Purgatory: Skies of Grey Part Two

By Julian Kindred

Fires burn in the mist, beacons to the creatures hungry for human flesh and sparking conflict between Pit bull Primo's mobsters and Butterfly's convicts. The body count rises and the monsters feast.

Winter teams up with Leroy and Ink, fortifying a hardware store and building weapons she hopes can protect them.

Reem discovers that the monsters they've seen so far are but a fraction of what is waiting. A host of creatures, led by a being called King Carnivore make ready to hunt the humans...and they want Reem to hunt with them.

T-bird learns the secrets of the place in the mist, though nothing that could help her escape. As her situation grows ever more dire, a new discovery could provide her with salvation. Or damnation.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Julian Kindred
• Release date: May 12, 2015
• ISBN: 9781310147722

Book preview

Skies of Grey

Part II

By Julian Kindred

Copyright 2015 Julian Kindred

Published on Smashwords

* * *

All rights reserved. Without limiting the rights under copyright reserved above, no part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in or introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form, or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise) without the prior written permission of both the copyright owner and the above publisher of this book.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, brands, media, and incidents are either the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously.

Smashwords Edition License Notes

This e-book is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This e-book may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each person you share it with. Thank you for respecting the author's work.

Formatted by eBooksMade4You

* * *

Forward

This work is a direct continuation of Skies of Grey Part One, The Place in the Mist. It will only make sense if you have already read this first part. I wrote Skies of Grey at a very dark time in my life and with the intention of the entire work being a multi-part novel. Each part is being published separately and will come together to form a cohesive whole.

* * *

Other Works by Julian Kindred

The Hawkridge Chronicles

Book 1: Hawkridge

Book 2: Under the Mountain

Book 3: Outlaws of the Golden Plains (Coming Soon)

Skies of Grey

Part 1: The Place in the Mist

Part 2: Purgatory

* * *

CONTENTS

CHAPTER TWENTY

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

CHAPTER THIRTY

CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE

CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO

CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE

CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR

CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

* * *

CHAPTER TWENTY

FLESHCHILD

The Primo wouldn’t come out so Fleshchild could eat him. Inconsiderate snail. Slimy, slimy, slimy in his shell with all the Lost around him. Good for eating and tasty, tasty, tasty, but always together. So frustrating! It made him hungry.

Smoke curled upward into the mist. One of the Lost-places burned. Lost from the school-place left their safe numbers and safe shell to investigate. Fleshchild followed. They had guns. Fleshchild dimly remembered having one back when he’d had fingers. Useless fingers that couldn’t even taste blood or rip open Lost for eating.

The roar had scared him, he remembered that. But the girl with the stick, she hadn’t had a gun. She’d been Found and that meant less food. She’d looked so tasty too, made his fangs drool droplets of venom. Maybe he could eat the Lost that came back from the fire. If Old Wormy didn’t eat them first. Stupid worms. Stupid Primo.

He was gonna come for him, that’s what the tall-Lost had said before Fleshchild ate him. The Lost were liars though. Had he forgotten that? No, no. Found were liars, too. Everyone here was a liar. Except for Fleshchild. Taste was not a liar. His claws did not lie to him. Primo had tasted good in his claws, hard muscle for them to hook into and peel from the bone. After his venom loosened them up again. Primo soup. Yum, yum, yum.

Fleshchild skittered along the damp grass, keeping low enough for the hair on his limbs and belly to pick up dew from the stalks left by the mist. Below the grey curtain he was invisible to the Lost. Balanced on the tips of the hooked claws that had replaced his useless hands and feet. Couldn’t taste with his feet before.

His tail lashed in irritation as he rounded a tombstone. His left leg was twisted at an awkward angle, sending sharp sharp sharp needle-pains into him with every step. Useless pain. Not as useless as feet that couldn’t taste, but still irritating. Pain was only useful when it was on other Found and Lost. Not too much on the Lost though. Mustn’t play with his food.

The flames burned away the mist near the Lost place Primo’s people had burned, but couldn’t remove it completely. It was hot. It took Fleshchild a moment to adjust as he drew closer to the column of smoke. Blasphemous, this heat. The Grey never changed how hot it was, that’s why it gave him his fur. It didn’t want these flames here. He didn’t want these flames here.

Old Wormy was a different kind of pain than the needles in his leg, taking so much good food, but he left more than enough for Fleshchild. The Carnival wouldn’t. They’d eat all the Lost. Take all the new Found. Selfish. He should be able to eat as much as he wanted.

He ducked behind a tombstone and watched with eight fascinated eyes as the flames leapt from the burning building to the rose bushes in the flowers that ringed it. The red petals blackened then withered in on themselves like a Lost having their fluids drained. Only drier. Fleshchild decided he hated the fire.

Another column of smoke rose in the distance. Another fire he should hate. Another beacon for the Carnival. Would King Carnivore go there or here first?

Fleshchild became unerringly still as he stopped to think. He didn’t like thinking much. Eating was better, but sometimes he had to stop to think so that he could keep eating.

Thoughts were always heavier when he made them on purpose, but he supposed that was because they were so much bigger when they finally surfaced. It was a small thought though, that came up this time, but it let the big ones come up after. The girl-Found had flown away toward the Carnival.

The sky was a big place but she wouldn’t be able to hide from King Carnivore. That would slow the Carnival down. They’d find her. They couldn’t not. And they’d slow. It didn’t matter which hated fire it went to first; he’d eat. Eat and eat until all his stomachs were full then eat some more. And what he didn’t eat he’d keep. He needed to find a new hidey place, a Lost place. Couldn’t be in the woods, he needed to keep his food alive and Lost so it would be tasty. Couldn’t let the Grey Find them. His fangs chittered in excitement. There was going to be so. Much. Killing!

A little black foot stepped on one of his eyes.

Fleshchild’s tail struck fast fast fast and the hook on the end pierced the foot even as the shadowy little figure leapt from his head. The blow pulled the thing out of the air and pinned it to the ground.

The little winklemen didn’t shriek in pain, just twisted its shadowy body around on the ground until it faced Fleshchild with glittering eyes and a too-wide mouth. It tasted like water. Bad. No flavor. The winklemen giggled as it tried to tear its foot free. Fleshchild drove a claw through its head and gagged at the bad no-taste. Found never tasted food.

Stupid winklemen, he chittered quietly. Stupid Toadspawn.

Letting his winklemen run everywhere, chasing and chasing and laughing and laughing. Ruining his food. He’d have to hunt fast before Toadspawn got hungry enough to stop playing with his food—so impolite! But he had to move fast anyways.

Voices. Near the Lost place. Fleshchild ripped his talon from the pesky winklemen even as it dissolved in little black winks. Like the roses, burned away to nothing. He peered around the tombstone and left the tasteless thing to fade to nothing.

Men Lost had come around the side of the blaze. The light had hidden them from his many eyes earlier, but they’d moved and were being loud. Maybe loud enough for Old Wormy.

No, they were standing still. Wormy liked loud noises on the ground more than voices. They wouldn’t stay still forever. That would be too easy, easy, easy and Lost didn’t like being eaten.

Fleshchild tapped his claws against the cement block with quiet clicking, each talon stretching gooey white rope from where it touched. Didn’t need them to stay still, still, still for long. Just long enough. He backed into the mist, keeping low, low, low and scurried to the next tombstone, lining the ground with thin sheets of webbing.

Jesus fucking Christ, Morty, said one of the younger Lost. He was thick and carried a knife.

Not as big as Primo’s but it would still bite. He was soft, his belly round and juicy.

Did any of you have a better idea? This from a Lost in a suit.

He was thinner than the others, looked faster too. Not as good for eating. Fleshchild hated fast food.

And my name is Mortimer. Call me ‘Morty’ again and I’ll cut your throat.

Fleshchild hoped he wouldn’t. Food was always better when it died while he was eating it.

You’d kill us? Just like you killed them? asked another of the young Lost. He sounded angry, though Fleshchild had a hard time remembering how anything but fear sounded.

You’d rather I let them kill us? Mortimer-not-Morty asked. You think they wouldn’t have taken you apart?

We could’ve taken ‘em, the first soft-one said. Just shot the dangerous ones or brought ‘em to Primo or something.

I guarantee you, Mortimer said. They had more bullets than we had bodies. Or you think you could keep going after being shot? I just saved your lives you ungrateful dipshits.

Didn’t save Jeremy’s, said one.

And what about the Cheese? asked another.

Jeremy had a knife in his neck, Mortimer protested. He was bleeding out anyway. I did him a favor.

Didn’t do Emilio any favors.

He doesn’t want to get caught in the crossfire he shouldn’t go running off on his own.

The Cheese stands alone, said the soft-one.

Fleshchild decided to eat him first. Like having dessert before the main course.

Then he dies alone, Mortimer spat.

Everyone dies alone, said a new voice.

Each of the Lost froze as a thick figure appeared behind Mortimer. He carried heavy looking containers and was covered in ash. Fleshchild hadn’t seen or even heard him sneaking up. Because he was setting his clever, clever traps of course, but the big newcomer was dangerous. Big with lots and lots and lots of muscles. Good eating, but hard hunting.

He didn’t look at any of the other Lost as he spoke. Like he was blind. No, not like he was blind. Like they weren’t there. Never seen a Lost that looked at other Lost like that. Found plenty, but not Lost.

Fleshchild pulled away from the group as they made noises, both fear sounds and others. More anger followed. He lay down more webs between the tombstones and over the grass in a widening arc. When they left the light of their fire they’d be food. Wriggling and sweet in his webbing. Sweet, sweet, sweet. It was enough to almost let him forget the pain in his leg. Not enough though. New needles shot through it. Stupid girl-Found, dropping him out of the sky.

The webbing he’d only just finished laying down went taut, taut, taut, all from the wrong side.

What the fuck? shouted a voice that belonged to a woman-Lost.

Mmm, lucky, lucky tasty, tasty. Fleshchild scurried around, arcing away from the fire to circle behind the new voice. Voices.

Damn, Salad, the hell’d you get yourself stuck in?

The fuck should I know, bitch tits? Help me get it off!

Four women Lost all in orange clustered together, all focused on their friend caught up in his web. He began laying down more webbing behind them, closing them in. Fleshchild’s claws began to ache as he started to run dry. So much food was worth it. Sometimes hunting hurt.

Golden, think you can pull her free? asked the one Salad had called ‘bitch tits’.

The tallest one with a craggy face and cropped salt-and-pepper hair grunted and hooked her arms under Salad’s. She grunted again and started lifting. Would she taste like French fries? Fleshchild remembered liking those better than guns back when he was Lost.

Who’s there? called Mortimer.

The mist and fire made him stupid hard to see. Stupid fire, making things so bright and hot.

The women-Lost all quietly cursed and began muttering to each other. None of them answered the call.

We’re armed, Mortimer called again. You don’t show yourselves, we’ll start shooting.

I thought only Emilio had a gun, said one of the younger Lost.

A loud clap followed. The women shared predatory grins.

A gun would be useful, Bitch Tits murmured.

Don’t shoot, called another woman Lost, making her voice high pitched with fake fear. Please, we’re lost and our friend is stuck.

The women-Lost crouched low and readied clubs and knives like the girl-Found who flew. Fake and sharp. Made from broken things. They began prowling forward. Spread, spread, spreading like blood spilled on a sidewalk in a little wave.

Don’t move, Mortimer called. We’re coming to you.

Where’d the Cheese go? asked one of the young Lost, quieter than before. Hush-hush quiet, but not really.

What d—oh fuck. Mortimer said a bad word. They’d said more bad words earlier. Fleshchild decided not to eat their mouths. Didn’t want to pick up bad habits.

Come on, Mortimer snarled, just as the women Lost vanished into the mist.

Don’t leave me here, Salad pleaded, keeping her voice quiet. Come on, bitches, don’t be like that. Don’t leave me here alone!

Not alone, Fleshchild whispered into her ear as he crawled out from his hiding place.

She started to scream so he buried his fangs in her neck. Venom flowed into her blood, deep, deep, deep inside of her. But not too deep. Didn’t want to kill her yet. Lots more to get first.

The fuck? one of the women Lost called.

More bad words chorused after, then sounds of fighting. A gun roared. Again. Again. Again.

Fleshchild hoped they hadn’t killed each other. No fun if someone else did that. He hurried forward, found another woman Lost, and sank his fangs into her calf. She screamed. Venom pumped into her. She stopped and fell to the ground.

This shit’s all over the ground, one of the boy-Lost called. An appetizing crunch followed. Wet and heavy, with a thud afterwards.

Fleshchild found him a moment later. His skull had been split open, exposing his brain to the world. No fun. Already dead, dead, dead. Still a little tasty though. He scooped up some of the brain out of the skull and slurped it off his claw. Yum, yum, yum. He moved on.

A woman and boy-Lost nearly staggered into him as they grabbed at each other bare handed. Somehow their stupid, useless feet that couldn’t taste anything kept missing