The Pale Rider by JB Trepagnier (End of Days Book 1)
English | 2020 | Romance | ePUB | 2.9 MB
I wake up surrounded by death and my memories are gone.
A man in a beige hazmat suit reaches his hand through the carnage. “Come with me if you want to live.” I know I’m supposed to know that from somewhere, but I don’t. I know the world outside me is not right. People either die or they are Rage Heads. Somehow, a virus got out that has turned people into red eyed freaks who eat flesh. They are fast, their flesh is rotting off their bodies and they have one goal—kill.
I don’t know my mystery man in the hazmat suit, but he says I can trust him. He was at that lab looking for something. He claims not to have found it. He only found me. I see the way he looks at me when I ask what he was doing in that lab. I might feel safe with him, but he’s lying to me. He knows everything about me, including the nickname people used to call me, but he tells me I ask too many questions. Maybe I’d be safer on my own.
I didn’t know if I could trust this guy, and he was being pretty shifty about giving me information about myself and what he was doing in this hospital. I wasn’t stupid, though. He was my best chance of getting out of this hospital alive. He had one chance to explain himself when we got out of here, and then I would ditch him and seek answers on my own.
I heard the pounding of footsteps. How many of those things were in here, and how did they move so fast? The man grabbed my hand and yanked me down the hall. Don’t ask me where he got that fucking sword from.
“Aim for the head,” he yelled as we tore ass down hallways littered with half-eaten bodies.
Good to know. I wished he would have given me a few more helpful tips before we took off running in this corpse infested hospital. I saw a flash of a softball game, but did I actually know how to wield this thing? I didn’t even know my last name.
We almost made it out when the source of those wails popped out from behind a corner. There was no logical explanation for what was making those noises. They should have been dead and buried. Most of them had clothes that were hanging off their rotted frames. Their flesh was so nasty. It should have had maggots crawling out of it. The ones that still had eyes had this unnatural red tint to the whites of their eyes. I had no idea how they moved that fast, given the state of their decay.
There was way more of them than there were of us. There were worse things to have than a man with a sword who gifted you baseball bats and kept secrets when you were surrounded by walking corpses. I didn’t know how I knew, but I would need both hands on that bat if I were supposed to be hitting these things in the head.
He was the only one who knew where we were going, but my survival instincts kicked in. I wrenched my hand out of his and took the bat in both hands. As soon as one of those things came near me, I swung as hard as I could. I guess I did use to be a softball player at some point because when my bat connected with this thing’s head, it was like an overripe pumpkin. I was guessing it even sounded the same. I had to stop myself from vomiting.
I only had one goal here. Kill my way through these things. But was it any better outside? If the hospital was like this, what was the rest of the world like?
It seemed like endless swinging and squelching noises before that wailing and hissing noise stopped. The man and I were standing among a pile of bodies, and there was black blood pooled at our feet. He just grinned at me.
awoke to nothing but death. And a horrible smell. I didn’t know where I was. I didn’t know who I was. When my eyes fluttered open, I was dressed in a hospital gown in a white room. There was dust on the nightstand. I noticed that first. The place gave the appearance of some sort of long-term hospital room, but it didn’t look like anyone had checked in on me for a while. And what was that smell?
I swung my legs off the bed and gently took the IV out of my hand. I didn’t feel like I was in any type of pain to be needing drugs. Why was I here? Was I in some sort of coma? I tested my feet. I could stand. I was a little shaky, but I could walk. I made my way to the door. Where was everyone, and why was there dust in a hospital room? Could someone here tell me my name and why I was here? And for the love of God, what was that smell?
I managed to make it to the only door in the room. Locked. No one checked on me, but why did they lock me in this room? I pounded on the door and started screaming for someone, anyone to come to get me out of here. I didn’t know how long I’d been in this room, but it was starting to feel tiny now that I knew they locked me in.
I pounded and pounded. My throat was parched like I hadn’t drunk any water in months, but I kept screaming for someone to come get me. Was I alone in here? If this was a hospital, why wasn’t there a nurse on duty?
Finally, I heard it. Footsteps in the hallway. I heard a muffled voice through the door.
“Stand away from the door!”
I stepped back, and whoever was on the other side started trying to kick the door in. I was so confused. What kind of hospital was I in, anyway? Was there something wrong with the key? Or was there something horrible going on beyond the other side of the door that they had to lock me in and not check on me for so long? I was getting bad vibes about the entire situation.
The door flew open, and I saw a man in a beige hazmat suit. What the fuck was going on? He held his hand out to me.
“Come with me if you want to live.”
That line seemed so familiar, like I should know it, but at present, I didn’t even know my own name or what I looked like. I could see on my arms that I was fond of tattoos at some point, and the ends of my hair were pink like I was a bit of a rebel, but I couldn’t remember doing that. And if this guy really worked for some sort of search and rescue, why was he holding a baseball bat?