Lycan Fallout_Rise Of The Werewolf Read online

  LYCAN FALLOUT

  MARK TUFO

  Electronic Edition

  Copyright 2013 Mark Tufo

  Discover other titles by Mark Tufo

  Visit us at marktufo.com

  and http://zombiefallout.blogspot.com/

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  Edited by:

  TW Brown

  Cover Art:

  Shaed Studios, shaedstudios.com

  Electronic Edition, License Notes

  This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you're reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of the author.

  Dedications -

  To my wife - there’s a reason that word rhymes with life. I’m a better man with you at my side and I thank the fates we met.

  To my beta’s who selflessly donated hours of their time to help me improve this story, I cannot thank you enough for your time, proof-reading and suggestions.

  Joy Buchanan

  Vix Kirkpatrick

  Kimberly Sansone

  To my fans and readers, I cherish each and every one of you. The incredible support I receive from you is the reason I can put books out, and for that I am appreciative.

  To the first responders and men and women of the armed services...Heroes, each and every one of you.

  Table Of Contents

  Prologue

  Chapter 1 - Mike Journal Entry One

  Chapter 2 - Mike Journal Entry Two

  Chapter 3 - Mike Journal Entry Three

  Chapter 4 - Tommy and Azile

  Chapter 5 - Mike Journal Entry Four

  Chapter 6 - Mike Journal Entry Five

  Chapter 7 - Xavier and the Zombie - Winter 2010

  Chapter 8 - Mike Journal Entry Six

  Chapter 9 - Xavier

  Chapter 10 - Xavier’s Past

  Chapter 11 - Mike Journal Entry Seven

  Chapter 12 - Harbor’s Town

  Chapter 13 - Mike Journal Entry Eight

  Chapter 14 - Mike Journal Entry Nine

  Chapter 15 - Denarth

  Chapter 16 - Mike Journal Entry Ten

  Chapter 17 - Mike Journal Entry Eleven

  Chapter 18 - Mike Journal Entry Twelve

  Chapter 19 - Mike Journal Entry Thirteen

  Chapter 20 - Azile’s Story

  Chapter 21 - Mike Journal Entry Fourteen

  Epilogue - The Story of Tommy/Tomas

  Western Front 1918

  Talbot-Sode #1

  Talbot-Sode #2

  Forward - Hello dear reader, as always thank you for your support. I hope you take a few moments to read this as it will answer a few questions you may have in regards to this story. For those of you that are familiar with my writings and the many alternate realities of Michael Talbot, this is NOT a continuation of Zombie Fallout, HOWEVER, it is on the same timeline (that’ll make much more sense once you start reading). For those of you who may not know me and this is your first foray into my works, first off welcome aboard, secondly you will not need to read anything beforehand, this is a standalone book. As you are reading this tome you may be wondering what happened to some of your beloved characters from the aforementioned series. The good news on that front isa sta I will be releasing Zombie Fallout 7 in October of 2013. Again thank you and it is my sincerest hope that you enjoy this book. As always Henry says HI (and wants to know where his cookie is).

  PROLOGUE

  Fuck zombies, they’re not the enemy. Death is.

  CHAPTER 1 - Mike Journal Entry One

  I sat in the basement of my brother’s dilapidated house surrounded by my loved ones. Beams creaked as the accumulated weight of time dragged them down. Dust encased the entire room in a heavy protective coating. Rats had long since vacated the property after they had robbed it of anything worthy of their time.

  The large armchair I sat in fully enveloped me in its cold embrace. I fingered the lid on the urn I had sitting in the chair next to me. The name ‘Tracy Talbot’ carefully etched by my own hand on a small bronze plate in the front.

  “I miss you most of all,” I said to the indifferent pile of ashes.

  I was alive, partly. The most unworthy of them all, and yet I still roamed the earth. Much like Longinus I begged to shed my immortality. When I was a youth, I heard the stories of the Roman soldier who had pierced Jesus’ side and was now cursed to roam the earth indefinitely; I always wondered what he was bitching about. He had been given the gift of immortality, what more could he ask for? I received that answer when my last family member perished.

  Maybe I could find him; we could hang out together and play Canasta. It’s been over a hundred and fifty years since the zombie apocalypse started. Man teetered on the edge of extinction for decades. I’d like to think that, in some small way, I tipped the scales, there were so many heroic deeds done back then to give man a second chance. Were we worthy? My initial cynical guess would be no, but I’m a lonely asshole so who knows.

  It had really only been in the last ten years that men, women, and children began to dribble out of their bunkers and hidey-holes. Apparently, we have an inherent need for community. Didn’t understand that philosophy when I was a regular man, and it sure doesn’t strike a chord now that I was half of one. The year for anyone marking time like me, was 2167. There were no hover cars that had been promised in my youth, no traveling to the stars, no deep-sea cities, none of that science fiction bullshit. The world was mostly gas lamps and some intermittent power when some industrious people began to relearn lost technologies.

  It wouldn’t be too long before some idiot rediscovered television. I placed my hands over my face as I sobbed. I was thinking of when I had played the Wii with my son; now nearly a hundred years later, he had been reduced to the basic vestiges. What I wouldn’t do for an odiferous whiffing of my Henry, my steadfast English Bulldog who had lived far longer than he should have. They were all gone, every last bloody one of them. Each day I sat here longing for just one more moment to share with them. Their laughs. Their cries. Their exciuldtement and merriment. The good, the bad…any of it, all of it. Life is fleeting, even more so to those of us who live forever.

  At some point, the night had yielded its darkness over the planet, not my heart though, that stayed as black as pitch. I watched as the shadows of trees traveled along the back of my brother’s yard. I heard footfalls approaching. I couldn’t even muster enough energy to care, I could only hope it was the local townspeople come to off my head. I didn’t know to what abyss I would be relegated, but I was convinced it couldn’t be any worse than the one unto which I was now assigned.

  “Mr. T, you in there?”

  I hadn’t moved much since I had pulled the last living relative off of their funeral pyre, and my guest knew that. He came every year or so to bring me some food and, I guess, just see how I was doing. Maybe even partly to adjudicate his guilt, considering it was him that put me in this state. It had, ultimately, been my choice and it did save my family if even only temporarily.

  “Where else would I be, Tommy?” I replied.

  “There’s a whole new world out there, Mr. T. Why don’t you come out and we’ll travel.”

  “Did you bring me my food?” I grumbled.

  He sidestepped around some new debris. “She’s tied up out front like always,” he said, looking around. Tommy knelt to pay his respects to those around me before standing again. “This place is going to come down soon.” He placed his hand against o
ne of the supports.

  “Good, maybe it’ll pierce my heart.”

  “That won’t return your soul,” he said solemnly.

  I stood abruptly, shaking in rage. “My soul? No, that’s gone forever. Tommy, you of all people should know that!” He turned away. “All that I ever loved, all that ever mattered to me is gone. And yet, here I am! A derelict of a man…no soul, no purpose, no hope!” I shouted as I sat down heavily.

  “I’ll see you next year,” he said as he walked out.

  I did not acknowledge him as he left. I can’t even remember the last time I had. Hunger gnawed at my stomach as I watched the light be chased away. I ventured forth from a huge hole in the wall. It was fall, and the night air should have felt cold and crisp upon my exposed arms, but they were as numb as my spirit. I walked to the front; where a large dairy cow was tied to a tree I couldn’t recall from previous years. The cow had been chewing on a stack of hay that had been left with it.

  It looked up at me and its eyes widened as it watched me approach; it began to back up and pull against the rope that had it tethered in place. It began to moo in full-on panic mode. I never had been one to play with my food as I savagely ripped into its neck with my teeth. I drank heavily and deeply of its rich iron-laced blood. My eyelids drooped down as I savored every moment. The cow, at first, was trumpeting in panic but calmed as I took more and more of its life from it, one liquefied morsel at a time.

  I returned to my throne, sated, and for a moment…almost at peace. I slumbered, my hands over my full, sloshing belly. Could have been a day, maybe a week when I re-awoke. Maybe longer since there was now a good three or four inches of snow on thre f snow e ground. The house was groaning from its frosty covering. Would I stay once the house came down? Odds were, yes; I was as much a part of the house as any of the fixtures, I was a semi-living haunt of the residence. It would take a talented real estate agent to explain me away to a prospective buyer.

  Oh don’t mind him; he hardly ever makes any noise.

  I sneered at my own thought.

  The winter was a particularly bad one; snow must have got to about two feet at one time. The spring was heralded with the happy cries of birds and gophers – none of which would venture forth into my underground lair. Spring rains turned into the muggy heat of summer, legions of mosquitoes patrolled the air looking for their next blood meal. The air began to cool at night and then the days themselves were cool and crisp, it was almost time to eat again.

  Tommy came in. He didn’t announce himself. In fact, he didn’t say anything to me as he once again paid his respects to his adoptive family and friends. I’ll admit I was more than a little pissed. I had my normal practiced rant, and much like a performer, I wanted an audience to witness it.

  As he was leaving I yelled at him. “Where’s my food?”

  “Where it always is,” he shouted over his shoulder before heading out.

  I arose from my seat when I was sure he was gone. I rounded the corner and tied up to the tree was something that dropped me to my knees. I pressed my palms into my eyes; I pulled my hands away to notice they were wet. I had not felt human for so long I was unsure I was still able to produce tears. I ran over to the tree and untied the puppy, a small leather collar around his neck with a tag shaped like a bone attached to it, his name clearly marked. ‘A. Purpose’.

  I hugged the puppy tightly, then I pushed him away. I grabbed him roughly and placed his neck against my teeth. I put him down and hastily urged him away.

  “Go away, Purpose! I don’t want you!” I shouted at him, stamping my feet. He thought I was playing and would growl and bark trying to bite at them. “NO!” I retreated to my man-made cave. I got back into my seat and threw my head back. Languished cries of remorse and mourning pounded through me. I cried to the Heaven’s…I cursed to Hell…and everything in between got an earful. I might have stayed in that state until Tommy showed the next year, but I felt a small tugging at my foot.

  I pulled forward and looked down, Purpose was growling at my boot. I stared at him for hours. He stared back for a few minutes, yawned, and immediately fell asleep at my feet. I pulled my legs up so we weren’t touching. He cried, and something akin to emotion snapped inside of me. I picked him up and placed him on my lap. He would not find warmth there, though. I shook off the old coverlet and wrapped him in it. He licked my hand once and was almost immediately back asleep.

  His belly grumbled like only an empty stomach can, mine followed suit in sympathetic notes. It was then that I realized Tomas had not brought me food. I was starving, and when Purpose woke up, he would be also. I stood up as quietly as I could so as not to disturb the dog. I gently placed him down in my seat and went out in to the woods. Deer, turkeys, moose, and bears had all rebounded nicely with the absence of the apex predator. It would not be dmasuld notifficult to find us sustenance. I did not know it then, but I already loved him.

  Tommy had succeeded in what he’d set out to do…he had given me Purpose.

  ***

  I moved out of the house that following day, not far mind you but out. It was too dangerous for Purpose in there, and I didn’t want anything to happen to him. I made a small lean-to in the yard and kept a fire going the entire winter. When the spring thaw came I buried each urn and marked them with a small headstone. I said a hollow prayer as I laid each to rest. I didn’t find comfort in it, but I hoped that, as they watched over me from above, they would.

  Purpose stood next to me solemnly as I did the unenviable task. When I was done he bounded off chasing after a rabbit that had strayed into his territory. Purpose wasn’t an English Bulldog, but he was close. As man neared the brink, so did his most trusted and loyal friend, dogs that could not adapt were now gone forever. Only the medium-sized, smarter breeds like Retrievers, Huskies, and Pit Bulls survived and even thrived. Purpose looked something like an Old English Bulldog, with longer legs like an American Bulldog, a square head like a Rottweiler and a semi pushed-in nose; much like my beloved Henry. His markings were as near to Henry as I could remember, his body was fawn colored, with black rings around his eyes and his face was white.

  I was standing over Gary’s spot in the ground when I heard Purpose barking a warning. I turned quickly. Somebody was coming.

  “Come, Purpose,” I told him as we strode back into the house.

  I heard Tommy stop by the headstones: a few moments later he called out. “Mr. T, you here?”

  Purpose bristled at first and then relaxed when I assumed he recognized the voice.

  “Where’s the dog?” Tomas asked from outside.

  “You mean that morsel you brought me to eat last year? I do hope you upped your game this year, I’ve been very hungry.”

  “Does your food always leave droppings?”

  “Busted,” I said to Purpose who I let go. He immediately bounded out of the basement to greet our guest properly.

  “What is he feeding you?” Tommy asked as Purpose bowled him over. After a few minutes of rough housing Tommy stood up. “It’s good to see you up and about, Mr. T.”

  I didn’t answer him.

  He motioned to the small, marked mounds. “I’m glad you finally put them at peace.”

  My heart panged as I realized the finality of my act. “I wish I was at peace.”

  Tommy had seen the hurt on my face and the pain in my words and quickly moved on. “How has Purpose been doing?” he asked.

  “Who, that mangy mutt? He eats more than any dog I’ve ever known. It’s difficult to keep him satisfied.”

  “You look better.”

  “You didn’t bring any food?t bringfood?♀

  “Pop-Tarts have been extremely hard to come by in this new world of man. My hope is someday that someone finds the recipe and begins to replicate it. There is a baker in New Detroit that bakes an awesome blonde brownie with a caramel center, though.”

  “I was thinking more along the lines of meat, but now that you mention it, sweets sound pretty good too. I’m cur
ious, though, we’ve had this routine you and me…for over a century as a matter of fact. I sit morosely in the house and you bring food. What changed?”

  “The world changed, and I need you involved in it. So, either you were going to hunt for the puppy I brought, or you were going to eat him and then we were going to have a serious problem.”

  I didn’t ask for clarification. Tommy might be a boy in outward appearance but he was five hundred years my senior and significantly more powerful than me. ‘We’ had a serious problem really meant that ‘I’ had a serious problem. I was thankful that Purpose had been too small at the time to get an enjoyable meal out of.

  We sat down on a small bench I had in my lean-to. Purpose was busy patrolling his domain and reveling in every moment of it.

  “What now, Mr. T?”

  “I don’t know, Tommy. I guess I always thought the pain of loss would diminish. But, if anything, it’s grown over the years. Maybe it’s because I will never be able to honor my last words to Tracy as she died in my arms.”

  “We will be together again,” Tommy murmured, remembering back to that snowy winter day.

  Tracy had been closing in on ninety, and I loved her as much then as I did when we met. Even more so, I guess, because I knew our time was coming to an end. I always thought that ‘Soul Mate’ was just a term that lovelorn teenagers gave to the fleeting loves they had in between classes. But that was Tracy – to me, we were connected on so many different levels, that I think she had felt the loss of my soul just as deeply as I had, maybe even more so. To realize there was an afterlife, and that I could not spend it with her, well that was just a pain that at times became too difficult to dwell on.

  “Something is different, Tommy. I can tell by the way you’re lingering. Normally you can’t wait to pay your respects, drop off your food, and be gone. I’m not sure if part of it is from the guilt of my condition, which, by the way, you have no culpability in, I made the choice. Or it’s just my shittier-than-thou demeanor, hell; I don’t even like being around myself and why Purpose stays is beyond me.”