Revenants is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
Text Copyright © 2019 by Lee Elisabeth
Cover Copyright © 2019 by K. Leah
All rights reserved.
Published in the United States.
Title page art from an original photograph by depositphotos.com
For BJB - I love the three of you so much!
When he opened the second seal, I heard the second living creature saying, “Come!” Another came out, a red horse. To him who sat on it was given power to take peace from the earth, and that they should kill one another. There was given to him a great sword.
Revelation 6:3-4[1]
Table of Contents
Prologue
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-One
Chapter Twenty-Two
Chapter Twenty-Three
Chapter Twenty-Four
Chapter Twenty-Five
Chapter Twenty-Six
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Chapter Thirty
Chapter Thirty-One
Chapter Thirty-Two
Chapter Thirty-Three
Chapter Thirty-Four
Chapter Thirty-Five
Chapter Thirty-Six
Chapter Thirty-Seven
Chapter Thirty-Eight
Chapter Thirty-Nine
Chapter Forty
Chapter Forty-One
Chapter Forty-Two
Chapter Forty-Three
Chapter Forty-Four
Chapter Forty-Five
Chapter Forty-Six
Chapter Forty-Seven
Chapter Forty-Eight
Chapter Forty-Nine
Chapter Fifty
Chapter Fifty-One
Chapter Fifty-Two
Chapter Fifty-Three
Chapter Fifty-Four
Chapter Fifty-Five
Chapter Fifty-Six
Chapter Fifty-Seven
Chapter Fifty-Eight
Chapter Fifty-Nine
Chapter Sixty
Chapter Sixty-One
Chapter Sixty-Two
Chapter Sixty-Three
Chapter Sixty-Four
Chapter Sixty-Five
Chapter Sixty-Six
Epilogue
Coming Soon!
Acknowledgements
Prologue
May 12, 2018
"Channel 9's Sheila Ware is standing by in Holland County, where residents in the Hawthorne Ridge community are reeling from an early-morning attack that left one woman fighting for her life. Let’s go to her now for an update. Sheila?"
"Thank you, Heather. The Holland County Sheriff's Department is investigating what appears to be...and I quote...some kind of bizarre domestic dispute. Earlier this morning, deputies responded to the home of urban developer, Harlan Downs, after neighbors reported hearing screams from inside the residence. According to deputies on the scene, Downs’ wife was found in the kitchen, bleeding from a large wound to the neck. She also had what appeared to be bite marks covering her face and torso. We don’t have a lot of information at the moment, but I do know that emergency personnel transported Lelia Downs to Queens Highland Medical Center, where she is listed in critical condition. Harlan Downs was not in the house when authorities arrived, but in light of evidence present at the scene, he has been identified as a person of interest in this investigation."
"Has there been any speculation regarding motive for the attack? Or, any clue as to where Downs might be now?"
"It's extremely odd, Heather. According to statements given by neighbors, Harlan Downs had been very ill in the days preceding the attack. They seemed shocked he would be well enough to get out of bed, let alone orchestrate an attack of this nature. Another neighbor claims to have seen Downs staggering away from the residence just before police arrived, dressed in pajamas. Police are urging viewers to contact the Holland County Sheriff’s Department if they see Harlan Downs, or know of his whereabouts."
"Thank you, Sheila. We'll check back with you later as more details become available. Now, let's go to Harold Witt for your Channel 9 weather update."
Chapter One
Chloe
The world ended with a whisper.
"That's him, Nel..."
That's how I remember it, anyway. If you asked someone else, they might remember it differently...they almost certainly would, depending on where they were that day...but for me, the world ended in a crowded cafe on Main Street, with the breathy whisper of a woman I had never seen before, and would likely never see again.
I’m surprised I remember her as clearly as I do, as there was nothing remarkable about her...nothing that screamed look at me! She could have been any elderly woman, with her shapeless cream sweater and black-rimmed readers hanging from a strand of colorless beads around her soft neck. Her grey hair was pulled up into a severe bun that caused her penciled eyebrows to draw upward while the corners of her mouth drooped into a perpetual frown. Under normal circumstances I would have forgotten her as soon as I finished my lunch, but these weren't normal circumstances, and I can't forget her.
I still think about her, even now. Sometimes, when the night grows quiet and the crickets are too sad to chirp, my thoughts circle back to that afternoon and the way those words sounded as they slipped through her too-red lips and entered the air between us.
"That's him, Nel. That's the man they've been looking for."
It was such an innocuous statement; one that, once spoken, should have lost any measurable significance soon thereafter. But some things linger after everything else gets carried away into what inevitably becomes the past. You remember them even though you don't mean to...like the smell of grilled onions at the county fair; or, the taste of rainbow-flavored ice cream at summer camp, when all you ever ate at home was vanilla; and, the sound of a stranger's whisper in a small cafe just before the world burned to ashes.
I remember it all.
Hannah’s Cafe was bustling with activity that day, but it usually was on Saturdays. My older brother, Daniel, and I had decided at the last minute to have lunch together because we hadn't been to the grocery store that week and the pantry in the small house we shared was nearly bare. If we had gone to the grocery store on Thursday, like we normally did each week, we most likely wouldn't have been at Hannah’s Cafe that day. I often wonder how different my memories of the day the world ended might have been if Daniel and I hadn't been sitting at a small table by the huge bay window, in ear-shot of the woman with her boring cream sweater and bright red lips. How many more hours could I have lived in blissful ignorance, oblivious that something utterly irreversible was about to snatch the proverbial rug from beneath our feet?
So many what-ifs, but the reality was we hadn't been to the grocery store that week and we were at Hannah’s Cafe that day, and...although I didn't know it then...Daniel and I didn't have much longer to enjoy what would soon become known as the time before.
Every time I cl
ose my eyes, the memories of that day push and shove every other recollection aside until they have my undivided attention...until I’m back in Hannah’s Cafe, reliving those final moments, just like they wanted. The hostess had just seated Daniel and me at a table for two by the large window at the front of the crowded cafe, which should have been the best seat in the house, but the sun’s glare was so bright I had to dip my head and shield my eyes to see the menu. Our waitress was a woman Daniel knew from high school, named Sarah Tallent.
She had just taken our order.
"Shame things didn't work out for her. She used to be so pretty," Daniel said, shaking his head as he watched her walk away.
I shrugged noncommittally and checked my phone to see if my boyfriend, Scott, had called or texted.
He hadn't.
Daniel shot me a disapproving look. "Come on, Chloe, don't you feel just a little sorry for her?"
I glanced at the table beside us, where Sarah was taking another table’s order. She was an unhealthy thin, with stringy hair swept back into a messy ponytail. Whether it was drugs or alcohol...or a combination of the two...it really didn't matter; life after graduation had not been kind to Sarah Tallent.
"Not really," I responded. "Hey, switch seats with me...this sun is torture."
"Well, I don't want it in my face, either," he said.
"You're a man, Daniel. Isn't suffering retina damage so I don't have to part of some unspoken code of chivalry?"
He rolled his eyes, but stood to switch seats with me anyway. As I sat down, I noticed the two older ladies sitting at the table next to us. They were sipping lemon water and prattling on about some feud brewing at their church; two families warring over whether contemporary Christian music should be allowed to supplant the more stoic, and certainly more respectful hymns of their day. It wasn't that it was super interesting, but it was better than nothing, so I continued to eavesdrop on their conversation, nibbling on it like an appetizer before my meal.
The lady facing the window cleared her throat, and a rosy blush colored her dimpled cheeks. "And then Hugh...not Hugh Crane, but Hugh Walker...told Marlene it was an abomination to bring such secular music into the Lord's house! Can you believe it? I don't think anyone has ever stood up to her like that!"
I almost laughed out loud.
I looked at the woman. She was wearing a baggy cream sweater and looked to be in her late sixties or early seventies, but I didn't recognize her. With Holland County melting down from the north, and Charlotte creeping closer from the east, it's possible the two ladies didn't live in Everly at all, which was frustrating because it meant I probably wouldn't know any of the people they were gossiping about, either.
Daniel tapped the table to get my attention. "Did you hear what I said?"
I was about to respond when the lady in the cream sweater suddenly leaned closer to her companion and whispered, "That's him, Nel. That's the man they've been looking for."
I turned around to look out the window, all pretense of not eavesdropping abandoned. I had to shield my eyes against the sun's harsh rays. On the other side of the glass I spotted what appeared to be a middle-aged man, wearing a wrinkled set of blue and white pin-striped pajamas, stumbling toward a young woman waiting at the crosswalk. She was staring at the screen of her cellphone, completely oblivious to the approaching man. He seemed just as detached; his jaw was slack and his stare vacant, like a car rolling forward with no one sitting behind the steering wheel. His bare feet were filthy and covered in bloody blisters. His arms hung limply at his sides. He lost his footing, stumbled, then corrected himself as he continued to close the distance between him and the woman.
I turned around. "Do you think we should call the police?" I asked Daniel.
"I don't know, it does seem a little..."
He trailed off, his expression morphing into a mixture of disbelief and horror. I turned to look out the window again, fully prepared to see something horrible...maybe the man had collapsed, his condition too deteriorated to continue; maybe he moved right when he should have moved left, and had stumbled into the busy intersection; or, maybe he had decided to attack the woman on the phone, propelled by some motive I would never understand. Any one of those things would have been terrible, but all of those scenarios would have been survivable.
Not this.
This was not something we could easily overcome; not with a few trips to a well-paid therapist, or a community prayer vigil in the court square. On some primal level, I understood this was the end of my life; maybe not directly or immediately, but eventually. I blinked. Once. Twice. Then again, just to make sure I wasn't imagining it all.
I always thought the Apocalypse would be sudden and loud, like a thunderclap...perhaps announced by the penetrating sound of trumpets and capped off with a collective wailing from the human race. I had watched movies, plenty of them in my 24 years, where the end of civilization was accompanied by tidal waves, earthquakes, fires and screams; so I expected Armageddon, when it finally came, would resemble a Hollywood movie set, complete with the latest celebrity heartthrob and poorly crafted love story to help us forget we were all about to die. But when it happened, the end of the world wasn't sudden or loud. Rather, it lumbered quietly on two legs, and as if by accident down Main Street...aimlessly and without fanfare. There were no brass instruments demanding our attention, and no opening of the earth or terrified shrieks to interrupt what had been up until that point a normal Saturday afternoon. Had I not been eavesdropping on the two women beside us, I might have missed it completely...like so many others that day who died before they realized anything was wrong.
But I had been eavesdropping. And I had seen.
My ears processed it first. A buzzing, similar to the sound of a thousand angry bees, building in intensity until it finally exploded into a cacophony of voices yelling and people screaming. I didn't understand what was happening. Not at first. My eyes were seeing it, but my brain wasn't believing it.
The man with the rumpled pajamas, who seemed so lost and out of place just moments ago, bared his teeth and latched onto the woman's neck, tearing through her flesh. I watched in horror as she collapsed to the sidewalk. I opened my mouth to speak or to cry out for help, but nothing came out. All I could do was stare at her lifeless body while a pool of blood slowly fanned out around her head like a crimson halo.
A prickly thread of fear weaved its way through every fiber of my being before it settled low in my gut like a stone. My heart rate sped up and my mouth went dry; physiological signs that even though I hadn't fully accepted it yet, my body understood that had really just happened.
The dead woman's left leg began to twitch...a few seconds later she sat up, wearing the same dazed, vacant expression as the man who killed her. I didn't wait to see what she did next, nor did I care; all that mattered was getting out of the cafe, because the man in the pajamas had just attacked a second pedestrian.
I forced myself to turn back to Daniel. "We've got to leave. Now!"
He couldn't seem to tear his eyes away from the street either, but I knew he had heard me as soon as he whispered "no kidding" and slid his chair back from the table. The crescendo of screams threatened to drown out every other sound in the room, but I heard it...the sound of that chair; its uneven legs scraping across the wooden floor...soft and dull, just like it had always sounded. But that day, it sounded emptier, as if it realized it would never again be sat in during a normal meal, on an otherwise normal day.
Before we moved away from the table, a woman on the sidewalk ran up to the window and started beating on it from the outside. Each time her palms connected with the glass, a bloody handprint replaced the one before as if echoing her cries of, "Somebody, please! Help me! Some small part of me wanted to help her, but the other part....the part responsible for actually moving my feet...kept me glued to the spot by the table.
Daniel grabbed my hand, yanking me away from the window. "Chloe, come on! Move!"
The urgency in his voice wa
s palpable.
We couldn't exit the way we entered. The front door of the cafe was blocked by a frantic mixture of those trying to leave and others trying to get in, so we had to look for another means of escape. I held onto Daniel's hand tightly, as if my life depended on it...and it most likely did...and together we hurried toward the kitchen. It was a stampede. Chaos. People were running in every direction, knocking others down, pushing, yelling...sobbing. The sound of mothers trying to console their children, although soft in comparison to the screams, nearly pierced my heart.
My voice sounded unfamiliar when I asked Daniel, "What do you think it is?"
And his sounded even more unfamiliar when he answered, "I don't have a clue".
Once in the kitchen we pushed our way toward the back door. I was nearly crushed as other diners fought to fit through the narrow doorway all at once. In the confusion, an elderly man grabbed my arm and screamed, "Don't leave me, Sam!"
I struggled to free the sleeve of my cardigan from his desperate grasp. "Let go! I'm not Sam! You're mistaken!"
The look in his eyes was one of pure terror and confusion, but his grip was strong, and he just kept calling me "Sam" over and over until Daniel finally punched him in the shoulder. Once I was free, we squeezed through the door and ran through the alley behind The Cafe, toward the parking lot.
"Get ready to jump in!" Daniel yelled as he fished the car keys out of his jeans pocket.
I didn't trust myself to answer. I just kept running.
The sound of the car doors unlocking filled me with relief and, oddly enough, dread. After all, where would we go now? Everything was uncertain; for the first time in my life, I didn't know what to expect. We raced to the car and jumped inside. I locked the door and buckled my seatbelt; proof that even in the middle of the Apocalypse old habits die hard. I braved another glance at the spectacle in the street as Daniel pulled out of the parking lot. An unruly crowd had formed beside Hannah’s Cafe, morphing into a horrific blend of the terrified, the wounded, and what could only be described as the dead.
Revenants Page 1
