The Secret Apocalypse (Book 8): Rage Against the Dying Page 20

  As he turned away to leave, I let out a breath and my physical shape began to return.

  The guard stopped. He had heard me exhaling.

  I closed my eyes and concentrated once more. I held my breath and turned completely invisible, even though my lungs were screaming for air.

  I ordered myself to remain calm.

  Do not panic. Do not panic.

  “There’s no one here,” the man said.

  Who the hell was he talking to?

  “Are you sure?” a voice replied from the darkness.

  “Yes. I am sure.”

  Just then, something, someone emerged from the shadows cast by the torchlight outside.

  Emerged from the shadows, I thought.

  No way. There’s no goddamn way.

  It was a shadow warrior.

  “You are wrong,” the shadow warrior said. “There is someone here. I can sense their presence. I can smell their sweat.”

  I could not believe what I was seeing. I thought these things only existed in myth.

  I swallowed hard.

  It appeared as though he was swimming in the shadows. I don’t know how else to explain it. He then sunk back into the floorboards and moved up the wall. Always in the dark. Always in the shadows.

  He moved higher up the wall to get a better vantage point. His arms lengthened. His legs lengthened. And then all of a sudden he had multiple arms and legs, like a spider. And just like a spider he clung to the dark ceiling of the training hall. Feeling in the shadows. Searching.

  Once again, I was almost out of breath. I shifted my weight slightly and I began to panic. The floorboards creaked beneath my feet.

  The shadow warrior immediately snapped its head in my direction.

  “I told you,” he said to the Samurai.

  A knife flew from the dark and decapitated the guard. His lifeless, headless body was then dragged into the shadows, never to be seen again.

  Death was the price of descent, the price of failure.

  And I knew I was next.

  The shadow warrior knew exactly where I was.

  Suddenly I could hear the noise of his blade move through the air, coming right for my neck. I could feel his blade move through the air.

  I closed my eyes. I exhaled. Concentrated. Focused.

  I had moved out of the dojo but I could still hear the sound of the shadow warrior’s blade cut deep into the wall. It took me a few seconds to get my bearings. Whenever I move like that, I always feel dizzy and slightly disorientated. I feel weak and exhausted.

  It took me another few seconds to realize I was now in the town square, that I had evaded the shadow warrior.

  But I was not out of danger yet.

  In the very middle of the town square was a large fire. A bonfire. I could hear the screams of men and women and children off in the distance.

  Standing behind the fire, as if he were supervising and controlling the flames, urging them to grow, was a figure dressed in black. I knew instantly that it was the Shogun. And I now know why they call him the Dark Shogun.

  He was dressed in his black battle armor and he wore a large black helmet, with long curved buffalo horns. His black face mask was a scowl of evil designed to instill fear into anyone that looked upon it.

  I ducked and moved away from the fire, into a small alleyway between the village inn and the horse stable.

  From this hiding spot I witnessed the massacre of the townspeople. The farmers. The women. The children. These were not Samurai. These were innocent people. And they were cut down by the Shogun’s Elite and thrown on to the fire.

  I should’ve run back into the forest at that point. I should’ve run all the way home and then kept running. But I couldn’t move.

  The Shogun’s Elite dragged a man into the town square and dropped him in front of the fire.

  I recognized him as the owner of the inn. I think his name was Hideo.

  He tried to scramble and scurry away but he stopped moving as soon as the Dark Shogun stood over him.

  “How much?” The Shogun asked.

  Hideo shook his head. “What?”

  “How much for your life?”

  When the Shogun spoke you could feel his voice in your chest, as if it were reverberating right through your body.

  Hideo stumbled back, trying to get away. Just as he was about to get to his feet, the Shogun reached out with a large powerful hand, grabbing Hideo around his neck.

  “How much?” the Shogun persisted.

  The Shogun appeared to grow in stature. He now stood taller than any man I had ever seen, taller than a house.

  The Dark Shogun picked up Hideo and slammed him on to the roof of the inn. He held him down with one giant hand. His hands and fingers were black and made of claws and talons. He had skin like a snake.

  “What… what do you want?” Hideo asked. “Why are you doing this?”

  “A drifter passed through here yesterday,” the Shogun said. “Where was he going?”

  “I don’t know. I didn’t see anybody come through here.”

  “You are lying.”

  Hideo screamed out in pain. “Please! I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

  The Shogun lifted Hideo clear off the roof and slammed him back down. “You will tell me where the drifter was going or you will die. And I will burn this village to the ground.”

  The Shogun tightened his grip. Hideo began choking. “Where are the rest of the men? Where are the Samurai? We know they are hiding out here. Where is the drifter? He was a Kensei warrior. The one they call the wolf.”

  “I don’t know. I swear. This is just a farming village. We are peaceful.”

  “If you are so peaceful then why do you have a training hall? Why do you have a stable of warhorses?”

  Over at the bonfire, the Shogun’s men continued to throw bodies of innocent people into the flames.

  “Please,” Hideo begged. “You have my word.”

  “Your deceit will guarantee you a slow death,” the Shogun threatened. “Talk and I will let you live.”

  Hideo thought over his options. Not that he had many. He decided to confess. “I don’t know where the drifter was going. He didn’t speak. He didn’t say a word to anyone.”

  “And what of the Samurai? Where are they hiding?”

  “They have moved up the mountainside. They are near the crater.”

  “They have run like cowards,” the Shogun said. “They are pathetic.”

  Hideo nodded. “I can lead them to you. I can bring them back here if you want. Just let me go.”

  The Shogun shook his head. “No.”

  “But you said you would let me live. You lied!”

  “As did you.”

  The Shogun tightened his grip once more, lifting and holding Hideo high above his head. He then snapped his neck with one hand and threw the corpse into the fire.

  The following is an excerpt from…

  Wasteland Wonderland Part 1 – The Fall of Hector Ramirez…

  Chapter 1

  I’m somewhere in the Buried City.

  Somewhere below the Wasteland.

  I’m in a bar, drinking what passes for beer these days. I’m in a bar because humans are fucking weird and even though it’s the literal end of the world, we still need to get a buzz on.

  I’ve had ten beers.

  But the beers are just chasers.

  Because what I’m really drinking is something stronger. A fortified brew that tastes like gasoline. But it does the trick. Dulling the senses and memories, making me forget where I am and who I am and what I’ve done.

  The beers are just for chasing away the taste. And to chase away a feeling I’m getting in my stomach. To chase away my nerves, to calm my nerves.

  Because I just met a girl. An angel. An angel who has no business being in a place like this. She came up to me not even ten minutes ago. It was like she was looking for me.

  She knew my name.

  She was friendly.

/>   And I didn’t ask questions. She told me her room number. She told me the door wasn’t locked.

  Maybe I should’ve asked questions. Maybe I should’ve told her to get lost, to find some other mark. But like I said, this is the end of the world and I’m a lonely son of a bitch.

  She left, begging me with her eyes to follow. I turned back to the bar and finished my drink.

  And downed the chaser.

  And now a tap on my shoulder. A guy. Tall and thin. He has a scar over his left eye and an expression on his face that says he’s all business. That he’s a consummate professional. He’s wearing a poncho, and I can’t be certain, but I think underneath the poncho he’s wearing a thermo suit. I’m thinking he must be a Merc from the nicer part of town, but I can’t be certain because this guy is dressed like he’s hiding something and I’m pretty damn drunk.

  My vision is blurry.

  I can’t be certain.

  This guy has a beer in his hand but he’s not drinking it. Not like you’re supposed to drink a beer. He shows me a picture of a girl. He asks me if I’ve seen her and even though I can’t get her out of my mind… I lie.

  I lie and I say, “I’ve never seen her before.”

  And then I tell the truth. I tell the truth and I say, “I’ve never seen anyone like her before.”

  The man leaves and he leaves his beer on the bar and I’m too drunk and careless and arrogant to even think this could be a problem.

  For me.

  For anyone.

  I make my way to the room upstairs. She’s there. Waiting. And I’m suddenly aware of the heat.

  It’s hot. Because it’s always hot.

  Sweat covers our bodies.

  I ask her what her name is, trying to make small talk because even though I’m drunk and my guard is lowered and my inhibitions are gone, I’m nervous.

  She can tell.

  And she says, “My name doesn’t matter…”

  “It matters to me.”

  She has her arms around me. She wears nothing but a smile. Except it’s not really a smile. It’s not real. It’s a mask.

  She thinks for a second, too long. She whispers, “Ruby.”

  “Like the jewel...”

  “Yeah,” she says quicker. More eagerly. “Just like the jewel.”

  Her skin is soft. Too soft.

  Her hands.

  Her thighs.

  Her lips.

  Everything is soft.

  And smooth.

  And pale.

  She might be an angel. I might be dreaming.

  She inhales sharply as I put my hands on her hips and pull her close.

  I ask her where she’s from.

  And she says, “Wonderland.”

  I laugh.

  She doesn’t.

  I guess she’s running from an abusive husband. Maybe he’s a Wasteland Raider. Those guys are nuts. People think I’m crazy. People think me and my brother are insane. But we’ve got nothing on those guys. Raiders constantly venture above ground, out into the Wasteland, out into the scorching, deadly heat. People say the Red Giant cooks their brains. I’d have to agree with those people.

  So yeah, maybe she’s running from an abusive husband or boyfriend. Or girlfriend. Then again, maybe she just wants some excitement in her life. A fling.

  An affair…

  Maybe she just wants to know that men still find her attractive.

  Irresistible.

  I can vouch for that.

  And now she knows it, if she ever doubted it.

  I kiss her and she shivers.

  In the heat.

  In this goddamn, unrelenting heat.

  I ask her, “What’s wrong?”

  “I’m scared,” she answers, her mask slipping away for the briefest of moments.

  “Why?”

  “Because I know secrets. I know things I’m not supposed to know.”

  “What do you know?”

  She places her hand at the back of my head. She grabs a fistful of my hair. She kisses me and whispers… “I know everything.”

  Chapter 2

  She fell asleep in my arms, covered in sweat, cold to the touch.

  Cold.

  Even in this heat.

  I didn’t think about it. Didn’t think.

  Because I wasn’t thinking.

  Can you blame me?

  She was a goddess and I was in heaven. Drunk and in heaven.

  She was shivering. She was cold. Covered in sweat. No one is cold in this place.

  Not here.

  Not in the Buried City.

  Not in the Wasteland.

  Not on Earth.

  Not anymore.

  I’m still holding her in my arms and I don’t know when to let go. I don’t know how to deal with this. I don’t know how to deal with this because I don’t want to acknowledge exactly what went down.

  Ruby… if that was even her real name, she was poisoned. I don’t think she knew she’d been poisoned. Not until it was too late.

  I place her gently on the bed and cover her with the sheet. I stand over her with my head lowered. I don’t say a prayer because I don’t really know any. And I’m not the world’s biggest fan of religion.

  So I just stand over the bed, beside the bed, standing over Ruby, as a mark of respect.

  She said she was from Wonderland.

  She said she knew secrets.

  Maybe she was telling the truth.

  And maybe this is why she’s dead.

  Her skin, her hands, they were so soft. Softer than any I’ve ever felt. And now my instincts are kicking in, survival instincts I was born with and spent a lifetime honing by necessity. To survive in the Buried City, to survive in the Wasteland, hell, to survive on Earth, you need to be stronger than the next person in the food chain. And the next.

  Ruby was not strong.

  She was soft and smooth and pale.

  Her skin had never been kissed by the Red Giant.

  And she was scared. She was downright terrified.

  Of who? Of what?

  There’s no way she was from the Buried City. She was too clean and too nice.

  Maybe she was from the Deep Canyon. I shake my head. No. There’s no way. So maybe she really was from Wonderland. But if she was, then what the hell was she doing here? Why the hell would anyone leave Wonderland?

  Old timers, they talk about nights of passion. They can’t help themselves. Whenever they get together, whenever they get a sympathetic ear, they end up talking about a night, one night, during the last of the Great Wars, before the Truce, before the Arks were built. The old men talk about when they were just boys, child soldiers ordered into battle, into fierce urban warfare in ruined cities.

  They didn’t think they’d survive the night. Or the next day.

  The fear of dying alone is a terrifying one. So they’d share the night with a stranger, and if they were lucky enough to survive the killing, they’d never forget.

  I wonder... was this the same for Ruby? Did she know she was going to die? Maybe she just didn’t want to die alone.

  Then again, maybe she sought me out for protection. She knew my name. She knew where I’d be.

  She found me.

  It’s my damn reputation. A consequence of my actions in a past life, a consequence of my various professions, of years of being me. But if that’s the reason, if she really did seek me out for protection, then I failed her. I failed her miserably.

  Before I can even think about feeling angry and sorry for myself, there’s a knock at the door.

  A loud knock.

  A forceful knock.

  Whoever is on the other side is not going away.

  I’m expecting the door to come flying off its hinges any second now. But it doesn’t. They actually give me a warning. How nice of them.

  “Open up. This is Immigration and Wonderland Border Control. We know you’re in there.”

  And I’m wondering how… how do they know? And I’m wondering what
the hell they’re doing here at the crack of dawn.

  In this part of town.

  In this part of the Buried City.

  Wonderland Enforcers never leave the confines of Wonderland. Not unless something big is going down.

  The hairs on the back of my neck stand up and my eyes go wide. My heart races and a jolt of adrenalin shocks me wide awake. I’m not a morning person. Never have been. Never will be. But right now, I am awake. My eyes are open. And despite the large amount of alcohol I have recently consumed, my head is clear.

  These guys are up to no good.

  And I’ll be damned if I’m going to be framed for Ruby’s death.

  Her murder.

  These guys want to play dirty?

  Then it’s time to get dirty.

  It’s time to welcome them to the Buried City.

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  Copyright © 2016 by J. L. / James Harden

  This book is a work of fiction. The names, characters, places and incidents are products of the writer’s imagination or have been used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, actual events locales or organizations is entirely coincidental.

  All rights are reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without the written permission of the author.