The Mor

By Steve Soderquist

“An ACTION-PACKED read that will pull you along from the first page to the chilling end.” ★★★★★

One universe. Two different races. One common enemy.

When the benevolent race known as the Illuminous visited Earth back in the 1950's, they weren't aware of the aliens who had attached themselves to the hull of their ship. The Mor, also known as Seeds, found Earth to be a poor choice for a new home, but a home, nonetheless.
Years later, three brilliant college students inadvertently stumble on a formula that enhances the Mors' ability to communicate and grow at an incredible rate... and now the race is on to reverse what was done before all life is destroyed.

The Mor is a “fast-paced” and “tightly written” standalone Sci-fi Thriller.

(Previously released as Seeds)

• Language: English
• Publisher: Foundations Books Publishing Company
• Release date: Jun 30, 2018
• ISBN: 9780463232705

Steve Soderquist

Steve Soderquist is the Operations Director, Chief Editor, and Acquisitions Editor of Foundations Publishing Company. He has written and published five novels, one novella and a children's short story of his own. He has edited, formatted, and worked with some of the best-selling authors of today and still insists he has the best job in the world—helping others reach their dream of being a published author.He will freely admit to his rather unorthodox style of teaching 'All-Things-English,' but the results from those he has taught in seminars, webinars, and workshops speaks for itself. He lives in Brandon, Mississippi with his beautiful fiancé, fellow author and editor/illustrator and owner of Foundations Books Publishing Company, Laura Ranger.For more information, visit FoundationsBooks.net or stevesoderquist.com

Book preview

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Eighteen

Chapter Nineteen

Chapter Twenty

Chapter Twenty-One

Chapter Twenty-Two

Chapter Twenty-Three

Chapter Twenty-Four

Epilogue

More from This Author

More from Foundations, LLC

Forward

When I first started writing, there were three mountains for me to overcome. They were, in no particular order: Romance, Fantasy, and Science Fiction.

Now mind you, I’ve dabbled somewhat in all three at various points in books I’ve previously written (to some degree or another), but nothing straight-forward concerning these genres. To me, romance is more about peeling away emotional barriers and allowing the possibility for both love and pain in equal intensity and not just two people meeting, hitting it off, then playing Twister under the sheets. I’m not saying I’m intimidated to write about such ‘touchy-feely’ subject matter, it just doesn’t put the wind in my sails, if you catch my drift. I need to enjoy what I write.

Now fantasy just intimidates the hell out of me. The level of creativity needed to think up entirely different realms and universes is one I greatly respect, but also one I don’t feel I have quite the aptitude or scope of imagination to tackle. As writers, we do our best writing what we’re comfortable with.

I’ve always thought of writing insofar as genre’s go as more than one-dimensional. Ergo, I am not a horror author, I am an author who wrote a horror novel. I have also written and published suspense, thriller, children’s, educational, paranormal, and now, science fiction.

Will I write an epic fantasy someday? Well, I don’t know about epic, but I certainly have not put the idea completely to bed. Time will tell.

Science fiction was what I’ve always wanted to write. I enjoy it in the shows I watch, in the books I read, and I felt I’d put it off long enough. I decided to take that sucker by the horns. Go for the gusto! In other words, stop dicking around and just write the sucker. Hence, this book was born.

Even as I came up with the idea for The Mor, I wanted it to be about more than just spaceships or gooey aliens that suck the brains out of poor, unsuspecting humans. I wanted substance, man. I wanted to make a race of people not of this earth, a part of this earth. In my experience from reading other works and watching some really great, (and not so great) movies, they all contributed to The Mor in some way or the other, so my hat is off to those who blazed the trail before me.

In all my books, I sincerely try to avoid re-telling a story that has already been told as much as possible. However, drawing comparisons is what we do, and often for the good. If not for comparisons, we wouldn’t have metaphors and simile’s, now would we? Please just know I wrote this as honestly (and certainly as creatively) as I could. While there may not be anything new under the sun in these pages, how the light hits that ‘anything’ can change it dramatically.

This is not the longest book I’ve ever written, but it certainly took me the longest to write. Mainly because I really believed in it, but mostly because I wanted YOU to believe in it. I am happy with the finished work, and it’s my sincerest hope that you, dear reader, will be as well.

Steve Soderquist

Brandon, Mississippi – January 28, 2018

Dedicated to Laura, who has never allowed me the chance to fail, and never the opportunity to quit…

Destroy the seed of evil, or it will grow up to your ruin.

- Aesop

Chapter One

Sheriff Daniel Morgan met up with his passengers behind the Motel 6 on Route 101.

Daniel gestured to the woman, eying her up and down as he did so. Angel felt the unease from the man in his prolonged stare before he quickly averted his eyes. She seemed to almost hover behind Joshua, her eyes covered with sunglasses even though it was close to eleven at night. Her hair, long and silvery-white, reached almost to her feet and moved in the rustling breeze.

I thought the only thing you were going to bring with you is her, the sheriff stated blankly.

Joshua smiled, the gesture not reaching his eyes. If I wanted to bring the congregation from the First Methodist Church off of Pine Lake road, I would have done that, too. He held up a duffel bag. Supplies.

What kind of supplies? Sheriff Morgan asked, immediately suspicious. The woman now had a secretive smile on her lips. The sheriff wanted to walk over and smack it off her face but didn't dare. Something about her was definitely not right; she reminded him of Medusa, who he read about in a long-ago time that comprised a limited education, mythological or otherwise.

Joshua responded coolly, saying, The usual I bring along to such fun parties. You know, whips, chains, cans of whip-cream, some famous Nebraska corn. They make great dildos. The strange woman behind Joshua had a smirk on her face.

That's not fuckin' funny. This is no game!

Like it was the first time, right?

I was a kid and didn't know no better, came the sullen response.

Well, be that as it may, you opened a door and called us to shut it. You're not the first to screw with what you didn't know about. The seed was only the catalyst that started it.

I ain't talkin' about no normal seed, and you damn well know that! Besides, I was a kid and didn't mean it. The Sheriff thumbed back to his waiting patrol car. I told you I got the picks and shovels. All you said you was bringing was her, or at least that's what you said.

The disdain in his voice was evident. Joshua shrugged it off and the woman, Angel, was un-phased. Both she and Joshua had seen this hundreds of times. Some local calls the hotline that had been established five years ago to report they saw unusual behavior in a friend or family, (like eating dirt out of a bowl like it was Kellogg’s cornflakes,) then once the Cleaner and Seeker arrive, they either clammed up, freaked out or shut down completely, leaving it up to them to find the seed.

Not so long ago, there were no such things as hotlines posted in every town in every city. In that time, a person could mention the word ‘seed’ without a repulsed sneer, as if the word fell out of the speaker's mouth like foul gas. Most people never speak of it, because like anything else of such a horrible nature, people don’t talk about what they can’t do anything about. Like a homeless bum on a dirty sidewalk with a cup and a sign, it’s simply ignored. The sign is read, but no one meets the eyes of the maker of the sign. It brings reality to the situation.

Such as it is with the seeds, also known as the Mor. The infected always have an earthy smell, like they’ve been working in the garden. But also like they may as well live in the garden. What never fails to amaze Joshua is how many people simply co-exist with these monsters, who are perfect hosts to the very alien presence residing within. The Illuminous say it’s more than apathy, but influence. Joshua has to believe that because otherwise the term ‘sheep’ for people would be more accurate than ever suspected.

The sheriff brought Joshua out of his musings. You said she locates 'em and you kill 'em. You told me all this on the phone. Jesus I wish I never contacted you.

Sheriff Daniel Morgan spat on the ground and turned away. He couldn't look at the woman for too long. Something told him madness lay there.

Besides, he continued, what good is it anyway to bring extra stuff if it's just more stuff we have to destroy? This was a one-shot deal. You said you and her could locate that fellow in the commons and take care of this.

By commons, the sheriff was referring to the old county graveyard that sat right between Jamestown and Mulberry, fifteen miles past anything else that would pass for civilization. There was a church there as well, or at least something that at one time resembled a church, now gutted; but that was it. No one had been to the church in over twenty years.

Joshua shook the bag, shaking his head as he did so. This stuff isn't for you or me, sheriff. It's for her. She finds them, she pulls out what we’re looking for after we dig it up, and then the infected human comes back. I kill it, and it gets buried again. Simple as that. What the fuck do you think we use to get into it, our hands?

Joshua took a step forward and Sheriff Morgan took an involuntary step back.

I told you when we agreed to check it out there were to be no questions asked. Now here we are, you standing there with your dumb hick mouth open just questioning and questioning. We didn't even get a 'Hi, how are you?' Nope. Just questions.

Joshua sighed and looked at the other man like a disappointed father whose son brought home a bad report card. Shame on you! that look said. Now bend over and take it like a man! Angel looked up at Joshua with an amused expression on her pale face. She picked up on some of that imagery. He cocked his head as if listening to a signal only he could hear and paused a moment, then nodded.

You're right, he said to her. We have to go now, or there's no point in trying tonight. How many layers did you say? After a moment, he nodded again.

She can talk in front of me! the sheriff bawled, offended. Sheriff Morgan thought it was bad enough when it, whatever it was, started to stir up problems in his town like it was doing in the bigger cities without this creepy shit. He was a small town sheriff and didn't achieve the position by being brilliant, so missed it entirely; the obvious never even crossed his mind — the fact that she communicated without talking.

Joshua noted this and sighed again, thankful he didn't have time to launch into explanations. It was enough they had found another. Joshua opened the bag and handed the woman something that looked like a stick of wood that had three binds of rough twine attached to it. She nodded and took it, then pointed to something else that was lying on top. He took out a small glass of bluish liquid.

What's that? Sheriff Daniel cried out.

Relax. It’s nothing you need to be concerned with. I suggest you stop with the questions right about now. You don't want the answers.

Sheriff Daniel Morgan shut up, now wondering if the cure could be worse than the cancer itself. He thought it probably was. But hell, his momma used to tell him that Satan's own worst enemy was his split-tailed self. Best to leave the things that are grown in the dark stay in the dark, because once the light hits it, you know where it is, but it also knows where you are.

They piled into the patrol car, an older model Chevrolet that reminded Joshua of times past when one would see such police cars only in cheesy cop movies or better yet, television shows from the seventies. Angel sat in the back with her divining rod secure on her lap as Joshua took the passenger side, marveling over the speedometer needle and the rest of the dashboard, which glowed with an eerie diffused green light. The only thing modern was the sheriff's state-of-the-art computer that was bolted to the middle of the console.

We’ll get there in about an hour, the sheriff said as he started the engine. This made Angel's eyebrows arch. Joshua glanced at her as she silently told him this was the farthest any of them had left their original husk. He contemplated this for a moment, not completely understanding but accepting this academic fact. Many of the things that interested the Seeker baffled him and he, being in the role of the mediator, did what most of his kind did... accept without pursuing the answers any deeper. Some things he felt he didn't need to know.

On the way to the cemetery, however, Sheriff Morgan was full of talk. Most of it was ambiguous enough and superficial and therefore not invasive, but still, being the only one capable of answering questions of any kind – Angel, like all Seekers, had no vocal chords – Joshua tired quickly of being the only mouthpiece. Like most Cleaners, he was the silent type by nature, preferring to listen and observe rather than facilitate or participate. As far as Joshua was concerned, most of the things he had to say were of little interest to people anyway. Except for Angel. For whatever reason, she was continuously fascinated by Joshua, and he with her. They were like two astronomers pondering the mysteries that made up their individual universes, circling each other like planets and discovering their commonality with an almost innocent wonder. This was not unusual when it came to the Illuminous. There was something about them that gave their human counterparts a sense of peace and harmony, like the sound of soft music with accompanying ocean waves. Except of course, for the business at hand, which was as far from peaceful as one could get. His training was to lure and kill the Mor that had infected a human, and when that time came, to be as ruthless a killer as needed, and without a seconds hesitation

It certainly wasn’t to play twenty-questions with a source. Especially one who probably still thought professional wrestling was real and that eating at the Waffle House was fine dining.

...And that's when I said, 'Janie! I got to call that number on the back of that flyer I saw up in the town's bully!' – that's our bulletin board, you understand – and she says, 'You better be sure, sheriff! You're getting yerself into some hot water if them creepies come all the way here for nothin!' He paused long enough to give Joshua an apologetic look. Joshua however, was staring straight ahead at the dark road cut only by the patrol car's high beams, his face stony as he waited for them to get to the cemetery and leave this constant litany of babble behind.

Angel touched Joshua's mind. It was the equivalent of a tap on the shoulder, which she couldn't have done if she wanted to as the sheriff's patrol car came complete with bars separating the back seat from the front. Joshua glanced over his shoulder as Angel gave him quick instructions. He nodded and noticed the rod was twitching now.

We're close, Sheriff Morgan said as if Joshua didn't already know this. Damn close. God, I hate how it just gets colder now.

Joshua grunted absently without interjecting. It was always thus; the closer they came to a seed-carrier, the temperature dropped and would hold at a steady fifty degree's Fahrenheit one mile in any direction, until the infected came closer, of course. They always did when the host was about to be destroyed. Then it got much, much colder. That was when Joshua would step in to perform his specialty. By then, Angel would have faded into the background to muddle the air with incoherent thoughts and emotions, giving Joshua the advantage for an offensive posture. That was very important. If he were in the position of needing to defend himself, his chances of survival would drop below the ten percent range. Angel had lost two Cleaners this way and had grown rather fond of Joshua. They had worked together for over two years now and had done their part to keep the seeds from spreading too far.

Joshua glanced over at the sheriff and noticed his hands were gripping the steering wheel tight enough for his knuckles to have gone white. If there were comforting words to say, he didn't know them and wouldn't have bothered anyway.

Daniel Morgan had come across a