The Darkslayer: Book 01 - Wrath of the Royals (46 page)

For the changed world of Bish would not wait long before thrusting its greatest hero, the Darkslayer, back into the field. The days ahead would all be different now, more treacherous than before. Scorch had sent a ripple of change throughout the world and nothing could turn them back. The mystic leather sack lay undisturbed underneath Venir’s cot. Inside its sanctuary, the Darkslayer’s shield, helm, and his great axe Brool lay quiet waiting to be called upon again. But someone who had once possessed armament was on a mission to find them once again.

It took everything underling Lord Catten had not to shake. He had been on a single knee, beaten and stripped, head down for what seemed to be days. All he heard was his brother’s ragged breath who knelt by his side, trembling and sick. Verbard had been healed soon after they made their return back to the Underland. Verbard’s body had paid a price and Catten could only see a dull reflection in his brother’s once bright silver eyes.

It was little more than two days after they returned home that the rumors were full blown. Catten knew full well that their colossal failure had spread throughout the under realm. He and his brother avoided their kin as best they could, but they couldn’t hide forever. Master Sinway called them to his throne. He had been kneeling in silence ever since, every joint in his body aching. Only the use of his magic allowed him to maintain the uncomfortable position. A drop of sweat fell from his brow, the first one in days.

Catten tried to imagine what the underling master had in store for them next. Would he have to fight his brother to the death, be devoured by cave dogs, dropped in the caves of infernos, or skin flayed from his face and back for all to see? The punishment for failure was always extreme. A beating was little punishment if any at all, still his pulped face ached. If only his fool of a brother hadn’t been so careless and gotten stabbed, this all would have been over.

Ahead of him, Catten could feel the mighty presence of Master Sinway bearing down on his bowed head. The master of all underlings sat in robes blacker than night, on a large throne carved from rock and filled with scintillating metals and stones. Other than his brother, the three of them were all alone. Catten wanted to grovel, but not doing so was his best hope. All he could do was wait.

Catten felt his body lifted up and hurled through the room in a rush of wind. He landed hard on the ground and as he looked up he saw a glimpse of his master on the throne as two towering metal doors slammed closed.

I’m alive!
Catten couldn’t believe it. He looked over at his brother’s busted figure struggling to rise from the floor. Catten heard his brother chitter as he floated away.

“He must be getting soft.”

Catten couldn’t disagree more.

The story you have just read is the first of many volumes. How many, I cannot say, I’m not putting a limit on it. I can tell you this. The Darkslayer Volume 2 will be released early in 2012. The Darkslayer Volume 3 is scheduled for release late summer 2012. The Darkslayer Volume 4 will begin summer 2012 as well. Look for updates at
www.thedarkslayer.com

Also, in this eBook, and following the author section, I have included the first four chapters of my latest work,
ZOMBIE DAY CARE
. Check it out!

Craig Halloran resides with his family outside of his hometown Charleston, West Virginia. When he isn’t writing stories he is seeking adventure, working out or watching sports. To learn more about him go to:
www.thedarkslayer.com

Other works by the author

In the works by the author

ZOMBIE DAY CARE

Chapter 1

He was shuffling over the hillside with a look of desperation on his face. Sweat glistened over his crumpled brow and his locks of curly brown hair were matted and coated with dirt. He looked over his shoulder, gasped and pushed forward. His elbows and knees were scraped, caked with dried blood, and his jeans and shirt were in tatters. He clutched his sides as he jogged into the bright sun lowering over the horizon. He could make out the black silhouette of small town miles ahead.
I can do it
.

He felt like he was in summer football practice, pushing himself to the limits, body quivering from exhaustion. This training was different. This time, if he stopped, he was dead. He didn’t like football practice, he hated it, and they all did. He could see the face of his hard case coach pushing him now, just like he did then, shouting at his back, ‘Move it whale tail!’

He was cumbersome teenager back then, stuck on the team’s interior line, which was pure agony. He was good at standing in people’s way, so he got the start. It didn’t hurt that he was big either, except today, being bigger was far from better. He would have done anything to be a little guy who could run like the wind. He ran the best he could, long heavy strides turning into a pathetic jog.

His big belly groaned with hunger and fear. He didn’t know how far he had run. He remembered his last meal though. Yesterday morning. It was fast food, Taco Shell and Fountain Dew, eight dollars’ worth. His concern subsided for a moment, but a loud moan far from behind him jolted his nerves. Fear gave his legs new strength. His feet ached and burned with each heavy step as he pushed on. He took a quick glance over his shoulder. Something was back there, trudging after him in the distance. He heard another moan.

The world had turned upside down. Zombies were real. They were taking over. It didn’t all start in some small town either. No, it was a meltdown in major cities. The outbreak spread like fire, New York to Beijing to Moscow. Zombies cropped up everywhere and flipped the world into turmoil. He, his friends and family, headed for the hills. The hills were alive. They all fought hard after the surprise. He watched his loved ones afflicted and devoured. They came for him, but he manned the higher ground. He blew their brains out, all of them except one. He ran out of ammo and made a dash for his car. He drove away until he ran out of gas, just a few miles from where he left.

He had dozed off, feeling safe and exhausted, in the middle of nowhere. He laid his head back just for a second, listening to the madness on the satellite radio.
America has fallen! Russia has fallen! The Middle East has fallen!
He fell asleep….

His eyes snapped open. A shuffle of dirt caught his ear. He wiped the drool from his mouth. The rearview mirror showed nothing. His heart raced. Something was out there. A flicker of movement caught his eye in the side view mirror. He jerked out of the way just as a hand clutched for his neck. He scrambled through the passenger side door and fell outside.

The zombie was there, moaning at him. It came around the hood of the car. He moved the opposite way. Now what? It wasn’t fast, but it just came steady for him, like a stubborn child. He thought of Duck-Duck Goose.
Why did I think of that?
Around and around they went. He was uncertain what to do. Just don’t let it catch you. His only option was to run into the town in the middle of nowhere. Maybe more zombies waited there, anywhere, everywhere…there was no choice.

He slipped around the driver’s side of his car, reached in the window and popped his trunk. He was faster than the zombie, that much was certain. He couldn’t run forever though. As it pursued him around the car, he circled back to the trunk and reached in. He fumbled around, eyes never leaving the creature. He found a handle and pulled it forth. A sense of security steadied his grip. He wielded a big wooden softball bat. It was a gift he bought for his girlfriend.

“This is strange,” he muttered.

He stepped around the car again and bashed in the back passenger window. Still the zombie came, quicker than before it seemed. He made another round to the smashed window, reached in and grabbed his backpack. He slung it over his shoulder. He hoped everything was in there. Be prepared.

He squeezed the handle in both hands.
I gotta do this now!
The zombie came as he back pedaled away.

“Please don’t make me do this. Just go away!” he said, waving the big bat.

Still it came, moaning. He looked at the bloody gash on its shoulder. A man-sized bite of flesh was gone as well as part of its dangling arm. The rest of the zombie was perfect. It was tall, full figured, dressed in a pro-football jersey and tight jean shorts. He blinked hard. He could see the painted nails that once scratched his back and belly. Black was her color. Now she came for him, unsteady, black-eyed and slack jawed. Blue veins rose along her once soft and sensual skin. He couldn’t believe he had to bash in the brains…of his girlfriend.

“No!” he screamed, hoisting the bat high in the air.

Still she came. He swore he could see a smile in her crossed mouth. Jeanine always had a smirk. He blinked hard again. It was something he always remembered. Deep down inside he still loved her, or it. He was ready to propose, but the world began to end. Still she came, chin down, shuffling his way. He wanted to hug her. His instincts screamed to kill her. Everyone else he knew was dead. He couldn’t do it. He felt a lump in his throat rise as he let out a sob. I can’t.

As much as he hated to do it, he picked up his backpack and ran. He had been running ever since. Night was coming and the tiny town was getting closer. He tried to remember Jeanine the way she used to be, but could not. He was huffing along, fighting for breath as he tried to reach the town. He gave another look back and there she came, step after determined step. He could swear she was getting faster. She used to be was faster than him anyway. He never minded running behind her before, but now he had to stay ahead to stay alive. It was a discomforting memory for Nate McDaniel.

Chapter 2

Nate was walking as fast as he could, often looking back over his shoulder. His zombie girlfriend was nowhere to be seen. The sun was dipping into the dusk as he made his way into the town. Pear trees and flower beds were planted along the streets. There were no stop lights, just signs. The polluted sounds of human interaction were vacant. He followed the railroad tracks across a rusting iron bridge as a wide stream of water flowed underneath. He was cautious. Zombies could be anywhere. He hoped there were none.

He cupped his hands to his mouth, and he lowered them. Maybe yelling wasn’t such a good idea. Nate didn’t want to alert the unknown. He knew better. He was starving now and his stomach hadn’t stopped growling for miles. He was exhausted. He never remembered being so tired. His feet were aching and burning like fire. He had to find food. There had to be something left in this town. As he finished crossing the bridge he looked back again. Nothing was there. He saw a black bird perched on a power line above, then something snapped and he lurched forward.

“Damn!” he shouted.

Pain shot through his knee, down to his shin. His leg was wedged between two rotted railroad ties. His jeans and skin were torn just below the kneecap. He was bleeding and held fast.

He closed his eyes and took a breath. The lowering sun went dark as a cloud passed. He felt the shade on his face. Somewhere a crow squawked and flapped away. He opened his eyes and looked back. He watched the black bird dart over the head of a figure. It was her. Already! She was coming his way. His chin dipped into his chest.

“Come on Jeanine!” he yelled, knocking his bat into the bridge.

His heart was sinking. He was stuck and she was going to eat him. His stomach coiled into a knot. His will to survive was not the strongest, but his desire to not be eaten alive was something else. Deep inside, fear consumed him. He pushed on the rotting boards. They groaned under the desperate power of his supple muscles. He strained in agony as she approached step by step, stumbling over the rotting ties.

Nate couldn’t comprehend how the slow going figure stayed on his heels like a bloodhound. He thought of the stories of the tortoise and the hare. He used to love that story.

He ripped his leg free with a scream. A torn slab of flesh and jeans was hanging down his leg. Thick splinters were burning deep under his skin. He saw muscle, or was it. Don’t look idiot! Tears watered down his paunchy face as he struggled to his feet. He saw a necklace hanging from her neck. He bought her that on her birthday…a gold crucifix. Why couldn’t she be a vampire? She was almost to him. He ran on, in a desperate limp, despite the pain building inside leg.

He needed a car, a truck, anything with wheels. A bike! He was parched. His body was already pushed beyond his limits. All of those tennis lessons never prepared him for this. Did anything? He looked down at his knee. His blue jeans were soaked, a dark patch of material was sticking to his leg, and his shoe was bloody. His body became weak at the sight of all the blood. It’s why medical school was never an option.