With a flicker, the flashlight’s batteries died.
Darkness!
8
Valhalla
Waves of ice and fog crept through the enchanted forest of Glasir, whose trees bore leaves of the reddest gold. Lapping against the massive doors of the heavenly realm of light, they washed over the foot of the enormous stone steps outside. High overhead inside the vast hall the rafters that were lined with a thousand spears glinted brightly. Golden shields and breastplates glittered on benches everywhere.
The great hall opened up majestically to reveal five hundred and forty doors, each so massive they towered high above the tallest of men. A wolf stood guard, menacingly holding a strong and purposeful pose at the western door. Soaring high above an eagle kept a watchful gaze over all and sundry below.
Expansive tables laden with only the finest food and drink welcomed the new arrival, a ceremonial feast fit for kings. Mead ran freely from the udders of a goat, the sounds of frivolity and revelry rang through the hall loudly.
Odin’s messengers came, surrounded by bright white light singing softly of war and heroes and fighting on the battlefield. They sang of healing wounds, of the Gods, of fighting well and of the world that can still be saved.
Ragnarok, the battle for the end of the world, awaits you!
Bark!
A long echo trailed off into the darkness.
Standing over his master’s body the dog gave a whimper before licking his face in a desperate attempt to rouse him. The man awoke in a world of pain, his left hand throbbed with an intensity he had never felt before in his life. It was as if a thousand needles were working in unison to inflict as much discomfort and agony on him as possible.
The visions of the great hall, the feast and the Gods all faded quickly.
Light burned his eyes as he stepped through the breach, the falling rain hitting him like pellets from a shotgun. He was alive and scrambling to the street he staggered away from the entrance, leaving the dangers that lurked in the shadows of the subway behind.
Cradling his wounded hand the man resigned himself to the worst possible outcome, for he knew without even looking at it what the congealed blood on his wrist signified. He had to stop the spread of the virus there was no other alternative aside from removing the infected body part. Dismembering the limb, he had seen this done successfully early after the turn, now he had no choice but to do the same.
Reaching for his long serrated blade he prepared himself for the agony that was to come. It had to be done though, there was no other way to save his own life than this. It was imperative that he removed any chance of the infected blood circulating through his system. Placing the knife against the skin an inch above his wrist he started to apply pressure, blood trickled onto the bench top as he began to cut.
Bark!
Startled, and completely caught off-guard the man dropped the knife. He was in such a high state of anxiety and fear that the slightest disturbance was always going to shatter his already brittle nerves. His steely façade was finally starting to fade.
Bark!
“What is it boy?” he quizzed his companion.
A rumbling came from out on the street, a sound he had not heard for some time. It wasn’t loud just the low steady hum of a vehicle which, as far as he could tell was traveling at speed. Looking at his hand he stared at the self-inflicted wound, the deep gash he had slit into his skin which was still bleeding. He felt sick to his stomach about what he had to do knowing he should continue but unable to bring himself pick up his knife to actually finish the task.
Grabbing his M24 sniper rifle he headed to the front of the building to check out the disturbance. He vowed to himself that he would finish this gruesome chore as soon as he could, but the safety of his compound took precedence. Just how he justified that over a life-ending infection he would never know.
As the vehicle drew nearer it became apparent that it was indeed motoring. In a flash of yellow it appeared from around the bend ahead swerving through the debris without losing momentum. The man concluded immediately that the driver must be someone incredibly experienced in order to be able to handle a car with that sort of skill, weaving through chicanes with such ease.
Without changing speed the taxi whizzed past underneath the window. The man’s cross-hairs zeroed in on the driver following his every move. Behind the wheel sat an Indian man with a thick dark beard covering his face and a turban wrapped around his head, his hands never leaving the wheel and his eyes firmly affixed to the road, he was driving determined.
As quickly as it appeared the yellow taxi vanished from sight, disappearing around a corner. The rumbling softened and in no time at all the streets went deathly quiet once again. The man removed his finger from the trigger, where he had held it in readiness to shoot. Every scenario was potentially life-threatening and he knew never to take anything for granted.
This was a very unusual occurrence for it was incredibly rare to see any sort of vehicle on the road at all, let alone a big yellow taxi. Such a random event could not have come at a more opportune time for him, but he sighed heavily knowing that it was only a slight reprieve. He now had to finish what he started.
Picking up the ten inch long serrated knife the man reluctantly prepared himself to complete the task he knew would ultimately save his life. He peeled back his Kevlar leather gloves to take a look at the wound, he felt the need to now look at it before he removed his hand completely.
To his complete surprise the bite mark did not look anything close to what he had envisioned it would. It was decidedly different to that of a human bite mark, or one that might have be caused by an undead creature. This was nothing like that at all, it was much narrower and longer similar to that of a dog bite.
What the fuck?
“Was that you boy?”
Whimper.
With a sigh the man slumped to the ground in shock. His knife clattered loudly as it spilled from his hands, which now covered his eyes as he sobbed. A sense of absolute relief swept over him.
Weeks turned into months and the wastelands simply lay in ruin as time passed her by. The barrenness, the solitude and the emptiness of it all was not lost on the man, who relentlessly continued on with his quest. He fought on bravely amidst the loneliness and desolation around him.
His dreams frequently took him to Valhalla where he again ventured into the great hall to kneel before Odin. Around him appeared the faces of all the brave warriors who had died defending the Badlands, many of whom had perished warding off the new scourge that infested the earth.
The man was reminded every time he stepped foot into this heavenly realm of light in his slumber, of the task he had been assigned.
He was the keeper of the city.
The Reaper.
The Bone Hunter.
This was his final battleground!
Epilogue
Moaning.
Silence.
“All clear,” whispered a young red-haired lad, checking the way ahead. “Let’s move.”
The two young men had been walking for some time through the wastelands, oblivious to the fact that they were being watched… stalked. Sitting in the shadows out of sight and undetected, the man sat quietly, observing, following their every move.
“Hold up mate, I need to take a piss,” said the other boy rubbing his crotch.
“Are you fucking serious?”
“Chill out man, I’m busting.”
“Just hurry the fuck up then.” The red-haired lad fired a stare in the direction of his companion, then gave a slow blink as he shook his head.
Turning to face the wall the chubbier of the two young men relieved himself with a satisfying sigh.
“Are you done yet?”
Zipping up his fly, the blonde boy tightened his belt and collected his weapon. Lifting his head he turned then nodded, his blue-grey eyes glinted in the sunlight as he smiled with satisfaction.
“You are such a bloody worry,” his friend s
aid, shaking his head once again.
Desperate to engage the man could not bring himself to venture from his bunker, holding tightly to his companion to keep him from breaking their cover. The pair of them sat and watched as the two young men fought off a small group of creatures that had suddenly attacked them on the road.
They fought well, effortlessly dispensing with the threat without raising much of a sweat during their brief altercation. He watched as they pilfered the corpses pocketing what they found, before eventually wandering off into the distance. Their departure once again leaving him alone in the barren wastelands.
A NOTE FROM THE AUTHOR
You may not realize it, but book reviews from readers are vital to the success of a novel. If you’ve enjoyed this novelette in the Dark of Dawn series, please consider rating it and writing a brief review on Amazon or Goodreads. Doing so will only take a couple of minutes. I genuinely appreciate your time –I know it’s valuable.
Also, if you liked this book, please check out others in the series by following my author page on Amazon - http://amazon.com/author/sebastienwoolf
For a FREE copy of Fear the Dawn, which is a short-story telling of how it all began in the Dark of Dawn series, simply go to www.darkofdawn.com and sign up to join the Woolf Pack. Once a member I will send you a copy of the eBook and personally welcome you to the den.
If you’d like to get in touch, please go to www.darkofdawn.com and contact me there. I welcome your feedback, reviews, questions and comments and I’ll do my best to respond.
Thanks
Sebastien Woolf
About the Author
Sebastien Woolf is an enigma. As a creative dark force and coffee connoisseur his life has been heavily influenced by splatter, gore, slasher horror books and movies. Forever obsessed with the zombie apocalypse, Sebastien is a lover of all things dark and macabre.
His life has been far from perfect, overcoming adversity to learn how to balance family life with a writing career. He has has been working toward publication for many years while battling depression, addiction and recovering from a breakdown.
As an author Sebastien writes about emotional conflict and the many and varied complex social, cultural and religious issues that make us human. All Sebastien’s stories, characters and plot come from the deep, dark recesses of his subconscious mind. Most of his manuscripts have been written by hand for as he is feels empowered with pen, ink and paper and can feeling the energy and creativity flowing through him. Now he simply cannot stop writing.
Sebastien believes there is a certain mystique about writing behind a mask and he finds a deep level of comfort writing in the dark. He likes the idea of remaining a mystery so there he shall remain, forever trapped behind the mask.
Come join him in the Dark of Dawn....
Web: www.darkofdawn.com
Email: [email protected]
Twitter: @SebastienWoolf
DARK OF DAWN
Dark of Dawn is a series of post-apocalyptic horror novels and short stories set in the not too distant future. The series explores many maxims of human behavior and the many and varied complex social, cultural and religious issues survivors are challenged with. As the zombie apocalypse arrives, humanity crumbles and those who remain are forced to face the very real dangers that lurk in the shadows.
DARK OF DAWN SERIES
4 Horsemen
Island of the Dammed
Evil’s Legacy
* * *
DARK OF DAWN NOVELETTES
Bone Hunter
Warrior Princess
Shadowmen
Goth Squad
4th and Dead
Dead Fare
* * *
DARK OF DAWN SHORT STORIES
Fear the Dawn
(find out how it all began - only available on subscription - www.darkofdawn.com)
* * *
Bone Hunter: A Novelette in the Dark of Dawn Series Page 4
