Isolation: Desolation, #2

By RW Duder

When we left the remaining two survivors of the Onryô's vengeance fuelled wrath, there were more questions than answers. Isolation begins with answering those questions of what happened to Mark Harrison that night at Big Mike's Rest Stop. Now his brother and a Priest who also lost a friend that night, follow leads to a small town called Wolf's Head where they face all the answers they've been looking for. Unfortunately, they are also facing the unrelenting and uncaged fury of Riko Nanami in a whole new way as well the imprisoned and desperate townsfolk of Wolf's Head. The requested and highly anticipated sequel to the cult horror phenomenon "Desolation"

• Language: English
• Publisher: RW Duder
• Release date: Dec 19, 2022
• ISBN: 9798215435281

Book preview

RW Duder

Isolation (Desolation Book 2)

First published by Amazon 2020

Copyright © 2020 by RW Duder

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, scanning, or otherwise without written permission from the publisher. It is illegal to copy this book, post it to a website, or distribute it by any other means without permission.

This novel is entirely a work of fiction. The names, characters and incidents portrayed in it are the work of the author's imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or localities is entirely coincidental.

RW Duder asserts the moral right to be identified as the author of this work.

Second edition

ISBN: 9781726604994

This book was professionally typeset on Reedsy

Find out more at reedsy.com

From The Author:

Those of us that love horror are an interesting breed. We love being scared, we love the idea of good vs evil and the hero overcoming all obstacles to save themselves and hopefully those they care about. To everyone who has inspired me, this one is for you. I never dreamed Desolation would be as popular as it was, nor did I ever think I would be doing a sequel six years later.

To my wife Sarah and my daughter Lauren who inspire me and keep me grounded every day.

Prologue

THE BEGINNING OF THE END

Heather Morton knelt over Mark sobbing. The night had spiraled into chaos. People were dead, the demon was stalking them and, worst of all, Heather was giving up hope. Mark’s stab wound was bleeding profusely. She leaned forward and tried to put pressure on it using a kitchen towel. The maniac Peter Oswald had driven a knife into his stomach. Mark was a police officer, maybe he was accustomed to being wounded but this was all a new experience for Heather. " What a friend we have in Jesus, all our sins and griefs to bear…what a friend…, " she whispered and sang, rocking back and forth. She only knew the words that she had heard the priest singing to the little girl earlier.

Stop singing, said a weak, raspy voice.

Heather looked down at Mark and, in her exuberance, released the pressure on his wound. He winced and coughed, and she apologized and pressed down again. Sorry…about the singing, I’m pretty awful.

Mark was breathing heavy. Nothing…nothing to do with that. Every time someone sings that song…things get worse. He reached up and put his hands over Heather’s. His hands were frigid but hers were not exactly warm either. Get me a jacket, he whispered.

Heather let Mark hold down the towel while she rushed around to find a jacket of any kind. She found someone’s discarded coat nearby and brought it back to him. She had no idea whose it was and didn’t really care. She didn’t want to think about who was missing or dead and whose stuff was scattered around Big Mike’s rest-stop. Mark took the coat and slid it under himself wrapping the arms around the towel making the most impromptu bandage job she had ever seen. He braced himself and shouted as he yanked the knotted arms tightly. It might have been a rushed job, but it seemed to hold the towel in place perfectly.

You can’t move, she said.

Like hell. We’re leaving here, where’s Ethan?

Ethan was a truck driver who had been with them every step of the last few hours. He had acted heroically on more than one occasion. In fact, he had been caught by a stray bullet shot by the same man who had stabbed Mark.

He left. He just ran outside.

Oh no, no, no, Mark said. He sat up and Heather watched him cautiously for any signs of severe damage. Help me up, he instructed, and she did. He braced himself against the soda machines and took deep breaths. When he looked at Heather, his heart felt for her. She looked completely exhausted. She had been incredible during all this from keeping them fed to helping save his life and Ethan’s after he was shot. Mark managed to smile at her and offered his hand. Heather took it and squeezed. We’re leaving here, and never coming back, he said.

Where are we? she asked. It seemed like such a stupid question. She could look around her, she could scour every inch of this place that she knew so well, and she knew she was in Big Mike’s rest-stop. In a few hours when the morning light pierced the darkness, the coffee shop and the bakery would be bustling with people and everything would be back to normal, or so it seemed. Only she knew beyond a shadow of a doubt, that this was not Big Mike’s rest-stop. Only an hour ago, two physicists, Dr. Camp and Dr. Raines, had told their extravagant tale of an angry spirit, and their alternate dimension they had trapped them all in. Mark and Heather and everyone else who had died or vanished tonight, were no longer in the realm of normalcy.

I have no idea, Mark replied honestly. But I do think we’ll drive out of here and not look back and we will find our way back to…reality.

Do you think everyone else is okay?

Everyone else?

Big Mike…Paul…Ethan…Andrea Green’s family…

It was a loaded question. Technically Mark had no idea about Paul or Ethan, though he suspected Paul was dead. Paul worked in the rest-stop with Heather. He had gone outside hours ago to help get the generator running. The generator had started but Paul never came back. The spirit that had been hunting them may have claimed him as a victim. Raines told me the others were fine, he said, thinking about the statement as he said it. He noticed Heather was looking at him, looking for answers. Heather, Big Mike…he’s dead, I’m really sorry. Peter Oswald told me he killed him. Big Mike was the owner of the rest-stop. He was a larger than life man whom Heather adored and always thought of as a father figure. Peter Oswald was the disgusting killer that had shot Ethan and stabbed Mark before being obliterated by the demon woman. Heather’s eyes saddened but she did not cry. She had done enough of that for one night and besides she had suspected Mike was dead, along with Paul. Mark reached into his pockets. He fully expected his keys to not be there with the way this night was going but he felt the hard plastic of his SUV key chain. Let’s go, he said authoritatively. Heather nodded and the two of them made their way towards the exit of the stop. Mark limped slowly, and Heather walked only a step behind him to make sure he did not fall.

He stopped a few feet from the exit. He was looking at a cabinet on the wall where the fire hose was lodged. It had a see-through glass window with the familiar fire logo on it. Inside the window was twenty feet of fire hose connected to the rest-stop water supply line. In the center of the hose hanging on a hook looking polished and shiny was a fire axe. The axe was bright red with a silver blade and a sharp edge on the back end of it. The handle had BIG MIKE’S marked on it in press-on black letters. Mark looked at Heather and nodded at it. Get that, he instructed.

The hose?

The axe, he replied.

You think that would stop her? Heather asked doubtfully. The look Mark shot her made her realize he was done answering questions and simply wanted to be obeyed and get the hell out of here. She was not offended by this; in fact, she was more than happy to oblige him. She opened the glass door and took the axe from its hook. Before they continued Heather looked back into the stop. It was full of darkness and shadows. It was the last time she would ever see Big Mike’s rest-stop. It was the last time anyone would ever set foot in what had been one of the busiest spots on this interstate. She held the axe down to her side and Mark put his hand on her shoulder.

It’s over now, he said. It was meant to be words of encouragement. Somehow it worked. Heather allowed Mark to wrap his arm around her shoulder and the two of them made their way outside.

The chill in the air was substantial. If one loved winter, this might be the perfect night for them. It was so crisp and clean and frigid. The snow had stopped, the wind had died and there wasn’t a sound anywhere in the snow-covered parking lot. It was simply desolate. It looked beautiful, at least on the surface. There were the two bloody halves of Father Patrick laying only several feet to their right. His blood had soaked through a few layers of the snow and then was covered over by a light dusting of the following weather. Big Mike was several more feet to their left. His bloody and torn body lay chilled and swollen in the snow bank that had built around him. There was Ethan’s body, a gaping icy hole in his chest laying only a few feet from Father Patrick. From where Heather and Mark stood though, they saw none of this.

The gas pumps are there, Heather said pointing to the northeast corner of the parking lot. Mark…they won’t work without electricity.

We sever the lines with this, he said, taking the axe from her. One way or another we will get that gas into my tank.

Sounds dangerous, she said. Mark didn’t respond. Instead he pushed forward, walking slowly and keeping the axe close and his other arm pressed against his wound. Mark’s SUV was as buried as everything else in the lot. He could just make out the shape of where he had parked it. The shape of the vehicle had caused some of the snow to slide off, so you could still see the dark blue hull in some spots. He reached for his keys and pressed the automatic locks. The chirping sound of the alarm and locks disengaging screamed through the silent night. It almost sounded relieving to both Heather and Mark though neither said anything.

They reached the vehicle and Mark used his left hand to clear the snow covering the driver’s door. Heather helped as well, pulling off clumps of ice with both hands. When they had a decent path cleared, Mark got into the driver’s side and Heather did the same on the passenger side. It was freezing inside the vehicle. A shiver ran up Heather’s back as she wrapped her hands around herself. Mark winced and groaned trying to adjust himself so that his wound wouldn’t be so susceptible but that was impossible. He laid the axe between them on the center console resting on the gear shift. Mark put the key to the ignition and turned. The truck jumped to life and the headlights shot out into the snow. There was nothing there except a sea of white covering the paved blacktop. Mark glanced at Heather and tried a smile. It probably looked more like a grimace.

Where is everyone? Heather asked again, blowing into her hands which felt like clammy chunks of ice.

I don’t know, Mark said. He felt like he’d been saying that a lot tonight, but he hoped to be away from here and get some solid answers before long. More than anything he wanted to slap some cuffs onto Dr. Raines and Dr. Camp and haul them into a jail cell. And then there was Peter Oswald, a man that Mark had been hunting for months and didn’t even realize who he was until it was too late. Now, Mark felt no remorse for the killer. As far as he was concerned, he got the best justice possible and he hoped he felt a lot of pain before being killed. He felt certain that he and Heather were safe now from Riko Nanami, the spirit that had stalked them all night. She had gotten the person she had wanted…Peter Oswald.

Dr. Raines had told them all the story of Peter Oswald, the man known in police circles as the King City Killer. He had killed several women across New Jersey and had come across Riko Nanami in a small town in eastern New Jersey known as Wolf’s Head. He had teamed up with a group of small-town low-lifes who had ended up beating and savagely raping Riko before Peter Oswald ended her life. Riko had then used an ancient Japanese ritual to bring her vengeful spirit back and stalk Oswald. It was a terrifying and heart wrenching story. There was almost a sense of satisfaction for Mark when he watched Riko kill Oswald in front of them.

After revving the SUV a few times, he tried the heater. It was still colder than he would have liked but the heat was slowly kicking in. Without another word he drove the SUV through the drifts surrounding the vehicle. He shifted down once and then over, and the SUV climbed out of its spot. Heather gripped the sides of her seat as the truck lurched and lumbered through the snow, but it did its job and before long they were turned around heading towards the gas station.

The gas pumps looked like giant gravestones in the darkness towering over them. The overhead awning only served to stop the snow from coming straight down which meant it was building up to the side. Still, the SUV was able to pull up close enough to the middle bank of pumps. Mark turned to Heather. I’m going to need your help. I have a gas can in the trunk. We’ll sever the gas line and fill the canister and then our tank.

Won’t that leak gas? Heather asked, almost foolishly.

Mark nodded. We don’t have another option. Besides with all this snow, it would take an awful spark to worry about starting a fire in this. Heather nodded and the two of them got out of the vehicle. It was better without that wind and snow slapping them in the face, but the cold was insatiable and got right under their skin. Mark felt like his face was turning blue minutes after he got out of the truck. The storm had died down seconds after Riko finished with Oswald, but the cold had not dissipated.

Heather got the red gas canister with the yellow spout from the back of the SUV. Mark walked to the pump closest to them and examined the hose hook up and the pump itself looking for the safest way to commit the completely unsafe feat. He set the axe against the middle pump. Heather took three steps towards Mark and set the gas canister down beside him. She turned back to make sure she had closed the trunk and was violently slammed against the gas pump closest to her. It was like being shoved aside with a tree trunk to the midsection. Heather hollered in pain and two ribs on her left side snapped as she ploughed into the pump and it crumpled slightly, even under her small frame. Riko Nanami was there once again, standing behind Mark’s truck looking at Heather, who she had flung effortlessly. Mark turned just in time for Riko to move towards him and grab him by the throat. If her transparent hand was wrapped around his neck, he could feel every icy finger. It was as though a claw of pure ice was wrapped around his jugular. She lifted Mark off the ground, but her expression never changed. She was not angry or vengeful anymore but rather blank faced and her eyes were solid white, so Mark had no idea whether she was even looking at him.

Heather was on the ground by the pump nursing her ribs. She turned to face where Riko had Mark raised into the air. Blood was dripping onto the snow and the cement embankment below him from his wounds. Stop! she tried to scream but it came out as a whisper. She braced herself and stood. She reached for the only thing she could see, the axe. Mark was struggling but he had no idea what he was struggling against. It didn’t even look like the ghost woman was holding him. When he reached to his neck, he felt nothing but ice. She was still transparent. He saw Heather stand and pick up the axe and his stomach dropped. Nothing had stopped this ghost, and everything so far had seemingly gone right through her and he suspected that axe would be no different.

Heather took a deep breath and her ribs throbbed. She didn’t know they were broken but they were. More than anything else she was pissed off now. She hollered angrily and lifted the axe to her shoulder. Heather, no, Mark coughed but she could not hear him. She lifted the axe higher to Riko’s back and took several running steps towards her. It was probably fortunate that Heather wasn’t overly strong and with her ribs the way they were, the swing of the axe was hardly significant. Still, the axe came down towards the ghost’s back and as Mark suspected slipped through her like nothing. Instead the blade passed through the ghost and missed Mark by only an inch, maybe less. He felt the blade breeze past his left shoulder. The missed swing put Heather off-balance and she tumbled forward, and the axe buried itself into the right side of the gas pump that Mark had been examining. Even with a half assed swing the axe sliced into the pump and through the hose.

Sweet, thick, rancid gas spurted onto Heather’s face. She gagged and fell forward onto the pump and the gas leak erupted harder covering her and Mark but even the gas didn’t seem to stay on Riko Nanami. She finally released Mark and he fell to the ground hard, crunching in the snow. She turned towards Heather and his heart sank. She was after her now. Maybe Riko felt threatened. Heather saw the ghost turn her attention onto her. She stumbled to her feet and grabbed the axe that was buried in the pump.

Don’t pull it out! Mark hollered but Heather was not listening or could not hear him, or both. He was worried the axe was holding together the pump, but he was also worried about the spark that could be caused by the axe coming out of the metal hull. She pulled the axe hard, but it stayed buried in the metal. Heather was not strong enough to get the tool out. Mark felt relieved and pushed himself to his feet. Hey! he screamed at Riko, trying to distract her. Riko seemed to ignore Mark. He screamed again, standing up straight and feeling his wound throb. Riko Nanami! he hollered. She stopped and turned very slowly. Heather was still pulling on the axe with everything she had. She was soaked in gas. It was a gusher now. Riko had turned towards Mark and her eyes were still pure white.

It’s over Riko…the men who hurt you are dead.

The woman, beautiful in appearance but ghastly in her actions, turned towards Mark and although her dead eyes were as white as the snow she brought with her, he knew she was staring at him. Suddenly she roared, an ear splitting, glass shattering cry. Mark’s hands flew to his head.

Heather desperately pulled on the axe and it finally freed itself from the gas pump suddenly and quickly. She tripped backwards, and the axe slipped from her hands. She slid in the gas slick and went down hard on her tailbone and the axe went with her. It spun, and the blade fell towards her leg. Miraculously, it missed her leg with even less space than it had missed Mark’s shoulder. Unfortunately, the blade clinked against the cement median that was home to the row of gas pumps. The snow had melted away where the gas had spurted, and the axe found some bare cement. Heather heard