A Shrouded World 5: Asabron

By Mark Tufo and John O'Brien

Our heroes have gone their separate ways in an effort to save Trip and unify their fight against the Overseers who have an evil plot to take over not only this world but all worlds. Mike asks for and receives help but not in any way he could have prepared for as Jack finds himself in the uncomfortable position of filling Otter’s shoes. Can Jack and Mike find a way to destroy the evil that has been unwittingly unleashed or will they succumb like every other civilization the enemy has encountered?

• Language: English
• Publisher: DevilDogPress
• Release date: Jan 5, 2020
• ISBN: 9780463160923

Mark Tufo

Mark Tufo was born in Boston Massachusetts. He attended UMASS Amherst where he obtained a BA and later joined the US Marine Corp. He was stationed in Parris Island SC, Twenty Nine Palms CA and Kaneohe Bay Hawaii. After his tour he went into the Human Resources field with a worldwide financial institution and has gone back to college at CTU to complete his masters. He lives in Colorado with his wife, three kids and two English bulldogs. Visit him at marktufo.com for news on his next two installments of the Indian Hill trilogy and his latest book Zombie Fallout

Book preview

1

Jack Walker

Walking away from the cabin and the people there is a bit surreal. I mean, Mike has a demon with him and we just fought, what? Angels? And they took Trip to some other land that we’re supposed to helicopter into, where there’s supposedly some archangel. Who helicopters into the lands of mythology? Are we supposed to Rambo in? With the shit I’ve seen, the far-fetched has become the norm. But, angels? Come on!

I don’t mind telling you that I feel like I’m in over my head with this one. Give me a compound of guerillas and you’re maybe getting back to a place where I’m a little more comfortable. Trip was taken after opening some kind of rip in the fabric of time and space—a rip that the angels are attempting to mend before these Melerforns can invade and wipe away all dimensions, or something like that. That really doesn’t seem like a situation we should be stepping into if I am to be completely honest.

If I’m reading this whole thing correctly, that tear caused me and Mike to be transported away from our worlds, away from our rightful places, away from our loved ones. Should we be attempting to prevent a fix to that? Kalandar mentioned that the overseers were serving their own interests, and they might be at that. Nevertheless, they are trying to fix whatever it was that Trip tore open.

The question in my mind is, if we do nothing, will we condemn ourselves to being stuck in this place? My only desire is to return home. But it isn’t exactly like there’s a huge sign in the sky with a blinking arrow pointing the way. Even if there is such a portal, there’s no guarantee that it will take me back. After all, we already tried that once.

As I’m taking this nature hike with my doppelganger, whom I’m now calling Otter (although that’s my call sign), I’m wondering if perhaps I should be talking to the overseers themselves about getting back home. If they are trying to set things right, then maybe they’d want to go the extra mile. Maybe they’d want to send my sorry ass home.

However, there’s also the chance that they might just tell me to go outside and play with the other kids. That’s if they don’t just swat me aside like they might an irritating mosquito, or steal my soul or something. I have to say that these overseers, or angels, are certainly not the ones I grew up with. I suppose it could be that each dimension has its own version. I mean, Otter walking beside me is proof that we can have differing versions of ourselves in each dimension. And there was the picture of my other self and my other kids in Atlantis as well.

Atlantis, Valhalla, this has to be a fucking dream.

I have to be in a coma somewhere back in my world, lost in my own mind. That’s the only plausible explanation for this insanity. I’ve been cut and bled in each of these worlds; I’ve felt pain and anguish. I’ve done some pretty crazy shit in my life, but nothing nearly so vivid as what I’ve been through in these worlds. If I were to die here, would I actually die in real life? I kind of have a feeling that I might. But, not having a clue what would really happen, it’s in my best interest to stay alive. After all, hasn’t that always been my number one rule?

The more I think about it, the more I realize that maybe that last statement isn’t entirely true. Sure, I’ve done my best to stay alive, but what does that really mean? I could have taken a nice accounting job somewhere and lived with comfort and ease. For me, I guess staying alive means pushing the boundaries—seeing how close to the edge of life I can get. At least, that was part of my past life.

Even so, until the shit hit the fan in my world, I was more than content to laze around and enjoy my surroundings. I’d done my time, so to speak, and it was supposed to have been my time to relax. But, the world didn’t see it that way. If I wasn’t actively seeking the adrenaline, then the world saw fit to bring it to me. And that path brought me here, walking away from a cabin in a different world where overseers had taken Trip.

With regards to that crazy stoned hippy who pulled me from my world—or at least I believe he was responsible—I suppose I should try to save him from whatever trouble he’s in. On the other hand, I’m still harboring a very big grudge, even if deep down I do believe he’s trying to do right. Regardless, I have the feeling that the overseers wouldn’t give me the time of day if I were to ring their doorbell and ask nicely to be sent home. No, Trip is still my best way out of this nightmare.

I turn to look at the man walking beside me as we make our way cautiously along the hillside. His wariness matches my own. I haven’t heard a single snap of a twig under his boot or brush of limb against his pack. I don’t mind telling you how fucking weird it is to look over and see yourself. I mean, almost every detail is the same, except for the scar he has running from chin to jaw. And, whatever happened to his leg. But the eyes and facial features are identical, down to the color and cut of his hair.

At the moment, he’s obviously lost in his own thoughts. I can tell from the blank expression, but his gaze is always roving through the trees and he’s careful with his footsteps. Our pauses to look and listen are also mirrors of each other. With the skill he’s shown, I don’t think I’m walking next to just a helicopter pilot. I’m sure he can fly one, but he’s obviously had more training than that.

Do you ever get the feeling that maybe you’re on the wrong side? Otter asks quietly, coming out of whatever thoughts he was drowning in.

Always. But, what do you mean? I answer.

I mean, we have a demon with us and we’re supposed to fight angels who have taken Trip. I’m kind of thinking we might be on the wrong side, Otter states.

That’s rather weird, him voicing the same thoughts I’ve been having.

I honestly don’t know. In my world, the demons were the bad guys and the angels good. So, this whole thing has me thrown for a loop. I feel like I’m immersed in something way the fuck over my head. I suppose I should care about these invading parasites, but to tell the truth, I only really care about getting back home, I reply.

To Lynn? Otter asks.

"Yeah, and to my kids. The hope of seeing them again is the only reason I can take the next step."

I can understand that. I don’t know who’s in the worst scenario with that one. You’re with Lynn, but worlds apart. I’m able to see Lynn, but can’t be with her. Which one is worse, do you think? Otter says.

I walk a few steps, searching through the tree trunks, looking for any hint of movement or the silhouetted form of someone lying in wait.

I honestly don’t know the answer to that one. I think both are equally fucked up situations. For me, she was right there and there wasn’t a damn thing I could do about it. What the hell happened between you two? I inquire.

Otter shakes his head. I definitely screwed the pooch with that one. My dad’s death shook me to my core and I was never the same. I tried to be there, but my mind wasn’t right. We broke up and she eventually ended up with my brother. I don’t blame him for that, but it still stings when I see them together. I had to get the hell away; joined up at the first opportunity. I figured I could lose myself in the military.

I had to get away from Valhalla, away from her and the kids before I totally lost it. Well, that and the fact that I was bringing a very real danger into their lives.

The silvers?

Yeah, night runners. They’re following me somehow. Speaking of which, we need to be finding some shelter before the sun sets, I state.

I’ve met them and they aren’t very fun. Fuckers are smart, Otter responds. So, yeah, we need to find someplace. I may know somewhere we can reach before dark.

If it’s a cave, fuck that nonsense. The last cave I visited wasn’t much of a carnival ride. So, quick question, how do you know Trip?

Trip? Oh man, what a character. I met him in the military. You know how there’s always one of those stoner guys on any base?

I nod.

Well, Trip was obviously that guy. As a matter of fact, he was the one who convinced me to leave, Otter chuckled, but then quickly shut up and looked away.

Okay, two questions. The first, Trip in the military? I have a hard time believing that. There’s no way I can picture him with short hair and, well, behaving.

He wasn’t exactly in the military. Our maintenance is civilian-contracted and he was one of them. He would always ride up on the back of a Harley, sitting behind this woman he claimed was his girlfriend. He seemed to be around wherever I and a few others were hanging out. Without being redundant, he was a trip, and we became good friends.

So, I suppose you know my second question, I say.

Yeah, I kind of fucked up with that one, didn’t I?

No more than I would have, I reply.

Okay, so that little tale I told about being able to merrily stroll onto base and get us inside?

Yeah.

Well, that was not really the whole truth. As a matter of fact, there was very little truth in it, Otter states.

Which part was true?

Well, there is a base, Otter replies.

I wait a second, expecting him to say more, but that appears to be it.

So, what you’re actually saying is that we have to break into a base, avoid any patrols, and then make off with a helicopter, I finally say.

I believe that adequately sums it up, Otter responds.

Is there any chance this base is in the rear? I ask.

I’m afraid not.

Well, my day is just getting better and better. Do you at least know where we’re going afterwards? Do you know where this Hvergelmir is?

Nope, not a clue. I was kind of hoping you knew, Otter replies.

It looks like I just received a lifetime membership to the ‘You’re screwed’ club. How far do we have to go to get there?

To the ‘you’re screwed’ club? I think we’re there now.

I give him a look of disdain. This little vacation started on a down note and has progressively circled the drain ever since.

Okay, I’m just kidding, Otter says after seeing my expression. Let me put it this way, we could use a helicopter.

Very funny. So, do you have any ideas on how to get to the base? Your leg isn’t going to hold up for a hike of that magnitude and I’m certainly not interested in it either.

I suppose we could help ourselves to a car. Or, we could go back and ask Bill to lend us his. I, for one, am not overly keen on that idea, Otter replies.

Nor I. Didn’t you say night runners invaded the town? I inquire.

Yeah, but Mike had taken care of things and everyone was fine when we left. The town may be a little on edge, but I’m betting they’re recovering if the night runners don’t keep attacking.

What if we didn’t ask?

You mean, just take it? Otter asks.

Yeah, kind of … maybe … okay, that’s exactly what I’m saying.

Well, I bet he won’t be happy about it. But, if I know Bill, he probably has a spare set of keys hidden somewhere … probably stuck in the wheel well or something.

So, I guess if we’re after a vehicle, then we’re heading in the wrong direction.

Another thing—you’re going to have to do something about those clothes before we get close to the base. They look too much like Black Watch. If we’re caught on base, you’ll be shot on sight, Otter states.

Then I guess I’ll have to make sure I’m not seen.

Fair enough, Otter says.

I stop suddenly, sniffing the air like a hound who has caught the scent of a rabbit hiding in the bushes. It’s a horrible smell, like something a long time dead. Either a hunter has left a carcass behind or there’s trouble nearby.

Do you smell that? I ask.

Otter sniffs the air, turning his head in different directions.

I don’t smell anything, he replies after a moment.

Trust me, it’s there. There’s something dead, I reply.

Carcass?

Maybe. Or something much worse, I state.

You mean like those zombies we encountered, right?

It could be. I think we need to head downhill a bit and take a look, I say.

No offense, but that sounds like a horrible idea. Why in the world would we want to get closer to them? I say, let ‘em pass.

I see a light come on in Otter’s eyes as he answers his own question.

Wait, they could be part of that other group we encountered, heading toward Valhalla. Yeah, you’re right, we need to see what they’re up to. But, fair warning, if we need to get away quickly, I don’t have much skedaddle in me.

We’ll just mosey down and take a peek. If they’re on an outing and have their picnic baskets spread out, we’ll let them have their family time. But, if they’re moving toward the town, I think we should be gentlemen and give them a warning. Of course, last time I gave a warning like that, I nearly ended up in a white sports coat.

I see Otter squint his eyes, trying to figure out what I mean.

You know, the one where they tie the sleeves together, I add for his benefit.

Oh yeah. They’ve been trying to put me in one of those for years now.

It would probably be safer for all of humanity if we were both fitted for one, I say.

You’re probably right there. So, shall we see if you’re correct about that smell, and if so, what the merry band of travelers might be up to? Otter replies.

Both of us start down the hill, working from tree to tree and avoiding the few rays of sunshine angling through the boughs high overhead. The scampering of squirrels along branches and up trunks comes to a standstill, the woods absolutely quiet except for the gentle whoosh of the wind over the treetops. It isn’t long before Otter turns and points to his nose, telling me that he now smells the aroma that has grown much stronger for me.

I’m afraid we’re about to run into company, I say quietly, picking up on low moans as they drift up the hillside.

What kind of company? Otter whispers in return.

The still mobile dead kind, I reply.

How do you know?

I can hear them moaning.

I don’t hear a fucking thing. How is that you can?

It’s just a little something I picked up along the way. Believe me, they’re down there," I respond.

Otter looks at me oddly, then asks, Can you tell what they’re doing? Like, are they hovering like college students around a keg, or are they moving?

We won’t really know until we lay eyes on them, I answer.

So, we keep going and hope we don’t break into the middle of their party?

Pretty much.

As we make our way further down the hill, weapons now held in relaxed grips, the way ahead lightens. Slowing as we draw near to where the trees line the highway that rolls through the middle of the narrow valley, I bring my carbine to the ready and take more care with each footstep.

Shadows flicker past the breaks in the trees, the volume of moans coming from below vibrating my very skin. The stench wafting up the hill is horrific, but I put it in the back of my mind as I concentrate on the land to my front. There’s no smell that compares to that of decaying bodies, and I don’t think it’s something one can ever get used to. Sure, I can ignore it and focus on more important things, but it’s always there, like a wet blanket on a frigid night.

Beside me, Otter creeps forward in a similar fashion, looking down to the ground before placing his boot and stepping forward. Once a clear spot is found, his head comes immediately back up to the trees ahead. So far, it appears that the zombies are confining themselves to the road, but they are definitely moving, if the shadows passing the openings between the trees are any indication.

You stay here and keep my flanks covered while I go take a peek, I whisper to Otter.

If these are zombies from Mike’s world, I know there may be a few of what he called version 2.0: speeders. Otter’s leg may or may not hold up to another sprint up the hill if we’re found. If they’re normal zombies, then we could possibly backpedal and keep them at a distance. But speeders in the mix may throw a wrench into that plan.

I inch forward, creeping from trunk to trunk to remain hidden. Near the edge of the tree line, I crouch behind one and peek around. I’m near a wide curve with the road stretching away in both directions. All along the highway is a horde closely packed together like a protest march, all slowly ambling their way toward the town of Valhalla. The deep rumbling of their moans seem as if it’s reverberating inside of my skull.

Staring at the long line that’s keeping mostly to the roadway, I realize that if they stay on their present course and speed, they’ll arrive at Valhalla in about three days. If there are any speeders at the head of the line that break off from the pack, they could arrive earlier.

I’m faced with several choices. Otter and I can attempt to draw them away and lead them elsewhere. However, with the length of the line I’m able to see, we may not be able to get the attention of them all. I’m not sure of how many are in the lead and out of sight, but there’s a chance those will just continue on. We could also set up ahead and do our best to whittle them down, but we don’t have near enough ammo to make more than a small dent in their numbers.

Other than the option of doing nothing and continuing on our mission, that pretty much leaves getting ahead of the horde and alerting the township—which has its own problems. With the ban on guns, there’s a severe lack of weaponry. I seriously doubt there’s enough ammunition in the entire town to take out the numbers I’m seeing. However that may be, the town must be warned, even if it’s just to give them time to vacate.

Inching back to where Otter is keeping an overwatch, I’m struck by how that little town keeps drawing me back to it. Each time I try to leave, something pulls me back—the opposite of what occurred around Atlantis. There, the cave system pulled at me incessantly; here, I feel almost repelled from the coastal community but pulled toward it nonetheless. It’s almost like in the movies where a barrier is placed around a community, one where if you try to walk out of it, you find yourself back where you began.

I crouch next to Otter, wondering if perhaps that little town and its surroundings might be the only actual place in this world. All of the outside environment might just be the imaginings of the locals, part of some script implanted in their heads. The war being played out far away might not even be real, the related bases and events just a myth. With everything that’s happened, I haven’t noticed a single call for assistance from the town.

Before the downfall, if some town in my world had reported an attack, monster or otherwise, they would have been swarmed with help. Or at the very least, it would be reported in the media. When Mike related the attack of night runners in the town, he hadn’t mentioned any troops or news vans. Now, I don’t know if anyone called for sure or not, nor do I know how this world works, but I just can’t imagine a handful of police not seeking assistance for something so overwhelming.

Crouching in silence, I take a few seconds to contemplate. The more I think on this, the more this theory makes sense. Another aspect that supports this sudden revelation—or my overactive imagination—is the fact that the citizens aren’t allowed into the mountains surrounding the town.

That bad, eh? Otter whispers, referring to my silence as he breaks through my contemplations.

Huh? Oh, yeah, it’s not good news, I reply, giving him a quick rundown on what I saw below.

Well, we were going back to town anyway, Otter says, rising.

We continue along the slope, striving to move quickly through the trees while keeping a semblance of stealth. With the moaning coming from the road, I don’t imagine the zombies can hear much, which makes it a little easier for us. The problem is that if we move too quickly, we may run into a stray who decided suddenly to take a hike to see the wonders of the wilderness.

As we walk through the trees, I keep an eye on the surroundings, but my mind is still on my previous thoughts. If this town is indeed secluded for some reason, what does that really mean? Am I trapped here in some bubble of reality? I certainly haven’t found much to lead me out of this place. Mike had said he walked from a distance to get here, but again, what does that really mean? If what I was thinking is indeed true, how far does the boundary extend? Or, if one were already outside of the barrier, would walking through it seal them in?

Of course, all of this could just be my imagination running wild. I could be grasping for some straw, trying to understand what’s happening. There could be a wide world out there that I haven’t been able to experience thanks to a series of coincidences. I’m frustrated that I can’t figure out what this place is about. Or more importantly, how to get out of here. I’m a little tired of feeling like some kind of time cop, trapped in these existences when I need to be back with my loved ones. As a matter of fact, I’m tired of feeling trapped in general.

And now having to head back into town to help them stave off a zombie invasion only frustrates me more. Sure, I was heading back there anyway, but only to obtain a ride so Otter and I could get to a base more quickly. The plan had been to steal a helicopter, go fight some angels, and somehow get the hell out of Dodge. But now that idea is delayed, which extends my tenure in this place.

Otter, you say you were actually at a base and involved in some war? I ask out of the blue.

Um, yeah. Why? Otter replies.

You actually have those memories? You actually remember being there? The sights, smells, textures?

Yeah, I was there. Again, why are you asking me this?

Hmm … no reason, I guess. So, if we managed to get a vehicle and drive away, we’d actually arrive at this base of yours?

I’m beginning to think you found some mushrooms you shouldn’t have eaten. Yes, if we drove away from here, we’d get to the base and find a chopper, Otter responds.

Okay. So, let me ask you this. If the town has to be vacated, which way will they go? I query.

Well, the pass through the mountains would obviously be out. North would be too rugged a climb for many. There aren’t enough boats to carry the entire town, so I guess south would be the best option, Otter answers.

What’s to the south? Have you ever been south? Is there a road leading out? I inquire.

Beaches and more ocean, I would imagine. I’ve never been far south. With regards to a road, I don’t believe there’s more than a path. All traffic has generally gone through the pass, Otter replies.

So, there aren’t any other towns along the coast? Where do people go on vacation?

I’m not sure of any other towns. Like I said, I’ve never been far to the south. Or north, for that matter. As far as vacation, not many go on one, you know, with the war and all. Most people born in the town live and die there.

"What about tourists coming into town? Surely there must be some. I