Night: Final Awakening Book Three (A Post-Apocalyptic Thriller) Read online

  Night

  Final Awakening Book Three

  J. Thorn

  Zach Bohannon

  Copyright © 2017 by Molten Universe Media

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  Edited by Jennifer Collins

  Proofread by Laurie Love

  Cover by Yocla Designs

  jthorn.net

  zachbohannon.com

  moltenuniversemedia.com

  Contents

  Overview

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Chapter 33

  Chapter 34

  Chapter 35

  Chapter 36

  Chapter 37

  Chapter 38

  Chapter 39

  Chapter 40

  Chapter 41

  Chapter 42

  Chapter 43

  Chapter 44

  Chapter 45

  Chapter 46

  Chapter 47

  Chapter 48

  Chapter 49

  Chapter 50

  Chapter 51

  Chapter 52

  Chapter 53

  Epilogue

  Coming Soon

  About J. Thorn

  About Zach Bohannon

  It's always darkest before the Dawn.

  When the Blackout arrives, Dax Harper finds himself alone and fighting for survival on the chaotic streets of New Orleans. He is on the run, desperately searching for his estranged sister as the riots intensify. An unexpected encounter with his ex-girlfriend thrusts Dax into a leadership position—one he’s not sure he can accept. As the hours pass, the city floods, pitting Dax in an epic battle against time and a mysterious new enemy threatening the future of humankind.

  “Post-apocalyptic fiction at its finest.” - Amazon Customer Review

  1

  He knew he was going to run out of gas.

  It wasn’t a matter of if, but when. He only hoped it wouldn’t happen in the middle of nowhere. And on US-49 in Mississippi, there seemed to be a whole lot of nowhere. When the Jeep sputtered to a stop in a place without a name, Dax wasn’t surprised. But that didn’t mean he wasn’t frustrated.

  The last town with more than one stoplight had been Collins, thirty miles north of Hattiesburg. He’d thought of stopping there to scavenge for gas or maybe swap the Jeep for another vehicle, but had decided against it because he’d wanted the gas to last as long as possible while the vehicle was running well.

  Was running well, he thought.

  He’d been driving north on 49 since he’d passed through Gulfport. At first, he’d been too focused on escaping New Orleans to even think about stopping. And he’d had about three-quarters of a tank, so fuel hadn’t been a concern either. Getting away from the death pit that New Orleans had become was his only concern. As far away as possible.

  Eventually, though, somewhere around Wiggins, he’d thought it best to keep an eye out for any source of fuel. Gasoline—or lack of it—would eventually be an issue, and everywhere he’d stopped so far had been tapped out. Many of the gas stations he’d passed hadn’t been open since Clinton or the younger Bush had been in office. Dax had driven by one place where the signs outside promoted regular unleaded for $1.16 a gallon. Apparently, these tiny towns were proud of their rustic, dilapidated structures… or they didn’t have the funds to tear them down. The more he thought about it, Dax believed it was the latter.

  As gas would become a problem, he’d figured food would become a more immediate concern. He’d searched several places on the highway, but he’d found nothing. And now that night was falling, it’d be wise to take cover and hide—at least, this had been his primary thought when the gas finally ran out.

  The Jeep came to a sputtering stop at the top of a hill. Dax at least had that to be thankful for, as it could have stopped at the bottom of the incline. At least this once, something had gone his way.

  Though he knew it was pointless, Dax fiddled with the wires beneath the dashboard to see if the Jeep would start again. It croaked and coughed like an old man on his deathbed, the engine refusing to turn over and come back to life. He slammed his hands on the dashboard and looked around. Nothing but trees as far as he could see, even in the dark. Hopefully, no Screamers were hiding within those trees that stood fifteen feet from the shoulder.

  Dax put the Jeep in first gear, pulled the parking brake, and stepped outside. He looked both ways down the highway. Collins sat several miles behind him, clothed in a sultry darkness, but he knew it was there. And the town had several gas stations, restaurants, and other businesses he could search for supplies. But going back even a few miles put him that much closer to New Orleans. Dax needed to keep moving forward. And from his dream-like conversations with Papa Midnight, he thought he was headed in the right direction if he wanted to find the kids.

  He climbed back into the Jeep and released the parking brake. After putting it in neutral, Dax used his left leg to give the vehicle a solid nudge. Gravity took over, pulling the Jeep a hundred yards down the hill as he steered it onto the shoulder—where it stopped with two tires in the grass.

  “Guess this is the end of the line for us.”

  He had collected a few bottles of water and batteries from the other vehicles on the Causeway before climbing into the Jeep, so now Dax grabbed his bag from the passenger seat and threw it over his shoulder. He was down to his last bottle of water, and so he’d need to find more soon. He next pulled the wires below the dash apart and left them hanging. If someone came by and was lucky enough to have a gas can and the ability to hotwire a car, they’d have themselves a ride. This done, he faced north and started walking.

  The Mississippi heat pressed down and the slight breeze did little to alleviate his discomfort, but on a late summer night in the Deep South, any amount of wind could be considered a blessing. With Dax having only a small amount of drinking water remaining, the daylight hours would prove to be more dangerous than the night, even with Screamers in the nearby woods. He had to keep going and hope that he could find some shelter and sleep before the sun rose.

  Dax winced with every step, though. He had bruises and cuts over his entire body. The pain from one helped distract his mind from the pain of another. He imagined walking into a bar or road house, with an air conditioner and a fridge full of bottled beer to help ease his pain. But after everything that had happened, Dax doubted he’d ever see lit neon signs again.

  If he had done his calculations correctly, he had a long journey ahead of him. He took bets with himself as he walked, trying to figure out whether his body
or his mind would give up first.

  But the kids. He had to keep the kids at the front of his mind. They needed him. He knew they were alive—he couldn’t think any other way. And he had to get to them.

  Ignoring his thirst and hunger, Dax walked straight through the night. As the sky in the eastern horizon morphed from black to violet, he came to a sign that read Magee City Limits.

  “Thank God.”

  Even in the early-morning darkness, he could see the shapes of the buildings—plenty of places to scavenge for supplies. But that would have to wait until full daylight. For now, he just wanted to find a place to sleep.

  He walked toward one of the first buildings on his side of the road, a strip of retail establishments. The closest suite appeared to have been a tax office. The glass windows had already been shattered, but when he took out his flashlight and aimed the beam inside, he saw no movement—human or otherwise. The fact that an office building had been broken into gave him little hope that he would find anything of value in the small town. But it was a place to sleep, and it appeared to be uninhabited and empty.

  Shooting the flashlight around the office one last time, Dax saw that it had been heavily vandalized. Filing cabinets had been knocked over and papers had been scattered across the floor. Vandals had flipped the desks and chairs, and most of the computer monitors had been shattered.

  Dax entered the building and shined the flashlight around. It didn’t appear anyone had been living in there. He found a place on the floor between two overturned desks and set down his bag to use as a pillow.

  As soon as Dax’s head hit the floor, he was asleep.

  2

  When Dax opened his eyes, the sun was baking his face. He jerked and covered his eyes with his arm. His mouth felt as dry as the cotton harvested for decades from the Mississippi Delta.

  “Sun is hot, ain’t it?”

  Dax rolled onto his side and saw a pair of boots and a cane… standing on a dirt road. He followed the legs up to a familiar face.

  “Papa Midnight?”

  “Who else would it be?”

  Dax looked around, recognizing the same location he’d found himself in when he’d last dreamed of Papa Midnight. The sky glowed orange with the hope of a new day or the death of the current one.

  “I’m dreaming again?”

  “I’ll go on and assume that’s a rhetorical question, as I think you damn well know the answer.”

  And Dax did. He had been exhausted the night before, but not so delirious as to now believe that he’d fallen asleep on a dirt road—next to a resurrected voodoo priest who had become not only a friend, but also a mentor.

  “Is this going to happen every time I go to sleep?”

  Papa Midnight shrugged. “Don’t know. All I know is that we’re here now.”

  Dax climbed up on one knee, then all the way to his feet. He swept the dirt from his pants and stared down the barren road. Like before, the empty fields stretched for miles.

  “Take a walk with me, Jackson.”

  The voodoo priest started walking, and Dax easily caught up to him. At least when he was dreaming, he could walk for miles without pain. And the sun didn’t sap his energy when he did.

  “You’ve done well to get out of New Orleans,” Papa said. “Sorry to see you ran out of gas in the middle of nowhere.”

  “I haven’t been able to find gas. And I don’t know if where I’m sleeping is safe. For all I know, the town could be riddled with Screamers. They could attack me now, while I’m sleeping, and I might not ever wake up.”

  “You don’t have to worry about that. You’re safe.”

  “How do you know that?”

  “Because I do know. I am not here to guide you into danger. I plan to keep you safe. To be sure that you can finish what we started, because only you can do so.”

  “But how? Where are you leading me?”

  Papa Midnight turned and eyed Dax. “To the Angel.”

  “What?”

  “The Angel. It is how you will take down the Screamers—the vampires, the threat to the entire human race.”

  “An Angel? You’re dragging me through backwoods Mississippi to find an Angel?”

  Papa Midnight nodded. “The Angel.”

  “Look,” Dax said, “I have to find the kids. They’re my immediate concern. Obviously, I want to stop these things from taking over the world, but I have to reach the kids before it’s too late.”

  “Without finding the Angel, saving them will not matter. Because if you do not find the Angel before the others do, then there will be no life for any of you.”

  “I understand what you’re saying, but if I don’t find the kids in time, then I don’t know if I can live with myself anyway.”

  “You’ll sacrifice the future of civilization to find a few kids?”

  Dax narrowed his eyes. “Look, I didn’t want any of this to begin with. Ever since I met you, I’ve carried an unwanted burden on my shoulders. I’m the only hope for those kids, and I have to do right by Gabby. I’ve got enough blood on my hands as it is.” He shook his head. “I never asked for any of this.”

  “I never said you did. But heroes must stand up and fight when they are called upon.”

  Dax rolled his eyes. “I ain’t no hero.”

  “I really hope you don’t mean that. The moment you no longer believe in yourself is the moment humanity falls.”

  “I still don’t understand why it’s me.”

  “It just is.”

  Placing his hands on his hips, Dax turned away from the voodoo priest.

  “Keep heading north. Stay on the highway and, eventually, you will find what you seek.”

  Dax peeked over his shoulder. “Am I really going to see you every night?”

  “You will see me when it is necessary.”

  Dax looked to the sky and then to the dirt again, shaking his head. “Man, I gotta tell you, I—”

  But when Dax turned around, the voodoo priest was gone.

  3

  As had happened in the dream, the sun scorched Dax’s face and woke him with a jolt.

  Although it was still early in the morning, the thick Mississippi heat had seeped into the building and filled the place with cloying, suffocating humidity. Dax hadn’t been sleeping but a few hours, and still his clothes were drenched and sticking to his sweaty skin.

  Once his eyes adjusted to the light, Dax sat up. Even having used the flashlight to look around when he’d first arrived, the night had hidden most of the damage to the tax office. The walls had been smashed open as if vandals had intended on ripping the copper wiring from the studs. Dark splotches stained the carpeting in the corners and Dax could tell from the stench what had caused them. Several desks had been scorched, showing black streaks of ash covering their white-finish Formica tops. He shook his head, realizing that there wouldn’t be anything of value to find in this office, and what he saw here was probably the same as what he’d find in the other buildings in the small town.

  Even though it felt like Mississippi was being baked by the morning sun now, he knew the day would only get worse. Dax didn’t have any time to waste. Knowing he still had to search the town for food and water, he had to get moving soon.

  He had just started to walk toward the front door when he heard a noise from outside—the sound of a steel or aluminum can being kicked across the pavement. Instinctively, he reached into his bag and withdrew his knife. And when he looked out the door, he saw a shadow move across the sidewalk.

  Screamers know I’m here. They must.

  But if that were the case, they would’ve killed him in his sleep. Maybe they had discovered him only moments ago and were now coming for him?

  Dropping into a crouched walk, Dax slowly approached the front of the building. He took a deep but silent breath before peeking around the door and outside.

  Nothing.

  They’re hiding from me.

  Exiting the tax office, Dax scuttled down the sidewalk. The tax office
sat at one end of the strip of businesses, and he had seen movement in front of the others. The intruder, or intruders, could have gone into any of the building’s doors or windows. They could even have fled behind the building. But they had the drop on Dax, either way. They had seen him first and been able to flush him from his hiding spot. Now he was exposed.

  He glanced into the other spaces as he passed, but saw no one. Nobody in the law office, the frozen yogurt joint, or the UPS Store.

  A noise came from the end of the last business, the one furthest away. Were they trying to lure Dax into an ambush? It almost didn’t matter. Dax had shown his hand, and he had no other option but to stand and defend himself.

  Keeping his head low, he slowly made his way to the end of the sidewalk. Though he couldn’t see them, he knew whoever had seen him was on the other side of the wall.

  With his knife in hand, Dax jumped around the corner, ready to strike.

  “Oh, God. Don’t hurt me!”

  The tip of Dax’s knife stopped inches from the old man’s face. The man had his hands up, and sweat dripped from his forehead. A gray beard covered most of his gaunt face. Thin arms hung out of the sleeves of an oversized t-shirt.