The Quisling: Lords of Apocalypse, #2

By Randy Dean Noble

An army of shadowy figures. A dark, twisted creature. And a being hell-bent on destroying humankind.

 

Boston has seen the future and now he must stop it from happening, stop the evil that would see everyone he cares about killed. Before it had all begun just days earlier at the farmhouse, he had kept to himself—he didn't want to care about others again. But all that has changed. When Boston discovers people are being turned into shadowy figures, he knows he must defeat the thing creating them… Eziel. With Eziel's whereabouts unknown, and with Boston's team having nothing to go on, their luck shifts when a mysterious stranger appears. A woman, Lorcthe, approaches Boston and claims herself as a Quisling—those that are considered traitors to Eziel. Lorcthe has uncanny knowledge about Boston and his team and what they've been through. Things she shouldn't know. After getting nowhere by themselves, they have no choice but to team up with Lorcthe to try to find and destroy Eziel before it brings about an apocalypse.

 

The Quisling is the second book in the Lords of Apocalypse supernatural thriller series.

 

If you like fast-paced thrills and chills—and epic action and mystery—then you'll love this next installment in Randy Dean Noble's page-turning series.

 

Pick up The Quisling to continue this exciting series today!

• Language: English
• Publisher: Paranormal Proclivity Publishing
• Release date: Oct 25, 2023
• ISBN: 9781777299422

Randy Dean Noble

Randy Dean Noble is a supernatural thriller kind of guy. He grew up on a slew of movies and books, those of the fantastical variety inspiring most of his writing interests. Working a plethora of minimum wage jobs took Randy into computer science and a career in IT (because he didn't want to eat PB&J the rest of his life). But, his passion has always been writing, and his dream is to be a full-time fiction author. When he's not working his day job in IT, and not watching some new show on the ridiculous amount of streamers out there, he's writing. If you, the wonderful visitor of this page, are at all interested in supernatural thrillers, then, please, by all means, check his works out. And feel free to subscribe to Randy's email list to get updates on what he's working on, releases, and whatnot (on his website at randydeannoble.com).

Book preview

Lords of Apocalypse

The Quisling

Randy Dean Noble

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Paranormal Proclivity Publishing

Lords of Apocalypse: The Quisling by Randy Dean Noble (This is book two in the Lords of Apocalypse series)

Published by Paranormal Proclivity Publishing

Author’s website: https://www.randydeannoble.com/

Copyright © 2023 by Randy Dean Noble

All rights reserved.

No portion of this book may be reproduced in any form without permission from the publisher or author, except as permitted by Canada copyright law. For permissions contact: [e-mail]

The characters and events portrayed in this book are fictitious. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, is coincidental and not intended by the author.

Cover designed by MiblArt.

ISBN: 978-1-7772994-2-2 (ebook)

ISBN: 978-1-7772994-3-9 (Paperback)

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Subscribe and get Randy’s action-packed novel, Surviving the Theseus, for FREE: https://tinyurl.com/SurvivingTheTheseus

Lords of Apocalypse: The Quisling

1.Shadow of the Dead

2.You Can't Save Everyone

3.Divide and Conquer

4.The Call

5.Traitor

6.Buckle Up

7.The Device

8.Revelation

9.Trust Issues

10.Chide Sonata

11.Run

12.The Thick of It

13.Parabellum

14.The Pledge

15.The Turn

16.The Prestige

17.Insurmountable

18.Hypothetical Asshole

19.The Airburst Effect

20.Late Fees

21.Tsk Tsk

22.Bound

23.The Wretched

24.Interference

25.Mullered

26.Observe This!

27.The Stan of Plans

28.Blaze

29.Ka-Blickity-Blam

30.Now or Never

31.The Book

32.The Middle of Nowhere

33.Die Hard It

34.Phobophobia

35.The Weird

36.To a Head

37.Misan

38.Draw

39.Diadem

40.The Purge

41.The Pact

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Acknowledgements

Also By Randy Dean Noble

1

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Shadow of the Dead

Five days and two hours. That’s all it took that evil piece of shit. Boston and his friends had had nothing but time over the last few days as they waited, talking over recent events, including the Observer and what it said: We have an enemy in common. But did they? Was it messing with them? Its intentions were murky at best, but murky he could take over Eziel’s definitive goal.

The Observer’s power was undeniable. To be able to move them in an instant from one place to another, that was something more powerful than anything Eziel could do. As well as levitation, the ability to remove memories of their doppelgängers, and all the assistance it had given them in the other reality—even though it said it didn’t help. What was its angle? If Eziel was their common enemy, why not just destroy him? It seemed powerful enough to do so. Boston brought his attention back to the road, Edward lost in thought beside him. The others—Amber, Ralph, Jayson, and Krull—listened to a police scanner, the reason they now chanced exposure, to find the twister thing and somehow destroy it.

Multiple calls had gone out on the scanner for several different locations, all of them the same: a white paneled van, two men carrying a body that wasn’t moving. They took the closest call to them. Boston did not want them to separate, so they all staked out in Senna’s minivan.

They hoped the police were too busy to take all the calls at once. When they arrived at a dark parking lot of an apartment building, Boston drove in with lights off and parked two stalls over and one row behind a white paneled van. A few minutes later, when two men in dark clothing came up from an embankment, they all ducked down inside the minivan.

An engine purred to life, and red taillights glowed over each of their curious faces. Ever since they were on the run, all their time was spent watching and waiting, no one really knowing what they could or should do. The red light disappeared, and the van pulled away.

Every nerve in Boston’s body throbbed with an uneasiness that would not go away. It didn’t help that he no longer wore his frock coat and hat. He couldn’t go cold turkey, but he knew he had to change things up, look different. His jacket, still long, still leather—but not frock-coat long—sufficed to cover his revolvers. And he decided upon a gray tweed flat cap, unable to go hatless as he felt naked without it. Senna would not have approved though; he knew he was stubborn about it, but even the small changes he had made would take a while to become comfortable. His skin crawled whenever he caught a glance of his new jacket. At least he still had jeans and a T-shirt.

He tensed at the thought of Senna, guilt making its way through before he pushed it to the corners of his mind. Another time, he had no doubt, it would all bear down on him: what his actions had caused. He would try to make up for it for however long he lived.

They all piled out of the minivan into a moonless, dark night, the lone lamppost burnt out or just not working. Crickets chirped in the near distance. A light breeze brushed Boston’s face as he looked where the two men had come from. A flash of light caught his attention, and when he flicked his head toward it, he caught a fleeting glance of someone peeking at them from an apartment window before the drapes dropped back.

Everyone was wearing dark clothing, casual, nothing that would stand out.

Boston led the way down a sloping, grassy embankment to a shallow swale of murky water. Once all of them gathered beside him, they each brought up a flashlight and snapped them on. The cones of light revealed an arched concrete sewer entrance but didn’t penetrate the dark maw within.

With his hand to the side and down, in a hold gesture, Boston edged forward. The others followed close behind, their footfalls slapping in the water. He stopped, turned, and whispered: Edward, just you and I, okay? The rest, please wait, and watch out for police or anyone else. Yell out if you have to; I doubt our cells will work in there.

Nobody spoke, just nods and grim faces.

Flashlights in hand, walking beside each other, Boston and Edward punched into the dark tunnel, the air so humid Boston beaded with sweat immediately. The smell wrinkled his nose, but it didn’t even compare to the hellish smell he and Amber experienced near the pile of corpses in the other reality.

As they monitored every step, attempting absolute silence, thoughts pulsed through Boston’s mind. He no longer had that aching feeling for Amber that he had had in the other reality; it was gone. And even though they had avoided the conversation altogether, he knew she felt the same: nothing. They were both back in the friend zone, which he was fine with. No feeling in his life had ever struck him as odd as being in love with someone in an instant and then not.

Boston splashed his feet in shallow water, no longer taking care with his steps. Edward tugged at Boston’s jacket and looked down at his feet when Edward had his attention. Boston nodded and then mouthed, Sorry.

Their path curved to the right. They kept beside one another, flashlights forward, revealing nothing but garbage and graffiti-lined walls of random scribblings like Grad ’88, Yo mama suck a doodle do, and For a good time… go fuck yourself.

There had to be something. With the reports going out all over the city, it screamed Eziel was up to something, but what?

As they came around the bend, something splashed in front of them. Or was it behind? Shit. Boston panned his light behind them. When he turned back around, Edward was stopped ahead, his light pointing at the ground before him.

Boston moved up beside him and furrowed his brow. A portly man lay naked, face down in an inch of water. The man’s body twitched, as if spasming.

As Boston handed Edward his flashlight, he said, Hold this. He bent down, and as he tried to flip the man over, thinking he was drowning, the whole body vibrated, and a low humming noise emanated from him. Boston stood up and back with Edward, eyes widening.

He couldn’t take his eyes from it; his heart hammered. The hair on the back of his neck stood up.

The naked man’s flesh shook like it was made of sand, each individual grain vibrating, and then it rippled like water. Seconds later a dark mass consumed it all, like a layer of ice dissolving to reveal a dark, empty pit underneath. They were staring at a black shadow-looking thing that almost overwhelmed them in the other reality, probability, whatever the hell it was.

Edward and Boston backed up, but they didn’t run. He didn’t want to draw attention, yet both he and Edward kept their flashlights on it; the light seemed to bend around it, like light couldn’t penetrate it. Jesus.

The shadow stood up in a quick snap of movement.

They didn’t budge, and Boston held his breath. These shadow people were still an unknown, as they had avoided them completely on their only other encounter. He had no idea what one would do to them if contact was made, and he didn’t want to find out. Yet, he remained. And Edward, stoic as ever, didn’t flinch, his face one of mesmerization—that of a child watching Saturday morning cartoons.

Memories of Jurassic Park coursed through his mind: they can’t see you if you don’t move. Ridiculous, he was sure, and yet, other than a glance at Edward, he did not move and took quick, short breaths.

The shadow thing remained motionless right along with them, making no attempt to attack.

There was no more for it; he had to do something. He nodded at Edward and then stepped back as fast as he dared, turtle speed. Edward matched his movements.

The shadow did not pursue.

Once they cleared the entrance, they both flipped around and rushed toward their friends’ inquisitive gazes.

So? Jayson said. Don’t leave me hanging.

Boston and Edward explained what happened, what they saw, and the fact it did nothing.

Well, Krull said, I posit that they’re waiting.

Waiting for what? Amber asked.

Can’t say for sure, but I would guess Eziel’s command.

Jesus, Jayson said, but command for what?

Krull shrugged.

We shouldn’t linger, Ralph said.

As they started up the hill—Boston’s eyes mostly on the tunnel, waiting for the shadow man to appear—approaching lights appeared.

Boston saw them first. Down.

Everyone hunkered, Boston waving them away from the sewer opening, into the darkness.

A minute later, two tall, bulky men—different from the other two they had seen earlier—carried a body down the embankment. They did not speak, other than grunting and groaning, something only humans would do. Boston stood and did not take care to step quietly. He gritted his teeth.

Even though the man facing him had to have seen and heard him, both men kept on.

Stop! Boston said.

Sir, the man facing him said, just bugger off. This doesn’t concern you.

Tears filled Boston’s eyes and he wiped them away.

The men stopped. Leave now, and we won’t hurt y—

Boston pulled out one revolver, cocked it, aimed at the speaking man’s head, and squeezed the trigger. The body dropped like a sack of bricks. The bang from the gunshot echoed in the air. The corpse they were carrying thudded to the ground as the other man blurted out a little scream.

Shit! Boston heard behind him—Amber. He didn’t care. No one would take another that he cared about, and he couldn’t sit about like a frightened child and not do anything. It needed to stop. Now. He cocked the revolver, and, while pointing at the stranger, he walked forward.

L-look, man, the guy said, I don’t have any money.

I don’t want your money; I want information.

W-what information?

Eziel, where is he?

I-I don’t know.

Boston pulled out his other revolver. The man held his hands out in a calm-down gesture.

I swear, the stranger said. We go to a single pickup zone.

Rain drizzled down, the air fresh, cool but not cold. He waited him out, waited for any sign the man lied, and didn’t sense it. Where?

Footfalls behind Boston approached—the gang.

I can’t tell you; they’ll kill me.

What do you think I’m going to do?

Amber came up beside Boston. Why are you helping Eziel?

The man scrunched his face in contempt. Come on, you know why. Money. What the fuck else do we do shit for?

Noble, Edward said. Must be a proud, young man.

Hey, fuck you, fuck the lot of you. You don’t know me.

"Where?" Boston asked, stepping toward the man.

A low humming noise rose and ebbed, and right along with it, sirens in the distance.

What is that? Ralph asked.

The body, Boston said.

We should go, Krull said.

Jesus, Jayson said. The body on the ground shimmered in the light of the pointing flashlights, the rain glimmering.

The man standing beside it jumped away as the body dissolved into a black mass in the shape of a person.

The sirens got louder.

Let’s go, Krull said.

We can’t leave this man, Amber said, can’t chance this getting back to Eziel.

So, we just assassinate him? Ralph asked.

Sirens were dangerously close. He made his choice, Boston said. Before the man had a chance to open his mouth, Boston put him down with a single shot to the head.

The shadow person popped up on two legs, like the one in the sewer had earlier. It moved. At first Boston thought it was coming at them. Floating, yet still moving its legs as if walking, it made its way into the sewer and disappeared into the darkness.

This way, Krull said as he turned and walked up the ravine, abandoning Senna’s minivan. There’s no time to get to the vehicle and get away.

They followed Krull. Everyone, except Boston and Edward, kept looking back at the sewer’s maw with nervous glances.

2

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You Can't Save Everyone

After a thirty-minute walk, followed by a forty-minute bus ride, they were at Boston’s place. He assured them it would be okay to go back to his apartment, that no one knew who he was or where he lived. In the back of Boston’s mind, he worried about what the police could have figured out, or, worse, Eziel. None of his identification had his real name, and nobody knew his real name but him. Even if they fingerprinted him, it would lead nowhere. Still, doubts pervaded; he couldn’t help it. He needed more bullets, lots more.

Once they were inside, blue LED lights from a digital clock on a bookshelf revealed the time as 3:12 AM.

Everyone looked exhausted and rightfully so. Feel free to take my bed and get some sleep or the couch. And—he pointed upstairs—there’s a proper bedroom up there too. Let’s all get some sleep.

But he didn’t. As Jayson and Ralph plopped onto the L-shaped couch and Amber went up to his loft bed over the living area, he went up to the second floor. It wasn’t until Boston got to his shooting alley to make more reloads that he noticed Edward had followed him.

Edward, you should get some sleep.

So should you, my friend. Bullets?

Yep.

Edward looked around and then plopped down beside Boston at his work bench, onto a stool. Boston stood in front of his automated Dillon reloading press. He could see Edward watching as he loaded casings, bullets, primers, and powder. Once he got it clicking, clanking, and cranking, he kept the speed at a good rate but not too fast. He liked to watch and ensure there were no issues.

How many can that thing do? Edward asked.

Oh, I usually keep the production rate at eight hundred or so an hour, but it could do more.

Hmm, ain’t that a daisy of a thingamabob. Preparing for war?

Boston kept his eyes on the reloader. I feel a lecture coming on.

The casings clicked down a tube, one at a time. Finished bullets clanked into a rectangular plastic container.

Not at all, my friend. I get it, I really do. None of us want what we saw in that other reality. But—

No buts. I need to be ready.

Yes, we all do, and we appreciate you, appreciate your protection, but we have to be smarter about how we proceed.

Click… Click… Click… Boston never took his eyes from the bullet production before him. Just spit it out.

You can’t always be there to protect us; we have to watch out for ourselves.

Boston wanted to scream at him. For the briefest moment, he wanted to push Edward away and scream No! We do everything together, nobody splits off. Somebody splits off, and somebody will die, and I won’t let that happen. Instead, he said nothing at all, fixated on his machine.

He could feel Edward’s eyes on him.

Do you know how old I am? Edward asked.

No idea.

Guess.

I don’t want to insult you.

You can’t offend me. Guess.

I don’t know, seventy.

I’m fifty-eight. And to save you the trouble of reeling back on that guess, most people think I’m in my seventies. Let’s just say I used to let things get to me: my boss, other people’s opinions, every little thing caused me stress and worry. And I used to drink a fair bit because of it—to calm me, I would always tell myself. All that aged me, all the stupid crap I took so seriously.

Boston could hardly believe it. Edward was so nonchalant and carefree about everything, even in dire situations—the most non-stressed person Boston had ever met.

I can’t say when I changed, but it was soon after my wife passed. Like a realization slamming me in the head that it all didn’t matter, that I worried for nothing. I just stopped giving a shit about what anyone thought, about all the stupid, meaningless crap. I know that’s not you, and you won’t change, and you need to see this through, as I do too. But if you try and keep this up, this none-of-us-can-die bravado, the constant worrying, you’ll drive yourself crazy. You have to learn to let go, somehow, someway. I know you know all this, but sometimes it helps coming from a friend. Everyone dies. It’s shitty, but it’s part of life. Do I miss my wife? Every day.

Boston sighed as memories of Senna stabbed his thoughts. He winced.

Edward continued: Look at it this way: after everything we’ve seen, have yet to see, you know there’s so much we don’t understand about this world, about death. That’s a garden full of daisies in my book.

Boston smiled.

And doesn’t that give you hope for what happens when we die? Edward asked.

Did he expect an answer? He wanted it to, but he didn’t feel very much hope at the moment, only the task at hand.

Edward didn’t wait. Well, it gives me hope. I don’t think it’s all blackness, nothingness when we die. That’s a nihilistic way of thinking. We’ll see our loved ones again, Boston. I’ve no doubt, so I have enough hope for the both of us. At the very least, let’s fight for the world we live in now, which means all of us risking our lives, not just you. We all want the same result, and we’re willing to do whatever it takes.

Without realizing it, Boston’s eyes watered. With pursed lips, he looked at Edward and nodded.

Boston wiped his eyes with the back of a hand. I never meant to drag you into all this.

Is that what you think? No, good sir, I needed this. Not the killin’, of course, but this… adventure. You introduced me to a world I never dared think possible before. Now… well, I don’t want to sound like a broken record, but you’ve given me hope.

Boston smiled. You’ve been a dear friend, something just days ago I really never had before.

Edward stood and held his arms out. Although still alien to Boston, he accepted. Even though the embrace was short, it brought back something he had not felt since he last hugged his mother and father: home.

3

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Divide and Conquer

At noon the next day, after all of them had managed some sleep, they hovered around Boston’s living room. Jayson gaped with quizzical eyes, and Boston knew what was coming.

Talking with his hands like puppets, Jayson conversed with himself. Is Boston, his left hand said, Boston’s real name?

Me thinks not, he mimed with his right hand.

Do you think he’ll tell us?

Hope so. What’s he got to lose telling us now.

Maybe he thinks you’re stupid.

You’re stupid.

And then his left hand attacked his right hand, bringing smiles to everyone’s faces as he pushed the limits of his kookiness. Jayson didn’t often let his guard down.

Boston is the name I go by, the name everyone knows me as. The ID I use states my name as Boston.

With the cult gone that destroyed your family, Amber said, you have no reason to hide any longer, not from us.

It’s irrelevant. I’m not that person anymore, haven’t been for a long time. I am who you know me as; it’s just a name, it doesn’t matter. I’ve hidden nothing from any of you.

Jayson clicked his tongue against the roof of his mouth. Fair enough. No problem, we’ll get you good and drunk one day and see how long it takes then.

Good luck, Boston said, and smiled.

Jayson smirked. Challenge accepted.

Anyway, Boston said, Krull has suggested going back to the butcher shop, to search for the book.

Doubtful it’s still there, Krull said. Likely Eziel has it, or the police got it, but it’s worth a look on the off chance.

Jayson fake laughed. Chance?

All we have at the moment, Krull said.

And what do we hope to gain from this book? Amber asked.

Ahh, Krull said, well, I haven’t actually seen this book.

You don’t even know if there’s a book? Amber asked. Maybe we can look for a unicorn while we’re at it.

Krull smiled. Love the biting sarcasm. Eziel handed me meticulous notes, but I heard of a book mentioned on more than one occasion. I’d bet dollars to doughnuts he got the twister abomination recipe from a book. The fact Eziel wrote it out instead of handing me the book says one thing to me: there is more in the book than what was revealed to me, perhaps something that will reverse what I have done.

Krull hung his head, and for the first time, Boston realized how hard the events had hit Krull. Boston didn’t blame him for creating the twister thing. How could anyone possibly think such a thing could be created at all? And yet, no one said it wasn’t his fault. He wondered if others, deep down, blamed him. What would any of them have done in Krull’s position? Say no to Eziel? Doubtful.

And where did he get this book from? Ralph asked.

Krull paced. Unknown at the moment.

Jayson stared out Boston’s window. Wading around in the dark seems to be our modus operandi.

Wow, Amber said, I can’t believe those words came out of your mouth.

Jayson fake-smiled and squinted his eyes at Amber. Ha, ha. I’ll have you know I’ve watched plenty of movies.

Touché, Amber said, smiling.

Who is going on said book adventure? Edward asked, pipe in mouth, unlit. He never really asked, but Boston guessed he drew the line at lighting up in someone’s place.

I’ll go, Jayson said, and then volunteered Ralph by pulling his arm up in the air, and mimicking Ralph’s voice: Me too. It sounded more like Mickey Mouse.

Ralph rolled his eyes. Fine, let’s get it over with.

Buck up, Jayson said. You do remember how big you were in that other reality, don’t you?

Ralph shrugged.

Well, I certainly do. You were huge, man. And confident. My guess is shit like this will toughen you up.

Yeah, maybe.

And the rest of us? Edward asked.

I’m going to take a walk, Boston said, call Ash, feel it out.

I can tell you how that’s going to go, Amber said.

Maybe. Need to know for sure; he’s seen things he can’t explain, and maybe that gets him on our side with a conversation. We can use all the help we can get.

Amber nodded.

I need to get away from this area before I call him in case they trace the call; ‘dark alleys and away from people’ kind of thing. Amber and Edward, let’s go.

Boston nodded Jayson over and whispered, You’re my eyes out there. See something out of sorts, run.

Uh, yeah, that’s for sure. Though, might be nice to be armed.

"And what would you arm