The Sheep

By Aaron Abilene

The Christians fall victims to the Great Deceiver and on the day of the rapture they all turn into hideous zombie like monsters for helping spread lies and hate.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Syphon Creative
• Release date: Apr 22, 2024
• ISBN: 9798224338283

Book preview

The Sheep

Aaron Abilene

Published by Syphon Creative, 2024.

This is a work of fiction. Similarities to real people, places, or events are entirely coincidental.

THE SHEEP

First edition. April 22, 2024.

Copyright © 2024 Aaron Abilene.

Written by Aaron Abilene.

Also by Aaron Abilene

505

505: Resurrection

Balls

Dead Awake (Coming Soon)

Before The Dead Awake (Coming Soon)

Carnival Game

Full Moon Howl

Donovan

Shades of Z

Deadeye

Deadeye & Friends

Cowboys Vs Aliens

Ferris

Life in Prescott (Coming Soon)

Afterlife in Love (Coming Soon)

Island

Paradise Island

The Lost Island

The Lost Island 2

The Lost Island 3

The Island 2

Pandemic

Pandemic (Coming Soon)

Prototype

Prototype

The Compound

Slacker

Slacker 2

Slacker: Dead Man Walkin'

Texas

A Vampire in Texas

Thomas

Quarantine

Contagion

Eradication

Isolation

Immune

Pathogen

Bloodline (Coming Soon)

Decontaminated (Coming Soon)

Virus

Raising Hell

Zombie Bride

Zombie Bride

Zombie Bride 2

Zombie Bride 3

Standalone

The Victims of Pinocchio

A Christmas Nightmare

Pain

Fat Jesus

A Zombie's Revenge

505

The Headhunter

Crash

Tranq

The Island

Dog

The Quiet Man

Joe Superhero

Feral

Good Guys

Devil Child of Texas

Romeo and Juliet and Zombies

The Gamer

Becoming Alpha

Dead West

Small Town Blues

Shades of Z: Redux

The Gift of Death

Killer Claus

Skarred

Home Sweet Home

Alligator Allan

10 Days

Army of The Dumbest Dead

Kid

The Cult of Stupid

9 Time Felon

Slater

Bad Review: Hannah Dies

Me Again

Maurice and Me

Breaking Wind

The Family Business

Lightning Rider : Better Days

Lazy Boyz

The Sheep

Sparkles The Vampire Clown (Coming Soon)

From The Future, Stuck in The Past (Coming Soon)

Honest John (Coming Soon)

She's Psycho (Coming Soon)

Vicious Cycle (Coming Soon)

Romeo and Juliet: True Love Conquers All (Coming Soon)

Hunting Sarah (Coming Soon)

Random Acts of Stupidity (Coming Soon)

Born Killer (Coming Soon)

The Abducted (Coming Soon)

Broken Man (Coming Soon)

Graham Hiney (Coming Soon)

Paper Soldiers (Coming Soon)

Zartan (Coming Soon)

The Firsts in Life (Coming Soon)

Giant Baby (Coming Soon)

Table of Contents

Title Page

Copyright Page

Also By Aaron Abilene

The Sheep

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Also By Aaron Abilene

The Sheep

Written by Aaron Abilene

Michael's boots crunched softly on the gritty ash that blanketed the streets, the charred remains of his hometown barely recognizable under the desolation. He skirted around a mangled street sign, its once directive arm now pointing accusingly at the leaden sky. Each step was measured, deliberate; his eyes darted from shadow to shadow, ears straining for any discordant sound that would herald danger.

Skeletal buildings loomed over him, their windows like hollowed-out sockets in a skull, watching, waiting. The silence was oppressive, broken only by the occasional cawing of a distant crow or the eerie whisper of wind stirring through the remnants of civilization. Michael's breath came in controlled bursts, visible puffs of mist in the chill air.

He paused, a prickling sensation crawling up the back of his neck, and instinctively ducked behind the charred husk of a car. His heart hammered against his ribcage as he peered through the soot-streaked windshield, scanning for movement.

That's when he saw them.

A group of figures hunched over what appeared to be... no, it couldn't be... but it was. A carcass, torn open, its entrails spread obscenely across the cracked pavement. The creatures were feasting, their movements jerky and ravenous, their bodies emaciated and grotesque. Skin hung from their bones in tattered drapes, mouths agape revealing jagged teeth stained with fresh crimson.

Michael felt the bile rise in his throat, a shiver rippling through him despite the layers of scavenged clothing wrapped around his wiry frame. These were not the beings of flesh and blood he once knew, these were monsters, twisted mockeries of humanity. Their guttural snarls and the wet sound of ripping flesh filled the air, a symphony of the macabre.

With a shaking hand, he reached for the makeshift weapon at his belt—a length of rebar sharpened to a deadly point—and held it ready, knowing full well the futility of such a gesture should they turn their attention to him. But Michael could not tear his gaze away from the horror before him, the stark reality of this new world etched into every line of his grim face.

This was his home, or what was left of it, now a playground for the damned.

Michael's breath caught in his chest, a cold sweat breaking out across his brow as he watched the creatures gorge themselves. He had heard whispers, rumors spoken in hushed tones during those final days before everything fell to chaos. Tales of a rapture not of salvation but of damnation, where the unworthy would be left to wander a desecrated earth. He had dismissed them then, confident in his faith, assured that such interpretations were misguided fearmongering.

But now, as the reality of these grotesque beings unfolded before him, Michael was forced to confront the possibility that he had been wrong. Could this be the true nature of the rapture? Was this God's judgment made manifest?

A shiver ran down his spine, not from fear alone, but from the dawning of a horrifying curiosity. These abominations, these soulless husks—were they truly what remained of humanity? His mind raced with scripture and doctrine, searching for something, anything that might make sense of the nightmare before him.

His foot shifted ever so slightly, a pebble skittering across the broken asphalt—a sound so minor, yet deafening in the pervasive silence that enveloped the street. The creatures ceased their feasting, heads snapping toward the source of the disturbance with a predatory swiftness that belied their decrepit forms.

Michael froze, his heart thundering in his chest. Their eyes, or what passed for eyes in their decayed sockets, fixed on him with an unsettling focus. They stood in unison, a disjointed chorus of moans spilling from their gaping maws as they began to move in his direction.

He realized with a jolt of terror that he was no longer a mere observer; he was prey. The creatures advanced with a slow, relentless determination, their movements synchronized in their hunger. There was no mind behind those eyes, just an insatiable need to consume, to feed on whatever life remained in this forsaken world.

Michael's hand tightened around the rebar, his resolve hardening even as his body urged him to flee. He could not outrun them, not all of them. His mind raced, calculating odds, seeking escape routes, but it was his spirit that quivered under the weight of the unknown.

This was more than survival now; this was a test of faith, a challenge to the very core of his beliefs. As the distance between Michael and the encroaching horde dwindled, a silent prayer escaped his lips, a plea for strength in the face of the abominations that approached.

Michael lunged toward the shadow of an abandoned storefront, its windows shattered and darkened by years of neglect. His breaths came in sharp gasps, chest heaving as he glanced back to see the horde's disjointed shuffle gaining ground. He ducked inside, heart pounding against his ribs like a frantic drum. The air was thick with the musty scent of decay and abandonment, but it offered a grim sanctuary.

Wasting no time, Michael scanned the dim interior for something—anything—to fortify the entrance. His fingers brushed over the cold remnants of a bygone era: a cash register, a rack of desiccated clothing. A heavy bookcase teetered precariously against one wall, its shelves empty. With adrenaline surging through his veins, he shoved it across the floor, wood scraping against tile, until it rested squarely against the door.

He stepped back, chest heaving, and listened to the muffled groans of the creatures outside. For a moment, he allowed himself to believe that this barrier might just hold. But as the shadows stretched and twisted in the dying light, doubt gnawed at him, whispering insidious thoughts.

Is this the world You intended? Michael murmured, the question aimed at the heavens or perhaps at his own faltering spirit. The image of the creatures' grotesque feast replayed in his mind, an unbidden horror. Or is this the deception they warned us about? Have I been living in denial of Your true message?

He sank down against the barricade, feeling the vibrations of undead hands clawing at the other side. His gaze lifted to the cracks in the ceiling, seeking a sign, a sliver of divine guidance amidst the chaos. The silence that greeted him was louder than any sermon, more cutting than any prophetic verse.

Great Deceiver, he whispered, the title bitter on his tongue, are these your minions, sent to test our resolve? Or have we already failed You?

The shop seemed to close in around him, the darkness a tangible force. Memories of scripture twisted with the grotesque reality before him; tales of tribulation and the end of days now felt prescient, yet wholly inadequate to describe the nightmare that had become their existence.

Faith, he said, voice barely a thread, is supposed to be my shield. But what defense does it offer against such... blasphemy?

He closed his eyes, trying to summon the fervor of his convictions, to feel the warmth of belief that once filled him. But all he found was the cold echo of uncertainty, the creeping fear that perhaps the rapture had come and gone, leaving behind only those too blinded by false piety to see the truth.

Lord, if You are listening, he prayed silently, grant me clarity.

The relentless scratching at the door continued, a perverse litany to accompany his crisis of faith. Alone in the gloom, surrounded by the relentless dead, Michael clung to the hope that the dawn would bring answers, that the light would chase away the shadows of doubt clouding his soul. But as night descended, he knew one thing for certain: he could not let despair consume him—not while he still drew breath, not while there was still a chance to understand the divine plan hidden within this desolate new world.

The pounding was rhythmic, a death knell that reverberated through the rotting beams of the old shelter. Thud... thud... thud... Each strike against the barricade sent splinters dancing in the stale air and a fresh wave of dread coursing through Michael's veins. He could hear them—the creatures—moaning, their guttural cries weaving a tapestry of desolation that blanketed the empty streets outside.

He stood still for a moment, back pressed against the cold wall, feeling the vibrations of their ceaseless assault. The room felt like a shrinking cage, the darkness pressing in on him with every blow upon the door. His breaths came in short, sharp gasps, misting in the chill as he wrestled with his racing heart.

Clarity, he whispered to himself, echoing his earlier prayer. Clarity would be his beacon through the madness. But first, he had to act, to move beyond the fear that threatened to paralyze him as effectively as any chains.

With determined eyes, he surveyed the grim interior of his refuge, seeking an alternative exit—a forgotten back door or perhaps a window leading to the relative safety of a back alley. It was a faint hope, but desperation lent it the weight of possibility.

There! A sliver of moonlight traced the outline of a small window high on the opposite wall. It looked barely large enough for a man to pass through, but it was a chance. Michael moved toward it, stepping over debris that told silent tales of the life that once thrummed within these walls.

His hands found the cool surface of the window ledge, and with a strength born of necessity, he hoisted himself up. Balancing precariously, he pushed against the pane. It gave way with a protesting creak, allowing the night's chill and the distant howls to rush in and fill the space.

He glanced back at the door; the creatures were relentless, their hunger driving them against the frail barriers of humanity's last defenses. With a shudder, Michael turned away and squeezed through the opening, dropping into the shadows below.

Outside, he kept to the darkness, moving with a quiet urgency. Every rustle of wind-swept trash, every shift of rubble underfoot seemed amplified, a potential signal to the horde of his presence. He avoided the main roads, threading through alleys choked with the detritus of collapse, past vehicles that would never again carry families to Sunday services, past storefronts where mannequins gazed out with sightless eyes at a world they no longer adorned.

His mind raced as much as his feet did. Where might survivors have congregated? Would there be a sanctuary among the ruins, a bastion of faith holding firm against the heresy of this new reality?

Answers, he muttered, a mantra to propel him forward. There must be answers.

As he rounded a corner, Michael paused, holding his breath. An overturned bus lay ahead, its once-bright colors faded and peeling. Could it be a haven—or a tomb? He approached with caution, each step measured, each sense attuned to the slightest hint of movement. He reached the bus and peered inside; the gloom was impenetrable, but for a moment, he thought he saw something—a glint, perhaps the reflection of his own desperate hope.

Hello? The word was a risk, a breaking of silence that could call down a swarm upon him. But the need to connect, to find others who might share in his quest for truth, spurred him to take it.

Silence answered, heavy and absolute. Yet Michael knew he could not stop, not when so much remained unknown, not when his soul yearned for the solace of understanding. He moved on, leaving the empty vessel behind, a lone figure amidst the ruins, driven by a faith tested but not yet extinguished.

Michael's heart hammered against his ribs as he navigated the labyrinth of toppled cars and shattered storefronts. The silence was oppressive, laden with a sense that something unseen watched from the shadows. He was about to turn back when a sudden clatter echoed through the empty street.

Instinctively, he pressed himself against the crumbling wall of a building, peering around its corner with caution. There, gathered around a flickering fire in a half-collapsed parking lot, stood a group of survivors. But their presence brought no relief; instead, a wave of dread washed over him. Their faces were twisted not by grief or fear but by a venomous contempt. They spoke in hushed, fervent tones to each other, casting furtive glances at the surrounding darkness.

Lost lamb, one sneered, pointing directly at Michael with a jagged piece of metal. Come to hear the true word?

Michael hesitated, his throat tightening. The Great Deceiver had sown seeds of deception far and wide. To these souls, anyone outside their circle could be an enemy, a spy for the monstrous hordes, or worse—an unbeliever.

Brothers, sisters, Michael began, his voice steady despite the pounding in his chest. I mean you no harm. I am... searching for answers. For truth.

Truth? another survivor spat out, her eyes narrowing. What truth do you seek amidst lies? The Rapture came, and we've been abandoned. Now we follow the one who shows us strength, who teaches us to survive.

Their hostility was palpable, a barrier as tangible as the walls of the city around them. Michael felt the weight of their skepticism like stones upon his soul. Yet, he stood firm, his faith a bulwark against the tides of doubt and fear.

Strength without faith is hollow, Michael replied, his own eyes lighting with a passion born of conviction. It leads only to more darkness. Does your leader speak of compassion, of mercy?

Mercy! they laughed collectively, a harsh, mocking sound. Mercy is for the weak. We have seen the truth of this new world, and only the strong will claim it.

The flames flickered, casting long shadows across their faces, making them appear almost as grotesque as the creatures roaming the streets. Michael took a step forward, his hands open and unthreatening.

Consider this, he said quietly, his gaze meeting each pair of hardened eyes in turn. If we forsake what made us human, our faith, our hope, our love for one another—then haven't we already lost, regardless of the horrors outside?

A tense silence fell over the group. Some shifted uncomfortably, while others clenched their makeshift weapons tighter. Michael could see the battle within them, the struggle between survival's callous demands and the remnants of their humanity.

Leave now, pretender, the first survivor finally growled, breaking the stillness. We'll have no false prophets poisoning our midst.

Michael nodded once, a gesture of peace, and backed away slowly. His heart mourned for them, for the light of hope dimmed within their eyes. But even as the distance grew between them, his resolve did not waver.

May you find the truth you need, he whispered, though they could not hear.

Turning his back on the group, Michael disappeared into the encroaching night, his journey for understanding far from over, his spirit unbroken by the shadows that sought to engulf it.

The night air vibrated with a low, guttural moaning that stopped Michael mid-step. He turned, his breath catching in his throat as he saw the origin of the sound—a mass of zombie-like creatures converging on their position with unnerving determination. Their gaunt bodies moved with a haunting fluidity, their eyes hollow yet fixed with a predatory hunger.

Back! Michael's voice was a sharp command, cutting through the thick tension that hung between him and the survivors. We must barricade!

For a moment, the survivors hesitated, their distrust evident even now, but the immediate danger overrode their skepticism. The group sprang into frantic action, piling debris and broken furniture against the entrance of the dilapidated building they had claimed as temporary refuge.

Here, help me with this! A gruff man with scars etched into his weathered face motioned to Michael, who rushed to assist in dragging a rusted filing cabinet across the floor. They positioned it against the door, the metal screeching in protest.

Keep quiet, Michael whispered, pressing his ear against the cold surface of the door. The moans outside grew louder, more insistent, a symphony of despair.

Will this hold? A young woman's voice trembled, her eyes darting nervously to where Michael listened.

Faith, Michael replied, not turning away from the door. It's all we have left.

Faith won't stop those things, another survivor spat cynically.

Perhaps not, Michael conceded, but it unites us, if only for the moment.

The creatures outside thudded against the barrier, their groans seeping through the cracks like a chilling fog. The sounds of their relentless assault echoed ominously within the hollow room, a stark reminder of the world that lay beyond their fragile defenses.

Upstairs, Michael