The Dying of the Light (Book 1): End Read online

  Table of Contents

  Characters of Note

  Acronyms

  Prologue

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  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

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-one

  Chapter Twenty-two

  Chapter Twenty-three

  Chapter Twenty-four

  Epilogue

  Afterword

  Works Cited & Interesting Links

  Excerpt From The Dying of the Light: Interval

  About the Author

  THE DYING OF THE LIGHT

  End

  By Jason Kristopher

  Text and illustrations copyright ©2011 by Grey Gecko Press.

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the publisher. This book is a work of fiction; Any resemblance to real persons (living or dead) events or entities is purely coincidental.

  Published by Grey Gecko Press, Katy, Texas.

  www.greygeckopress.com

  Printed in the United States of America

  Design by Grey Gecko Press

  Illustration / cover art by Oliver Wetter / Fantasio Fine Arts — http://fantasio.info

  Additional illustrations by Dennis Fanning / Fanning Creative — fanningcreative.carbonmade.com

  Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data

  Kristopher, Jason

  The dying of the light: end / Jason Kristopher

  Library of Congress Control Number: 2011928806

  ISBN 978-0-9836185-1-5

  10 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2

  First Edition

  To my family and friends

  who always believed

  And most especially to my grandmother

  Margie Warhol

  who was always my biggest fan

  prion (noun):

  a protein particle that is believed to be the cause of brain diseases such as BSE [“Mad Cow” disease], scrapie, and Creutzfeldt-Jakob disease. Prions are not visible microscopically, contain no nucleic acid, and are highly resistant to destruction.

  — Oxford English Dictionary(1)

  “…much more science is needed. There are many things we don’t understand, and the whole science of how prions propagate and cross species barriers is developing as we speak.”

  — Dr. Neil Cashman, University of Toronto’s Center for Research in Neurodegenerative Diseases(2)

  “We were amazed at how efficiently they spread.”

  — Adriano Aguzzi, of the Swiss Federal Institute of Technology in Zurich(3)

  “The bottom line is, if we don’t tightly control these diseases, we’re going to regret it big time.”

  — Dr. Pierluigi Gambetti, Director, National Prion Disease Pathology Surveillance Center(2)

  Characters of Note

  Military Personnel

  Col George Maxwell, Army Ranger, AEGIS CO

  Cmdr Frank Anderson, Navy SEAL, AEGIS XO

  First Team

  Alpha Squad

  Maj Kimberly Barnes, Army Spec. Forces, CO

  David Blake, XO

  Gunnery Sgt Dalton Gaines, USMC MSOR

  Cpt Tom Reynolds, USAF 1st Spec Ops Wing

  Sgt Rachel Eaton, Special Forces

  Cpt Angelo Martinez, Ranger

  Bravo Squad

  Lt Jake Powell, SEAL

  Petty Off 2nd Class Edward Ames, SEAL

  Sgt Desmond Jones, Ranger

  Sgt Victor Roberts, USMC MSOR

  Sgt Arkady Ivanovich, Special Forces

  Second Team

  Charlie Squad

  Maj Shawn Carver, Special Forces, CO

  Lt Manuel Ramos, USAF 1st Spec Ops Wing

  Cpt Lawrence Greer, Special Forces, XO

  Delta Squad

  Cpt Janet Turner, USAF 1st Spec Ops Wing

  Third Team

  Echo Squad

  Maj Terrance James, USMC MSOR, CO

  Foxtrot Squad

  Corpsman 1st Class Lucia Santos, USN, XO

  Fourth Team

  Golf Squad

  Lt Malcolm Dagger, USMC MSOR, CO

  Hotel Squad

  Sgt Gordon Tremaine, Ranger, XO

  Seventh Team

  Mike Squad

  Lt Adrian Masters, SEAL, CO

  Non-Military Personnel

  Dr. Mary Adamsdóttir, Research, AEGIS

  Rebecca Campbell, fianceé of David Blake

  Eric Campbell, adopted son of David Blake

  Morena Forrest, survivor of Laramie, WY

  Michael Forrest, survivor of Laramie, WY

  Henry Gardner, AEGIS Government Liaison

  Harry Stafford, survivor, Washington Territory

  Acronyms

  AEGIS

  Advanced Experimental Genetics Intelligence Service

  ACU

  Army Combat Uniform, standard Army uniform

  CDC

  Centers for Disease Control (and Prevention)

  CO

  Commanding officer of a unit or group

  DARPA

  Defense Advanced Research Projects Agency

  ICV

  Infantry Combat Vehicle

  IED

  Improvised Explosive Device

  OSS

  Office of Strategic Services (precursor to CIA)

  REAPR

  Real-time Enemy Assessors and Physiology Readers

  USAMRIID

  United States Army Medical Research Institute for Infectious Diseases

  XO

  Executive officer, second in command of a unit or group

  Prologue

  Fall Creek, Colorado — 1 year ago

  I didn’t see Rebecca die the second time.

  Or the first, for that matter.

  I knew that I didn’t want to be out on the street right now; not this close to nightfall. Night is their time, I thought, and realized I was whispering to myself. If I kept this up, I was going to go as bat-shit crazy as old man Feldon had been even before it all hit the fan.

  He only ended up ranting and raving in the street, not eating people; he got off easy.

  The waning Colorado sunlight fell across the street below me, and I could see more than a few of the bastards milling around, looking for a meal. I hid behind the roof sign for the small grocery store, my rifle across my back and my pistol in hand.

  As I looked across the street, I could see my goal: Monty’s Sports & Outdoors. Ten rounds in the pistol and a few in the rifle wasn’t going to do it; I needed some more ammo if I was going to survive getting out of here. Unfortunately, there were about 30 walking death machines separating me from my next step on the road to Splitsville.

  I sighed and checked my pistol’s magazine once more, shifting the weight of the rifle. Maybe if I move down the street I can find a quieter place to cross over.

  Suddenly, my eye caught on one of them wearing a sundress and standing apart from the others. Despite the rips and tears in the dress, I could see the pattern of flowers and pale yellow fabric. My vision tracked upwards, catching other details, like t
he silver watch and the simple necklace, framed by the long blonde hair, the bite and claw marks evident on her shoulder and upper arm. I knew what I would see as I raised my gaze to the thing’s face, and as much as I hoped I was wrong in those few seconds, I wasn’t.

  It was Rebecca, my fiancée.

  It had taken me most of two days. I’d grabbed the only guns I had in the house and went out looking. When she wasn’t waiting at the house like I’d asked, I’d headed back there each night when my search yielded nothing. I couldn’t leave without knowing — not guessing, but knowing for certain — that she was either dead or… something else.

  A part of me hadn’t wanted to find her, had hoped that she was still beautiful, still laughing, still so vibrantly alive somewhere… else. But now, that hope was gone. I’d found her.

  Or rather, what was left of her. Though her face was slack-jawed and vacant, the beauty was still there and I had to look away. Dammit, why hadn’t she listened? I hadn’t found Eric anywhere, but now it was too much to hope that her young son had made it out of the house alive.

  I’ll admit I sort of lost it then; I fell back to the roof and cried. I don’t know how long it was before I pulled myself together, but it was a while.

  It’s time, I thought. Shit or get off the pot, Dave. Fish or cut bait.

  I looked back over the edge of the roof, and sure enough, all of them were still there. Glancing to the side, I measured the distance to the next roof, and knew that I could make it.

  I holstered the pistol and drew the rifle off my shoulder, sighting on what used to be my fiancée and taking a deep breath. I offered up a silent prayer, and then, as I squeezed the trigger, I closed my eyes.

  It was the only thing I could do for her now.

  Chapter One

  Washington Territory, 1872

  It’s late in the year, and the cold seeps into the very bones of the soldiers who have been sent to this backwater of the country, searching for a tribe of Indians said to be massacring — and sometimes eating — settlers, hunters and miners.

  Newspapers back home call these reports about savage cannibals and murderous creatures “…nothing but the deranged ravings of madmen and fools.” Unfortunately, the uproar causes President Grant to order the Army to investigate. The Army assigns Captain William Trace of Kentucky to ‘find out just what the hell’s going on up there,’ in the words of the president himself.

  Captain Trace uses local scouts and hunters to find the camps and mining outposts that have been attacked, but rather than evidence of Indians, he discovers only nightmares. Buildings burnt and collapsed, torn down from the outside. Broken and bloody remnants of the camps are strewn about like so much garbage, many of them with teeth marks in the skeletons. Human teeth marks, his medics tell him.

  The detachment comes upon a site with some buildings still smoldering in the chill of the early morning. They find fresher bodies, only hours old, and several soldiers vomit, overwhelmed by the carnage. As a small squad investigates an out-building, they are attacked and wounded by “a creature from the depths of hell.” The soldiers’ combined fire manages to destroy the thing, but it’s only after the smoke clears that they realize that it is, or at some point was, a human being.

  The medic moves among the soldiers, treating the bites and other wounds. He assures them that they will heal and prescribes each a healthy dose of whiskey from his stores… for the shakes, of course. The rest of the detachment clears the town, burning what little remains and setting up camp while their captain and his advisers determine their next destination.

  Several hours later, during a check on his men, Captain Trace realizes something more is going on and summons the company medic. The wounded men are violently ill, shaking, trembling, turning pale and lapsing into an unconsciousness from which he cannot awaken them.

  Captain Trace immediately orders a wagon to transport the wounded soldiers to the closest Army base, Fort Vancouver. He provides the wounded soldiers and their drivers with water, rations and extra horses from the detachment’s stores, knowing it will take three days to get there. He orders the drivers to take alternate shifts and to rotate out the tired horses as needed.

  A week later, Captain Trace arrives at the final site, with Fort Vancouver a day’s ride to the southwest. A scout on that trail rides back and informs the captain of an overturned and bloody wagon ahead. He sends his most trusted lieutenant to investigate, though he fears the worst. His fears are confirmed when Lieutenant Walker returns with the tale of a blood-coated wagon and snapped harnesses — and no men or horses.

  After conferring with his medic, Trace realizes this is not the simple mission he thought. Something darker is at work here. He orders his men to search the surrounding areas in groups no smaller than five soldiers, and any wounded men are to be captured, if possible, or shot until dead if they pose a threat.

  A day later, several squadleaders report sighting and destroying creatures similar to the one that attacked them the week before — but these are wearing the tattered remains of US Army uniforms. In order to maintain discipline, Captain Trace informs the men that the wounded soldiers are sick, and pose a serious health risk. As they have no advanced medical facilities nearby, he orders them to shoot any such soldiers on sight. Though rattled, his men follow him to the last attack site.

  There, they find a small boy of no more than 12 years, frightened and filthy, hiding in the basement of the saloon. Although unmarked with bites or other wounds, he acts crazy, as though his mind is gone. Trace and his men complete the destruction and burning of the town, and they take the boy back to Fort Vancouver with them. Once he calms down, Captain Trace finds a suitable home for the youngster with a local woman who has lost her family to Indians. Captain Trace knows that he will be in good hands, and thinks no more on it.

  Rumors fly for months at what caused the Army to burn village after village, and those brave enough to venture out find only blackened remains, with no clues to the story.

  Early the next year, President Grant orders the Department of the Army to create a special investigative detachment — called Unit 73 — to investigate incidents such as the Washington Territory attacks. Unit 73 responds to only nine outbreaks nationwide over the next 30 years, all involving minimal casualties.

  Most of these incidents are in northern states, and Unit 73’s scientists theorize that while some infections are neutralized completely, there are other specimens still out there, frozen in high mountain passes or even stuck in box canyons. The researchers inform their commanders that it is very likely more incursions will happen, but there’s no way to tell when or where.

  As expected, this does not fill their commanders or the president with joy.

  Work continues as medical science improves, with the men and women of Unit 73 trying to discover the source of and cure for the contagion that causes people to turn on their fellows. Unfortunately, the lack of incidents leaves few samples to work with, so progress is slow and halting.

  In some of those few outbreaks, survivors are found, but inevitably turn due to having been bitten, except in one unique case.

  Washington Territory, 1931

  Harry Stafford is a resident of a small hunting camp in northern Washington, and has been described by those who know him as a ‘reclusive, ornery old goat’ that would ‘shoot you soon as look at you.’ Though they don’t much care for him, the others in the camp tolerate his rantings, as he is the best hunter and trapper among them.

  Stafford often rambles about having been attacked by crazies and cannibals when young, only just escaping with his life when the Army rescued him. No one believes him, putting his ravings down to that of an old man suffering from senility. But when he comes stumbling into the town closest to the hunting camp, crazy-eyed and covered in blood that isn’t his, gibbering about monsters… well, things start to change.

  The townsfolk figure ol’ Harry Stafford’s finally lost it completely and done someone in. They lock him away, and the S
heriff and his two deputies head out to the camp to check on everyone else. There, they find that the main hunting lodge has burned nearly to the ground, and is still smoking, with the remnants of 13 charred bodies inside. Nearby, they find a bloody trenching tool. The Sherriff charges Stafford with the murders of the residents of the camp, and the bloody trenching tool is entered into evidence.

  Before the trial of Stafford begins, the old man and all the evidence related to his alleged crime are taken into custody by men identified on paper only as federal agents Johnson and Smith. It turns out they work for Unit 73 and return with Harry, the trenching tool, and the remains of the dead to their base at Fort Lewis.

  The agents question Harry Stafford and gradually piece together his story. A walker — named after the lieutenant who helped discover them — had come out of the dense forest and attacked and bitten one of the hunters from the camp while he was checking his traps.

  During the fight with the walker, the hunter accidentally decapitated it and made his escape, but he was mortally wounded. He barely made it back to the camp to tell Stafford what had happened.