Apocalypse: Valhalla's Darkest Hour

[hose]

Sorry, haven't been on for a while. I give the story an 8 also. I am kind of surprised he made it, but I still liked it.

[Airborne Elite 5]

9. Brunak with the WoA abililty. But he rolled all Blanks eventually. Great story!

[TGRF]

Originally Posted by Airborne Elite 5

9. Brunak with the WoA abililty. But he rolled all Blanks eventually. Great story!

Why thank you. I'm glad you liked it!

~TGRF.

[TheAverageFan]

Indeed, and one I personally wouldn't mind seeing a sequel to eventually.

But one Apocalypse at a time, right?

~TAF

[TGRF]

Originally Posted by TheAverageFan

Indeed, and one I personally wouldn't mind seeing a sequel to eventually.

But one Apocalypse at a time, right?

~TAF

Yeah, I kind of doubt there will be a sequel. I would need to have the time to write fan fiction again, which would probably mean that my novels would be developed and at least one would be written. And if I came back to fan fiction, I'd probably want to get my long-promised Code 4114 out.

But who knows?

~TGRF, developing novel 3 of 4.

[William099]

Originally Posted by The Grim Reaper's Friend

Yeah, I kind of doubt there will be a sequel. I would need to have the time to write fan fiction again, which would probably mean that my novels would be developed and at least one would be written. And if I came back to fan fiction, I'd probably want to get my long-promised Code 4114 out.

But who knows?

~TGRF, developing novel 3 of 4.

When you say developing novel 3 of 4 does that mean that you have some released for purchase already? If so where are they at?

[William099]

Just finished rereading this story. As good as ever. It ends with "that's a story for another time" please and maybe? :P lol

[TGRF]

Originally Posted by William099

When you say developing novel 3 of 4 does that mean that you have some released for purchase already? If so where are they at?

Very, very old novels. That idea got a much needed remake a long time ago. I'm now back where I belong, on the first novel. So no, no novels are out yet. Believe me, you guys will be the first to know when they are. Publishers love an established reader base.

Originally Posted by William099

Just finished rereading this story. As good as ever. It ends with "that's a story for another time" please and maybe? :P lol

Maybe, but probably not. I tend to leave my stories open-ended just in case I get a sudden flash of inspiration for a sequel, but this particular story is over. There are currently no plans for a sequel.

~TGRF.

[TGRF]

I really have no idea what caused me to write Apocalypse (or AV as I call it). The urge popped into my head one day and never left. That doesn't mean writing it was easy. As I mentioned in the Author's Note, I have forty-seven pages of failed drafts. Whether any of those drafts will see the light of day, I cannot say. I recall some of them as being pretty good, and some of them as being pretty bad.

One thing which I do have is three chapters. These three chapters originally opened the fan fiction, and were much later replaced, once I finally knew how to write the tale. They started out strong, but by chapter three I was treading water, trying to figure out what I had done wrong. Despite that... they actually turned out pretty good. Aside from the fact that they led nowhere.

These three chapters paint a different picture of Mike. They occur right when the zombie apocalypse is beginning. No one understands what is happening; fear is everywhere, and the civilians are being evacuated to the East, to the coast...

Spoiler Alert!

Another line of fire ignited on the distant horizon, flaring brightly for a moment before subsiding back to an angry red glow. It joined the other fires, creating a chain of flame miles long, stretching from beyond the curve of the world on one side, to the endless shadows of night on the other. The fires were at least five miles away, but their heat could still be felt.
“How much farther?” a small voice asked, dry with exhaustion.
Mike turned. His six-year-old daughter, Sarah, was stumbling along beside him, her eyes heavy with much-needed rest.
“Not much,” Mike replied, stooping down and picking her up. “We’ll be there before you know it.”
Sarah nodded – somewhat groggily – and leaned against her father. It wasn’t long before her breathing slowed, indicating that she was at last asleep. Mike couldn’t blame her for being so tired. No six-year-old should have to travel nearly two hundred miles in such a short time.
A red beam of light lit up the sky on the horizon. It fell from the dark clouds, the laser beam remaining motionless for nearly a second before disappearing. Another line of fire flared into existence.
The red light shone on Sarah’s face, casting deep shadows over her. Mike watched her for a moment, asleep, peaceful, nestled against him. She was so small, so perfect. She deserved a better life than this.
Mike himself was tired. He had been walking for the entire day, not even stopping for meals. There was no time to stop, no time to rest. The mass of refugees he was a part of had been winding its way eastwards for a week now. At first the line had been full of talk and laughter. There was no need for worry, after all. The inhabitants of Valhalla had faced far worse than a mere invasion by Utgar’s hordes. But then the fires had begun, and with their flickering light the laughter died. Smiles were replaced with tense frowns, and the pace had quickened. No one had needed to tell them. They could all sense this was more than just another battle. This was different, more real somehow.
“Are we there yet?”
The familiar voice came from behind Mike, its words slurred with tiredness as well. Even though he had heard it at least a hundred times today alone, Mike still smiled at it.
“Nearly,” he said to his son, lowering his voice so he wouldn’t wake Sarah.
Tom sighed as he fell in beside his father. He was three years older than Sarah, but the journey had drained even his boundless energy. “Do they have food there?” he asked tonelessly.
Mike repressed a smile. “Some,” he said. “But we’ll only be staying there the night.”
Tom yawned. “It’s night now,” he said.
He had a point. The sky was no longer streaked with yellow and orange, but had rather descended into a deep blue. Waves of cloud could still be seen marching across it, their white undersides illuminated by the now invisible sun. The sky was just dark enough to allow the first of the stars to be seen. It would have been a very peaceful summer night if it weren’t for the flickering red glow on the horizon.
A blue light flashed into existence barely twenty feet in front of them. Tom jerked awake, but Mike, who knew what it was, continued walking forward, keeping his pace steady so he wouldn’t wake Sarah.
The light began slowly flashing on and off. It wasn’t terribly bright, but against the growing darkness, it seemed to burn with each flash.
“What is it?” asked Tom, temporarily alert.
“Just the transport,” Mike said. “It’s signaling the gate. We’re nearly there.”
The blue light flashed back on, and with it this time came several other lights. Lines of small LEDs clicked on, illuminating the outline of the large transport in front of them. Up ahead, powerful headlights flared into existence, their blue beams sweeping the road ahead.
Despite being made entirely out of metal and circuit wires, the transport was not technically a machine. It was a soulborg, albeit a very special one.
Most soulborgs, when their time had come, had opted for a humanoid body. Inhabiting the shell of a robot (or robota, as the soulborgs called them) would be change enough; they didn’t need the added challenge of learning to operate without legs or arms. A very few, however, had chosen the design that was needed. This design, as it so happened, was most similar to a large tank.
The soulborg was the size of a truck. It was supported by four powerful legs, encased in thick armor and riddled with springs and foam to absorb shock. A large turret was mounted on top of its rectangular body, the twin barrels currently resting in slots along the roof. The body tapered down slightly in the front, and then abruptly ended, and armored cube – packed with sensors – serving as a head. It was difficult to think of the escort as a thinking person when it looked so like a machine.
Tom stared at the soulborg as if he had never seen it before, despite the fact that it had been walking in front of them for nearly the entire day. “How can it tell if we’re there?” he asked.
Fortunately, Mike had no need to explain about the soulborg’s various sensors. Instead, he drew Tom’s attention to the bright lights up ahead: white searchlights, mounted on walls. They were nearing their destination, which for all the world looked like a concentration camp.
“Where’s your mother, Tom?” Mike asked.
Tom shrugged. “I don’t know. She was back there talking last time I saw her.” He nodded his head back down the long line of refugees.
Mike glanced back behind him. Adelle needed to be with him when they reached the gate, otherwise they wouldn’t let her through. He was the one with the priority status; without him, his family would have to wait days to be let in. And they couldn’t wait days. Not with the fires so close.
“Tom,” Mike said, quickening his pace. “I’m going to find your mother. I want you to watch your sister. Keep her safe. Can you do that?”
Tom blinked. “Sure, Dad,” he said, somewhat blankly.
The soulborg transport had a small space inside, large enough for six men if they crouched. The back was open, and Mike quickly rested Sarah on the floor before picking Tom up and putting him in it too. “Stay there,” he said, as Sarah raised her head drowsily. “I’ll be back in a minute.”
Mike took off through the crowd. It was truly dark now, the only source of light coming from either the white lights up ahead, or the blue ones of the soulborgs. The transports were beginning to herd the people towards the gates, which Mike could now see were wide open, allowing the refugees to stream through them.
Mike struggled through the crowd. They were surging forwards, eager to get inside, eager to eat and finally sink into sleep. It was getting harder and harder for Mike to make progress. He could barely see the faces of the people he was passing. He was never going to find Adelle in this…
“Mike! What are you doing back here? You’re group is up front.”
Mike skidded to a halt and turned around, searching for the owner of the voice. A moment later, Drake materialized out of the darkness in front of him.
“Drake,” Mike gasped, slightly out of breath from pushing through so many people, “have you seen Adelle? She’s not up front, and Tom said she was back here somewhere.”
A concerned light lit Drake’s eyes. He pulled a radio from his belt and held the switch down.
“Does anyone have a location on Adelle Edwards?” he asked.
He waited. There was only static for a moment. And then a voice snapped into existence. “She’s back here,” came Finn’s static-ridden voice. “One of the women took sick, and she’s been tending to her.”
“Sick?” inquired Drake sharply. “You don’t mean…”
“No, nothing like that,” Finn replied. “I would have mentioned it before this. She’s safe with me; I’ll make sure she gets through.”
“Thanks, Finn,” Drake said. He replaced the radio on his belt.
“I owe you one, Drake,” Mike said.
Drake waved his hand. “You owe me nothing. You’ve helped me out plenty of times. Now get up to the front, I need to get these people organized.”
Mike dashed off, racing with the crowd this time, back to his children. He had barely gone twenty steps however, before the scene changed.
Short, sharp sirens suddenly blared from the escorts. The sirens were single notes, repeated in clusters of five. They were accompanied by flashing red lights atop each soulborg. The turrets on the escorts suddenly rose a few inches, lifting their twin barrels from the roof. They swiveled to face backwards, rose a few more inches, liberating a long gun track from the roof as well, and then swung around to point to the left, south, where the fires were. The scene changed instantly.
The crowd surged forwards, all semblance of order gone. Shouts and screams echoed up from the mass of people as they struggled onwards, frantic not to be the last person. The escorts stopped moving. Thick metal rods, running the length of the soulborgs, slowly extended outwards diagonally from their sides until they just touched the ground. Mike knew what that meant. The rods were there for support. They were used to stabilize the soulborgs when they fired.
“Tom!” he yelled, rushing forwards with everyone else. “Sarah!”
In the darkness, all the transports looked the same. The blue lights flashed by as Mike ran, blinding him and blurring the large numbers painted on the sides of the escorts. He couldn’t even remember which one he had left his children in. He glanced to his left as he ran, to where the fires still shone. He felt dread seize his heart.
Something huge was hovering over the fires now, something as long as five houses end to end. It was ghostly white, the fires illuminating it from below. If Mike hadn’t known what it was, he would have run even faster. However, most of the refugees behind him didn’t seem to know what it was, with the result the Mike was pushed along with greater speed anyway.
It wasn’t the gigantic craft the filled him with fear. It was what it meant. The object was a soulborg glider – a massive wingspan built with the lightest materials possible. It was designed to circle at high altitudes, using rising air to stay aloft. It was mounted only with one extremely powerful gun – a gun which could decimate a city block in an instant. It’s presence could mean only one thing.
Mike finally found the transport he had left his children in. They were both awake now, wide-eyed and frightened. Sarah jumped down and ran to him when she saw him.
“What’s going on, Daddy?” she cried, shivering at the sight of the enormous glider.
Mike scooped her up and ran with her back to the transport. “Don’t worry,” he whispered to her. “Everything’s fine. We’re almost there.”
“Where’s Mom?” Tom asked as Mike placed Sarah back in the transport.
“She’s back with Uncle Finn,” Mike said, swinging himself up into the transport as well. “She’ll get through all right,” he added, though whether to comfort himself or his children, or he wasn’t sure.
No sooner had the words left his mouth, than the escorts opened fire.
Every gun blazed at once. A deafening roar surged out from the convoy, followed by silence, and then a dull thunder as the shells landed far away. It was at that point that Mike remembered the escorts weren’t moving. They couldn’t move and aim at the same time, at least not reliably.
He jumped down, placed Tom on the ground next to him, and picked Sarah up. “Hold on to me,” he told Tom. “Whatever you do, do not let go. We cannot get separated.”
Tom nodded, his eyes wide.
Mike gripped his son’s hand and plunged into the crowd. He glanced to the fires one last time, but their brightness was dimmed now. Silhouetted against their fiery depths was a rolling, seething blackness, a milling shadow that was pouring towards them.
They were coming.

The dash to the gate was a blur of darkness and blue lights. Screams and cries permeated the air, punctuated by the regular roar of the escorts’ guns, all drowned out by the rushing footfalls of the crowd.
At least until they reached the gate.
The soulborgs had long since conquered panic. They had driven it from themselves with the cold calculations of machines, and they had enforced it in those under their protection with the threat of a swift death.
The crowd poured through the open gates in disorganization. Once in the massive room beyond, however, panic died, leaving only a terrible, gnawing fear. The reason for this was suspended above the crowd, watching them all through the latest in Valhallaian targeting technology. If one person tried to pass the check point without authorization, he would be disintegrated by five soulborg blasters within the second. No one was taking any chances.
Mike filed into line along with everyone else. They moved forward with painful slowness, even though Mike could see that the robota performing the scans were going as fast as they could. These were no soulborgs, for none could be spared. Every last one was needed either for protection, or at the front lines.
The escorts’ sirens could still be heard outside, their panic-inducing cry lessened somewhat by the thick walls. People continued to flood into the massive room until there was no more space. The enclosing walls, the lessened sound, the enforced order – it all somehow inspired a sense of security. Ruthless security, but security all the same. There could be no panic here.
The feeling was lessened considerably once the check point’s own guns roared to life, bombarding whatever was coming with incendiary rounds the size of a man. And still, no one made a break for the protection that lay beyond the doors. The soulborg blasters hung motionless, watching the crowd with unfaltering accuracy.
At last, after what seemed several hours, though it was in reality only a few minutes, Mike and his children stepped in front of the robota.
The metal shell looked at them impassively, its three red eyes conveying nothing whatsoever. After a brief scrutiny of each of them, it turned to Mike and asked in a toneless metallic voice, “Registration?”
“Vydar MC,” Mike replied.
“Name?”
“Michael Edwards.”
A brief pause. “Confirmed. Additionals?”
“Two children: Tom and Sarah, and my wife, Adelle. She’s coming with Finn.”
“Confirmed and noted. Proceed.”
Mike led his children past the robota, through a pair of double doors, and into a dark room lit with blue lights. Here another robota waited.
“Please stand by,” it said blankly as they stopped before it. “You are required to wait thirty seconds in this area before moving on.”
They waited. Sarah wrinkled her nose. “It smells funny in here,” she said.
“It’s all right,” Mike said. “Breathe it in.”
The air did in fact smell strange, like a mixture of cleaning chemicals and something stronger, sharper, almost like rotting fruit. It wasn’t pleasant to breathe in, but Mike knew the strange smell could save their lives. Supposedly, anyway.
“You may proceed,” the robota said at last. “Please note that your transport will leave tomorrow at fifteen hundred.”
Mike nodded and led the way past the robota and through another pair of doors. Beyond them lay the check point: a hastily constructed shelter, a resting place for fugitives before they were transported to a safe location.
The trouble was, there were hardly any safe locations left in Valhalla. And this check point wasn’t one of them.

Chapter Two to follow...

~TGRF, who has not forgotten the rest of Ragnak's drafts.

[TheAverageFan]

Nifty intro to what probably would've been a much different tale, TGRF. While we're on the subject of behind-the-scenes content, I had a question regarding your opening post:

Originally Posted by The Grim Reaper's Friend

If you ever plan on writing novels, know this: zombie novels will fall apart unless you build them right. I regret to say... that I did not build this one right. It took me no less than seven failed starts, two complete revisions, and around 19,500 words before I could begin to get the fan fiction into a form that I was able to get through. I have a forty-seven page document comprised of nothing but failed drafts. Fortunately, I was eventually able to pin down the multitude of problems and twist the fiction into a workable shape.

Perhaps you could share what about the construction of this particular fic did or didn't work or why the construction of zombie stories is so important. I know they run out of steam real fast (a la Walking Dead) unless you shake things up consistently. But as an expert in not just writing but also the intricacies of formatting and layout you'd probably be better versed in explaining that idea.

~TAF

[TGRF]

Originally Posted by TheAverageFan

Nifty intro to what probably would've been a much different tale, TGRF. While we're on the subject of behind-the-scenes content, I had a question regarding your opening post:

Perhaps you could share what about the construction of this particular fic did or didn't work or why the construction of zombie stories is so important. I know they run out of steam real fast (a la Walking Dead) unless you shake things up consistently. But as an expert in not just writing but also the intricacies of formatting and layout you'd probably be better versed in explaining that idea.

~TAF

It's difficult to say. I've written so much since AV, and my methods have changed so much, that I remember very little about the development. All I have to go off of is what I wrote, and because a lot of my inspiration happens off of paper, I haven't found much which is illuminating. I'll try and piece it together though.

I think the original desire to write AV came from the setting. There's something about an isolated group of people surrounded on all sides by endless mindless monsters. It brings out the best, and the worst, in people. In all honesty, there are a lot of ways to do that, but zombies are likely one of the easiest.

I wrote AV at the worst possible time I could have. It was right at the point where I realized that my old process for writing no longer worked, and I as yet didn't know what did work. So there was a lot of missteps and a lot of procrastination which led nowhere. A lot of ideas about what might work were floating around, virtually all of which proved to be wrong or useless.

The biggest effect this had was on the theme. I'm sure you know that I like to create my tales based on a central message, which I call a theme. Because AV was inspired purely by setting, there was no theme, meaning I had to invent one and hope it fit. It didn't. Neither did the next one. Nor the next one. Ultimately, I never found the right theme. I found one which enabled the tale to work, but the fact that it wasn't quite a perfect fit made the whole tale forced as I wrote it. You can see this in some areas - especially everything between Mike's hijacking of the transport to getting into the building.

So that got everything off on the wrong foot. From there I was staggering along with the development, trying out new ideas and old ideas side by side. I now know that the character was seriously under-developed - only after recently trying to help someone else with developing characters did I realize how much I had failed to do (side-note: Don't be afraid to help others just because you don't have it down: writing an answer often points me in the right direction).

Then came the dreaded stakes. I had been struggling with stakes a lot before this. I never got the 'escalation of stakes' idea for some reason. It didn't help that my whole idea of stakes was flawed due to misreading something back when I was developing my Feylund series.

If there is something that AV did do correctly, it was actually escalating the stakes. I watched some TV episodes which escalated the stakes endlessly and perfectly, and without really knowing how, was able to incorporate the same thing into AV. The key phrase was: "everything gets worse". The characters never succeed directly; they always run into new problems. I was able to do that in AV, particularly in the final scenes in the building.

Ultimately it came down to poor planning on a shaky base. By the time I was finishing AV, I was more than ready to start on my next fiction.

As for zombie stories on a whole... the exact meaning of my words eludes me (that's the problem with not explaining yourself). I think the tendency with zombie stories (and take this with a grain of salt, as I am in absolutely no position to critique them, having read none) is to rely on the zombies too much.

A zombie story is just like any other story. You still need all the parts. I think authors can get caught up with the zombie action and start to short-change the story, the characters, and the rest of what the novel needs. Usually the only purpose of zombie stories is zombie-action. That's not a purpose. That's mindless entertainment. Ultimately, the novel is pointless. If I'm going to write something, I want it to actually have weight. I don't want to write something to amuse someone for an hour, after which they never think of it again. I want to cause the reader to remember what he read, and mull it over long after it's over. Those are the novels that stay with you.

I tried to do that with AV, with limited success. Ultimately it was based on zombie-action. But it had a story. It had a theme (however convoluted). It even had a twist on the zombies in an effort at originality. It failed at some things, but it succeeded at others. Hit and miss. The fact that it came out after Red didn't really help my mood towards it, which is probably why I just spent way too much text downplaying it.

At the end of the day it worked. Shakily and not as good as it could have been, but it worked.

~TGRF, who will admit that an infinite series of sequels is well within the realm of possibility. But it will likely stay in that realm.

[TGRF]

I've located the drafts (which is surprisingly well organized considering all that was going on at the time). It appears to have everything I ever wrote for AV in it, so it should be easy going from here.

Chapter 2 of 3:

Spoiler Alert!

The refugees had been traveling for nearly a week, always with the same goal: get to the check point. Their destination had come to be synonymous with safety; if they could but reach it, they would be protected. Everything would be all right. However, while the check point was surrounded by a thick wall and guarded by soulborg blasters, it did not present a feeling of safety.
As Mike led his children down the single cracked street, he couldn’t help but notice the atmosphere. Everyone they met hurried by without speaking. Everyone moved in straight lines, as if bent on getting back inside as soon as possible. All the men looked grim, as if they were preparing for their final day. All the women looked silently frightened, as if they expected the world to suddenly blink out of existence about them. And the children, the children were the worst of all. Half of them didn’t know what was going on, and the expressions worn by their parents only made them twice as scared.
Both Sarah and Tom were fully awake now. Mike could see they were getting scared, frightened by the silent people they passed, and the gloomy darkness surrounding the check point wasn’t helping any. The gunfire still continued from beyond the walls, which Mike supposed was a good thing, but the deafening sound only made his children more afraid. Even he was a getting a bit nervous by now.
“Where’s Momma?” Sarah asked, her voice a bit higher than usual.
“She’ll be here soon,” Mike said, spotting the building they had been assigned and heading for it. “Don’t worry, she’ll be here before you know it.”
The building had been thrown together quickly. The walls were thin, the rooms were cramped, and the beds were uncomfortable. Rickety lamps stood next to futuristic soulborg lights. The floor was wood, but the ceiling was metal. The building was long, containing a hall on one side, affording access to the twenty thin rooms which had been squashed next to each other.
Mike looked for number nine and pushed the door open. The interior of the room was hardly better than the outside of the building, and the flickering light in the corner didn’t improve things much. Tom and Sarah, however, entered the room without question, fell upon the small bed in the corner, and were soon fast asleep.

“How is she?”
“Better. It was mostly just anxiety and the journey. Nothing a good night’s sleep won’t cure.”
Mike glanced at the floor. “You shouldn’t have done that. Stayed there, I mean. You knew we were nearly there, you knew I’d want you with me.”
“I know,” Adelle sighed. “But I couldn’t leave her. She was sick, and she needed me. The day we put our own needs before those of others is the day all trace of humanity vanishes. You know that.”
“I know,” Mike said, still watching the floor. “It’s just…” he looked up. “Sometimes it’s just hard. Especially now.”
Sarah stirred, causing both Mike and Adelle to look up. She only rubbed her nose and turned over, however, continuing to sleep.
“You should rest, Mike,” Adelle said softly after a moment.
“I can’t,” Mike said, his eyes still on the sleeping form of Sarah. “I know what’s going on, even if Jandar hasn’t officially told the Alliance yet. I don’t know exactly what’s after us, but I know it’s like nothing we’ve ever faced before. I can’t sleep while that… thing, whatever it is, is still out there.”
Adelle looked apprehensive. “It’s just Utgar, Mike. Jandar is only so worried because Utgar’s never gotten this far north before.”
Mike looked into Adelle’s eyes. “Do you really believe that?” he asked, keeping his voice low so he wouldn’t wake the children. “After what we’ve seen and heard, do you still think it’s Utgar?”
Adelle hesitated. “I think he’s summoned something new, some new legion probably. That’s all. The Alliance will stop it, they always have.”
Mike raised an eyebrow. “Adelle, you cannot seriously believe that. There barely is an Alliance anymore. Whatever this thing is, it’s cut us off completely from the rest of the Valkyrie. Aquilla went first, quickly followed by Einar. Total silence. Then Utgar’s armies withdrew. More silence. Then our own armies withdrew. It’s almost like Jandar went south to find out what had happened, and came back knowing something we didn’t. The soulborgs started manufacturing guns, escorts, vehicles, all sorts of devices. The kyrie started putting up these shelters everywhere, but always on the coast. Jandar ordered everyone to move to Haukeland. Then the panic started. Vydar went silent. Ullar went west, and was never heard from again. The fires started; people started leaving in earnest.
“Whatever is going on, Adelle, we aren’t stopping it. We’re fleeing from it. We’re trying to get out of the way before it reaches us. If anything, I think Utgar summoned something even he can’t control.”
Adelle had gone slightly white while Mike spoke. She glanced at her sleeping children, and was silent for a long time. When she finally spoke, it was in a whisper. A scared, frightened whisper.
“If you’re right, Mike, then I think Jandar’s made the right choice. If everyone knew, there would be panic. The transports would be overwhelmed and no one would get out. But I hope you’re wrong. For our children’s sakes, I hope you’re wrong.”
Mike glanced at Sarah. “I hope I’m wrong too,” he said quietly.
Out in the hall, a door banged open. The door was sufficiently rickety and far away that the sound was plenty muffled, but it still made Mike and Adelle jump.
“The last of the refugees came through long ago,” Adelle said uncertainly.
Mike stood. “It’s probably just a guard. I saw several of them outside.”
Another door creaked down the hall, as if it was begin opened softly. Mike glanced at his wife. That didn’t sound like a guard.
There was silence for nearly a minute. Just when Mike had convinced himself that he and Adelle were simply jumpy, just when he was sure that someone had merely returned to their room from outside, they heard a soft thump.
If they hadn’t been listening for it, they wouldn’t have heard it. It was muffled, but it sounded heavy. There were two more thumps, quieter than the first. Then the creaking of the door again, and then silence.
“Mike?” Adelle whispered.
Mike glanced at her. She was very white now, standing between the door and her children.
“It’s probably nothing,” Mike assured her, whispering all the same. “But I’ll go and make sure.”
Mike crossed the room and eased the door open. Thankfully, its hinges were silent. He couldn’t hear or see a thing beyond the door, so he stepped into the hall, and closed it behind him.
Mike was a Microcorp Agent. Or at least he had been. He had been on Valhalla for twenty years, and he had accepted that he was never going back to Earth. That wasn’t the official status, of course, but every soldier found it out for himself eventually.
Vydar had discharged him with honors upon his request, after ten years of service. The last ten years Mike had spent living in Jandar’s lands, married to Adelle. Adelle herself had been summoned from Earth. Jandar had sworn her to secrecy about his reason for summoning her, but Mike had gathered that she had been a scientist when she was in service, helping Jandar develop chemical weapons. That had been long ago, however. Now, they were both simply civilians.
That didn’t mean that Mike had forgotten his training, or that he no longer had his Microcorp armor. It did mean that he wasn’t wearing it, however. Standing still in the darkness, Mike slowly unholstered his gun (no agent leaves their gun behind, in service or not), and withdrew an eyepiece from an inner pocket in his armor.
Mike strapped the eyepiece around his head, and placed it securely over his right eye. The darkness was instantly illuminated with green, revealing the empty hall. It was always handy to have night vision in a pocket.
Everything was silent. Mike moved to the far side of the hall, the better to see the doors. Nothing looked out of place. Nothing, that was, except for the door to number two, which was standing wide open.
Mike watched the dark space for a moment, not moving. It was the dead of night. Who would leave their door open at such an hour?
Slowly, testing the floorboards before he put his weight on them, Mike crept forward. He kept his gun pointed down – even the best of training can be overcome by instinct. He passed number eighteen, then seventeen, then sixteen…
A sound from number two made him freeze. It was brief, and very faint, but it was still extremely disquieting. The sound had been that of something being dragged across a wooden floor. Not something heavy. Something soft and dry, but hard. Mike tried to think of what it could be, but the only thing that came to mind was dry parchment, and he knew that wasn’t right. He started to edge forwards again. He passed number fifteen, then fourteen, then thirteen… total silence enveloped him. Twelve, eleven, ten, nine…
A sharp creak issued from the open doorway of number two. This sound was different. It didn’t sound like hinges… it sounded more like bedsprings. Two more, softer creaks came, and then silence. Mike could have sworn something had just jumped on a bed. Not much else could make that noise. He continued forward, moving slightly faster now… eight, seven, six, five, four…
He stopped in front of number three, listening hard. Everything was pitch black, even with his night vision. Mike knew he would have to stand directly in front of the door to number two in order to see inside, and somehow, it was not something he wanted to do.
But then he heard the breathing. It was soft, so soft he hadn’t heard it right away. It was rasping, dry, as if the owner hadn’t had water for days. It was quick, almost more panting than actual breathing. It was also coming closer.
Mike flattened himself against the wall between numbers two and three, gun held ready. The breathing came closer, slowly, shuffling its feet. Or were those wings? Mike couldn’t tell, they sounded so dry, like the skin was not much more than old paper.
When the breathing was mere inches from the doorway, it stopped. It stopped so suddenly and so completely, that Mike wondered briefly if he had imagined it. There was no sound whatsoever. Mike got a firmer grip on his gun, but nothing happened.
Just as he was preparing to jump into the doorway and face whatever it was, he heard a tremendous crash. He thought for one wild moment that a wall must have caved in somewhere. A few voices, sleepy and confused, issued from the other bedrooms at the sound.
Mike leapt away from the wall, spinning to face the doorway, his gun leveled. His night vision, however, revealed only an empty room.
Mike blinked. That wasn’t right. There had been a family here, he had seen them come in. A father, a mother, and a teenage boy. He swept the room with his eyes again. Everything seemed in place. Everything except for… that jar on the floor. And surely that chair wouldn’t be left lying on its side like that. And why were the sheets on the beds so ruffled? And where was the family? A few lights had been switched on in the neighboring rooms at the crash, but they had all clicked back off by now, and silence returned.
Something strange was going on here. Mike made a final sweep of the room, but it was definitely empty. Maybe the family had to catch a late transport. Yes, that had to be it. Mike knew that the transports ran throughout the night, shuttling people off of Valhalla and onto Haukeland. They had probably been asleep, misjudged the time, and had to leave in a hurry. That would explain the jar and chair, anyway. They could have been knocked over in their haste.
Mike holstered his gun and walked silently back to his own room, being careful not to tread on any loose boards. He must be getting jumpy if he was starting to mistake a family leaving for… whatever it was he had mistaken it for.
Mike had thoroughly convinced himself that he had imagined the noises in the room by the time he arrived back at his own door. He eased it open, not wanting to wake Tom and Sarah. The room was much as he had left it. The only source of light was a single candle, flickering serenely on the table. There were two very important changes, however.
The first thing Mike saw was that Adelle was lying on the floor against the wall, apparently unconscious. The second was that there was a man, his flesh an odd yellowish black, standing over his daughter’s bed, gathering his legs under him, ready to spring.

To be continued...

~TGRF.

P.S. After glancing through the drafts, there's some good stuff in there. Unfortunately, a good portion of it is chapters taking place after content which for some reason isn't there. There are a few alternate chapters to the actual thing that got posted - but those were deleted for good reason, and likely won't see the light of day. There are also several alternate openings, though this current one is the longest.