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

  Apparently, Papa Midnight believed that Dax was some sort of ‘savior for the human race.’ Dax had to come to grips with the fact that it was probably true. And now, he had to choose between going after the children or finding the Angel the voodoo priest had told him about in his dreams. It all felt real, but what if it wasn’t? What if Dax was losing his mind, and the visits to the tree with Papa Midnight were nothing more than offerings from his overworked imagination?

  He had to sleep better tonight. It would be impossible to think clearly, let alone keep up with the physical demands of survival, without proper rest. Although he desperately needed the break, he didn’t feel like talking to Papa Midnight and hearing his prophecies right now. Dax wanted to turn his mind off, sleeping without conversations or dreams for once.

  Finally, the venison appeared to be cooked enough to eat. Dax wasn’t sure how to properly cook roadkill, let alone eat it. He decided to forego manners and just bit into the steak. The outer edges had become crispy, but the meat itself was dry and tasted like cooked liver. He took a second bite, and then a third. His stomach thanked him even if his taste buds weren’t impressed. He ate until the food was gone.

  The fire died quickly as the wood burned hot and bright, and that was fine with Dax—he didn’t need a fire to keep him warm in the Mississippi summer. The fire gave him an excuse to stay outside where the wind occasionally pushed a light breeze across the highway, though, compared to the stale, dead air he’d find inside of the gas station.

  The venison had initially given him a protein boost, but as with a Thanksgiving feast, his full belly had begun to make him tired. He walked around the parking lot, trying to stay awake. Dax thought for a moment about strolling around in the open since there could be Screamers in the area, but he’d yet to see any, so he took his chances.

  Eventually, he sat back down on the bucket. Holding his head up with his hand, he began to fall asleep. Every few seconds, he’d shake his head and try to stay awake, but it was becoming futile. Dax was about to lay down next to the fire when he heard a noise.

  He shot to his feet and stared in the direction from which it had come. The noise was at a distance, but it was unmistakable.

  Motorcycles.

  12

  Dax heard the bikes, but he couldn’t see them until they were within fifty yards of the gas station. They had turned their headlights off, which seemed not only risky but dangerous. Even though the moon illuminated the landscape in a silvery sheen, abandoned vehicles littered the highway. Dax wouldn’t have risked it even with Calvin’s old pickup. He cursed, wishing he had put out the fire as soon as he heard them coming.

  Staying low, he slipped back into the gas station. He ducked behind the front counter and listened as the motorcycle engines roared.

  But instead of rumbling off into the distance, the riders downshifted as they pulled into the gas station’s lot.

  “Son of a bitch.”

  Dax froze as he listened to the sound of the idling bikes. “Keep going,” he whispered to himself. “Nothing to see here.”

  The motors stopped.

  Shit.

  He heard the sound of boots striking the pavement as the hot pistons pinged in the slightly cooler night air. Based on what he could hear, at least a dozen men were walking across the parking lot and toward the gas station’s front door.

  There’s no way they saw me. No way in hell.

  The men had not spoken a single word yet, and that sent a shiver down his spine. Dax pushed back into the corner, getting as deep behind the counter as possible because he didn’t have time to slide out the back door. Shadows passed over the wall as the bikers walked along the front of the station, glass crunching beneath their boots. Dax held his breath as they walked by, hoping they wouldn’t walk through the front door and search the place. They had already surprised him, and Dax was left without a clean escape—if they stumbled upon his hiding place, he’d have no choice but to fight. The shadows disappeared around the corner and he inhaled, thinking they would be getting back on their bikes when he heard a voice coming from the back of the building.

  “Back here!”

  Dax winced, knowing that they had come upon the hot coals. Worse yet, he had left his bags back there. They’d know that whoever was camped out back there was probably now inside—hiding.

  In his head, he cursed at himself.

  “Someone’s here,” another biker said.

  “No shit. Check inside.”

  Dax gasped as his mind raced through all of the possible outcomes. These men would find him, and he had only a few seconds to decide what to do. Then he remembered the patches on the men’s vests with the Rebel flag displayed so prominently.

  The front door to the store swung open, the steel frame slamming against a pile of crumpled shelving. Dax closed his eyes, focusing on the sounds of several men walking slowly down the aisles, glass, and plastic crunching beneath their boots. He caught a whiff of leather, motor oil, and unwashed bodies.

  One biker had stopped in the middle of the store. Dax could almost see the man probing the darkness, assessing the situation and deciding where to aim a shotgun.

  Dax realized he would die trying to fight his way out. He only had one choice.

  Exhaling, he raised his hands.

  “I’m behind the counter, and I’m unarmed.”

  He could hear their boots on the tiled floor as they hurried toward the counter.

  “I’m standing up now,” Dax said. “Hands up, and no weapons.”

  “Are you alone?”

  “Yes,” he said as his head crested the top of the counter.

  “You better not be lying. Now, get up slowly.”

  Keeping his hands up, Dax stood slowly. He closed his eyes, hoping these weren’t his final moments. When he’d stood up completely, Dax opened his eyes again.

  Six bikers stood before him, all wearing matching leather vests—and all white trash-looking motherfuckers. The lone woman in their gang looked as mean as any of the men, too. They stared at Dax, various firearms aimed at his head.

  One of the bikers stepped toward the counter—a heavy-set man weighing more than two hundred twenty-five pounds easily. A wallet chain dangled from his right hip, and his two front teeth sported gold caps. The guy appeared to be in his mid to late forties, with a weakness for beer and barbecue based on the size of his paunch. He kept his thinning hair pulled back in a ponytail, his face weathered from riding miles of highway over several decades. He looked Dax up and down before he spoke again.

  “You really alone?” he asked.

  Dax nodded.

  “How long have you been here?”

  “Couple of hours.”

  “And where you headed?”

  “I don’t think that’s your business.”

  The biker glared at Dax, then smiled. The others laughed.

  “Fair enough. But I don’t think you’re exactly in a situation where you should be talking to me with such a smart mouth.”

  “There’s a half-dozen armed, redneck bikers standing in front of me. What do you want me to say?”

  “How you know what’s on our cuts?”

  “I saw you earlier today, near that wreckage. I was hiding in some trees nearby.”

  “I see,” the biker said, gesturing toward the back of the gas station. “That explains the venison steaks you was cooking up around back. You really cooked up some fucking roadkill?”

  Dax dropped his arms, and the bikers pumped their shotguns and flicked off their safeties.

  “I’m tired. Can’t keep my hands in the air anymore,” Dax said. “I told you, I’m unarmed. And I’d be stupid to try anything against your little army. Don’t you think?”

  The biker grinned again.

  “Now I’ve got a question for you if you don’t mind,” Dax said.

  “Shoot.”

  “When I saw y’all back at the van, you didn’t look inside to see what you could scavenge. I saw you check to see if the person
inside was dead, but that was it. Why didn’t you search it?”

  “Well, we’d planned on returning later in the day, and that’s exactly what we did. Only, when we got back, someone had beat us to it. You did.”

  Dax swallowed. “So, what happens now?”

  The lead biker furrowed his brow. “What do you mean?”

  “You’re a biker gang sporting the Confederate flag, and you just came across some hopeless nigger with shit to steal. There’s no law no more, and you can do what you want with me. Either we ought to get to it, or you should leave and let me get the fuck on my way. Because I’ll be honest with you, I’ve had quite the time lately, and I’m not exactly in a mood for suspense.”

  The biker turned to the rest of his gang and laughed. “What do y’all say? Should we gut ’im? How ‘bout we hang him from a tree like they did in the old days?” The biker brought his handgun up again, aiming the barrel at Dax’s forehead. “Or maybe we shoot him right where he stands.”

  Sweat beaded on Dax’s brow. He shifted to his left, ready to anticipate the shot. The biker would most likely hit him square in the forehead with a bullet, but Dax thought that if he dove to one side, maybe, just maybe…

  Dax tensed as the biker took another step toward the front of the counter. If he got close enough, maybe Dax could grab the gun from his hand. He might not be able to get out of the situation, but he could make sure he took down as many of these biker pricks as he could first.

  But then the biker lowered the gun. He returned it to its holster and stared at Dax, and then he stuck out his empty right hand.

  “The name’s Dean. And I’ve got no interest in killing you, my man.”

  13

  Dax stared at the biker’s extended hand. Shifting his gaze to Dean’s eyes, Dax tried to read the man, to see if this was some kind of game he was playing before shooting Dax in the head. But despite the circumstances, the gesture seemed genuine.

  Dean retracted his hand and shrugged. “Look, I get it, man. You don’t trust me. And how can I blame you? It’s a crazy fuckin’ world out there.”

  “It’s always been a crazy world out there. I just want to be left alone.”

  “Fair enough, but I think you might want to consider my offer first.”

  Dax narrowed his eyes. “Offer?”

  “Tell him, Billy,” Dean said.

  One of the other bikers stepped forward, this one being the tallest and thinnest of the bunch with a thick handlebar mustache and a shadow of a beard. He wore a red bandana on his head, pulled down to cover his eyebrows. When the man began talking, Dax counted three teeth in his mouth.

  “We’ve been hanging around this area for around a week now. Lots of places around here to scavenge, and we needed a break from the road. Been making our way north from Florida since this mess went down.

  “Anyway, we’re heading out in the morning. Heard about some of them night creatures hanging closer to Jackson, so we’re going to shoot through the city during the day. Wanna join us.”

  Dax scoffed. “You want me to join you? You expect me to jump on a bike, wearing one of them racist fucking vests?”

  “I know what you’re thinkin’,” Dean said. “But color don’t mean nothin’ no more. It’s safe to say we got a bigger enemy out there. We need numbers.”

  Dax contemplated the offer. In truth, if the bikers had wanted to kill him, they would have by now.

  Sticking out his hand again, Dean asked, “You with us?”

  This time, Dax reached out and shook the man’s hand.

  “All right,” Dean said with a smile. “We’ll head out in the morning, so we should all probably get some sleep. This here is your place, so we’ll leave it to you.”

  “There’s enough room for all of us,” Dax said.

  Dean shook his head. “I know you still don’t trust us, I get it. I’ll respect your space. We’ll sleep at the place next door. There’s more room over there anyway.”

  “Sounds good.”

  “Well, there’s only a few hours until dawn. Let’s get some sleep while we can. By the way, don’t think I caught your name.”

  “Dax.”

  “Good to meet you, Dax. We’ll see you in a few hours, all right?”

  The men turned to leave, but Dax called after Dean, who turned around.

  “Those ‘night creatures’ you spoke of—you haven’t seen any around here?”

  “Seems like most of them headed to Jackson. We’re only a short drive from there.”

  “And what about the ones that didn’t?”

  Dean laughed as he looked at the rest of his gang. “Well, they didn’t stand a chance against us.”

  Dax forced a smile and nodded.

  “Don’t worry, Dax. You’re in good hands with us. We ain’t gonna let them things hurt you.”

  “Right,” Dax said, appreciating the irony of the redneck biker protecting his black ass.

  “We’ll see you soon.”

  Dax watched the gang move their bikes behind the building next door, and then he laid on the floor and closed his eyes.

  Dax didn’t know how long he’d been sleeping when a strange noise woke him. It couldn’t have been long, because he hadn’t been visited by Papa Midnight. By reflex, his hand went to the knife he’d kept beside him and he turned toward the door.

  The sound had come from the near distance, but he wasn’t sure what it had been. He stood up and then crouched down as he scuttled to the front window.

  Looking outside, he saw nothing. Everything appeared calm next door where the bikers slept, and he saw nothing else moving.

  Must be my damn mind playing tricks on me.

  He laughed at himself and stood up straight. Feeling fully awake now, he wasn’t sure how or if he’d fall asleep again, but he needed to try.

  As he turned to lay back down on the ground, he heard the noise again—a muffled scream. It sounded like a small animal being attacked by a wolf or some other kind of predatory animal.

  Dax quickly went to the window again, gazed into the night, and saw that it wasn’t a wolf.

  At the back side of the parking lot, behind a shed, he saw the glow—the eyes of a Screamer.

  Only, something was different about this one.

  While all the Screamers he’d seen so far had had an orange tint to their eyes, this glow he saw now was blue. But what else could it be? It had to be one of them.

  In a nearby pile of debris, Dax found a piece of broken wood with a pointed end.

  Glancing back at the building next door, Dax noticed something else.

  “What the fuck?”

  He placed his sweaty palm on the handle and pushed the door open, being careful where he stepped and making sure the door didn’t slam into the wall. As far as he knew, the Screamer had no idea he was there.

  Walking slowly across the parking lot, Dax heard the creature snarl as it tore into its prey. He had no doubt now that this night stalker was a Screamer.

  Dax arrived at the shed and put his back against the wall before he poked his head around the corner. Two old, red gas cans sat against the wall. Bright blue eyes illuminated the remains of the rabbit that the Screamer was devouring.

  It didn’t seem to know that Dax was there. All he had to do was come up behind it and break the thing’s neck.

  The Screamer stopped chewing and looked up.

  Dax bolted from behind the shed and grabbed the Screamer’s head and chin, twisting and snapping the thing’s neck before it could fight back. The Screamer went limp and fell to the ground, the blue glow fading from its eyes.

  His heart racing, Dax inhaled and then blinked as he noticed the fallen creature’s clothing. Dax set the makeshift stake down and, with a trembling hand, took his flashlight from his belt and shined it on the dead Screamer.

  The Confederate flag patch was prominent across the back of a leather vest. Dax kneeled and shined the light into the man’s face.

  It was Billy, the biker with the few teeth who’d i
nvited him to join them.

  Had the gang had a Screamer among their group this whole time? But how had it traveled with them during the day? Dax had seen Screamers doing everything they could to avoid sunlight. This Screamer had been riding on the open road, acting and talking like a human.

  “You’re supposed to be sleeping, Jackson.”

  Dean’s voice startled Dax. And how had he known Dax’s formal name? Stranger than that, his Southern accent was gone, replaced by a British one.

  The lead biker looked different than he had earlier. His blue eyes glowed and pulsed.

  Dax backed away quickly.

  Dean smiled. “I guess you know our little secret now.”

  “Are you all Screamers? How are you able to act like humans? And how are you able to be out riding in the daylight?”

  “We’re full of surprises.”

  The biker hadn’t answered the questions, and Dax didn’t stop asking them.

  “Why are you here? Why didn’t you kill me?”

  “We can’t kill you. Bronwyn would not be pleased with us if we did.”

  “Who the fuck is Bronwyn?”

  “She is a Master—the most powerful vampire in the world. And she wants you. She knows who you are, what you are, and what you’re capable of.”

  “Yeah, well, she can go fuck herself.”

  Dean’s face split into a wide grin. “Oh, Dax—Jackson. There is no way out of this. I am much more powerful than the ‘Screamers’ you have encountered before. And I plan to bring you to Bronwyn, with or without your cooperation. I will do as the Master commands.”

  Dean lunged at Dax then, who sidestepped the vampire. Grabbing onto its leather vest, Dax threw Dean against the shed. He grabbed the makeshift stake from where it had been leaning on the shed and raised it over his head.

  The Screamer’s eyes went wide as Dax drove the point of the stake into its chest. Dean cried out before crumbling to the ground, though, the blue glow fading from his eyes.