Out Of Darkness (The Starborn Saga) Read online

  Out Of Darkness

  Title Page

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Out Of Darkness

  The Starborn Saga: Book One

  By Jason D. Morrow

  Edited by Kathy Simpson, Beth Morrow, and Emily Morrow

  Cover Art By Melchelle Designs

  Copyright © 2013 Jason D. Morrow

  All rights reserved.

  ISBN – 13:978-1482519518

  Books by Jason D. Morrow

  The Starborn Saga

  Out Of Darkness

  If It Kills Me (Coming Soon)

  The Marenon Chronicles

  The Deliverer

  The Gatekeeper

  The Reckoning

  Dedication

  To Beth. A tireless editor, a dedicated friend, and the best sister-in-law in the world.

  Chapter One

  My vehicle ran out of gas. That’s why I’m walking alone through this ghost town with a pump shotgun in my hands and a long knife strapped to my left thigh. Unless you’re stupid or suicidal, you don’t go anywhere without some kind of weapon.

  I live in a world where greyskins travel in herds, looking for anything that moves. Anything with blood. I carry these weapons with me because it’s always a question of when a greyskin will find me, not if. I know that I need to be prepared.

  “You don’t have to go,” my little brother Jake had said to me. I kissed his cheek and gave my grandma a hug.

  “Mora, you’re only nineteen,” my grandma added. “The youngest ones of our village are needed here.” But I couldn’t listen to her or Jake. They were worried about me, but I knew that if I didn’t go, we’d just be attacked again. So I left the village of Springhill with one of the few vehicles that still worked.

  Someone has to speak out for my village. The people are vulnerable and running out of food. Sickness threatens them constantly. But worst of all, they are constantly vulnerable to attacks by the greyskins. Someone has to find those that can help us and convince them to do something. Since no one else was going to do it, I took action. I left. Then I ran out of gas and now I’m here.

  Wherever here is.

  I’ve rarely ventured too far out of Springhill, and when I have, it was with a group of elders from the village who seemed to know where they were going. Now I look at the town in front of me and I’m clueless.

  There seems to be no sign of greyskins, so that’s good. The town is littered with overturned cars, crumbled buildings and almost zero plant life, but surely there’s an old fuel station somewhere. Then again, I don’t even know how long fuel can sit in a tank before it’s unusable.

  My t-shirt and jeans bleed sweat as the scorching sun above me burns without mercy. I rest the shotgun between my legs and pull back my hair into a ponytail so the random strands won’t stick to my face. Satisfied, I pick the gun back up.

  Grandma always tells me that I should cut my hair shorter so there’s less for a greyskin to grab hold of. I can’t bring myself to do it. It’s the one thing I get compliments on.

  I jerk my shotgun around when I hear something moving behind me, and sigh in relief when I see that it’s just an old garbage bag flapping in the wind. I hate how isolated I feel, but then again, I hate the unshakable feeling that I’m not alone either. I know it doesn’t make any sense, but maybe it’s just the heightened awareness I’m forced to maintain in a world like this.

  It hasn’t always been this way, or so I’m told. But it’s all I’ve ever known. It was all my parents ever knew. But my grandma knew the world before the greyskins. She was my age when the first of them started to surface out of nowhere. She said the world used to care about making people more comfortable. It was about advancing and making humanity better. Now it’s about staying alive and trying not to become a greyskin’s dinner. I often wish I could live in a world where I didn’t have to worry about these terrible monsters that used to be people. But that’s an impossible delusion. It’s all I know and probably all I’ll ever know. I’m used to it.

  But I’m not used to being alone in an abandoned town.

  The problem with greyskin herds is that they remain quiet until they’ve found a live target. I know I could easily walk up on one and give myself away. Of course, that’s when they get loud.

  I walk past a looted drugstore, an old barbershop, and even a deserted ice cream parlor. From the looks of it, this town probably had a lot of charm before it was destroyed. The one fuel station I find has stripped hoses and rusted tanks. I check each of the levers to see if there’s any chance of fuel coming out, but everything’s bone-dry.

  Sweat trickles past my eye and my dry tongue reminds me that I left the water bottle with my backpack in the vehicle. Stupid.

  I make a left down a side street where several buildings must have been under construction before the first wave of greyskin attacks all those years ago. Rusty cranes and unfinished structures line the short street. Tucked between two larger buildings is a small grocery store. I don’t know what I’m thinking as I step toward it. I know there’s no food or water. Why would there be? Even if there was anything there it’s probably sixty years old and unfit to consume. The idea doesn’t stop me from going in anyway.

  The sound of the bell clanging against the glass door makes me wince as I try to close it quietly behind me. There may not have been a greyskin here in years, but I still try to be careful.

  It feels fifteen degrees cooler in here, but as expected, the shelves are empty. That’s okay with me. I’m just glad to get a break from the heat. It will take me thirty minutes to get back to the vehicle, so I don’t mind the temporary respite. I walk past the checkout counter, drawers now void of the worthless green money that people used to hold closely to themselves.

  Some shelves are tipped over; light fixtures dangle from the ceiling, shattered and useless. The scorching rays from the sun outside provide plenty of illumination in here. As I sit my butt on the ground and lean my back against the wall, I set the shotgun next to me. Another deep sigh escapes my dry throat because I know I must be a lunatic for coming this way without thinking about fuel.

  My eyes travel back up to the bell at the top of the grocery entrance. Such a small slipup could mean the difference between living and dying. Greyskins will follow any noise that seems out of place. They never pass up the chance to feed.

  I let my eyes close for just a moment as the heat escapes my body and the sweat begins to evaporate. The feeling is relaxing. Too relaxing. I feel myself begin to drift off, but I don’t stop. I know I need the rest. I’m going to have to walk many more miles if I want to get somewhere that can either give me some fuel or at least put me up for a night. Then I have to head off to speak to the man named Jeremiah of Screven.

  Screven. The city is too far to travel by foot. It sits at a safe distance away from all the colonies it imposes its laws upon. Of course, it’s not like Screven just took over the colonies, though there are plenty of people who might claim that it did. Screven is powerful, and their leader Jeremiah is smart and greedy.

  In exchange for eighty percent of any colony’s farmed goods, Screven offers its protection from the greyskins. An
yone under Screven control never has to worry about being attacked by a herd. If a herd comes too close, Screven guards will ride out and annihilate them. I’ve never actually seen this happen, but it’s what I’ve heard. But with such protection comes the huge price. Even though this year has been a tough year for crops and giving up eighty percent won’t feed us all adequately, my own village, Springhill must have the protection. That’s why I’m out here. My plan is to convince Jeremiah to bring us under the protection of Screven, but for a smaller fee. At least for a while until we can establish ourselves better.

  No one else in Springhill thinks it’s a good idea. All of them say I shouldn’t even go. But when I look at my little brother and grandma, knowing the next roaming herd could take them out, I know I at least have to try.

  There are many other colonies under Screven’s control. I’ve never been to any of them, but I often wonder if they are going through the same hardships that we face in Springhill.

  My eyes break open and my body freezes at the sound of the bell ringing against the door of the entrance. I don’t need to look up to know what it is, and I feel dumb for having closed my eyes for even a moment. When I do glance up, I can see the greyskin standing on the outside of the store, almost leaning against the glass. It looks like an older greyskin, one that has been dead for two or three years. Its clothes hang from its skinny, rotting frame, and clumpy streaks of dried blood mark up its entire face.

  There are a few things I look at first when I see a greyskin: its eyes, teeth, and nails. Its eyes because even to this day after having seen hundreds of greyskins, it still gets to me that their irises have turned black and glazed, oozing with mucus. I always wonder what kind of virus could make a human turn into such a thing.

  I look at their teeth and nails because I fear how deeply they can sink these into my flesh. This one has big teeth. And its skin – no matter what color the person may have been in life – the skin turns to a decayed shade of grey.

  I’m pretty sure it hasn’t seen me yet, so I lie down on my belly and grab the shotgun. I shimmy across the floor until I’m out of view behind a grocery shelf that has remained standing.

  The bell continues to ring as the greyskin pushes on the door. I don’t think that greyskins have any reasoning skills. I believe their only desire and purpose is to fulfill their need for blood and meat.

  Rarely are there lone greyskins either. Most of the time they travel in small groups because they are all looking for the same thing. But over time those small groups will accumulate more followers until they reach the size of a herd. A herd can be anywhere from fifty greyskins to the size of an entire town. It is doubtful that this one is alone. If it is, I can certainly kill it. One pump of the shotgun, an aim to the head, and a slight squeeze of the trigger will finish it for good. But if that tiny bell at the top of the door caught the attention of one greyskin, a shotgun blast will get the attention of a herd easily.

  I feel for the knife strapped to my leg, but I’m not brave enough to go hand-to-hand with one of those things. One bite or scratch that mixes the greyskin’s blood or saliva with mine and I’m done. It will take about twenty-four hours until my body shuts down and I die. Then I will eventually wake up as one of them.

  I look down at the shotgun, knowing that I could never let it come to that. Damage the brain enough, and there’s no chance of waking up again.

  With a final shove, the greyskin swings the door in hard enough to shatter the glass. I grip the shotgun tightly and try to control my breathing as the glass crashes to the floor with enough noise to call every greyskin around for miles.

  I can hear its grunting, moaning, and its feet as it drags them slowly across the floor. If I have to, I can outrun this one. Older greyskins are slower. The fresher the body, the faster and stronger they are. I’m hoping that it will lose interest and just walk back out into the street, but I know it probably smells me.

  I look to my right and try to figure out a path to the door that might let me slip out quickly. There is no avoiding the greyskin seeing me. There’s no other way out that isn’t blocked.

  It’s moving closer. Now I can smell it. The rotted flesh is always overwhelming. Suppressing a gag, I move to my right, around the shelf, positioning it between the greyskin and me. It grunts louder because it has heard me. I don’t want to shoot it because of the noise, but what else can I do? It’s moving more quickly now.

  I look at the shelves behind me, some of which have been pushed over on their sides. With all my strength, I ram my shoulder into the shelf, pinning the greyskin to the floor as the whole thing crashes down on it. Its thrashing and clawing shows that it pays no mind to the broken bones and torn skin. When I walk around the shelf, I can see that its face is smashed from the nose, down. But it won’t die until its brain is destroyed.

  The knife feels heavy in my grip and I try to look away when I stab it through the skull. Its thick, black blood pools out freely. Even though I have no open wounds or anything, I still hate the thought of getting its poisonous blood on me. When it stops moving, I use its tattered shirt to wipe the blood off the blade, and then put it back in the sheath.

  Gun in hand, I tiptoe to the shattered door to see if any other greyskins might have heard the commotion and come running. Looking to my left, I think I’m in luck and that this attack was just some straggler. Looking to my right, I see that my luck has run out.

  I don’t take the time to count how many of them are moving toward me, but I know it’s enough to make me run out of shotgun shells. And I’m sure not fighting them with a knife.

  I sprint between the unfinished buildings, hoping, praying there aren’t more around the next corner. But there are. It’s a herd blocking both sides of the street. I’m pinned between two hungry mobs that will devour me in minutes. There wouldn’t be anything left of me to turn into a greyskin. How could I have come into the town without seeing them? They must have been inside some of the buildings when they heard the bell ringing from the store. That, or they heard the commotion with the rogue greyskin I just killed.

  Breathing hard and trembling, I do the only thing I know to do, even though it’s a terrible plan. I bolt inside the closest unfinished building. It’s dark inside and I’m not entirely sure of where I’m going, but I slam the door behind me and search for the lock. There isn’t one.

  I run up the first flight of stairs that I see, but there’s so much debris and dust that I lose my footing and fall to my side. I let out a stifled groan as my leg scrapes against a sharp piece of metal from the railing, and the large cut begins to soak my newly ripped jeans.

  The door bursts out as greyskins fight their way into the opening, sensing my vulnerable state. I lift the shotgun from the floor, give it a pump, and let off a shell into the crowd of them. An arm, maybe two, fly off, but that doesn’t keep them from coming at me. I know my main objective is not killing them, but just trying to immobilize them. With the next shot, I aim for the legs and three greyskins go down to the floor at once. But there are plenty more to take their place.

  I do my best to hop up to my feet. The new cut I just received is throbbing, but I’ve got to ignore it. Getting eaten by greyskins would hurt a lot more than this wound.

  I keep moving up each flight of stairs. At just about every landing, I have to turn and let off a shot that slows them for a brief moment. I finally make it to the top, and when I look down I can see the blood has drenched the front of my left pant leg.

  At the end of the dark hallways is a door with light glowing around its edges. The roof. I speed my way to it and reach out for the handle. To my relief, I see that it has a lock. It’s small and it won’t hold the greyskins out for long, but it might give me enough time to scale the back wall to the ground.

  As I open the door, five more greyskins surface on the top floor near me. I pump and shoot, pump and shoot, splattering them in every direction. As more make their way to the top floor, I slam the metal door shut. I can instantly feel the banging
against the other side as more reach it, and it’s everything I can do to keep it closed behind me. At my shoulder I notice a small latch and I grasp for it, but the greyskins shove me forward from the other side of the door. Quickly regaining my balance, I ram my shoulder back against it, doing everything I can to hold them back. I reach out for the latch again and this time I’m about to slide it into place.

  I can safely move away from the door, but the latch won’t hold for long. I can already see it loosening as the greyskins try to break through.

  Looking out, I can see several cranes parked near this building and the other buildings around it. I hobble closer to the edge and peer down. My hand slaps to my mouth to stifle a gasp when I see more greyskins at the base of the building. I step back, but I’m sure they saw me. Climbing down will not be an option.

  I’m trapped.

  The greyskins start to dent the door from the other side. The small latch won’t hold them. A growing fuss of grunts and growls sound out from below as greyskins gather to look up at me with hunger in their eyes.

  I have no idea how I didn’t see any greyskins when I came into this little town. It had looked deserted when I came in and now there are hundreds of them. They must have been lurking in the shadows of the buildings when my scent brought them out. I know finding a reason in all of this is a waste of thought, but I can’t help it. My thoughts race to try and justify my actions for coming here, but justification is beyond my reach. I was a fool to leave Springhill on my own.

  I never really thought I would go like this. Most people never think they will be bitten or eaten by a greyskin. All anybody wants is to die in peace. But this is going to be my brutal end.

  The rusted hinges start to bend and a screw on the latch pops off, allowing a gap for some of the greyskins to reach out with their hands. I don’t know what to do. I can’t just let them eat me, but I’m not ready to shoot myself either. It can’t end so quickly. I turn to the edge, unable to control my breathing. Tears form in my eyes as desperation grips every fabric of my being.