Undead: FINITUM, #1

By A.Rosaria

A routine delivery becomes a night of terror.

Before meeting up with his girlfriend, Linda, John Lone must deliver a package to a secluded cabin deep in the forest. No problem, he's made this trip a hundred times.

But things have changed...

Supernatural creatures now stalk the forest and beyond, seeking out innocent prey to devour. John must fight for his life. Does he have the skills--the time--to get back to his safe life and his girlfriend? Linda is his one chance for a happily ever after.

But this is no fairy tale.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Rosaria
• Release date: Jul 30, 2013
• ISBN: 9781498992756

Book preview

CHAPTER ONE

John took the farmhouse in before going through the fence gate. It wasn‘t a huge house, big enough for a small family, a typical 1900‘s turn-of-the-century pine wooden house, painted white. He liked looking at it; it was quite the picturesque view with the tall trees a distance away and the mountains farther yet with their snow-covered peaks.

Mrs. Greenwich sat in her rocking chair on the porch waiting for him. He had promised to deliver a package to her brother, a recluse who lived in a cabin about two to three miles into the forest. John expected to be done with the delivery before sunset and be home for his diner date with Linda.

It wasn‘t the best paying job ever, and it was something Mrs. Greenwich could easily do herself, being she was still active and in good health for her age, and the distance wasn‘t that far. He wasn‘t really complaining. He didn‘t mind doing the job—he needed the money after all—and he loved walking in the forest. He just thought it weird that she didn‘t go herself, because she once promised her long-dead husband to never go near her brother again. Why obey someone who was dead? And not see your only brother because of that promise made long ago. It wasn‘t his place to judge. In a way he admired her loyalty; he didn‘t often see someone taking it that far to honor someone else.

Mrs. Greenwich tapped a cheerful rhythm on the package rested on her lap. There was happiness in the way she sat there, like she expected something nice that day. She was always nice, be it a reserved formal kind of niceness; however, today she had a reddish glow about her.

As John opened the fence gate, he grinned at her. Good day, Mrs. Greenwich, a lovely day isn‘t it.

Mrs. Greenwich stood up from her rocking chair and put the long cardboard box on the seat. Hello to you, young man. She smiled at him, pointing at the gray sky. But how in the world can you call this foul weather lovely?

It‘s nice enough for a stiff walk in the park.

Her voice trembled with a mock sternness, her eyes glittered, and she smiled. Nice weather for a stiff walk, you say. Honey, if not for my brother expecting me to send him this—she pointed at the cardboard box sitting on her old rocking chair—I would spare you the trouble with this weather.

Don‘t you worry; I‘m not made of sugar. A little rain won‘t harm me.

Joke all you want, but it won‘t be just a little rain. It could turn real nasty, at least according to the forecaster.

John climbed up on the porch and took the box from the rocking chair. It was heavier this time. He looked up at the old lady. Nine out of ten times their predictions don‘t come true. Though, in all honesty, I think they might be right this time.

John rested the box against his shoulder, and like a soldier parading a rifle, he stepped off the porch. I‘ll be going now, Mrs. Greenwich.

Bye, John. Don‘t forget to tell my brother that the next package will be at the same time in two weeks.

I‘ll do that.

And watch out for yourself.

John waved goodbye and left her standing on the porch as he walked toward the tree line. With his date in mind, he increased his pace. He wanted to get this over with and return to Linda.

The sun was high in the sky but not much light came down to earth through the clouds, which filtered the light and cast everything in a dull gray. A clearing led to the dirt path into the forest. He watched as darkness crept over the field and into the forest. He was sure that the weather would get worse, and if he was delayed more than an hour, he would end walking back in near darkness. John wished he had taken a flashlight with him. It would be hard to find his way back without one. A vain popped at his temple as a curse escaped his lips.

Maybe he should turn back and ask Mrs. Greenwich if she could spare him a flashlight, but that would waste time, and he wasn‘t even sure if she had one to spare. No, he would be better off asking Lucas, Mrs. Greenwich‘s brother. He certainly would lend him a flashlight, or one of his antiquated oil lanterns; he had more than enough to spare.

John shook his head. Time was ticking and worrying wouldn‘t move him forward. He wasn‘t even sure anything would go wrong, and why would it today when all the other times nothing had happened? John followed the path into the forest while behind him the shadows crept after him.

He loved the way the tall, thick trees rose up, aiming their branches filled with dark green leaves to the sky, and he loved the sound the wind made rustling through the leaves. Usually, this scene would sooth him. The green plants, the flowers, the sound of the small furry forest animals. Any other day it would make this picture complete. His own personal Zen moment, the one moment of calm in the raging storm called his life. He looked forward to being alone, just him and the forest. It was his chance to contemplate where his life was taking him, but today the forest was not the usual beautiful creation of nature. His moment of tranquility was denied by the gray, which draped everything in a lifeless shade. The weather was to be blamed for this. What else could it be? It must be the dark clouds swallowing the light. However, despite being sure it was the weather and nothing else, a feeling of unease passed over him. It disturbed him that the sound of life was sucked out of the forest, leaving him in utter silence.

The joyous walk of blissfully contemplating tranquility turned into a thirty-minute walk of gloom that seemed to last an eternity. There was nothing to see, nothing to hear, not even the fresh smell of green nature. There was only the path to follow, and with every passing second the shadows gained on him.

With nothing else to keep his mind preoccupied, he noticed every discomfort he had: the stress on his knees with each step he took; the weight on his feet pressing painfully on his soles; the sheer weight of his backpack on his shoulders; and the long package sticking out of his backpack, making it cumbersome to walk with, and him afraid that it could fall out at any time and break. It was unbearable not being able to take his mind off the mundane.

His mood worsened. The little joy he had left in his body was drained by the lifelessness surrounding him. Why did it turn out like this on this day of all days? He just wanted the sun, some light to shine on his life—a life that had been dark ever since he had that accident that almost killed him six months ago. The recovery, the stress it created between him and Linda, he didn‘t know if he could stand another string of six months like that. Today, he hoped to turn things around for the better and go back to the way it was before.

John noticed a faint light ahead. Some of the tenseness left his muscles. He was about to see another living, breathing human being, and no matter how eccentric he was, it was a welcome sight. Finally, he would escape the silence.

CHAPTER TWO

John pushed a branch aside; its leaves rustled behind him as he walked into the clearing in front of the cabin. The light that had caught his attention came from a single gas lantern hanging on a support beam like a beacon on an abandoned ship.

He expected Lucas would have turned on the lights inside the cabin, but it was still dark inside. This felt weird; the old recluse had always been there to receive his packages. He knew well in advance when John would arrive; John told him the next delivery date each time he came. The only light on was the lantern and it was getting darker.

John tripped on something soft and wet as he went up to the porch. He fell forward, smashing his shoulder against the sturdy cabin door. Pain shot from his shoulder to his head with such intensity it made him forget everything around him. He cursed through his gritted teeth. He grabbed his shoulder and started rubbing it. He turned around and put his back against the door. With his eyes shut, he waited for the pain to subside before opening them again.

It was Jester he had tripped over. He glanced at the cat sleeping in front of the stairs on the landing and closed his eyes again. It was a stray, almost feral cat, who at times kept Lucas company. It was a miracle that the cat didn‘t wake up. Since when were cats such deep sleepers? He sighed and turned around, facing the door. He had hoped that Lucas had woken up from whatever slumber he was in by the noise made by his shoulder hitting the door. The door stayed shut, and it was silent inside of the cabin. Could it be Lucas wasn‘t home?

Did Lucas forget he was supposed to get a package from his sister? Or did he get hurt while out hunting? No, he couldn‘t be out and about, why else leave the lantern burning? Leaving it turned on, unattended, was a fire hazard waiting to happen. Lucas may be an eccentric, but he was not known for being careless. It was highly unlikely he would start now. He must be asleep, unaware he missed his appointment.

John knocked hard, and the door shuddered under the force of his fist. Now that should wake him up. Lucas! You there? Wake up. I got a delivery for you.

John put his ear close to the door. Silence came from the other side. He raised his fist, about to knock again, when he thought he heard something. John held his breath, listening intently. Nothing. Not a single sound. He could swear he had heard a shuffle, or was he imagining things? John kicked the door in frustration.

He preferred to deliver the package personally, that way he was sure it was received in good order, but now he didn‘t see any other option than to leave it at the front door. He hated that this would make him liable if anything happened to it, but he had things to do and somewhere to be, and time was slipping away.

He banged his fist against the door. Lucas, are you there?

This was senseless. Damn this day, damn this silence, damn whatever happens to the package. He kicked the door again.

John slid his backpack off his shoulder, took out the package, and put it against the door. He fished out a notepad and pen from his front pocket, sat on the wooden bench next to the door, and started writing. Lucas, you were not at home, so I left the box at your front door. Please, next time you expect a package from you sister, be there to receive it. He signed his name under the text.

John looked up from his notepad and gasped. It was now the he saw what he failed to see before when he had glanced at the cat. It was all wrong. Jester the cat was staring directly at him, while the cat‘s legs pointed toward the forest away from the porch. The cat‘s neck was twisted in an impossible angle, bones bulging the skin, giving the cat a hunched back appearance. Its eyes were bland and empty. The cat wasn‘t sleeping; the cat was dead, killed gruesomely. A chill sped up John‘s back. The hair on his arms rose to a cold he had not felt in a long time. He stood up, breathing heavily, and his eyes darted everywhere and nowhere as if whoever did this to Jester would suddenly jump out and attack him.

Shit, shit, shit…calm down, calm down…think, think…think!

He felt madness descend upon him with all his thoughts racing through his head. This was not how he expected his day to turn out. He had to calm down before he made it worse than it already was. John managed to slow his breathing, while his mind spawned thoughts, trying to bring some meaning to all this. He didn‘t know who had killed Jester, or why someone would do such a thing. Could it be a wild animal attack? That would explain it, if not that there hadn‘t been any such thing reported for a long time. Still it could happen. Nature had a tendency to lure predators to ecosystems that had none. What if whatever killed Jester had also attacked Lucas? Blood rushed from John‘s face. Could that be the reason there was no trace of him? He should go look for Lucas. For all he knew, the poor man‘s mutilated body was sprawled somewhere on the ground not far from here.

Too risky, John mumbled.

He took his smartphone from his pocket and dialed Orson Wells, the local sheriff, who happened to be his best friend. After the third tone, a tired, joyless voice came on.

Good afternoon, Sheriff Wells speaking.

Orson, it‘s me, John.

Hey, John, yeah…it‘s been awhile. Yeah…

Orson voice switched to a friendlier tone, though a little bit flustered. John didn‘t give it any further thought.

Orson, I—

The familiar beeping sound played in his ear, teasing him with his fate. John threw his hands up and cursed the clouds drifting by. She had warned him about the weather, and now there it was—a storm.

John stepped over Jester, making sure his feet didn‘t come close to the corpse, and went down the steps. He searched the ground in front of the cabin for footprints other than his own and found nothing. He made a wide berth around the cabin. No luck there either. He found not one footprint, animal print, disturbed branch, welled earth, or any other sign someone had been there. As it became darker, he would not be able to find anything. John made one more round, only this time he looked closer at the base of the cabin. All he found was a shovel near the back of the cabin, nothing else, though by now he wasn‘t sure he would have been able to see a clue if he stumbled upon one.

Maybe Lucas wasn‘t home. Maybe he went out, doing whatever the old hermit did in his free time. He probably wasn‘t even home when Jester got killed, because he wouldn‘t have left the poor cat dead on his porch. Lucas would have buried it.

John paced. Sure, Lucas was a big man and would have left a mark behind if something had happened. There was no reason for him to worry. Lucas was all right. Besides, John had somewhere to go and time was running out. He only needed to leave the note before he left.

Going back up to the porch and stepping over the poor cat, John couldn‘t help to look at the corpse. A furry brown cat with black tiger-like stripes. Lucas once told him that Jester came every morning for food and company; this time he got something else, something deadly.

With the note in hand, ready to put it down with a stone on top, his hand lingered inches away from the top of the box. This was wrong. He couldn‘t leave the cat on the porch for Lucas to find. Lucas would get the same scare John had when he saw the poor cat mangled. He owed it to the guy. Lucas was not a bad sort, always gave him a beer on his delivery runs. It would be an ass thing to do to leave the cat there. John decided to do the man a solid and burry the cat; he knew it would eat away at the time he still had, but he was willing to sacrifice that for this. He would somehow make up for the lost time.

John got the shovel from behind the cabin. He found a clear area near some trees at the border of the clearing and started digging. The shovel went up in the air and back down in the earth. Quicker and quicker he went. It rained dirt over his shoulder. With every stroke of the shovel, the image of the dead cat with its spine protruding from its torn neck flashed in front of his eyes.

John stood sweating, waiting for his heavy breathing to subside, looking at the knee-deep hole he had just dug. He was satisfied with the depth; now he had to get the cat‘s corpse into the makeshift grave. He shuddered at the thought of having to touch it. A few feet away, a plastic bag was stuck on a dead branch. He pried it loose. The logo from the local gun shop was printed on it, and the receipt was still inside. Someone had bought a twelve-gauge shotgun and five boxes of shells—that someone being most likely Mrs. Greenwich since Lucas didn‘t go into town. It was a wise choice to have a shotgun when wild beasts were roaming around, though it hadn‘t help Jester.

John walked back to the cat and put the bag over it before picking it up. As he lifted the cat, the stench trapped underneath came free. A sour taste filled his mouth, and he barely kept it in. It was a miracle he didn‘t drop the cat. Had he, he sure wouldn‘t have had the courage to lift it a second time. With long strides, he carried the cat to the hole and dropped it in. As Jester hit the bottom, his head rolled off his body. His dead eyes stared accusingly at John. Quickly, John shoveled dirt, covering Jester‘s head from view.

Salt! John exclaimed.

The hole may not be deep enough to keep the stench away, but salt would dry up the body and get rid of the smell. He ran to the small storage shed next to the cabin. Lucas often went fishing at the lake a few miles from here. He would prepare and cook the fish at the lake, and take a bag of salt with him on those occasions. He kept the salt with his fishing gear.

The door hung on its hinges and made a creaking sound when John opened it and went inside. The wooden shed was about six feet wide and long. He found the salt on the top shelf in the back. The fishing gear was missing. He had it right, then. Lucas went fishing and was probably safe.

He yanked the plastic bag off the cat and threw the salt evenly over Jester‘s body. John stared for a while; it was like a sheet of glistening snow covered the cat. He filled the hole, and once finished, he put his hands together, fingers entwined, and lowered his chin to his chest.

Jester, you were a nice cat. I am sorry about what happened to you. Please, rest in peace.

John sighed, feeling silly for his sudden show of piety. He walked back up the steps and grabbed the note and scribbled, P.S. Jester is dead and I buried him.

CHAPTER THREE

While John had been busy with the burial of the cat, he forgot about the overcast sky with clouds fat with rain begging for a storm. By the time John finished the note, a gust of wind threw him off balance. With his index finger and thumb pressed hard on the note‘s corner, the piece of paper flapped in the wind, struggling to get free of his grip. He secured the note on the box by putting a stone on it.

John slung his backpack over his shoulder and started down the steps. Looking up at the sky and seeing the dark clouds, he quickened his pace. A little too late. Before he reached the path, it poured marble-sized raindrops.

He cursed beneath his breath as he ran back to the shed. Once inside, he closed the door and sat down to wait for the rain to stop; that is if it ever would stop. He hoped that at least it would tone down enough for him to be able go outside without risking being knocked unconscious by the huge raindrops.

He pressed his back against the wall, pulled his knees up against his chest, and folded his arms over his knees. Slowly, he felt the warmth move back into his body. He looked around, hoping on the off chance that Lucas left an umbrella or raincoat inside. Luck had it that right next to the door hung a worn yellow raincoat. He felt reluctant taking the coat. It probably was an