The Flood

By Aaron Abilene

Everyone says God is loving, but now he's pissed. He has completely lost hope in humanity and he launches a flood and a zombie plague to wipe us all out.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Syphon Creative
• Release date: Apr 25, 2024
• ISBN: 9798223163886

Book preview

The Flood

Aaron Abilene

Published by Syphon Creative, 2024.

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

THE FLOOD

First edition. April 25, 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

The Author

Breaking Wind

Yellow Snow

Dragon Snatch

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

The Family Business

Lightning Rider : Better Days

Lazy Boyz

The Sheep

Wild

The Flood

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 Flood

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Also By Aaron Abilene

The Flood

Written by Aaron Abilene

Liam's eyes snapped open to the abrasive wail of sirens, their distant cries weaving through the remnants of his dreams. He lay motionless for a moment, the familiar blanket of dread settling over him like ash from the once vibrant sky now choked with perpetual gloom. The apartment was suffused with a weak, grey light that struggled to penetrate the grime-encrusted window, casting long shadows across the spartan room.

He peeled back the thin, patchwork blanket and swung his legs over the side of the creaking bed, feet finding the cold concrete floor. The chill seeped through him, but he barely noticed anymore; it was just another thread in the tapestry of discomfort that had become his life. Liam's muscles protested as he stood, each movement feeling like turning the pages of an ancient, neglected tome, stiff and reluctant.

His routine was a silent litany against the chaos that awaited beyond these walls. A splash of frigid water from the rusted faucet onto his face served less to wake him than to affirm his endurance, droplets cascading down his stubbled jawline, dark hair plastered to his forehead in unkempt strands. He avoided the cracked mirror, no longer recognizing or wishing to acknowledge the hollow-eyed specter that returned his gaze on the rare occasions he dared look.

The ritual of dressing was next—a sequence of threadbare garments pulled on mechanically, each piece a testament to the world's unraveling seams. With fingers calloused from toil and survival, he fastened the buttons on his shirt, each one a quiet defiance against the entropy clawing at the edges of his existence.

As he shrugged into his faded jacket, the weight settled onto his shoulders—literal and metaphorical—a cloak woven from the relentless burden of enduring another day in this fractured reality. His hands lingered on the frayed cuffs, the fabric worn thin from countless brushes with the abrasive world outside.

With a deep breath that did little to fill the void within, Liam scooped up his keys from the small table that bore the scars of many such mornings. Each scratch and stain told a story, a history of loss and perseverance etched into the wood. The siren's lament tapered off, leaving only the oppressive silence of a city that whispered tales of desolation through its cracked streets and broken buildings.

Liam took one last glance at the meager confines of his refuge, a cell of his own making, before turning the key in the lock with a soft click that sounded unnervingly final. He stepped into the dimly lit hallway, the door closing behind him with a thud that seemed to echo through the hollows of his soul.

Liam's fingers trembled as they traced the jagged line of a crack snaking its way up the apartment wall. It seemed to him a metaphor for the fissures in his own faith, once unshakeable, now fragmented by the relentless decay of the world around him. The sirens had faded, leaving a void that was filled with nothing but his own ragged breaths and the relentless drumming of doubt in his mind.

Where are you? he whispered, a question not meant for the silent walls but for a deity he once conversed with daily. In all this... where?

He struggled to grasp the threads of belief that had woven through his life, threads now frayed and brittle. His heart ached for some divine intervention, a sign amidst the chaos that there was still some grand design, some flicker of light in the pervasive darkness. But his prayers met only the cold indifference of the void, and the silence became an answer in itself.

The creaking complaint of his old chair broke the quiet as he sank into it, an island of solace in the storm of his thoughts. The static-laden television sputtered to life at the press of a button, its screen a mottled canvas of grey until the image resolved—talking heads and flashing images chronicling humanity's latest descent into barbarity.

Another group of refugees ambushed, the reporter's voice crackled through the static. Casualties include women and children. No sanctuary remains untainted by violence.

Liam's stomach churned. The news was a litany of horror that confirmed his darkest musings. Where was the mercy of the gods when children lay in the dirt, their cries unheard? How could any omnipotent caretaker gaze upon such scenes and remain unmoved?

Tell me why I should keep believing, Liam muttered, his gaze fixed on the carnage playing out before him.

But the only response was the buzz of static as the signal wavered, the anchor's solemn face dissolving into a storm of electronic snow. The universe, it seemed, was indifferent to his crisis of faith. And Liam felt the last remnants of his conviction slipping away like sand through desperate fingers.

Liam's hand hesitated on the doorknob, a frail barrier between him and the pandemonium that awaited outside. Taking a deep breath tainted with the stale air of resignation, he twisted the metal and stepped into the tumultuous streets.

The city was an open wound, bleeding chaos. Ash drifted like snowflakes in a perverse mimicry of winter, settling on the shoulders of shambling figures that once brimmed with purpose. A woman clutched at her torn bag as a snarling man wrestled it away, their struggle a desperate dance to the tune of survival. Not far off, the crack of gunfire punctuated the morning air, a grim reminder that lawlessness had become the new order.

He navigated through the debris-strewn thoroughfare, each step heavy with the weight of disillusionment. The scent of burning rubber stung his nostrils, the acrid smoke rising from a nearby pyre of shattered dreams. Shouts and cries melded into a dissonant symphony that underscored the city’s decay.

As Liam rounded a corner, his ears caught the fervent pitch of raised voices, not in conflict but in union. A congregation of the forsaken had assembled before the skeletal remains of a church, its stained glass windows shattered, its sanctity long since violated by despair.

Where is your God now? one protester bellowed, his face contorted in anguish, a placard dangling from his neck, scrawled with the words 'Heaven's Lies'.

Abandoned, just like us! another cried out, throwing her hands upwards as though to accuse the silent heavens directly.

Their chants were a bitter liturgy, a testament to faith betrayed. Each word struck Liam, resonating within his own well of doubt. He paused, caught in the tide of their anger, recognizing the echo of his internal turmoil in their vehement declarations.

Divine love? A fool's hope! a man spat, his eyes hollow with the loss of a belief once held dear.

And as they railed against invisible deities, Liam felt the fissures in his own creed widen. They stood together, strangers united by the death of their gods, searching for meaning amidst the ruins. In their midst, he found no answers, only the shared reflection of his fractured convictions.

With the protesters' disillusionment gnawing at his resolve, Liam pushed forward, the cacophony of their protest fading behind him as he ventured deeper into the fractured heart of a world unmoored from its faith.

Liam trudged through the debris-strewn streets, his boots crunching on the remnants of a world that once was. The muffled cries of despair grew fainter with each step, replaced by the distant sound of a child's plaintive sobbing. Curious despite himself, Liam rounded the corner of a collapsed building and saw them—a mother cradling her young daughter in a hollowed-out storefront.

The child's face was smeared with dirt, tears cutting clean lines through the grime. Her small frame shook with each whimper, her eyes wide and uncomprehending. The mother, gaunt and worn beyond her years, whispered empty reassurances, her voice brittle as the fractured world around them. She clutched a threadbare shawl tighter around the child's shoulders, a futile shield against the chill of abandonment.

Shh, it's alright, the mother murmured, but her hollow tone belied the words—a melody void of hope.

Liam felt a pang of sorrow tighten in his chest. He remembered a time when such scenes would have stirred him to action, but those days were as lost to him as the city's former glory. Now, he could offer nothing but a silent prayer to a deity he doubted heard him anymore.

He turned away, his heart heavy. The sight of their struggle was a stark reminder that this desolate landscape was not just his own hellish reality, but theirs as well; they were all adrift in this post-apocalyptic purgatory.

Seeking respite from the relentless cruelty, Liam found his way to a park—or what remained of it. Weeds overran the pathways, and skeletal trees clawed at the sky. At the center stood a bench, its paint flaking and wood rotting. There, like a relic of a bygone era, lay a weathered Bible, its pages curled and yellowed with age.

For a moment, Liam simply stared at the abandoned tome, a symbol of comfort that now seemed alien in the ravaged landscape. Compelled by a force he couldn't name, he picked up the book, feeling its weight in his hands. His fingers traced the embossed cross on the cover, the leather cracked and dry.

He sat on the edge of the bench, the Bible resting in his lap, an artifact of faith in a world that had discarded it. It was as though the park itself held its breath, waiting for him to rediscover something lost or to confirm his burgeoning skepticism.

Around him, the park bore silent witness to his solitary contemplation, the hushed whispers of leaves sounding like the faded echoes of congregational hymns. In this quiet, forsaken place, Liam sought solace—not from the words within the Bible, which he did not open, but from the solitude that enveloped him, a temporary reprieve from the chaos that awaited outside the park's neglected borders.

Liam's fingers hesitated before turning the first brittle page of the Bible. As he leafed through the ancient scripture, his eyes fell upon verses that once cradled his belief with unwavering certainty. There was a time when words like blessed are those who mourn would have soothed him. Now, they seemed to mock the very air he breathed, heavy with the stench of burning hope.

Peace I leave with you, he read aloud, the irony bitter on his tongue as a distant explosion punctuated the promise. The comfort these passages had provided felt like a cruel joke against the backdrop of a world where peace was as elusive as the ghosts of his past faith.

A soft cough from behind startled him. Liam looked up to see an old man standing there, his face etched with the roadmap of survival in the new world order. The man's eyes were like faded parchment, holding stories that might never be told.

Quite the read you've got there, the old man remarked, nodding toward the Bible. His voice was gravelly, yet held a timbre of gentle curiosity.

Liam closed the book, unsure how to respond. He had expected judgment or perhaps a sermon about forsaken souls, but the stranger's demeanor bore none of it. It used to mean something, Liam said, more to himself than to the man.

Ah, the old man sighed, settling onto the other end of the bench with care. Faith is a strange creature, isn't it? In times like these, it either becomes your stronghold or the ghost that haunts you.

Liam considered the man's words, feeling the truth in them. Do you believe, then? he asked, gesturing vaguely with the Bible. In a higher power, in a purpose to all this madness?

The old man chuckled, a sound as dry as the pages Liam had been turning. I believe in many things. In the sun rising again, even after the darkest nights. In the strength of the human spirit, no matter how much it's tested. And yes, in some kind of force greater than us. But not one that intercedes on our behalf—not anymore.

Then what's the point of faith if it doesn't change anything? Liam's voice cracked with a mix of desperation and anger.

Maybe faith isn't about changing the world, the old man offered softly. Maybe it's about changing how we face it, giving us the fortitude to endure and find specks of light in the endless dark.

Liam pondered the idea, the weight of the Bible in his hands somehow feeling different, less burdensome. He had sought solace in its pages and found only reflections of his doubts. But perhaps, just maybe, the solace lay not in the certainty the words once gave him, but in the search for meaning itself.

Liam's fingers lingered on the edge of the Bible's leather-bound cover, the coarse texture a sharp contrast to the smoothness of his thoughts. The old man's words echoed inside him like a haunting refrain, reverberating against the walls of his crumbling certainties.

Changing how we face it, Liam muttered under his breath, his gaze drifting past the park's iron gates towards the city's jagged skyline. In every decaying building and every broken pane of glass, despair stared back at him, yet he couldn't shake off the old man's conviction.

He stood up, the Bible still in hand, its weight now a tangible symbol of his internal struggle. The desire for meaning, for something to hold onto in the relentless current of chaos—it was a hunger that had long gnawed at his insides. But doubt was a cunning predator, eroding his faith with each passing moment of horror witnessed in the streets.

Specks of light, he whispered, almost in prayer, seeking those elusive shards of hope the old man spoke of. Could such things still exist? Could they be found, or were they mere illusions, the last vestiges of a dying world's dreams?

The park, once a haven of green amidst the concrete, now lay barren—a reflection of his own soul, perhaps. Its trees were skeletal, their leaves stolen by a merciless wind. Yet even there, within the desolation, life clung stubbornly to existence. Tiny buds forced their way through cracked earth, defiant.

It was then that Liam felt it—an awakening, a stirring deep within. The indecision that had shackled him began to loosen its grip. He could remain here, in this purgatory of lost hope, or he could embark on a journey—a pilgrimage to seek out those specks of light, to find answers not in the dogma of the past but in the living, breathing present.

He clasped the Bible close, a talisman against the uncertainty of the road ahead. The time for wallowing in skepticism had ended; action beckoned. Liam turned his back to the place that had been his refuge, his prison, and faced the horizon with a newfound resolve.

Into the unknown, then, Liam said, stepping forward, each stride purposeful, as if shedding an old skin. He left behind the shattered remnants of his apartment, the echoes of sirens, and the oppressive air of the park. With each step, the city's cacophony dulled, replaced by the pounding of his heart—a drumbeat heralding the start of a quest.

For meaning, for truth, or perhaps simply for the solace of the search itself, Liam ventured forth, the ancient scriptures pressed against his chest, a silent companion whispering of mysteries yet to unfold.

Liam's boots crunched over the rubble-strewn pavement, an uneven symphony to accompany his departure. The grey light of early dawn filtered through the dust clouds that hung like specters above the shattered cityscape. As the sun's rays struggled to pierce the haze, they cast a pallid glow on the devastation wrought by humanity's own hand.

He walked with purpose now, each footfall a testament to his newfound determination. The once familiar streets twisted into alien paths before him, leading not just away from his old life, but towards the possibility of understanding. Liam could feel the weight of the worn Bible against his heart, its presence both comforting and burdensome, as it throbbed with the rhythm of his steps.

The clatter and cries of the chaotic world around him began to fade into a distant hum, leaving Liam enveloped in the sound of his own resolve. He didn’t look back; there was nothing for him in the echoes of the past. His eyes were fixed firmly ahead, searching the horizon for any sign of what lay beyond the crumbling borders of his forsaken city.

A gust of wind whipped at his clothes, tugging at him as if urging him onward, faster into the unknown. It carried with it the stench of decay and the whispers of desolation, yet Liam remained undaunted. This was his choice—a pilgrimage toward something greater than the sum of his doubts.

He paused only for a moment, staring out at the expanse before him—a tapestry of destruction and rebirth intertwined. Small pockets of green fought defiantly against the oppressive grey, a subtle reminder that even in a world so thoroughly ravaged, life persisted.

With a deep breath that tasted of ash and promise, Liam stepped beyond the periphery of all he had known. Each stride carried him deeper into the wasteland, but in his chest, a flicker of hope kindled. Perhaps amidst the ruins, he would uncover the truth he sought, or perhaps he would simply learn to embrace the journey itself.

And so, with the dawn casting long shadows upon the path ahead, Liam ventured forth into the desolate world, a solitary figure against the vastness, his spirit buoyed by the search for even the faintest glimmer of hope amidst the chaos.

Liam's eyes flicked open, the soft intrusion of sunlight prying through his dusty windowpanes. The morning rays cast a lattice of muted gold across the chaos of his cramped apartment—a graveyard of forgotten relics from a world now gasping its final breaths. He lay there for a moment, ensnared in the tangle of threadbare sheets that had seen better days, much like the crumbling city beyond his walls.

With a grunt, he peeled himself from the mattress, the springs creaking a protest as his feet found the cold, uneven floor. Around him, piles of books with cracked spines and dog-eared pages loomed, their tales of heroism and virtue now just fodder for rats. He maneuvered through the labyrinth of his own making, stepping over a toppled lamp here, a heap of unwashed clothes there—each relic a testament to a life fraying at the edges.

His routine was a silent liturgy in the cathedral of his solitude. Water from the rust-stained tap filled a chipped mug, its dribbles syncing with the rhythmic drip-drop from the leaky ceiling. The act of shaving was meditative, the razor scraping away the stubble and, for a fleeting moment, the weight of the world along with it. His reflection in the cracked mirror was a mosaic of the man he used to be—before despair had etched itself into his features.

As he buttoned up a shirt that had not felt the caress of an iron in ages, Liam’s gaze wandered past his reflection to the window where the sun continued its ascent, indifferent to the decay below. His thoughts drifted to the streets he'd soon walk; the hollow eyes and empty souls he'd pass, each one a mirror reflecting the moral decay eating away at the fabric of society. The faith that once girded him against such darkness now hung limp, threads unraveled by the relentless gnawing of doubt.

He donned his coat, the leather cracked and worn, a patchwork armor against a world that no longer made promises of salvation or hope. The door to his apartment creaked open, its groan a familiar farewell as he stepped into the dimly lit corridor, the stench of mildew and neglect washing over him. For a moment, he lingered on the threshold, caught between the sanctuary of his isolation and the anarchy of the world outside.

Today, more than ever, the weight of his silent questions bore down upon him, heavier with each passing second—the whispers of a conscience grappling with the reality of a humanity lost to shadows. With a sigh that carried the burden of his contemplation, Liam closed the door behind him, surrendering once more to the ritual of survival in a city that had