This Dying World (Book 2): Abandon All Hope

  BOOK TWO OF THE

  “THIS DYING WORLD”

  SERIES

  This Dying World

  Abandon All Hope

  By James D. Dean

  This Dying World: Abandon All Hope

  is a work of fiction by

  James Dean

  All rights reserved. This book or any portion thereof may not be reproduced or used in any manner without the express written permission of the author except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are a product of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

  © 2017 James Dean

  (E-Book Version)

  Edited by:

  Ramona Martine

  Cover Art By:

  Christian Bentulan

  https://www.facebook.com/coversbychristian

  Author’s Notes

  Well, it’s finally done. It has been a very long road finishing this book. I know a lot of you have waited a long time for the follow up to This Dying World: The End Begins for quite some time. I do sincerely apologize for the delay in this release.

  The success of my first book took me by surprise. I joked around with many of my family and friends that I would be happy if I sold 10 copies, and 5 of them would probably be purchased by me. Your response to my first release left me humbled beyond words, and for that I truly thank you for taking time out of your days to spend with my characters in their little slice of the apocalypse.

  Of course, I have to thank my wife Sarah and daughters, Cassie and Lilly for supporting me through this writing madness that I have been afflicted with.

  Thanks to my Grandmother, Christine Estrada, who fostered my love of horror at an early age. Of course my mother and stepdad, Susan and Danny Meyers, my father Doug Dean, and brothers Jason, Chris, and Ryan. Friends and family, I could not have done any of this without your support.

  Thank you to my beta readers Giles Batchelor, Lana Sibley, Tanya Skotzko, Claire Smith, Rosa Thomas-Mcbroom, and Matt Davis who help me hone this story and make it the best that it could be.

  Thanks to Eric and Linda Shelman. I wouldn’t be where I am at today without Eric’s help. Eric, you’re a good friend.

  Thanks to Jason Dean, Chris Dean, and Ted Nulty for helping to keep me on track with my military and firearms facts.

  I would like to take a moment and thank the men and women in uniform that sacrifice their safety and well being every day to keep us safe and secure in our homes, our streets, and our country. Police, Fire, EMT, Paramedics, Army, Navy, Marines, Air Force, Merchant Marines, National Guard, and Military Reserves.

  Thank you for all you do. The world would be a much darker place without you.

  And for my friend Justin Kulinski. You can assure your colleagues that yes, the Justin mentioned in This Dying World: The End Begins was in fact you.

  PROLOGUE

  Abby’s gone.

  Every time I wake up I turn to her spot in bed only to find myself alone in my cold and empty room. Those are the good mornings. Most of the time, my unconscious mind is overtaken with her screams until I am forced to consciousness to face another day without her.

  I don’t sleep much anymore.

  Katie haunts the farmhouse, her face awash in sorrow as she drifts from room to room as if looking for something that she will never find. I’m afraid that my happy and smiling little girl may be lost forever.

  My family and friends try to comfort me, but I don’t want them near. Not that I don’t appreciate their concern. It’s just that there is only one person that I really want close to me.

  But she’s gone.

  She’d survived the initial outbreak, that terrible night when we came face to face with the things of nightmares. Some kind of fungus had invaded humanity, changing the infected and the dead into ravenous undead monsters.

  Abby, Katie, and I survived a horrific trip to what we thought would be a protected safe haven. Along the way we added Lexi and Jane Winters to our little family, saving them from a deadly horde and bringing them to my brother’s farm. Despite the fact that I’d been shot within seconds of arriving, I still felt like I had brought everyone I cared for to safety.

  I was so very wrong.

  Adam took Abby from me. In a moment of misguided rage or shortsighted jealousy, he brought death to our little farm. I had a chance to kill him that morning, but my humanity got in the way. If I had just pulled that damned trigger, she would still be alive. If I had followed my gut and put a bullet into that son of a bitch’s head, Katie would still have her mom.

  My wife was taken from me because of my inaction. Because I was weak. Because I was a coward.

  We buried her at the top of a small hill behind my brother’s house. A towering willow tree that could be seen from all corners of the farm marked her grave. It was her favorite spot, where she could turn in any direction and see miles of rolling fields and lines of trees swaying in the breeze. Before the world collapsed, she would sit under that tree for hours enjoying the serenity. It seemed fitting that she be put to rest in the place that gave her so much peace.

  I was asked if I wanted to say something but for the first time in my life, I had nothing to say. How can one put into words crushing grief and debilitating guilt? What do you say when you bury the person you were supposed to spend your life with after putting a bullet in her head?

  Katie said her goodbyes, dropping a picture she had drawn into Abby’s grave. It floated down, coming to rest on the white sheet we had wrapped Abby in. Katie glared at me before a tearful Lexi corralled Katie, Jane, and Faith away.

  One by one everyone said their farewells before trudging back to the house. The bodies of the dead that we had destroyed that day had been cleared and fresh snow had fallen, covering the remnants of the battle in pristine white. Yet everyone tread lightly, unwilling to disturb the ground where she had taken her final steps.

  I stood by the graveside as Chris fired up the backhoe. Noise wasn’t really much of a concern to us anymore. What Adam had started did not show any signs of stopping. The dead continued their daily march toward the farmhouse, usually in groups of two or three, often more but never less.

  I lay her destroyed shotgun next to her before Chris dropped the first load of dirt into the grave. Five minutes later, Abby was gone from this world. Chris shut down the engine, nodding at me before returning to the house.

  In the stillness of the frigid winter morning, I was as alone with Abby as I would ever be under the watchful eyes of those standing guard over the farm.

  I stood beside the mound of earth, searching for words that refused to come. I pulled a wood chisel I’d taken from the farm’s tool stash from my coat pocket. Using my dead blow hammer I tapped out a message into that willow tree, carving deep into the wood to be sure the words would never fade.

  The all too familiar sound of gunfire cracked sporadically overhead as I worked away at the frozen tree. The dead did not care about my grief. They only cared about the warm meat standing out in the open. It took at least a half hour for me to finish, and it still didn’t look complete. I doubt if it ever would.

  Here lies Abigail M. Foster

  Taken from us by a coward

  Abby, I’m so very sorry

  I couldn’t save you

  I turned and walked back to the slaughter room that was fast becoming my solitary refuge. I knew it was only a matter of time before we would be forced to leave the farm and flee once more. I needed to spend as much time in that room as I could. Before we left, I had one final tribute to build.
<
br />   And one more message to write.

  Chapter 1

  “Any station this net, any station this net…this is Echo Four Delta…how copy. Over.”

  Jason sat in the dark, his eyes locked on the closed blinds in front of him while listening to Corporal Nick Dunford’s voice drone on from the second floor. Nick continued as he had for weeks, looking for some sign of life amongst the dead. But it was a search that Jason knew was ultimately in vain.

  Days, he thought, resting his head on his chest. Combat Operations Center, rally points, San Diego, the whole damn world gone within days.

  “Any station this net, any station this net…this is Echo Four Delta…how copy. Over.”

  There’s nothing but the dead out there, he thought, closing his eyes to listen to the soulful moans of the creatures wandering aimlessly throughout Camp Pendleton. Their shuffling steps reminding him of the bristles of a push broom slowly dragged across wet concrete.

  Deathly groans filled the emptiness of the once active base. Their haunting wails were ever present, echoing from miles around and carrying over the roar of the fires that still burned until it sounded like the base itself was mourning its own demise.

  If there is a hell, Jason thought, shifting in his seat for the tenth time that hour. This is what it sounds like.

  He hated the constant barrage of their deathly tune. It was a constant reminder of the Marines and their families that had been lost on that hellish night. But as much as he hated their unearthly voices, he feared the silence even more.

  They were only silent when they hunted, and they only hunted when something drew their attention. When they went quiet, it usually meant the monsters had found a warm body.

  When there was silence, someone’s death was nearly certain.

  Cautiously he rose from his seat and made his way over to the living room windows. With one hand resting firmly on his M9 Beretta he peeled back a small section of blinds to peer out into the thick blanket of fog and smoke that had engulfed the Pacific coast Marine base.

  A ghostly shadow appeared in the gray, dragging its grungy loafers along the ground in short jerky movements. The creature’s claw like fingers swiping through at the air as if swatting at a cloud of flies. Its dark colored suit hung from its body in tatters, ribbons of cloth swaying with the monsters unsteady gait. It cocked its head back, appearing to sniff the air before lowering its head and continuing along its path.

  Jason waited until the creature was fully engulfed by fog before pulling away from the window. Quietly he let the blinds lay flat against the wall before retreating into the gloomy living room and falling back into his recliner.

  He gripped his M4 carbine, feeling a slight bit of comfort with the familiar weapon propped against the chair. But his short moment of respite vanished when he reminded himself that all that stood between him and being eaten alive were two full magazines of 5.56mm rounds, with only eight remaining in his third.

  He produced a small sardine tin from his pocket, peeling off the lid and using it as a spoon to dig into his meager dinner. A can of warm Diet Coke he had been nursing for over an hour washed down the salty meal.

  It was simple but satisfying given the circumstances. The former owner of the house seemed to have an affinity for the small tins of oily fish. For the three men holed up in the house, it was a welcome find that allowed them to stretch their rations further than they had originally hoped.

  “Nothing but dead air, Gunny,” the tall, lanky young Corporal said just above a whisper as he quietly made his way down the stairs. He sighed, running his hand across the short stubble of blonde hair on his head. He grabbed a can of tuna from the nearly depleted food supply before taking a seat on the living room sofa, leaning his M16A4 carbine rifle against the sofa arm. He popped open his tuna, and in three bites the only thing that remained were a few drops of oil.

  “I didn’t expect anything different, Dunford. But we’re going to keep trying for as long as we can. Enjoy your dinner?”

  “It would have been better with mayo and onion on toasted rye,” Dunford sighed. “But I think those days are long gone.”

  “Maybe, but I’m not giving up hope on another Chicago style sausage and green pepper pizza one day,” Jason said.

  “A man can dream, huh Gunny?”

  “Roger that. Is Jeffries still unconscious?”

  “I’ve never known him to skip out on a chance to nap,” Dunford said through a stifled yawn. “Looks like the end of the world is no exception, Gunny.”

  “I want you to hit the rack. The Zulus are thinning and I don’t want to miss this window. We’re going to load up and be Oscar Mike by zero six.”

  “Aye Gunny, up with the roosters again,” he whispered. “Gunny, can I ask you something?”

  “Go for it.’

  “I was wondering if you’re still going through with your plan.”

  “Dunford,” Jason turned to look at the man sitting a few feet away. “We’ve been taking shifts on that radio every day since we got here. We’ve tried every frequency we were given for any COC, fallback, and rally point from here to Mexico. Hell I’ve even been trying to reach the local government. There’s not been a whisper from anyone anywhere. I don’t know what you make of that, but I’ve been in the Corps long enough to know what that means. Game’s over, we lost.”

  “There may be more out there,” Nick argued. “We might not be hearing them.”

  “Hold on to that hope, Dunford,” Jason sighed. “I think you’re going to need it. If there are more of us out there, they’re thinking the same thing I am. The fight’s over and now it’s time for us to survive.”

  “What if it’s not over? Are you willing to lose everything you worked for?”

  “In that case, I will face the consequences of my actions. I’ve given the last eighteen years of my life to the Marines. I truly believe that part of my life is over. Now my responsibilities lie with my family. I’ll be damned if I’m going to spend what little life we may have left on this Earth away from them. I’d suggest you think about that too.”

  “Aye, Gunny,” Dunford replied half heartedly as he leaned back into the sofa. His young face drew down, burdened with heavy thought. He pursed his lips as he exhaled through his nostrils.

  “Gunny?”

  “Call me Jason. What’s on your mind?”

  “Gunny, I’m sorry. I can’t do that.”

  “Understood, Corporal,” Jason said, finishing the last of his Coke. “What’s on your mind?”

  “Do you think Washington is really gone? I mean, do you think it might have been, you know, propaganda or something?”

  “No, Corporal,” Jason’s eyes turned to the floor as memories of old friends flashed through his mind. “It’s gone. There’s nothing left.”

  “How are we going to come back from this?” Nick asked under his breath.

  “No one says we will,” Jason replied. “And that is why I’m leaving.”

  His words hung heavy in the air as the room grew uncomfortably quiet. Without another word Corporal Dunford pulled his boonie cover over his eyes and nodded off, his rhythmic breathing only disturbed when his body jolted as if struck by an electrical charge, victim of his own unconscious nightmares.

  Satisfied that he was alone for the time being, Jason fished his smart phone from the chest pocket of his Marine Corps Combat Utility Uniform blouse. He’d read the last message he had received from Dan so many times he could recite every part of it from memory. That message told him his brother was still alive, or at least it meant that Dan had survived the initial outbreak and had gone into survival mode. It also meant that if he and Abby were heading to Chris’ farm, it must mean that Chris was alive too.

  One way or another, he would find his family no matter where they were.

  He held the power button down until the phone carrier’s logo splashed across the screen. He waited until the phone had fully booted up before starting to tap out yet another reply, one of many that he
knew would not be sent.

  He had tried several times since he and his men had taken refuge in the house, but every attempt to send a message had failed. He wasn’t sure if it was because the network towers were down, commandeered, or if the nuclear blast from DC had fried the network. Despite the setbacks, he refused to give up until either someone replied or his phone went completely dead.

  Leaving soon. If we get out alive I will come to the farm. I’ll try to message again once we’re clear of the base. Have you heard from anyone else? Mom? Ryan? Gramma? Anyone?

  He hit send and waited until he saw the alert that his message had failed to send. Although he was not in the least bit surprised, the twinge of disappointment every time he failed to make contact was still there, and still very raw. He shook his head, powering down the phone and slipping it back into his MCCUU blouse pocket.

  He leaned back, gently rocking himself in the overstuffed soft leather recliner. He’d moved it to the center of the room so he could sit and face the living room windows. The garage sat in the rear of the house and was locked down, and all of the windows on the first floor were boarded up. But for whatever reason the previous owner never fortified the front windows before he had vanished.

  Jason rarely moved far from the recliner. Only on the few occasions that he allowed himself sleep would he give up the chair. If the window were to give way, he wanted himself between the Z’s and his men, and would do everything in his power to give them as much time as they needed to escape.

  He’d already lost too many.

  Jason flipped on a battery powered lantern he’d found in the garage amongst a disheveled collection of camping gear. Picking up his copy of Robinson Crusoe from the floor, he thumbed through the pages before finding the dog eared page he’d left off on. He’d chosen the large novel from the house’s impressive bookshelf for no other reason than the oversized tome would last long enough to occupy the mountains of his new found downtime.