over that night’s fire. The others watched, waiting to hear him pontificate or simply tell another one of his legendary stories.
“C’mon, pres. What’s it gonna be tonight?”
John rested the hand holding the cigarette on his right knee while using his left hand to stroke the “Official Member” patch on his vest. Years of dust storms and open highways nibbled away at the thread until nothing remained but a phantom stitch.
“Gimme a sec,” he said.
John winked and flashed Alex a wicked grin through his white beard. His vice shook his head, ready to make a joke about Santa Claus before remembering few would understand it.
“He’s thinking. You know it’s gonna be good,” one of the boys said.
The pledges in the camp often spoke as if John could not hear them. They meant no disrespect and he took none from it.
“Tell us about Sully’s last stand,” another said.
John whistled as Alex stood. The vice president raised his arms above his head, stretching toward the full moon now cresting above the river’s edge. The banks of the Ohio River changed and reverted back to a more primitive state, but the water still flowed and the moon continued to rise over it.
“I’ve told that story a thousand times.”
Groans and jeers rose from around the fire. A few bottles clinked and a child could be heard crying in the distance.
“He started the resistance, didn’t he, pres?”
John dismissed the question with a wave of his hand, flicking his ashes into the fire.
A shriek came from one of the tents on the perimeter of the camp. The Keepers of the Wormwood surrounding the fire grabbed their weapons and headed in the direction of the distress.
***
“I’m really sorry. He scared me. I fell asleep and didn’t hear Ron leave the tent and when he came back. . .”
John waved at the other men who turned and made their way back to the fire. Alex remained outside the tent, his eyes scanning the tree line and the darkness behind it.
“Sit down,” John said.
The woman sat, her eyes never leaving his.
“Alex will speak to Ron.”
The man who stood silently since John’s arrival nodded and stepped out of the tent and toward Alex.
“What is it?”
“He scared me and I—”
“That’s not what I’m talking about, Leena.”
She pulled her dark hair back into a ponytail and struggled to keep eye contact with John. Leena’s high cheekbones and full lips would have made her a desirable model in the old civilization. Even though it was difficult to manage, she kept her hair long, hoping to appear with some degree of feminine grace in a cold, utilitarian world. Years of meager living kept her slender and her eyes shone with a natural wisdom beyond her twenty years.
“Ron wasn’t outside the tent. He was sleeping next to me.”
John nodded and waited for Leena to continue with the confession.
“I had the dream again.”
The old man stared at her, his eyes tight and tired. “Are you sure?” he asked.
It was now Leena’s turn to nod.
“Like the dream a decade ago?”
“Worse,” she said. “It’s worse. We don’t have much time before the Republic locates the chapter and crushes us like they did the ones in the West.”
“We survived that and we’ll survive this.”
“Did we, John? Is that what you call it? My mother. . .” Leena let the thought hang and John did not finish it for her.
“What do you want me to do, Leena? Am I supposed to gather the men and have them relocate the chapter? Then what? Do we go east? South? Tell me, what am I supposed to tell them?”
“I don’t know, John.”
The old man heard his vice president grunt, but Alex remained outside the tent.
“Tell me,” he said again.
“I can’t. All these years, and you still don’t get it. You’re president. You have to make the decisions. Not Alex, not Matthew.”
“He’s maturing. He’ll be ready soon.”
“But he’s not ready now and you know it. He’s a bullheaded son of a bitch just like his father.”
A smile broke out beneath John’s braided beard. “Okay. I need to gather the founders. We’ve gotta talk this out.”
“Talk now, John, because there won’t be much time for talking when the storm com
es.”
“You’re a stubborn, proud woman, just like your mother.”
Leena placed a soft kiss on John’s leathered skin and pulled the tattered sleeping bag back up to her chin.
The Republic found John and his chapter of the Keepers. They contracted his death in hopes of squashing any further resistance from the outlying lands of their new civilization. The Republic crushed the Holy Covenant and would do the same to the Keepers of the Wormwood.
***
The knuckles on Matthew’s right hand shattered the cartilage of the man’s nose. His opponent collapsed into the dirt and brought an uproar from the spectators. The pledges immediately began shuffling tobacco back and forth, fulfilling bets, the winners promising the losers a pity smoke. Alex stood by as the sun peeked overhead. The early winter was mild but there was no guarantee the rest of it would be. The boys would fight for sport only if the weather permitted it.
“Third in a row.”
“I’m not one to turn down a challenge,” Matthew said.
“Thought your old man asked you not to participate anymore? Thought he was going to need you focused on the chapter instead of schoolyard scraps?” asked Alex.
Matthew turned his head to the side and raised an eyebrow. Alex forgot Matthew had no idea what a “schoolyard scrap” was and was about to explain it when Matthew continued.
“The old man has arthritis or he’d be out here too.”
“No, he wouldn’t. I’ve known him longer than you’ve been alive. He resorts to violence only when necessary.”
“And that’s going to cost him his life,” Matthew said.
“It hasn’t yet.”
“It will.”
Alex waited as the conversation came to a dead end.
“He didn’t send you out here to bet on me so spill it, vice.”
“It’s Leena. He thinks—”
“Why is he still listening to that nosy bitch?”
“Have some respect, son.”
“I’m not your son, Alex. At least I don’t think I am. And I am showing respect. I woulda left her ass on the highway in Colorado, crying next to her old, saggy, dead mother.”
Alex let the comment go, realizing Matthew spoke with the harshness and bravado of youth. The young man had John’s features. No matter what rumors swirled through the ranks of the Keepers, Alex knew Matthew was John’s son. Matthew wore his hair short and although he didn’t need to do it often, he kept his face clean-shaven. He would do anything to avoid any resemblance to his father. Alex wondered when the bare-knuckled challenges would stop. The rest of the pledges grew to fear Matthew’s inner intensity.
“That’s why John is president. He wouldn’t have left her to die.”
Matthew walked up until he stood face-to-face with Alex, peering into the man’s eyes. Matthew could see the wrinkles creasing Alex’s face.
“For now,” he said.
***
“It’s them.”
“You’re sure?”
“That city’s been dead for twenty years. Who else is going to be holding boxing matches? Gotta be the pledges of the chapter. The founders are old fucking men.”
The soldier dropped the binoculars and looked at the sergeant. He regretted his outburst and tried to cover the profanity with a question. “What’s the order from the Republic? Exterminate, or detain?”
The sergeant ripped the binoculars from the soldier and raised them to his face. He scanned the edge of the forest, catching only glimpses of movement amongst the bare trees.
“We wait for snow so we can track them,” he said. “Until then, we watch.”
Chapter 2
The unmistakable sound of a horse in full gallop brought everyone to the river’s edge. The rider kept the steed within the rusted steel rails where weeds would flourish when spring returned. The pledges pointed and gestured, some of them seeing a horse for the first time in their lives, while the founders of the chapter smiled and remembered horses mostly from memories of old westerns. The rider brought an earthy scent as the horse’s hooves flung moist sod into the air behind them.
John stood on the edge of the overpass that snaked around what remained of the Point in Pittsburgh, the Golden Triangle where the Monongahela and Allegheny River form the Ohio. His foot rested on the stone base of the ancient fort, most of its history lost like all the rest. The city grew from that single bastion of safety known as Fort Pitt, Fort Duquesne and eventually Pittsburgh. Most of the steel bridges fell into the Allegheny or Monongahela River, as did the boulevards running alongside their banks. The city perished in one of the final battles of the First Cleansing, left to an infestation of loners, killers and renegade motorcycle clubs like the Keepers of the Wormwood.
The red pentagrams could still be seen on the facades of buildings that managed to escape the brutal winters of Western Pennsylvania. The paint ran on the brick like dried blood. John stepped over a guardrail twisted by a car wreck decades ago and stumbled down the hillside until he stood behind the bulk of his chapter. Several dozen men in varying shades of black leather vests blocked his view of the rider’s arrival. The women stayed on the perimeter behind the men. Though John could remember the days of gender equality, those luxuries gave way to Darwinian law.
“Give him some room. Don’t spook the goddamn thing,” John said.
Matthew stepped out of a tent and stood next to his father while Alex appeared on his right.
He’s always been my right hand, in all ways, John thought, as he winked at his vice.
“Don’t remember the Pony Express showing up here in well over a decade. Many of these fools probably think some new creature just rode out of hell like the Aztecs thought when they saw Cortes riding them.”
Matthew scowled at Alex, making no effort to hide it. Recent history meant nothing to him and ancient history meant even less.
“Somebody’s been reading A History of the World again, eh, vice?”
Alex spat out of the side of his mouth, tipping his head toward John.
“What the fuck is a Pony Express and why aren’t we in a defensive maneuver?” Matthew asked.
The boy speaks like a trained soldier, John thought, even without a single lesson in modern warfare.
“Most likely a message. One from another chapter. When the Holy Covenant ended civilization and dragged the grid back to the Dark Ages, we had to rely on messages delivered on horseback. In the Old West they called that the Pony Express.”
Matthew shrugged as he contemplated the history lesson for less than three seconds.
“You should greet him,” Alex said to John.
John walked through his people until he could smell the sweat of the horse. The beast cast steam into the chilled air and snorted several times before the rider eased back the reins with gloved hands and whispered in the horse’s ear.
“You the pres?” the rider asked.
The men of the chapter stood in silence and the women kept their hands close to the children’s mouths in order to prevent a disrespectful outburst.
“John Burgoyne. Keepers of the Wormwood. Chapter of the Phoenix.”
The rider huffed and spun his horse in a circle. “A bit older than I expected. None of these ambitious pledges have challenged for your patch?”
A hushed buzz ran through the group as John stepped closer to the saddle. He sighed and looked over his shoulder at Alex. His vice shook his head, knowing John would do it anyway. Before the rider could speak another word, John used his right hand to lock on to the rider’s knee. His left fist came down hard on the rider’s thigh, causing an involuntary lurch forward. John released his grip on the man’s knee, grabbed the collar behind his head and flipped him to the ground, where the cold earth pushed the air from his lungs. John swung one leg over top of the man’s shoulders and dropped both knees into his armpits where the rider was now pinned to the unforgiving railroad ties.
“I suspect any thinking about challenging me for leadership before you arrived are now rec
onsidering.”
The rider winced with tears streaming from his eyes. He bit into his bottom lip.
“Now get up and deliver your message.”
John stood and the man curled into the fetal position. He crawled to the stirrup, pulling himself to the latched messenger bag on the horse’s left side. With a shaking hand he reached inside and withdrew an envelope. He held it out toward John but did not move any closer.
“Leena,” John said. He took the envelope from the rider’s fingers. “Get this man a beer and keep him comfortable until I decide whether or not I’m going to reply to the message. Matthew will help keep him safe.”
“I’m not a fucking babysitter,” Matthew said.
“Do your duty and the entire chapter benefits,” John said.
“I don’t want to.”
Alex stepped forward but John waved him back. He looked into his son’s eyes and spoke in a whisper that only he could hear. “This ain’t about wants. This is about needs.”
Leena stood and waited for Matthew to accompany her and the rider to a nearby tent. Matthew exhaled and walked past them toward the edge of the camp.
“I’ll keep an eye open,” Alex said.
John nodded and watched as the chapter dispersed, no longer interested in the show now that the potential for violence was gone.
***
John sat in a wooden folding chair, one of the few remnants of furniture left from his previous life. He discovered it in an alley behind a dumpster. It was wedged between the steel bin and the brick wall. The chair somehow escaped the rioting, burning, looting and subsequent abandonment of Pittsburgh. John kept it in the tent as a reminder of the simple pleasures he once took for granted and the kind the new generation would never experience.
“You going to open it?” Alex asked.
“We got any pipe smoke left?” John asked.
Alex nodded and walked to the middle of the tent where a leather satchel hung. He opened it and pulled out a pinch of dried leaves, holding them up for John to see.