Read Online After: The Echo (AFTER post-apocalyptic series, Book 2) by Scott Nicholson - Free Book Online Page B
Book: After: The Echo (AFTER post-apocalyptic series, Book 2) by Scott Nicholson
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Authors: Scott Nicholson
Tags: Suspense, Science-Fiction, adventure, Horror, Paranormal, Mystery, Action, Zombie, supernatural, Zombies, post apocalyptic, Dystopian, walking dead, brian keene, world war z, technothriller, Stephen King, Joe Hill, Dean Koontz, bentley little, Justin Cronin, After series, J.L. Bourne
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right about the sky—it was still shockingly clear, the striated bands of shimmering green aurora like a psychedelic fireworks display against the ceiling of heaven. Beneath it was the black outline of the forest. At first she could see nothing, but then the trunks of the closest trees individuated. Something moved between them.
Dozens of tiny sparks, like fireflies.
But fireflies were a summer insect. The September nights were too cool for them.
That glittering gold was familiar.
Zapheads?
They hadn’t seen any Zapheads in a week, and they’d been able to avoid contact through caution. Rachel had never seen more than a few at any one time.
Several of them had attacked in unison back in Taylorsville, when she and DeVontay had been held captive by soldiers. But she couldn’t comprehend the numbers now surrounding them in the woods, issuing their clicking ululations in the shadows.
“Eyes,” she said, mostly to herself, to grasp the awfulness of the idea, although she’d said it loudly enough for DeVontay to hear over the hissing.
“It’s them,” he said.
The sibilant hissing rose into a unified keening, almost a single soulful wail. The Zapheads were giving voice to the misery of After in a way that no human could articulate. Rachel shuddered, and the dread sank deeply into her bones.
We’ll die here. All this for nothing.
So much for protecting Stephen.
So much for paying my debt.
Thanks a lot, God.
But she couldn’t be angry at the force she’d rejected. If she’d stopped thanking God for survival and hope, then she couldn’t rightly blame Him for the disintegration.
The glittering eyes still hovered in the distance, not coming any nearer. Rachel slid to the ground and crawled across the ruptured cockpit, feeling her way. The smoky steam hung heavy in her lungs, and she forced back a cough. Stephen murmured in his sleep.
She expected DeVontay to begin firing at any moment, the night exploding with lead and powder. Even with the extra boxes of ammo he’d found back at the farmhouse, they would not be able to fend them off, even if every shot found its mark.
Rachel reached her backpack and clutched her pistol. Her grandfather would want her to go down fighting.
She could almost hear his demanding, raspy voice now. “Stand your ground. Make the bastards pay for messing with a Wheeler.”
The high, hissing wail echoed inside her skull, penetrating to her soul. This was the soundtrack to hell, inspiring her to madness. She fought an urge to burst out laughing, to flee into the forest with her pistol blazing, to meet their violence head on with no mercy asked or given.
But when she reached the cockpit opening, DeVontay blocked her way. “Wait,” he said, wrapping a strong arm around her.
“How can there be so many?”
“Dunno.” DeVontay held her against his body so tightly that she could barely breathe. Her heart felt like a zeppelin filling with warm hydrogen.
She struggled against him, barely hearing him over the noise. Now she wanted to scream instead of laugh, and then she thought she was screaming, because a shriek pierced the night like an electric guitar solo over a string orchestra.
The sound was coming from inside the cockpit.
Stephen!
The keening wail in the forest gave way to an ominous silence.
CHAPTER TEN
Stephen screamed again and Rachel tore free of DeVontay’s grip. She stumbled through the aurora-limned cockpit, until she found him. He clung to her with his thin, frail arms.
“Shh, it’s going to be okay,”
“Huh-had a bad dream,” he blubbered. “They were t-talking to me...”
“Who?” she asked, her stomach tightening.
“I don’t know. They…they were in the woods.”
She stroked his hair, careful to keep the pistol out of his reach. If the Zapheads closed in, she’d have to decide whether to use the last two bullets on the boy and then herself. Except she couldn’t remember how many bullets the magazine held.
Why isn’t DeVontay
Dozens of tiny sparks, like fireflies.
But fireflies were a summer insect. The September nights were too cool for them.
That glittering gold was familiar.
Zapheads?
They hadn’t seen any Zapheads in a week, and they’d been able to avoid contact through caution. Rachel had never seen more than a few at any one time.
Several of them had attacked in unison back in Taylorsville, when she and DeVontay had been held captive by soldiers. But she couldn’t comprehend the numbers now surrounding them in the woods, issuing their clicking ululations in the shadows.
“Eyes,” she said, mostly to herself, to grasp the awfulness of the idea, although she’d said it loudly enough for DeVontay to hear over the hissing.
“It’s them,” he said.
The sibilant hissing rose into a unified keening, almost a single soulful wail. The Zapheads were giving voice to the misery of After in a way that no human could articulate. Rachel shuddered, and the dread sank deeply into her bones.
We’ll die here. All this for nothing.
So much for protecting Stephen.
So much for paying my debt.
Thanks a lot, God.
But she couldn’t be angry at the force she’d rejected. If she’d stopped thanking God for survival and hope, then she couldn’t rightly blame Him for the disintegration.
The glittering eyes still hovered in the distance, not coming any nearer. Rachel slid to the ground and crawled across the ruptured cockpit, feeling her way. The smoky steam hung heavy in her lungs, and she forced back a cough. Stephen murmured in his sleep.
She expected DeVontay to begin firing at any moment, the night exploding with lead and powder. Even with the extra boxes of ammo he’d found back at the farmhouse, they would not be able to fend them off, even if every shot found its mark.
Rachel reached her backpack and clutched her pistol. Her grandfather would want her to go down fighting.
She could almost hear his demanding, raspy voice now. “Stand your ground. Make the bastards pay for messing with a Wheeler.”
The high, hissing wail echoed inside her skull, penetrating to her soul. This was the soundtrack to hell, inspiring her to madness. She fought an urge to burst out laughing, to flee into the forest with her pistol blazing, to meet their violence head on with no mercy asked or given.
But when she reached the cockpit opening, DeVontay blocked her way. “Wait,” he said, wrapping a strong arm around her.
“How can there be so many?”
“Dunno.” DeVontay held her against his body so tightly that she could barely breathe. Her heart felt like a zeppelin filling with warm hydrogen.
She struggled against him, barely hearing him over the noise. Now she wanted to scream instead of laugh, and then she thought she was screaming, because a shriek pierced the night like an electric guitar solo over a string orchestra.
The sound was coming from inside the cockpit.
Stephen!
The keening wail in the forest gave way to an ominous silence.
CHAPTER TEN
Stephen screamed again and Rachel tore free of DeVontay’s grip. She stumbled through the aurora-limned cockpit, until she found him. He clung to her with his thin, frail arms.
“Shh, it’s going to be okay,”
“Huh-had a bad dream,” he blubbered. “They were t-talking to me...”
“Who?” she asked, her stomach tightening.
“I don’t know. They…they were in the woods.”
She stroked his hair, careful to keep the pistol out of his reach. If the Zapheads closed in, she’d have to decide whether to use the last two bullets on the boy and then herself. Except she couldn’t remember how many bullets the magazine held.
Why isn’t DeVontay
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