Ghosts of the Apocalypse: After Life

By Coffee Quills

Tal is beyond done with the living and the dead.
The former stalk him for supplies and whatever else they can steal, while the latter demand he acknowledges their ghostly existence and helps solve their problems. He understands why, of course—most people can only see ghosts, and he's one of the rare few who can interact with them. Still, both groups continue fucking him over and at this point all he wants is an island. The hope is to find a place not far from a trading town, but secluded enough ghosts won't bother him and anything still breathing won't think him worth the effort to track.

All his plan needs is a better map of the area.
With his goal in sight, complications arise in the form of unwanted companions. First is Hope, a sheltered teen who doesn't understand caution in post-apocalyptic life. Intent on returning her to her family (whether or not she wants it), the two of them meet Anna, a doctor willing to give everything up for her ghostly sister Abby. Finally, the growing group is joined by a monk named Theodore as the older man returns to his university after completing an errand. As they travel together, Tal is slowly reminded of how bracing it is to have friends and family. Of how it feels being accepted and cared about.

He should have known better.
One by one his companions attract trouble, secrets are found out, and Tal ends up taking the brunt each time. Injured and weary in spirit (because dealing with people is EXHAUSTING), he puts his foot down and refuses to throw himself into danger to help strangers. Hell, already dead strangers at that. Taking this split as a sign for him to finally get the peace and quiet he's been longing for, he gathers supplies for his island home... only to realize too late that the price is not one he's willing to pay.

Has his stubbornness cost him his family? Or will a last minute suicide mission save at least one person?

Tags: found family, hurt/comfort, ghosts, I see dead people, cannibalism, violence, post-apocalypse health system, slow-burn (very slow, like 2nd book slow) polyamory, sweet Polly Oliver makes an appearance, bisexual Tal, bisexual Anna, violence, secrets

• Language: English
• Publisher: Coffee Quills
• Release date: Mar 2, 2024
• ISBN: 9798224657728

Book preview

Ghosts of the Apocalypse: After Life

Coffee Quills

Copyright © 2024 by Coffee Quills

All rights reserved.

No portion of this book may be reproduced in any form without written permission from the publisher or author, except as permitted by U.S. copyright law. This is a work of fiction. All characters and events portrayed in this book are fictional, and any resemblance to real people (alive or dead) or incidents, is coincidence. In addition, the content of this book was not AI-generated and neither was the cover.

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Book Elements!

Kat Betts is the editor of this book. As always, thank you for your thoughts and comments to make this book shine! If you're a fellow writer and needing editing for your speculative-fiction writing, 100% find Kat at Element Editing Services.  (And then I went and changed 1st person POV into 3rd person, so… whatever mistakes you see, I’ve licked them and they’re mine). 

The amazing graphic designers at MiblArt made the cover for Ghosts of the Apocalypse and I look forward to seeing what the second book cover looks like in the future.

Chapter headers and ornamental breaks found here were designed by Leigh at Leigh Graphic Designs thank you so much for all the headers and breakers (please keep making them)!

And last but not least, thank you 4thewords! This certainly wouldn't have been written without all those Dust Warrior quests, monsters, and events!

Contents

Author Note

1.Post-Apocalyptia

2.New Hope

3.Gone Ghost

4.Leaving

5.Preppers

6.Gas Station

7.River Bend

8.Meeting Anna

9.Digging for Bullets

10.After Surgery

11.Hello Mayor

12.Offers

13.Accusations

14.Jail

15.Theo

16.In the College

17.Finding Abby

18.Taste Test

19.On the Road Again

20.Knives

21.Ghosts & Guests

22.Trust

23.Inside the Cave

24.Traps

25.Giants

26.Leaving

27.Hotel

28.New Home

29.Regrets

30.The House

31.New Boys

32.Grow Up

33.On His Way

34.Lake Silence

35.Captured

36.Eating

37.Axe a Question

38.Healing

39.Talking

40.Safety

Afterword

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Author Note

If you'd like to dive ahead in the reading, feel free to skip this section.

If you'd like to read content notes, then this section is for you.

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Content Notes: Overall the general rating of this book would be about PG-13:

Violence (knife injuries, bullet injuries)

Cannibalism

Post Apocalypse health care & surgery

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Chapter 1

Post-Apocalyptia

Grass and roots cracked the black tar, just like all the other roads Tal had traveled. If he was a romantic person, he’d say that the asphalt was mourning the events that had led to this sorry state, a loss of culture. Him being him; he saw it as annoying, a road that nobody could bicycle on, or if they had a car, they’d take too much time to move only a mile down the road.

He tromped from the road and into the knee-high weeds, searching for a place to settle down and think. There was a large building to his left, unnamed, and every single window facing him glittered a broken hello. From here he could see that the inside was painted a mix of chipper soot black, stark bone white, and average dismal gray. Nobody challenged him as he crept closer. Empty, or an ambush.

The floor was thick with dust and glass shards. Skeletons complementing the lack of color. In the lobby, he found five, all adult humans, in a circle attending a meeting to end all meetings. This, he thought, was it. Proof that being bored could end up being a fatal condition. They all had the same faded blue uniform on, and the other item they had in common, besides being long dead, was the piece of plastic hanging around their neck.

William Hess

Joseph Cruz

Johnathon Phelps

Jesus Hernandez

Meredith Chen

The ID cards were easy enough to collect and shove into his tattered backpack. He could trade lightweight items such as these for supplies or a night of secure sleep, if he was lucky enough to stumble on family looking for information about their kin. If not, others would want the material.

Walking away from the welcoming committee, he followed the lobby into a hallway. Each step was too loud in the silent tomb. He winced with every crunch of glass beneath his feet, and just in case he was being lured in, he made sure to close any doors he passed. An early warning sign to see if anyone besides him was around.

The full drill was to look inside a room, check for any signs of humanity, then scavenge everything that wasn’t nailed down. Most offices held black-screen computers and dusty desks. Sometimes the previous owners still occupied the chairs, and it netted him another ID card. It didn’t take long to see that the bottom floor was empty, picked through long ago.

His worry about making noise died at the stairs, but a new one started up. The thicker dust would keep his footprints and show others he’d been here. He grabbed hold of the wooden bannister and pulled himself up, balancing on the absolute edge of the steps. Most people would stay on the main floor, but if someone came after him, then he should be able to hear them. Throwing himself out of a second-story window wasn’t an ideal way to escape a building, but not a lot of people followed when he chose that route. 

Upstairs was more open to the elements, thanks to half the roof being torn away. The weather wasn’t too cold or too hot, and it wasn’t raining or snowing, so today was looking good. Maybe the rest of the roof was with the building’s missing name? Tal shook the thought from his head, then crouched next to a skeleton and added to his ID collection. The true reward was what he found at the end of the hallway. 

An old break room! It held a refrigerator taller than him, a long plaid couch, and about three-quarters of a wall belonging to cabinets; those three things usually guaranteed a small haul of items in addition to a comfortable place to sleep. The cherry on top of this beautiful cake was a full vending machine. He almost drooled when he saw most of the rows were still packed with plastic packages and colorful pictures of food.

First things first. He heaved a sigh and let go of the idea of sleeping on the couch. This room didn’t have a window in it, and no escape route meant it wasn’t the place for him. There was a room on the other side though… He quickly crossed the hallway and checked. The window was as intact as all the others had been, so if he heard voices when he was scavenging, it would be easy to bolt. 

Speaking of being able to escape, a good plan meant he should know where he was going. That had been the main reason to find a hunkering-down spot. He went back into the break room and sat on the edge of the rotting couch, too wary of springs and tetanus for a full sprawl. He withdrew a plastic bag from his backpack’s front pocket and took out the last section of the map, number thirteen. Thanks to the two small lakes he’d passed in the last week, he had a fair idea where he was, and from here there were two places he could head to; one was slightly closer, and he’d arrive before nightfall. The other was farther, but there was a better chance at drinkable water since it was on the river. New Hope, a name he doubted the place had been before the apocalypse, and River Bend. He made a mental note of New Hope’s location. In a panic, it was best to have the easiest, nearest, quickest way memorized. 

Now. He rubbed his hands together. Time to crack open that vending machine. He left the door behind him open, then set his backpack down on the couch. Opening these without a key required a bit of a buildup. Running straight at the machines, he jumped and kicked with both feet, hitting the floor with his shoulder. Damn. Not a single break. He jump-kicked again, and a small crack formed. Splintering like a snowflake. Once more and it burst open, the noise sending him to wait in the doorframe and make sure no one was coming to investigate. He checked his watch and waited five very long minutes, holding his breath and letting it out in measured timing, as he continued to stare down the hallway.

Nothing. This place was empty of people and ghosts, which was a pleasant change. He left the door, one ear cocked for any approaching footsteps, then began unwinding snack packs from their springy holders. Most were chocolate candy or chips, neither of which was actually good for traveling. At this point after the apocalypse, he also wasn’t optimistic about their taste. Chocolate melted into different textures when there was no air conditioning to keep it in shape, and chips went stale, if conditions on the road didn’t turn them into crumbles. He tore open a pack of sour cream and onion chips and ignored the texture as best as he could. Food was food, after all. The better choices of candies, such as the granola bars, he tossed into the backpack.

He left the remaining food and began to check the black cabinets. There were five high and five low, but he’d found over the years that people normally stored food high, where it was easier to reach, so that’s where he started. A grin crossed his face as the first door squeaked open to reveal several bags of pre-ground coffee, a few more of tea, and all the trappings of daily caffeine consumers. Taking a reusable shopping bag out of his backpack, he placed everything inside, dumping the wooden stirrers on top.

The second cabinet was a bust, but only in terms of food. Utensils, napkins, and plates always made good trade. He was putting those in next to the coffee when the room’s colors shifted. Black cabinets faded to be more darkish brown, white dimmed to a shade just under a cheerful yellow, and the previous gray edged more into whitish territory.

He stopped. No noise. No moving shadows. He must have spent about a minute staring at the paint, willing it to change back into what he knew it actually was. When it didn’t, he went back to rifling through the cabinets, collecting a kettle, several mugs, and some hard candies, but his good fortune was ebbing by the second. Out of the corner of his eye, pale yellow cleaned itself up, forcing happiness onto the walls. He dropped to his knees, not bothering to close the upper cabinet doors as he scrambled for the bottom ones.

He yanked all the bottom doors open and stifled a groan. Cleaning supplies. He’d been hoping for some bottled water so he wouldn’t need to check the fridge, but every ounce of luck had gone to the vending machine. Window cleaner, sink scrubber, rubber gloves, and sponges. He took the last two items, since they were light, then faced the fridge.

Anyone who opened one now knew enough to cover their mouth and nose as protection from the stench; he had a better form of defense. Unsteady hands lifted the gas mask from around his neck and settled it over his nose and mouth. Then he brought down the goggles from his forehead. Armed, he wrapped slender fingers around the handle and opened the door.

Black lumps covered in white and green spores greeted him; he could only imagine the odor if they smelled half as bad as they looked. He glanced at his backpack, thinking of using the gloves he’d just taken, but he couldn’t, not if he ever wanted to trade them. Touching the edges of plates and pushing them to the side didn’t yield what he was hoping for. Water, a bottle or three, would have been nice. Instead, he found different mounds of mold on varying containers, and some bottles containing fuzzy islands floating on dark seas.

What’re you lookin’ for? asked a voice from behind him. He jumped and turned with his arms protecting his face. Standing across from him was a man with gray crawling out from his temples, his ID card hanging around his neck, and his uniform covered in black smears of…something. The room had changed, too. Glass had been remade in the vending machine, not a sliver out of place. All the cabinet doors were shut, and there was boiling coffee on the clean counter, hissing as it dripped black gold into the carafe. 

The scavenger looked over his shoulder at the fridge, with its plate of cake, wrapped sandwich, and several other takeout containers. The fuzzy bottles were now juices and sodas, labels plain to see, and all of them already open.

Shiiiiit, you can hear me? The man smiled, the edges of his eyes crinkling. Most people only see me.

Tal ignored the question. Got his backpack and settled it on his shoulders, pushing the glasses up and the mask back down. When ghosts showed up, it was time for him to leave. Past time. 

Hey hey hey! Don’t ignore me! The newcomer followed him as he walked back to the stairs. Thankfully, they’d been whole when he’d come up, which meant there wouldn’t be a problem going back down, unlike the now unbroken windows. You don’t know how long I’ve been here, waiting for someone to talk to!

Eleven years, Tal muttered under his breath, using the handrail to walk on the edges again. People now crowded the carpeted hallway, too many walking around clutching red-lined papers and balancing open laptops. None of them noticed him, and most had a limited range of jerky motions they cycled through. The remains of half-forgotten memories from the strange man. 

I heard that. Office man was shocked, stopping for a second as the muttered answer registered. Wait! I heard that! You can’t go! You’re the only one that’s ever spoken to me before! 

The ghost ran ahead, holding his arms out to his sides. Please! Stay! There was food upstairs, and I’ll let you know if anyone’s coming inside, I swear!

Tal hesitated. He was offering a safe place to sleep, and he was right about the food, even if the chips and chocolate didn’t quite fill the stomach.

Is there water here? He asked, avoiding the man’s pleading eyes. Anything bottled?

No...we had water coolers. They’ve been empty for a while now.

Why do you stay here if you’re so starved for company? The question slipped from Tal’s mouth.

...this was my life, he said, looking around the place and watching people walk back and forth. I didn’t have any family left, and my friends were all here. In the beginning, at least. Until we died.

What happened here? Illness? Tal watched as the man shook his head.

Something hit close by and shattered the windows. I remember alarms blaring. All our systems went offline and everyone was panicking, including me, I’ll admit. Most people drove home, or to schools. Susan had three kids, and she was the first to leave. He pointed at a brunette woman currently walking by, long brown hair pulled back into a ponytail.

Was there a meeting on the first floor?

Yep. He nodded his head. That was Roger’s idea. He’d prepared for this, in his own special way. Had poison pills or something. Couple of others thought that was the best way to go, not having to deal with growing hunger or getting sick.

And you? Tal looked him up and down as if searching for wounds, but most ghosts remembered themselves differently from how they had looked when they’d died. 

Like I said, I remained here. He chuckled. Tried to start a group to make this place helpful. Some stayed with me, but, of course, we had problems. Not food or anything. We still had the vending machine upstairs, as you saw, and the fridge hadn’t gone bad yet either. But people would go out and not come back. Or there were accidents—Frank brought a tree down right on his head, the poor bastard. Finally, there was just me.

You didn’t eat the food either, though, Tal pointed out. So something happened to you.

I died in the woods behind the parking lot. Wasn’t paying attention.

Tal waited for the story, and the man sighed. 

First, I broke my leg falling into a ditch. Clumsy and stupid of me, but I could have survived that. Not so much the pack of dogs that attacked later on. Maybe coyotes?

Tal took out his knife and looked around them.

I don’t think they’re still here. At least, I haven’t seen them in the area, he said. But back then...they were hungry. Wild. And I smelled like food. 

That statement got a wince.

Yeah, not the way I wanted to go either, he said, shrugging.

But why stay? The scenes outside the window showed a sunny day, picture perfect if the slight wind in the trees was anything to go by. Cars filled the lot, mostly reds, blacks, and whites, though there was one yellow monstrosity in the far corner.

Like I said, this was my life. He must have noticed where Tal was looking, because he stepped beside him and laughed. Yeah, that yellow POS was Kyle’s. Most of the time he was bumming a start from one of us. 

You can move on. Go somewhere else.

Why? I know what happens here, but if I move on, does that mean I lose me? My identity? It’s better to stay, isn’t it? And since most people can only watch us, I would be just as lonely in a town surrounded by living people. Probably even worse. 

Tal had nothing to say to that, and this time when he walked away, the lonely ghost didn’t try to stop him, or follow. Left behind to stare out the glass at better days, when there had been engaging work and friends. He wasn’t the first ghost that was stuck, dependent on something that they’d never find again. He wouldn’t be the last.

Safely navigating the steps from the front door, Tal’s knife stayed at hand as he marched across the parking lot. Crossing the road put him out of range and ripped the image of cars away, filling the place with weeds, toppled trees, and leaves. Not a car in sight, not even Kyle’s yellow one. From the lot he entered the woods, watching for steep ditches. Not even five minutes away from the main building, he found what he’d been looking for, exactly as described.

Bones lay on the ground, covered in scraps of clothing. There were teeth marks, scrapes easy enough to see with years of practice, and a few of the bigger ones had been broken, exposing the marrow. An ID card was in the dirt around the neck, plastic protecting as much as it could from the elements.

Michael Wu. He took it, shook off the dirt, and put it in his backpack. Mike’s photo radiated happier feelings, if the huge smile he had was anything to go by. The complete opposite of the sad ghost he’d left behind. Tal crushed the small feeling of guilt welling up. Not my body, not my problem.

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Chapter 2

New Hope

The day was dimming as Tal walked near the road. It wasn’t something he wanted to do. Weaving between vehicle wrecks took too much time and made the spot between his shoulder blades itch. Movement, he’d learned long ago, attracted attention, and it was always better to avoid catching anyone’s eyes.

It was only him traveling, but there were wild bird calls in the surrounding air, and one or two crow caws, all of which worked well as early alarms. He stopped each time they called out, trying to see if they were talking about him, or about someone else, but there were no winged explosions. Homes came into view, faded curtains hanging raggedly and waving from broken windows. Here was where Tal slowed down, checking to see if any of the houses were occupied. He didn’t go into any of them. While supermarkets were the first places to be picked over, these were a high second, and this close to a new town… There was no point in scavenging. People had either taken over their neighbor’s homes, or traveling survivors had descended like locusts, raiding for supplies. 

At the fourth house on the left, and mirrored on the right, giant signs mushroomed in the front yards.

ALL WELCOME

NEW HOPE TRADES

He stopped. Studied it. If they could put out welcome mats, then they had the defenses needed to stop an attack. Or they were stupid and hadn’t yet met the assholes who would crush them. Tal trudged onward, feeling the weight of every mile from Mike’s workplace sink to the bottom of his aching feet. The next street that ran horizontal to the one he traveled on had a table laid out next to a striped beach umbrella, and a chair in the back of a truck. He crouched, hiding behind the nearest car. 

There was a big person in the truck, holding a long gun and sitting on something, but he couldn’t see the person at the table as clearly. They weren’t holding a weapon, or if they were, it looked like a book from this far away. Behind the table was a wall made of twisted metal, large pieces of wood, and possibly even a bit of cement. 

Hello! Tal called out to the gatekeepers, staying safely crouched and out of sight in his spot. The one in the truck stood up and scanned the area, looking for the hidden speaker. Three passes of the street in front of him and they shrugged, saying something to whoever was partnered with them.

Hey, stranger! they called out in a deep voice. 

I want to trade. Tal still crouched behind the car, but he saw them face his direction. 

Traders are welcome, came the answer. But we don’t trade with ghosts. You’ll need to show yourself to get in. They put their gun down as they said this, and put their hands up, showing a promise of peace. Tal sighed, then took off his backpack and pushed it into view. The watcher continued to stand. No grab for their gun. No shout to their partner. Tal finally stood up, his eyes not leaving their watch area as he picked up the bag again and shrugged into the straps. 

Details fleshed themselves out as Tal moved closer. The truck person’s clothing, a tank top and jeans, weren’t grimy, but didn’t exactly scream just-found-new either. They wore a baseball hat that kept the sun from blinding them, and there was a long scar running vertically on their face, from hairline to jaw.

Name?

Tal.

The person under the umbrella popped out from the darkness, shorter than the truck person and with longer hair. They held a clipboard in one hand and a pen in the other.

Who are you? Tal asked, trying to keep both people within sight. He leaned onto his toes in case he needed to run.

Pat, said the truck person. How long you lookin’ to trade for?

Two or three days. Tal shifted. Mostly looking for water and sleep.

Pat relayed the answers to the person inside the tent, who called out confirmations each time.

Weapons?

This was the part he hated most about trading in any town, listing all his weapons and being told to leave them at the gate. A look must have shown on his face because Pat shook their head.

You can keep your weapons, but if you use them, they cautioned, then you’re fair game.

Tal nodded. That was fair. And he wasn’t planning on using them, it was more the illusion of safety he wanted.

Right. Head on over to Pat, she’s the one who gets the shade.

Hey, hello, I’m Pat number two, said the slightly dumpy person sitting down under the umbrella. 

He turned back to see that the first Pat was already watching the outskirts again, gun in hand.

Tal, right? Kinda funny that we’ve all got three letter names, though I married Pat, so that’s my fault. Pat and Pat. His is short for Patrick and mine’s for Patricia, if you were wondering. She leaned to the side and grabbed something. 

I wasn’t, Tal said, stepping into the cool shade. He saw her twitch at the remark, then shrug it off.

For going inside and trading, I’ll need to know some things, she said, flapping a few pieces of paper at him.

Paperwork after the apocalypse? That’s new. Am I going to have to finally pay taxes?

We keep a log, she answered, frowning. People who cause trouble aren’t invited back.

Tal held up his hands, which must have pacified her since she gave a small nod.

Do you have anyone chasing you?

No. Not that he knew of, at any rate.

Are you sick, or ill?

No. Actually in pretty good health after surviving eleven years of hell, but that could be put down to luck. Maybe good genes from one of his parents.

And Pat already asked you about your weapons; you know to keep them sheathed at your side, right?

Tal nodded.

Good. She looked up and smiled at him. You’re clear for one night on probation, but if everything goes smoothly, you can certainly stay for up to two more. Our trading posts are in the town center, next to the statue of Hope since she’s an important symbol for us, and out of the three we have, two of them deal with basics like supplies and water.

What does the third deal with?

Weapons and acquisitions. Though I guess those are the basics now. She flicked her hands at him. Go on in, the password for the gate today is ‘pat squared’.

That was smart, changing it daily. And letting him know not to try coming back with an old password.

She busied herself with her papers then, filling them out and doing a quick sketch on one, looking at him, then back to the paper, making tiny adjustments. Tal wanted to take the paper and rip it into shreds.

Are you sketching a photo of me?

Mmm-hmm. She added a few more strokes to the page. Not like we have working cameras.

Tal left the shade unsettled. Eleven years and no one had ever done that. Now that someone was, it felt strange. 

He didn’t like the idea of them having a permanent picture, but Tal did his best to ignore the worried voice at the back of his mind. They probably did that so the gatekeepers didn’t have to remember every single person banned from the area. The four steps it took him to think about that also brought him to the wall.

Password?

Pat squared, Tal answered. The door creaked upward, revealing large spikes driving it into the earth. Good idea. Those would prevent it from being knocked over as quickly as a normal door would. It only went up about halfway before it stopped.

Hurry up and duck under, snapped the voice. I’m not holding this all day.

Tal did as they asked, rushing forward and feeling the ground shudder under his feet as it crashed back into the earth. 

Trading’s straight ahead. Don’t cause trouble.

The voice came at him from above and he had to cover his eyes to see better. The person on duty very clearly held up a middle finger, then turned back to looking over the wall. Nearby was a pile of boxes, some of them labeled with the name River Bend, probably things being traded out. Other than that, the area was pretty empty, a single dirt pathway leading away from the guarded entrance. A mix of burnt meat and flowers mingled in the air, and it was tempting to put the gas mask on again.

Almost there, Tal told himself, tightening the straps on his shoulders and setting out. New Hope looked to have been the main part of a small