False Prey: The Wildfire Saga, #1.5

By Marcus Richardson

Reporter Danny Roberts has a front row seat to the end of the world.  

 

In the self-quarantined town of Brikston, Kentucky, no one is allowed in and if you leave, you can't come back—no exceptions. Danny watches the town descend into chaos as people face the threat of the weaponized flu. It's especially dangerous for stranded motorist Thomas Sang, who's just trying to get home.  Unfortunately for him, the rest of the town is already convinced he's a North Korean spy trying to bring the weaponized flu to Brikston. They'll do anything to protect their community…

But what if the enemy is already inside?

 

False Prey, a 195 page NOVELLA, takes place between the events depicted in Apache Dawn and The Shift.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Freeholder Press, LLC
• Release date: Oct 7, 2017
• ISBN: 9781386590330

Marcus Richardson

Marcus attended the University of Delaware and later graduated from law school at the age of 26. Since then, he has at times been employed (or not) as: a stock boy, a cashier, a department manager at a home furnishing store, an assistant manager at and arts and crafts store, an unemployed handyman, husband, cook, groundskeeper, spider killer extraordinaire, stay at home dad, and a writer.

Book preview

CHAPTER ONE

Thomas Sang crashed headlong into a garbage can and cried out in pain as he hit the ground amid the flying trash. He felt a twinge of pain in his right knee, but rolled to his side and jumped up anyway—somehow managing to hold onto his briefcase. He cast a quick look over his shoulder before fleeing deeper down the trash-filled alley. A distant shout pierced the unnatural silence of the afternoon.

There! Down that alley!

Fear coursed through Thomas’ veins and made his legs feel like rubber. He had to keep moving, keep running. He tripped over a 2x4 laying in the small clear path amid piles of uncollected garbage bags. His arms swung out for balance and the briefcase hit something. It was just enough force to spring the locks on the leather case, which dutifully popped open and sent a shower documents flying through the air.

The noise from the mob behind him grew louder. Thomas wouldn’t have been surprised if they had torches and pitchforks. As he regained his balance and turned around, he could see shadows out in the street. The mob was getting closer.

The hell with this. He let the briefcase fall into the trash at his feet. Thomas sprinted straight down the throat of the alley, hoping to cut across the block and emerge on the next side street. He honestly had no idea where the alley would let him out—as long as it was away from the mob of insane locals. Everything hinged on him escaping.

The stench of the alley was nearly overpowering, but the fear that propelled him forward still had the upper hand. As he raced to the far end of the alley and came closer to the next street, he saw an all-too-familiar sign plastered haphazardly to the brick side of a building in the distance:

remember: wear your mask—

it’s the law!

Thomas frowned. He would have liked nothing better than to put on a flu mask—if nothing else, it would help with the awful smells assaulting his nose.

A shout behind him provided the unnecessary reminder that he needed to keep moving. He barreled into the sunlight and veered left on instinct. To the right was south—that would take him closer to the center of town. That would mean closer to the repair shop where his rental car languished untouched, but it would also take him closer to the police station—and that was the last place he wanted to be at the moment.

He squinted in the sudden light and found his stride on the eerily-deserted street. Now all the forced exercise sessions his company insisted on for its employees were finally showing a tangible benefit. He appreciated the feeling of his legs fully stretching in a ground-eating stride. He tore at his shirt, ripping at the buttons in order to pull the restrictive fabric free of his pants.

The pounding of his loafers on the sidewalk and the pain in his shins brought home the fact that he was not in his running shoes. He mentally shrugged and ignored the blisters beginning to form on his heels. A glance over his shoulder as he neared an intersection was all the motivation he needed. A wiry-looking teenager scrambled out of the alley and raised a skinny arm in the sun.

There he is!

Shit.

A single car slowly approached the blinking red light at the intersection. Thomas veered towards it on instinct.

Help! he screamed, waving his arms. "Help me, please!"

The driver, a woman wearing a white mask over her mouth and nose, paused to look at him. That was a good sign. He tried to smile as he ran towards her car, hands out in a supplicant’s pose. Then he noticed her eyes shift to focus on the mob as it appeared out of the alley behind him. He saw her eyes widen, then the car’s engine roared and the tires squealed as the car bolted through the intersection.

No! Thomas screamed in frustration. He turned left and raced down the street, trying to put as many corners between him and his pursuers as possible.

Not like that matters, he told himself.. They’re locals, remember? They know this town better than you ever will. Just keep running…gotta find a good place to hide…

He reached another intersection going full speed and turned right. As he vanished around the corner of an antique shop, he stole a quick glance back and saw the teenager—pulling up his baggy pants as he ran—and two men approach the intersection. Thomas was pulling ahead of them—that was the first good news he’d had all day.

Just a little further, he thought as raced into the shade of the buildings along yet another deserted street. Maybe I can lose them around here… He just had to find a place where he could hide for a second and catch his breath. Maybe find a little water.

Thomas ran past a boarded-up barber shop and a bicycle shop with a hastily made, large plywood sign across its door that read CLOSED because of Flu written in spray paint. He noticed a beauty parlor across the street that was dark, but the front door stood ajar. Up ahead, he saw a sign next to the sidewalk that lifted his spirits. St. Stephen’s Catholic Church.

Perfect.

Hoping that the people chasing him would assume he’d gone into the beauty parlor, Thomas made for the church and opened the outer door and stepped in to the vestibule. He threw his back against the near wall and tried to stop his panting as he sucked down air in great gulps. The cool darkness helped calm his nerves but he couldn’t help but peer out the closest window to watch the street. His heart was racing, sweat trickled down his back, and the adrenaline coursing through his body urged him to keep moving. Through sheer force of will, he held off the fear and compelled himself to wait and watch for just a few more seconds.

Over there! the teenager’s voice called out. The sound echoed off the buildings across the street.

C’mon, we got ‘im now! shouted one of the adults. Thomas winced as he watched the man in a baseball hat wave encouragement on to others still out of sight.

Thomas watched through the window as the teenager and the man in the baseball cap ran into the beauty parlor. Shouts and more noise down the street announced the imminent arrival of the main body of the mob. Thomas frowned and panic seized his heart.

What if the inner door’s locked? I’ll be trapped… He hadn’t bothered to check yet. A few steps brought him before the massive inner doors to the church.

He glanced down at the antique bronze handle guarding the entrance to the sanctuary and swallowed. He slowly reached out. Please, please be unlocked. I have to have something go my way…

He pushed open the heavy wooden door and closed his eyes in relief as he felt the cool air whoosh past his face. He released the breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding and slipped inside the empty, shadow-filled nave of the church. He quickly scanned the orderly rows of pews stretching before him toward the altar. Toward the front of the church, he saw four or five people with their heads bowed in prayer. No one paid him any attention.

At last, the tension that knotted his stomach eased and he felt his shoulders loosen just a bit as he leaned back against the door. He closed his eyes and sighed, somewhat surprised at the shuddering sound of his own breath.

Thank you, Jesus. Thankyouthankyouthankyou—

A hand on his right shoulder made him jump. He turned, shaking loose the offending touch. He was trapped for sure now. The time for running was over. He raised his fists, ready to defend himself.

My son, there’s no need to fear. This is the House of the Lord, said an old priest in that universal quiet tone reserved for libraries and churches. He stepped back with his hands up.

Thomas relaxed and swallowed, trying to force moisture into his dry throat. He wiped the sweat from his forehead and tried once more to slow his heart rate. Father, he said and winced at his raspy voice. He coughed slightly and tried again. Father, is there another way out of here?

The priest tilted his head. Why do you need to run? He gestured at the scattered handful of parishioners in the candlelit distance, put on a grandfatherly smile, and said: All are welcome here—

They’re after me—

A muffled shout from outside caused Thomas to look toward the door in panic. Please, Father, he hissed as he heard the outer doors open. Where’s the back door!?

Too late!

The heavy inner door opened, throwing light into the church, momentarily blinding Thomas. As candles flickered in the sudden draft, his mind screamed: Run! He backpedaled and stumbled further into the dark, cavernous interior of the church.

There he is! a voice shouted from the light. Get ‘im Dad!

Thomas found himself next to a smooth wooden pew. He cast about for a door—a place to run to—any way to escape from the relentless crowd that rushed over the deep blue carpet through the open doorway. It looked