This is the End 2: The Post-Apocalyptic Box Set (9 Book Collection) by J. Thorn & Scott Nicholson & Glynn James & J.R. Rain & Edward W. Robertson & Elizabeth Basque & Jacqueline Druga & T.W. Brown & Rachel Higginson & J.A. Konrath

Author:J. Thorn & Scott Nicholson & Glynn James & J.R. Rain & Edward W. Robertson & Elizabeth Basque & Jacqueline Druga & T.W. Brown & Rachel Higginson & J.A. Konrath [Thorn, J.]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Thorn Publishing
Published: 0101-01-01T00:00:00+00:00

Chapter 20

John took a deep breath. The leaves grabbed at his ankles as the soft breeze pulled them across the forest floor. The maples remained a vibrant orange, fighting the encroaching winter with all their might. John sat up and pushed his hair from his face. The moss underneath him covered most of the exposed rock creating a lush and natural sleeping mat. The midafternoon sun peeked over the barren branches of the tallest tree struggling to get to the height of a few months ago. The golden rays warmed him from the inside out.

He stood and walked toward the sound of moving water. The dry leaves crackled under his boots, throwing the smell of pine needles and earthy decay into the air. John ducked underneath low-hanging branches and came to a rocky outcrop. He looked straight down eighty feet to Euclid Creek. The water rushed over limestone steps, cutting a thirty-foot path in the ancient rock. High above the creek on the opposite shore, John saw graffiti tags on the rock face. He stared at the words “fuck” and “pussy” surrounded by juvenile drawings of cock. The symbols intruded on the natural surroundings.

John looked downstream and saw the creek disappear around a bend. Upstream, he watched it emerge from another. He picked up a rock and tossed it into the water below. The stone fell and tumbled for five seconds before bouncing off the rock just below the surface. It skipped down another piece of limestone and came to rest under the water. The creek, shallow at this time of year, would be raging with snow melt in early spring. John thought his could be the last human hand to touch the rock for thousands or possibly millions of years.

He turned and walked back toward the moss bed to discover a six-pack of soda, bag of snack chips and a can of chewing tobacco. He devoured the chips and chased them with three cans of soda. Although he gave up dipping twenty years ago, he shoved the can into a pocket.

When he set the soda down, John noticed an MP3 player next to it. He surveyed the empty woods, then placed the buds in his ears and pushed the power button. A woodcut from the twelfth century appeared on the display. John recognized the figure seated at the banquet table. Vlad the Impaler, the historical Dracula, wore a long beard and robes with his head thrown back in laughter. On the other side of the banquet table stood tall, wooden spikes. Each spike held a writhing, naked figure that was impaled from the anus to the mouth. Above the woodcut he saw “Killer of the Sultan” in a gothic script. An ominous bass guitar growled followed by distant cymbals. The song lurched into a hypnotic riff.

When he looked up, a figure stood before him in a white robe. Father held a Bible in one hand and an incense burner in another, the kind Catholic priests used for the Stations of the Cross or funerals.