I wanted to share a chapter one of my current work in progress. The title will be Assimilation, and will be the final book of my Shadows of the Past trilogy I started way back in 2012. Since then I've gone through the doubt and questions that plague many of us writers. Starting then stopping with the belief very few people wanted to see my work.
I've worked my way through all that and continue to work to improve my writing skills. I don't expect everyone to like what I write. I'm only focused on those who do as I pursue this dream. If you're one of them and want to know more about my work, leave a comment below. In the coming weeks and months I'll be sharing more of this work as I draw close to finishing this chapter of my writing career.
ASSIMILATION
Chapter 1
For Sam the past was ever present, the cherished memories of
his daughter crawling into his lap tainted by the reality of what had befallen
her. Now it was only in his dreams that she came to him, carrying a heavy
burden wrapped in brightly colored blankets stained by a black ichor that slowly
dripped to the floor. Every splatter carried the agony of her final scream when
he’d done the only thing he could.
Give her peace.
This was not peace. She materialized from the shadows, a
swaddled bundle held close to her chest, a memory like the one he’d relived
every night since Anna’s death.
The man turned from the register, his pistol spitting
flames. Anna dropped to her knees, her hands clasped to her belly, a surprised look
on her face as her blood slowly covered the floor. Michelle eyes wide with
surprise as blood dribbled down the front of her shirt. Cheryl crying out, her swollen
belly crushing her beneath its weight, begging him to end her misery.
You can’t protect your women. The thought jolted him
awake and he lifted his head from an unfamiliar pillow, prying open his eyes to
look around an unfamiliar room.
Where am I? He wondered as the memories uncoiled in
his mind to show him the outside of the small hotel they checked into two days prior.
Movement from the corner of his eye drew his attention and he swiveled his head
to the left, knocking an empty bottle from the bed with his hand.
Frankie emerged from the bathroom, carrying Sam’s shaving
case along with their toothbrushes and toothpaste.
“You’re awake,” Frankie said as he crossed to the open
suitcase sitting on the rooms other bed.
“Where are we?”
“Outside Spokane, are you okay?”
“I will be,” Sam said as he pushed himself up and slicked
back his hair with both hands. He’ been letting it grow out and it was nearly
to the point he could pull it back into a ponytail. With his growing beard he
looked like any of a hundred other bums running from the life they once had. He
swung his feet over the side of the bed as he sat up. On the nightstand a half
bottle of Rum teased with the promise of oblivion, and he briefly debated
whether he should take another shot. A little something to take the edge off.
Frankie was packing their things and Sam watched his son
work. He was growing up so fast, too fast in fact, and Sam felt a moment’s
guilt at how he was using him. Like a bloodhound to sniff out those responsible
for everything that happened to them. For the loss of Michelle, and Cheryl, and
the other innocent victims of this creature’s quest for power. He could have
stayed home, kept to himself, and let the rest of the world go to hell. Only he
knew he wouldn’t. He was responsible for this thing getting loose in the first
place. If he had followed through like he should have. If he had destroyed
everything at the cabin in the first place, none of this would be happening.
These things woke up because of him. Now he had to send them back to where they
came from.
“Are we leaving?” Sam asked.
“They’re getting closer. It won’t be long before they find
us.”
As if to drive his point home the sound of breaking glass
came from the bathroom. Sam jumped to his feet and retrieved his pistol from
the nightstand. The bleariness of his thoughts cleared in recognition of the
threat. He moved around Frankie, placing the boy behind him as he crossed to
the closed bathroom door. He had nearly reached it when the door exploded
outwards, driven from its hinges, Sam dodged to the right, nearly taking the
door in his face. Coming around the side with his pistol in a two-handed grip
he identified the threat and sent two quick rounds into the head of the
infected man. He looked like a young construction worker dressed in a torn tee
shirt and dirty jeans above dusty work boots.
The infected man was driven back into the bathroom as a
scream came the room to their left. From the room on the right someone pounded
on the wall, shouting they were going to call the police. Another infected
person emerged, swiveling their head to look at Sam who put a double tap into its
rotten brain. Driven back against the door jamb by the impact of the rounds at
such a short range, it dropped to the floor where it tried to get back to its
feet. Sam no longer considered them human, and he calmly put two more rounds
into the back of its head.
“Grab the shotgun,” Sam yelled, and Frankie retrieved the
shotgun from the corner next to Sam’s bed. He started picking up the half empty
bottles.
“Leave em,” Sam shouted as he crossed to the door, “grab the
suitcase.” Sam took the shotgun and checked the load before returning his
pistol to the holster on his waist. Reaching the door, he flung it open and
stepped out into the night. Sometimes the best defense was a savage offense,
and he had every intention of showing these assholes just how savage he could
be. A silhouette approached from his right, and he swiveled in that direction
with the shotgun ready. The man who was staying two doors down threw up his
hands and darted to the left into the parking lot.
Movement behind him drew his attention and he spun around,
the shotgun planted firmly in his shoulder, the muzzle coming to rest on the misshapen face of one of the infected trying to sneak up on him. He fired, the
roar deafening in the night, causing even more lights to come on along the
quiet street where the hotel was located. Doors opened then slammed shut again
as Sam, with the shotgun at the ready, Frankie right behind him, crossed the
parking lot to their car.
A siren wailed, and Sam knew they had to get out of there
quick. Popping open the door he motioned for Frankie to get in, covering him as
he did, when he was satisfied his boy was safe he moved around the car to the
driver’s side, the shotgun never once leaving his shoulder as he swiveled left
and right in response to the multitude of sounds coming from all around him.
He had entered that heightened sense of awareness, hearing
even the tiniest of movements, ready to meet any threat that might come their
way. A place he was sadly intimately familiar with. Life had never been easy
for him, nights spent zoning out on the couch were an alien thing. Frankie
leaned across the seat and opened the door. Sam slipped in behind the wheel,
jammed the keys into the ignition, and twisted them savagely.
