The NEXT Apocalypse (Book 2): AFTER Life: Purgatory
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AFTER Life
Purgatory
Robert Chazz Chute
Praise for Robert’s Work
Chute sucks you in from word one and pulls you down his post apocalyptic rabbit hole! You will sleep with the lights on, covers pulled over your head and dust off the old teddy bear for comfort. Horrifically well written and engaging. There are other popular books in this genre, but after reading this there is nothing else that climbs to the heights of Chute's caliber. Chazz ranks among the top tier of our generation's storytellers. ~ Alex Kimmell, Author of The Key to Everything
Robert Chazz Chute is such a skilled spinner of tales that the reader is more than willing to suspend any possible disbelief to go along for the ride. ~ David Pandolfe, author of Jump When Ready
It's not very often one finds a writer with such a dark side that has such a great sense of humor. ~ Glenn Roberts, Amazon reviewer
The author has a definite talent with words and ideas. ~ Love to Read!, Amazon reviewer
His words lift and dance off the page, bringing the story to life. ~ Kindle Customer, Amazon reviewer
The world building is horrifically well done with twists and turns and deceit around every corner. ~ Wanda, Amazon reviewer
RCC blends characters' beliefs & worries concerning society's failures, plus vivid action scenes skillfully. ~ RMerkl, Amazon Reviewer
Nothing but sheer exhaustion could tear my eyes from the captivating dance of words choreographed by Robert Chazz Chute. ~ Halph Staph, Amazon reviewer
Wonderful action constantly holds your interest. ~ Sharon Finn, Amazon reviewer
The complexity and attention to detail throughout absolutely blow me away. ~ Kindle customer, Amazon Reviewer
Very few authors impress me with their actual writing style, it's usually always about the story. But this author paints such beautiful vivid pictures with words that I found myself not only enjoying the story but enjoying the way the words created images in my mind. I know that sounds corny, but it is true. ~ B.H., Amazon reviewer
Chute gives us story worthy of Stephen King. A read both thoughtful and fun. ~ Linda Beer Johnson, Amazon reviewer
The author does an excellent job building the characters and getting you invested and involved. ~ Michele L. Hebert, Amazon reviewer
I just can't say in words what a powerful author this is! ~ Delinda L. Calkins, Amazon reviewer
Robert Chazz Chute writes so skillfully as to make the supernatural seem perfectly logical - and terrifying! There are twists, turns and surprises galore. You will be glad you bought this book - until you lose sleep because you can't put it down. ~ johligo, Amazon reviewer
When I want to read apocalyptic books or zombie stories, those books have to also be extremely well-written and something that I could recommend with zeal and confidence to everyone I know. Robert Chazz Chute's books are exactly that. ~ Mazie Lane, Amazon reviewer
He makes the stuff that is obviously fiction, believable. ~ W. Nickels, Amazon reviewer
I am a lover of paranormal, dystopian novels and depth of story as well as intelligence in writing style, and Robert has it all. Humor, wit, depth, intelligence and an awesome way with words/writing. ~ Amazon Customer, Amazon reviewer
AFTER Life
Purgatory
Book Two
The NEXT Apocalypse Series
Copyright © 2018 by Robert Chazz Chute
ISBN (paperback): 978-1-927607-48-0
ISBN (ebook): 978-1-927607-49-7
All rights reserved.
No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
Special thanks to Gari Strawn for her excellent editorial services at strawnediting.com.
Cover design by Rocking Book Covers
You may also enjoy
This Plague of Days, Omnibus Edition
and
Robot Planet, The Complete Series,
available in ebook and paperback.
Book One of the NEXT Apocalypse Series is AFTER Life, INFERNO, available on Amazon.
You will find a link to the AFTERword
and a full listing of books by this author at the end of this book.
Contents
Welcome to Book Two
RECAP
EPISODE 1
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
EPISODE 2
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
EPISODE 3
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
EPISODE 4
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Chapter 36
Chapter 37
Chapter 38
EPISODE 5
Chapter 39
Chapter 40
Chapter 41
Chapter 42
Chapter 43
Chapter 44
Chapter 45
Author’s Note
This is the end of Book Two
Sneak Peek of Book Three
The action continues in Book Three
Also by this Author
About the Author
Welcome to Book Two
of AFTER Life
P U R G A T O R Y
RECAP
.
In Book One of this series, Emergency Task Force Officer Daniel Harmon was part of the team sent to secure Echidna Biosystems (also known as the Box), a research laboratory in downtown Toronto. There he encountered Dr. Hamish Allen, a scientist bent on destroying a mind altering bio-weapon. Daniel’s mission failed. The nanotech was released on the city and Toronto is falling to a disease like no other.
Daniel has become a zombie and, worse, he remains aware of his violent actions, unable to control his raging cannibalistic urges. If unchecked, the nano Artificial Intelligence will spread to everyone’s brain. Yes, even yours.
EPISODE 1
“The rest of mankind, who were not killed by these plagues, did not repent of the works of their hands …”
~ Revelation 9:20
Chapter 1
In this prison we call home,
every heart will turn to stone.
These cages of flesh and bone,
rise in heat,
burn fast
and too quickly cool.
Not much mercy, more the fool.
Let out a brave laugh.
Untether your tears.
We are only more than we appear
when we grow larger
than each fear.
DANIEL
I fed on the guard’s body first. I’d seen the movie in which a bunch of soccer players resorted to cannibalism in the mountains. This wasn’t like that. It was as if I were watching a very realistic and gory video game from the first person perspective. Something else was at
the controls. The weaponized brain parasites wriggled in my brain, taking over and telling my body what to do. I was no longer Daniel Harmon, Emergency Task Force officer. Unfortunately, I wasn’t the dead variety of zombie, either. My actions were no longer my own.
I watched as I yanked the clothes of the dead aside to get at the meat. I dove for the soft parts first: the throat and abdomen. Ears are chewy and tough. It’s easier to tear meat from the finger bones than I would have thought.
I wanted to throw up but I couldn’t. My revulsion was alive but my objections remained intellectual and unheard. I would have screamed if I could. Instead, I ate and, despite the gore and my disgust, my body was ravenous.
Someone told me once that if you don’t stop a dog from feeding, they’ll simply keep eating until they die (like what happens with people, but quicker.) That’s how it was with me, feeding off the carcasses on Level 1 of the Box.
I was not totally divorced from my body. That was the confusing part. I could feel everything but I could not change anything. I felt no desire for my grisly meal but I did taste every wet morsel. I couldn’t vomit. Instead, I could chew hungrily. To a starving man, a spleen is the same as Black Forest cake. A casual bystander would surely conclude I was enjoying myself.
As if in the thrall of some strange drug, I felt stronger with every bite. Energy pulsed through me. My skin tingled and my muscles felt full, cranked high with kinetic potential like tight steel springs. I moved with an ease that made me feel I’d finally be a threat on the basketball court. If only zombies played basketball.
I heard screams from far away, up the ramp and out in the sunshine. I was curious about what was going on in Toronto’s streets. I guess my brain parasites were interested, too. I lifted my head from the large woman before me, leapt to my feet, and ran up the ramp.
I didn’t kill the woman or the security guard I ate, I thought. Someone else had murdered them. The next murdered meal is on me. So far, my crime was “committing an indignity to a dead person.”
I knew a cop who had arrested a naked sicko in a cemetery on that charge. Now I’d join the ranks of the sickos. Whatever was in control of my body wasn’t a person I could argue with. I didn’t receive a message or hear a voice. I sensed no ghostly presence. I ran, working on automatic, empty of volition. It is a curious thing to be carried along on a wave. I felt like a passenger and the thing that was controlling my body was a hit and run driver.
As I emerged from the Box and onto the downtown street, I guessed what the brain parasites wanted: live prey, fresh meat. The robotic brain parasites infesting my skull wanted to chase someone. The zombies in the Box acted like wolves and I was a member of the pack.
To my left, the ETF’s biohazard isolation truck was parked on the curb. The engine was still running. To my right, executed bodies lay in a line, bloodied and still. Beyond those dead lay many more.
And there were people like me. The infested were on their hands and knees, bending to their awful work, ripping, tearing and chewing. Downtown Toronto was a war zone. The humans had already lost the battle and the infection was spreading fast.
No, I’d been told infection was wrong. Hamish preferred infestation. A super parasite powered by microscopic robots was an infestation. Or maybe it was more accurate to say zombies had infested Toronto. Did that distinction really matter now? Not to me and not to the parasites. They only wanted to feed and reproduce.
So this is how the world ends, I thought. When the aliens finally came down to Earth to check us out, they’d find a bunch of carnivorous apes that once wore clothes.
But what would come after that? Would the zombies form tribes or herds? What would happen after the food ran out? By food, I mean the kind of meal who runs around screaming in terror and used to have dreams of owning a cottage by a lake. Would zombies end up devouring each other? Probably. Brain parasites weren’t worried about contributing to a healthy human future where we could continue to enjoy trenchant HBO dramas and share amusing cat memes on Facebook.
Then I spotted her across the street: My prey was a woman clothed in a torn blue uniform. She wore a gas mask. She carried a riot shield and a police baton. The mask obscured all her features except her hair, frizzy and matted with sweat. She must have lost her helmet.
I willed my body not to join the hunt. I didn’t want to go after her, to climb on her back and smash her to the street, to feed. They say that if you don’t want a wild animal to chase you down, don’t run. That didn’t matter. I would have gone after her even if she managed a casual stroll, I’m sure.
I experienced bodily ecstasy on par with orgasm as I sprinted after my intended victim. I’d never taken PCP, but maybe that experience would be similar. It felt that good to run, to stretch out into long loping strides. I’d never run so fast or hated myself more. I may as well have been shouting down a well for all the good my silent screams did.
She headed for the isolation truck. Powerless to stop myself, I sprinted so hard the air pumping through my lungs felt like an ice cold drink of water on a hot day. Blood thrummed in my ears. I drooled in anticipation.
The woman saw me coming, climbed in the back, and yanked the door to the isolation truck shut behind her. Trucks meant to contain hazardous materials don’t lock from the inside. We lock in the threats from the outside. I grabbed the handle, threw the door open and leaped in. When I played basketball, my vertical was never this strong. I bashed into her riot shield and kept pushing to slam my victim into the compartment wall. The truck rocked beneath us as I struggled to get past the shield.
That’s it! Keep that shield up! Keep it between us! I’m on your side! I’m so sorry about this. I’m not driving my own bus here. I’m so sorry!
But I was sure that, in the end, I’d kill her.
Chapter 2
CHLOE
I wandered through the milling crowd with a bottle of wine. The plan was to take this opportunity to meet the movers and shakers at the bio-cyber symposium. It was easier to have something to do instead of hanging out alone waiting for people to come to me.
Then a thin guy in a ridiculously shiny suit called out to me, “Wine girl? Oh, wine girl!”
I stiffened and slapped on a smile before turning to face him. He sat at the edge of the party with a large man in a cheap, ill-fitting suit. “My name is Chloe, actually! Chloe Robinson!”
“Chloe Actually! C’mere!” He raised his empty glass higher and jiggled it back and forth as if he was ringing a little bell. “I prefer ‘wine girl!’”
Moron. I knew trying to be social was a shitty idea.
Thomas Dill, my boss, had told me that mingling with people after the afternoon session on medical applications for nanotech would be good for me and the company. “Make more connections. Meet more people than you would just standing around.”
“I do some of my best thinking when I’m ‘just standing around,’” I objected. “Besides, they’ll see me as a waitress. I was a waitress in university and hated it. That’s why I’m here, to get away from drunks pinching my ass.”
“No one will pinch your ass. I’m simply suggesting you find a way to be a little more … approachable. You know … friendly.”
“I am friendly.”
“You’re intimidating.”
“If they’re intimidated, that sounds like an Other People Problem.”
“You run your own lab,” Thomas said, “but connecting with colleagues and clients is part of the job, too.”
“People aren’t my forte. I’d rather just climb into a box and think for a few years.”
“You’re the youngest woman to ever hold your position at this company. Your role carries responsibilities — ”
“Sounds to me like you should have promoted other young women a long time ago, then.”
Thomas let out a long-suffering sigh. “A little flexibility and gratitude thrown my way would not be amiss, don’t you think?”
“Gratitude? I produce results. It’s an exchange. I bring
a lot to the table. Yours is a suspicious proposition, Thomas.”
“I don’t mean to say I’m proposing — ”
“Propositioning.”
“Maybe you missed your calling as a lawyer, Chloe.”
“If you’re accusing me of being argumentative, it’s only because you’re giving me something I have to contend with.”