The Ridden: A Gamelit Apocalypse Progression Fantasy Novel: The Ridden, #1

By Joshua Kern

People called them different things when they first appeared, Walkers, Cryptids, Infected, the Ridden. The most popular was also the least apt, Zombies.

Chris stumbled out of his cheap motel room after the worst night of his life and straight into the apocalypse. It didn't take him long to learn what happened, even if it was somewhat unbelievable. Doubts that are quickly dispelled with reality.

Heading to his parent's farm, Chris is determined to make sure they are safe. Joining up with an old girlfriend, the two set forth to gather supplies and turn the farm into a sanctuary of their own. Unfortunately, they're not the only ones with that idea.

This is not your normal zombie apocalypse story. As Chris is about to find out, it's not just the monsters he needs to worry about.

It's the humans he'll have to fight to survive.

If you liked The Last of Us and World War Z, you will be sure to enjoy The Ridden.

The book has been lightly re-edited as of 08/2023
What readers are saying:

★★★★★ 'Great new book by Joshua Kern. A good twist on a 'zombie' book which integrates a realistic progression and RPG aspect. Very well edited for a brand new book too.'

 

★★★★★ 'This was a good take on the 'zombie' team. I enjoyed reading this and would recommend it to anyone interested in the zombie apocalypse.'

 

★★★★★ 'I like it! Definitely an interesting take on the zombie apocalypse. I like the whole being able to upgrade themselves thing.'

 

★★★★★ 'This was easy to read. Great plot, keeps you interested. I liked the humor and action in it.'

 

★★★★★ 'Great book, loved the vibes, think this is a better portrayal of a "zombie apocalypse" than anything else I have read in a couple years, and the progression aspect just makes it much more fun.'

• Language: English
• Publisher: Joshua Kern
• Release date: Oct 27, 2020
• ISBN: 9781386090199

Book preview

Prologue

Christopher leaned against the rough red-brick wall and wiped the blood from his mouth. He had grown used to having blood and fluids of all kinds on his clothes. Having it in his mouth was another matter, one he didn’t think he would ever get used to. The animals and humans that had been changed all paid no mind to where or what they bled on.

He gave one last kick to the still body in front of him in annoyance. The cloud of spores that it spewed out in death drifted over to him and he made sure to breathe them all in, not letting any escape.

His finger traced lightly through the cooling puddle of blood, slowly seeping into the cracks of the asphalt next to him. With the amount that had dribbled into his mouth during the short but intense fight, he wasn’t worried about bloodborne diseases. If there was something in it, he already had it after all. Besides, once the bugs came, people had stopped getting sick. Not that a single perk or two made up for what they had done to the world.

A groan of unintelligible sounds came from around the far corner of the building. The weaker ridden had long since lost all fine motor control and died, only the stronger and somewhat smarter ones were still around.

The survivors, the few he had seen outside of the cities at least, all had different names for the monsters that prowled through the once crowded streets. Walkers, the taken, cryptid, ridden, the most popular was also the least apt, zombies. For his part Chris was partial to ‘ridden’, in his mind it was the best fit. After all, that was what was happening. People were having their body’s hijacked and taken for a ride.

Bloody fingers moved from the sticky blood to a wooden bat on its last legs. The cracks running up and down its once sturdy length did nothing to belie its pitiful state. The bat had been new and undamaged when he found it hours earlier. His increased strength and speed had sent it hurtling towards countless heads in that time, cracking and breaking it a little more with each strike.

Muffling his own pained groan, muscles protesting at the simple movement, he pushed off the rough surface of the building with a tacky hand and went into a shambling run. If there was one thing the last few weeks had shown him, it was that he should have exercised even more before this all happened. Asthma had prevented him from exercising more than he already had at the gym before work most mornings.

Though, frankly, he was lucky he hadn’t drunk himself into a whiskey induced coma. That had seemed like the most reasonable response when he found his wife in bed with the neighbor.

Chapter 1

Chris was staring blankly up at the peeling ceiling of the cheap motel room, thankful that the walls were so thin. The constant creak and groan of well-used bed springs echoing from the busy rooms next to his were a welcome distraction at the moment. The frustratingly, grating noises that at any other time would have been annoying were now the main reason he had rented a room here. Anything to keep his mind off of what he had seen.

The scuffed and matted carpet of the room was littered with empty bottles of whiskey and scotch. The remnants of a failed attempt to drink himself stupid. His liver may have hated him at the moment, but in turn, he just wanted the blasted thing to give out. He had always had a strong alcohol tolerance, something he had once been proud of as a bright-eyed college student. Now it was just another thing that was going wrong with the day.

He had barely remembered to call in sick to work that morning. Thankfully, his alcohol ravaged throat helped to sell the needed deception. He was in no condition to see or talk to anyone. Emotionally, he had been torn apart.

Yesterday had been intended as a surprise date night. He had gotten off work early and everything. Only to walk into the sound of noises that mimicked what he was hearing from the rooms next door.

He had crept farther into the house and born witness to something that he wouldn’t have wished upon his worst enemy. He left and locked the door behind him, leaving them none-the-wiser that he had ever even been there.

His next stop had been the closest liqueur store and then the motel. He hadn’t left it since he checked in the night before. Though looking at the empty bottles and lack of any full ones, that might have to change soon. The single bottle of amber liquid left on the scratched nightstand only had a few swallows left before it, too, was empty.

Chris curled into a ball as a fresh wave of emotional pain swept through his tender heart. He had always felt certain emotions stronger than the other guys he knew. He was the sole guy that would be crying along with the girls in the theater during a romance movie. It was something that he had always been rather proud of, that he was that in touch with his own emotions. He knew that wasn’t actually the case; it was only matters of the heart that he seemed to feel more strongly. Most other emotions tended to be muted.

Right then, he wished everything that he was feeling could be muted and dulled.

A trembling hand extended out off the bed as he eyed the nearly empty bottle. With a move that he had mastered sometime during the night, he flicked off the cap with the same hand holding tight to the long glass neck. A couple of drops dribbled from his chin and onto the filthy sheets that didn’t look like they had ever been washed. He shuddered as the stray thought pushed through his mind, unhindered by the prodigious amount of alcohol he had consumed.

The bottle fell from his fingers as he sneezed; the glass cracking sharply as it dropped to the floor. Fine sand filled the room from the open window. There had been something in the news about the sands from the Sahara crossing over the ocean. The edge of the cloud had arrived early that morning at some point, and now everything was coated in a fine layer of the gritty particulate.

He could feel it coating his lungs and esophagus, which was the main reason he had decided to keep the window open. If main lining the alcohol through his mouth based IV didn’t kill him, then maybe choking on the sand would. He couldn’t be bothered to put more effort into his death than that.

He curled tighter as a spot at the base of his neck began to itch and burn, his skin reacting to the thickening cloud of sand in the room. He scratched weakly at the tender spot and rolled off the dirty bed. He wasn’t sure if there was something in the bed or if he was reacting to the sand.

With a sigh of regret, Chris closed the window and stumbled into the dingy bathroom. The age stained tiles held hundreds of stories from past inhabitants, and nearly that much caked on grime. Leaning heavily against the door, he weaved unsteadily and coughed, a phlegm covered ball of grit ripping itself loose from the depths of his lungs.

Pulling the thin, threadbare towel from the rack, he tossed it to the ground and began pulling off his clothes, placing each sour-smelling piece on the towel. The water was lukewarm at its hottest setting and edging rapidly towards cold as he quickly rinsed off his body before starting with soap.

He was proud of the shape he was in. At twenty-eight, he was still in the prime of his life and it showed. His body wasn’t jacked like some steroid popping bodybuilder, but it was firm with hard-earned muscle. Tears leaked from the corner of his eyes as he squeezed them shut and began to sob once more.

The water had grown cold and a noticeable bump had developed on the back of his neck by the time he managed to pull himself out of the shower. The lump was tender to the touch, and he was resigned to the knowledge that he needed to leave. It would be better to get some medicine before whatever allergic reaction he was having got any worse.

Bending over, he pulled on the day-old dirty clothes over his wet body and opened the door to a sand-covered room. Thankfully, since he had closed the window, there was no more of it hovering about in the air. His dress shoes pushed the glass bottles aside, uncaring when several of them shattered against each other. On the table next to the door sat his wallet, keys, and the phone that he had been tempted to destroy instead of simply turning it off. He had been in no mood to listen to anyone who would have called him. He still wasn’t.

Shoving each of the items into his pocket, he opened the door and squinted through the cloudy haze of fine particulate. The news had never mentioned just how much sand the wind was carrying with it, but frankly, he found the amount amazing. It was enough to cover everything in a thin layer and still keep going to wherever the wind blew it.

Keeping his eyes covered, he ran over to his car and opened it in a rush, the fob in his hand beeping in-time with the locks. He breathed in and coughed up a second, much larger ball of grit and sand as he took the moment to enjoy the clear air inside the car. A napkin served to contain the mess as he started the car and leaned back, wincing as the bump came into contact with the hot leather headrest.

A flare of hot pain coursed through his neck, forcing him to double over and hang his head on the steering wheel. He shut off the car as his stomach cramped and pulsed in time with his heartbeat. The pressure causing a headache to form and start clawing its way through his head.

The pain in his neck continued to grow sharper and more all-consuming every time he moved or shifted positions. He was forced to remain doubled over in the front seat of his car, enduring the cramps in his stomach along with the ever-growing pain in his head and neck.

Chris shut his eyes tight and powered through the pain, a sick side of him grateful for it, as it kept his mind off of other things.

The roads outside were empty, despite it nearing the afternoon. Overhead, the last of the sand was carried away, leaving only enough to color the sky orange.

Inside the increasingly hot car, he was unaware of the changes as the bump on his neck continued to grow and pulse. Sweat streamed from his body and his eyes gleamed with feverish heat. He was unable to move as the heat combined with the pain began the short process of shutting his mind down and sending him into the sweet embrace of unconsciousness.

***

Chris smelled the coppery tang of blood first as his mind started to reawaken. A sticky and cool substance had run down his back and shoulders during his time spent unconscious. The moon hung high in the sky and the last of the sand that had been left behind was drifting in the air, making it glow blood-red in the night.

His arms were sluggish to respond as he tried to turn on the overhead light, a shiver rolling through his body. It was unseasonably cold inside his car. His left-arm trembled as it extended away from his body, the short distance to the knob for the lights nearly too much.

There was a soft click and with a sigh of relief, he let his arm fall back into his lap. Blinking rapidly against the light, Chris was finally able to see why he was smelling blood in his previously clean car. The shirt he was wearing was nearly glued against his back and shoulders as he saw the lines of drying blood. The thin white material doing little to hide the rivulets of crimson veins spreading across his shoulders and chest.

Over the course of several minutes, he raised his arm and felt at the area around the base of his neck. Inhaling sharply, he hissed with pain as clumsy fingers touched raw skin where the bump had been hours before. Salt from sweat stained his fingers and pressed into the raw flesh, the sudden sting doing wonders for his addled mind.

Taking advantage of the sudden clarity, Chris opened the car door and slid out onto the pavement. He barely remembered to grab his keys and turn off the light before shutting the door and stumbling back towards the dark motel room. Luckily, it was still unlocked and apparently hadn’t been cleaned yet, as he spotted the empty glass bottles still covering the floor.

Dragging his feet, he made his way into the bathroom and turned on the light. The sight in the mirror made him recoil, glad that there had been no cops around. An oddity in and of itself, considering how long he must have been sitting in his car, passed out. He was covered in far more blood than he had thought and looked more like a murder victim, or the murderer himself than an honest person should.

Flipping on the water for the shower, he pulled the shirt off, wincing preemptively as the drying blood pulled at his skin, and the material brushed against his neck. Dropping the shirt inside the tub to begin soaking, he used the mirror to study as much of his neck as he could see. Which wasn’t much. He could see enough to know that it was a good thing he had been unconscious for whatever happened and no more. The skin was completely gone from that area, leaving the flesh beneath visible and open to infection.

He would still need to make his way to the pharmacy.

He did notice one other odd thing, however, a series of three different red bumps were sitting in a line directly over his heart. Taking a moment to steel his nerves, he reached up and touched it. The bump shifted position easily under the pressure of his finger before drifting back to the spot above his heart upon release.

Concerned, he poked at the three bumps a few more times before moving on when he didn’t feel pain from their movements. His dark hazel eyes were bloodshot from earlier, and that was it. Everything else seemed normal. Climbing into the shower, he gently disrobed and let them soak in the water pooling at the bottom of the tub.

Streams of red water coursed down his body as the cold water loosened and rehydrated the dried blood. He let the water cool his overheated head, and the hot inflamed skin of his neck. The weakness in his muscles that had been so apparent when he first woke up, disappearing as time went on.

He was careful to not touch the area at the back of his neck as he washed the blood from his body, content to let the water clean it. A second person was needed to do a good job on the unseen flesh back there.

Crouching in the tub, he picked up the sopping clothes and wrung them out, only realizing then that he had left his wallet and phone in the pockets. The worst of the smell and stains fading from the mix of bar-soap and water. They would still be uncomfortable to wear, but it was better than looking like a walking crime scene.

He left the shirt off and draped it over his shoulder, opting to let it cover the bumps and not worry about pulling it over his head. The pants were a struggle to get on as the material clung tightly to his legs and refused to budge easily. Thankfully, his phone had still been turned off from the night before and he had found it before the water could damage it.

Stepping back out into the open air, he was struck at how silent everything was. The lack of noise had been easy to ignore before, but now, standing out in the open, it was disconcerting. The motel was on the edge of Denver, close to the highway, and yet he didn’t hear any cars whizzing past.

Ignoring the bloodstained leather of his driver’s seat, Chris climbed inside his car and pulled out of the parking spot. On the road, it was easier to spot how empty the road was. Cars filled the parking lots instead of the road. Only a couple of lights dotted the nearby buildings, giving the area a creepy, deserted feeling that had his foot pressing harder on the accelerator.

Unconscious of any firm decision, he found the car pointing towards the highway and his house. His foot continued to press harder on the pedal as the minutes passed without seeing another soul around. The exit for the pharmacy flashed by, the car only beginning to slow as he neared the exit for his home. The small subdivision he had lived in for the last couple of years was just off the highway in Centennial.

The utter lack of both movement and lights had his teeth on edge as he passed one dark business after another. It was only when he reached the houses that lights not on timers began to appear.

The sight of lights on in his house shook him from his reverie. Parking in front of the garage that stored his wife’s SUV, he stopped and waited, watching for any moving shadows inside. Not seeing anything obviously out of place, he relented, and staying as silent as possible, exited the vehicle. It was too silent; all his instincts and the deepest parts of his lizard brain were screaming at him. Still, there was nothing he could do about the matter from inside his car. It did make him wish he had turned on the radio, however; it wasn’t something he had even thought of doing until just now. He was one of the people it seemed who liked to spend his time thinking while driving, instead of listening to music or people talk.

A soft breeze blew across his short hair and ruffled his damp clothes. The hard soles of his dress shoes scuffed lightly against the cement as he walked up the path to his front door. The light came on above the door, and he stilled before remembering that it was on a sensor.

The solid wood door opened on well-oiled hinges without a sound. Farther inside the house he could see a light on in the kitchen and down the hall where the bedroom was located. Stepping through the open door, he became aware of a new noise, one that sounded like someone gorging themselves on overly moist meat. A breeze blowing past him from somewhere inside the house.

Chris shuddered as his mind that had been raised on a constant influx of internet-driven horrors made up one possible monster after another. The odd, still darkness outside making each seem far more likely than they would have otherwise.

The hardwood flooring of the entryway hall creaked beneath his shoes, announcing his presence to any monsters hiding in the house. His eyes shut instinctively as he paused and held his breath.

Softly cursing himself for letting his mind get away from him, Chris opened his eyes and rushed into the kitchen. Glass glittered across the wooden floor near the destroyed back door. On the counter stood an open bottle of wine and two full glasses that had yet to be touched. He wondered if one of those had been meant for him, or if she had prepared them for the neighbor. He had never liked that overly skinny trust-fund raised man; he had never had to work for the money he had, and it showed in the way he wasted it.

The thought made his heart hurt at what she had done to him. He was not one to forgive and forget. For him, at least there was no coming back from a betrayal like this. Swallowing past the emotional lump in his throat, he followed the noise of chewing into the far hall towards where the bedroom was.

The sight that greeted him on the floor in front of the bedroom door was one straight out of a nightmare and justified all his most recent fears. The silence outside his home was not normal. There was a reason behind it and the blood spreading across the waxed floors revealed what that was.

Busy snacking on the cooling corpse of his wife was the neighbor that he had previously seen occupied in bed with her. A large bump bulged on the back of his neck, pulsing obscenely with every bite he took of her now empty ribcage. Lips smacking in delight as he swallowed a fresh mouth-full of the raw meat.

Chapter 2

Chris gagged at the sight, knowing it was a mistake as soon as the reflex passed, and he was able to look up.

The neighbor was looking at him hungrily, his eyes vacant save for the light of life hidden deep in their centers. Thick, congealing blood dripped from his chin and the corner of his mouth, splattering sickeningly on the floor. He was glad to see that the man was at least clothed this time.

The sight of his wife on the floor made him feel oddly hollow. Up until the day before, he thought he had been madly in love with her. Now he felt nothing. When she had broken his heart, all his affection for her went with it.

The neighbor’s tongue lolled out and licked at the speckled blood around his mouth, standing with jerky movements. He refused to think of the man’s name, a matter made easier by not being able to remember it. Their interactions had been sparse at best since he had moved into the house next door six months earlier.

He certainly wasn’t going to go out of his way to learn it now.

The blood-covered man opened his mouth in a silent groan and took an unsteady step towards him, bumping against the wall on his second step. Chris backed up in fright, his mind scrambling for the answer to what he should do. One scenario after another wound its way through his mind as he tried to understand what was going on. It wasn’t every day that you found your neighbor eating a human-shaped lunchable after all.

Shaking, he continued to back away from the cannibalistic man. His back hit the edge of the counter and he stopped as the sharp corner dug into the sensitive skin. Hissing in pain, his hand slapped down on the smooth surface of the fake granite counter, knocking over both glasses of wine. The thin fragile glass tinkled as it shattered and went everywhere,