A New World: Untold Stories

by O'Brien, John

  A New World: Untold Stories

  Short stories from A New World

  John O’Brien

  Copyright © 2014 John O’Brien

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form, except for the inclusion of brief quotations in review, without permission in writing from the author. You may contact the author at John@anewworldseries.com

  Also by John O’Brien

  A New World Series

  A NEW WORLD: CHAOS

  A NEW WORLD: RETURN

  A NEW WORLD: SANCTUARY

  A NEW WORLD: TAKEN

  A NEW WORLD: AWAKENING

  A NEW WORLD: DISSENSION

  A NEW WORLD: TAKEDOWN

  A NEW WORLD: CONSPIRACY

  A NEW WORLD: RECKONING

  A NEW WORLD: STORM

  Companion Books

  A NEW WORLD: UNTOLD STORIES

  ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS

  I would like to thank all of the submissions for the fan fiction. They were, each and every one, a lot of fun to read. It’s enjoyable to see the different perspectives of the world created with the series and how others fold into it. I received numerous stories and selected the ones to be included at random. The remaining stories will be published in a second set of short stories.

  I know I keep saying this but, to you, the readers, thank you! Your support and encouragement is beyond measure. I am carried through the rough spots writing the series by your kind messages. Thank you for going through this journey with me. I have enjoyed it, our conversations and emails, and hope you have as well.

  If you do happen to enjoy the story, feel free to leave a review. Reviews are important for two reasons. One is that’s how the books get up in the listing which of course means more sales. But more importantly, it lets me get a look at everyone’s perception. Looking though the online reviews, I feel that I become a better writer.

  John O’Brien

  AUTHOR’S NOTE

  This is a companion book of short stories that loosely follows the world of Jack Walker and the group of survivors. Each body by the side of the road, in windblown parking lots and rotting in darkened buildings, has a story of terror; panic, pain and, in many instances, death. These are just a few of them. Across the world, there are five billion tales like them. While I may have concentrated on the US, events such as these happened worldwide. They happened in every city, on every continent. The emergence was rapid and the onslaught everywhere. It happened worldwide seemingly at once.

  The first section of the book is a collection of stories self-written while the aft section is a few fan fiction tales set within the same world. Keep in mind that all of these stories are told from the perspective of those within it so they may not follow the storyline of the downfall exactly. After all, each person has their own perspective.

  This was a lot of fun to write and there will be other companion books of short stories in the future. With that said, let’s get on with the stories. If you happen to enjoy the book, would you please head back afterward and leave a review. I would be eternally grateful.

  John O’Brien

  Philippines

  Ramon rises long before the sun. Sleepily looking toward the ceiling in the darkened room, he wants nothing but to close his eyes and fade back into his dreams. However, he knows there is much to do in the coming day and can’t afford the luxury of sleeping in.

  With a sigh, he tosses the single, tattered cover aside and throws his legs to the side of the homebuilt log bed. Sitting on the thin, worn mattress, he rubs his tired eyes, trying to vanquish the vestiges of drowsiness. Today, he has to drive out of the hills and deliver his latest batch of beaded seat covers to the distributor located in a larger town miles away.

  With his sleepiness slowly vanishing, he wonders if he will be able to get his aging truck started to make the trip. If he can’t, he’ll have to borrow a burrow and cart, which will make him late with his quota, resulting in substantially less pay for his work. It’s been this way for as long as he can remember; his days spent in his tiny shop weaving the beads onto strong cords, tying them off, and laying the completed work aside.

  Once every two weeks, he makes the drive out of his small mountain village along a rutted, dirt road to deliver his work and pick up new supplies. With the meager cash he receives, he stops at the market and then makes the long journey back to his village to begin his work anew.

  The village itself is comprised of only twenty thatched houses that sit astride a potholed mountain road. A few of the more industrious and lucky villagers have found plywood sheets which they’ve added to their crowded structures. The village and those within once had more when the occasional tourists made their way into the mountains. Since the guerillas moved into the area, those treks from the cities below have fallen off, impoverishing the small settlement even more. More depressing is the fact that many of the youth have run off with the various guerilla bands that make their bases in the mountains.

  Ramon has never been interested in politics and has no idea what the guerillas are fighting about. He just knows that many of the younger ones have left, whether that is with the bands, or journeying to the city in the hopes of finding a better life. All he understands is that, with the beginning of the fighting, trade has fallen off. He will admit that the group that has established themselves farther up the road in the mountains has helped the village with food and medicines. For that alone, they have the loyalty of the people.

  Many villagers survive day to day by growing food in small plots near the edge of the village. There are some who have become involved in the drug trade, hiring themselves out as runners or digging small bunkers in their houses to store the packages. One group would come in and drop off the drugs which were then picked up by another, leaving the money behind. Then, the first group would come back, collect the cash, and leave additional bundles.

  Ramon remembers one of his friends who was involved and began filching small amounts of the drugs to sell on the black market. He tried to get Ramon to become a part and use his trips into the town to sell the drugs. Ramon not only refused, but warned him that he would eventually be caught. He still sees the face of his friend when he shrugged, and continued his activities. Two weeks later, his friend was pulled out of his house and beheaded in the middle of the road in front of everyone. To his knowledge, no one else has tried skimming from the drug lords.

  Slipping on his aged sandals, Ramon rises and gropes for the pull string hanging from the single light in his small bedroom. Finding the cord, he pulls on it with a certain amount of hopefulness. The village has electricity but it’s intermittent at best and there isn’t enough to power more than the smallest equipment. He has been putting some of his money aside in the hopes of buying a generator and a supply of gas, but that is more of a dream as most of his money goes toward surviving another day.

  The bulb winks on, casting a feeble light throughout his bedroom. Glancing at the lone bulb in the fixture hanging from a thin strand of wire, he can see the filament burning. The light is more of a glow which leaves much of the room in shadow. Plodding to the outer room, which serves as a living room and kitchen, he pulls on another light cord in the middle of the room.

  It will be a long day and he may not have a chance to eat until he returns close to nightfall. With that in mind, he uses a long, wooden match to light a small propane stove sitting on a plywood counter. He’ll make himself a quick breakfast before gathering his supplies. Adjusting the flame, he looks sharply toward his one window that is next to the door facing the road.

  Was that a scream?

  Turning the flame down to conserve his meager propane, he walks to the window. The sound he heard was faint but, in t
he quiet of the early morning hour, it was distinct. Pulling aside the tattered curtain, he peers into the darkness.

  Faint screams penetrate the night. They sound far off but Ramon knows how the jungle, creeping right up to the road on both sides of the village, can muffle sounds. Accustomed to the occasional shriek from the rainforest, he listens intently. The cries aren’t coming from any animal that he knows. It also doesn’t sound as if it is coming from a single source. Instead, it sounds like there are many different screeches. And, they are drawing closer.

  He’s usually hesitant about getting involved in the happenings of others, especially with the coming of the guerillas to the compound up the road, farther into the mountains, and having watched his friend get beheaded. As far as he’s concerned, hiding and pretending not to see things is a way to a longer life. However, with the multitude of screams drawing nearer, curiosity gets the better of him. The meager light behind doesn’t allow him to see into the darkness, so he drops the curtain and walks to the door.

  Opening it, he steps outside. The air is completely still and it takes a moment for his eyes to adjust to the darkness. Lights show from several other houses, their dim glows peeking from around curtains. Slowly, he is able to make out objects in the darkness and sees that several others have emerged, also drawn out by the rising shrieks.

  From one side, Ramon sees the darker outlines of six figures enter the road and begin running through the middle of the village. The shrieks escalate through the night air. At first, he thinks the screaming is coming from the six running for all they are worth along the muddy road. However, the screams are coming from father up the road and it becomes apparent that these dark outlines are running from them.

  As the six draw closer, he notes the weapons they are toting. He knows what may be causing the disturbance. The Americans must have landed a group to observe the compound and were discovered. The screams are from the guerillas chasing them, although he can’t figure out why the pursuers are yelling like they are.

  Perhaps they want to scare the Americans.

  He chuckles to himself as he watches the figures race through the village.

  Stupid Americans. They think they can operate with impunity. Well, they’re finding out now that they aren’t invulnerable.

  Although, watching them flee through the night, he does feel a little sorry for them. They’re far into the mountains with little chance to escape. The chances are high that they’ll be caught and tortured. Ramon has never agreed with that form of coercion. He just wants to stay away from any of the conflicts and continue with his simple existence.

  Other villagers emerge to stand in front of their doors. The six continue their flight, their boots splashing as they streak down the muddy surface of the road. As they draw abeam of him, Ramon hears their panting breaths. One of the men looks in his direction and, even in the dark, they lock eyes for the briefest of moments. Fear is evident from the other in that fleeting look. There is something else though…pity? It’s almost a look of apology.

  The moment passes, as do the running Americans. They race past the village limits and farther down the road. The shrieks rise as the group chasing them enters the settlement. The road is filled with hundreds of screaming people. Ramon knows that night can cause it to seem like there are more than there actually is, however, the village quickly fills with a multitude. He is startled as he watches many from the horde turn from their path and strike his neighbors that came out into the night.

  Those standing outside are quickly engulfed by those who were pursuing the Americans. Villagers quickly go down with dark figures surrounding them. Those he’s known all his life, his friends, add screams of pain to the din filling the village. The night turns into chaos. Some turn to their doors and run inside only to be chased by the shrieking horde. Ramon remains standing, confused.

  Why are they attacking? Do they think we’re aiding the Americans? And if so, why aren’t they shooting instead of mauling?

  His confusion is short-lived though. Watching more taken down, it becomes apparent that the guerillas mean to wipe out the village. The night is filled with shrill screams…pain, frenzy, terror. Pandemonium ensues. Amongst the shrieks comes a wet noise, the sound of flesh being torn from bodies.

  The horde of dark shapes draw rapidly closer, racing toward him. Ramon eyes the run-down truck parked in front of his shack. Glancing at those closing in, he knows he won’t be able to get the vehicle started in time. He turns, throws the door to his shanty open, and dashes inside, closing it behind him.

  Racing through the main room, he pulls on the string of the solitary light, attempting to turn it off. His fingers slip off the cord without success, causing the light to swing violently and the shadows of the room to dance wildly. Without missing a step, he runs into his bedroom, attempting to hide and pretend that he didn’t see anything. Grabbing a cane knife sitting by the rickety bed, he jumps onto the thin mattress and huddles in the corner.

  Why did I have to go outside? Never again.

  Holding tightly onto the large blade, he watches the entry. Shadows gyrate through the open doorway, outlined by the swinging bulb in the other room. Shrieks from outside are only partially muffled by the thin walls. He has woken only to step into a nightmare.

  Trying to stay silent, a whimper escapes his lips nonetheless as something large slams into the shanty walls, shaking them. The tip of his cane knife quivers from his fright, his fingers aching from his tight grip. Dimly glowing in the middle of the room, the lone light bulb sways in small arcs. The shadow from his knife wavers across the thigh of his dirty jeans. Shrieks from those outside grow louder, pressing against his very essence.

  In the midst of the howls, Ramon hears his own panting breath. He feels his skin drawn tight from fear, waiting only for what he feels is the inevitable. Another large objects crashes against the shack, threatening to bring the wall supports down. In the other room, he hears the front door open with a bang.

  Shrieks rise with increased intensity. Shadows from the other room dance crazily though the open door of his bedroom. He feels, at the very core of his being, that this is something other than retribution for helping the others. Staring at the doorway, he sees a looming shadow grow larger. He holds his breath, attempting to stay completely silent, hoping that whoever is in the other room will leave without finding him.

  The shadow coming through the doorway moves closer. It sways side to side from the swinging light in the main room. With screams echoing through the night, Ramon hears a low growl coming from the other side of the thin wall. His heart thuds against his chest walls, threatening to explode from the terror.

  Please…please…please.

  Hot tears stream down his cheeks, blurring his vision. The shadow pauses just before entering.

  Please…oh please…

  Lightning fast, the shadow lunges and a figure thrusts through the door. Ramon gasps as a face, glowing in the pale light, turns directly toward him. With a shriek that robs Ramon of his soul, the unearthly figure darts toward him. Ramon is only vaguely aware of another that enters his cramped bedroom. Without thought, Ramon lunges off his bed, his own scream mixing with that of the others. Swinging his cane knife, his arm jars from the heavy contact. A pain-filled scream permeates the room.

  Ramon looks at his knife imbedded in the upper arm of the shadowed figure. He tries to pull it free but the blade is firmly entrenched in the bone. With a sick feeling settling into the pit of his stomach, Ramon lets go of the handle as the second creature slams heavily into him. Falling backward on his bed, with the looming figure inches from him, Ramon thrashes to escape.

  His eyes wide from fright…no, sheer terror, Ramon looks to the snarling face inches away from his own. With tremendous strength, the creature pushes past Ramon’s shoving hands. Ramon feels teeth sink into his neck and he adds his own scream of pain. The pain turns everything in his mind red. His fear becomes too much. He is beyond himself and only vaguely feels his flesh being to
rn from his body…only vaguely aware of his blood splashing against the thatch walls. The red pain in his mind turns gray…then dark.

  Seattle, Washington

  Captain Sheldon Hendricks stands just outside of the cockpit door near the front entryway, nodding at each passenger as they board. If his other duties don’t interfere, he enjoys greeting the passengers. Of course, it doesn’t hurt that Mary, the lead flight attendant, is stunning. It’s not that he has any ideas about taking it further than talking, with the occasional flirt thrown in. He just isn’t like that for a number of reasons. He has observed too many ugly situations arise when flirtation becomes more and like to keep his private life separate from his professional one. Anything that has the potential to bring drama into his life, he avoids at all costs, regardless of how attractive anyone is. He’d been bitten by that one a couple of times before the lesson finally sunk in. That doesn’t mean he doesn’t look though, or do a little friendly flirting from time to time. He is human after all.

  Mary and he chat amiably between greeting the passengers and him checking the enroute weather reports. Sheldon enjoys flying the red eye flight out of Seattle to Minneapolis and feels a little let down that this is to be the last one for the foreseeable future. The route doesn’t support the decreased number of fares. Normally, this flight is filled, with every available seat taken. Tonight, however, they are less than half full with fewer than a hundred passengers. The operations center had cancelled numerous flights in the last few days for the same reason. The Cape Town flu virus has taken its toll on tickets sold; along with a vast number of crew ill and unavailable to staff the flights.