Amen to rot awaken, p.1
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       Amen to Rot: Awaken, p.1

           Bryce Bentley Summers
 
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Amen to Rot: Awaken


  AMEN to ROT: Awaken

  ~BOOK ONE~

  Of the AMEN to ROT Series

  Third Edition

  BRYCE BENTLEY SUMMERS

  ~~~

  Copyright © 2013 by Bryce Bentley Summers. All rights reserved.

  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 return to your favorite ebook retailer and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

  BOOKS BY BRYCE BENTLEY SUMMERS

  AMEN TO ROT SERIES

  Book 1: AMEN to ROT: Awakened

  Book 2: AMEN to ROT: Alien Virus

  Book 3: AMEN to ROT: Hatched

  Book 4: AMEN to ROT: Mase Warrior

  Book 5: NYTE GOD

  COMBINED BOOK FORMATS

  * Amen to Rot: Books One Through Four

  ** Amen to Rot: Books One Through Four, with Illustrations

  * This book contains no illustrations; ** This book contains illustrations.

  Authored under name of B. Bentley Summers

  FRESH MEAT

  COMING SOON ...

  THE ZOMBIE SQUAD

  ROTVILLE

  HANS WOLFF OF WEHR HAMLET

  COMING SOON & Authored Under Bryce B. Summers, Ph.D.

  Queer Sense: How Are Attitudes Towards Lesbian, Gay, Bisexual, & Transgendered People Formed. A revolutionary guide for parents, teens, instructors, and anyone interested in queer theory.

  Table of Contents

  Books by Bryce Bentley Summers

  Prologue

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  The Author

  PROLOGUE

  The World was shifting, changing, and becoming something new.

  It started out as a horrific plague. People could not imagine anything worse. But it became clear that this was the worst disaster imaginable.

  People watched as their friends, lovers, and families died. They then witnessed these same loved ones rise again, wanting to embrace them; not in love but in hunger. Lovers ate their lovers, parents ate their children, animal lovers devoured their pets, and neighbors consumed neighbors.

  These Undead were starved for human flesh.

  This was enough to turn anyone insane, enough to make any person put a gun to one’s head and yank hard on the trigger.

  The masses were in panic, gripped by sheer terror. There was a fleeting moment when hope was alive. A certainty lived in the people’s hearts that someone, a hero, would come to their rescue.

  Isn’t there always a hero?

  But this never came to pass, and hope died.

  Instead, utter hopelessness set in. Survival became the only concern. The most evil of events were happening and no one could stop it.

  But this wasn’t all.

  Something else was out there, creatures not from this world, and they were helping the Undead.

  The world was truly turning to chaos.

  CHAPTER ONE

  Engulfed. Squeezed. Gripped tightly in a sea of coarse grit.

  I jolt to consciousness, my eyes snap open. I’m Awake. I immediately feel the minuscule grain-rock pushing down on my eyes.

  My lips press tightly together as rough miniaturized gravel trickle inside my mouth. A disoriented sensation seizes me as I lie prone and ask myself, Where am I?

  Asking this question spurs me into meditation. My mind becomes aware that my entire body is firmly embraced by dirt. Earth.

  I realize, I’m buried. As I focus on my body, another nagging question slowly surfaces,

  Who am I?

  Lying in this dirt cocoon, I itch to move. This urgency pushes me to wiggle my fingers. I panic as I experience the strange sensation that my fingers are numb.

  They’re gone!

  Shifting my body, I realize my arms are pinched to my side, my head is completely immobile. My impatience grows. The coarse dirt shift on the lens of my eyes. My mind desperately searches for memories.

  I find a fuzzy memory, it’s faint and I can barely see it.

  I focus on this faint memory.

  I’m staring through a window, gazing out at an empty city in the dark and lonely night.

  This memory, I believe, was very recent.

  CHAPTER TWO

  . . . Last Night

  I walk to the window and stare in the distance at the city skyline. There are silhouettes of buildings visible in the waning twilight. Blackness is coming.

  Emptiness.

  Stepping back, I see my reflection. I am a young man with thick dark hair that is messed on the top of my head. I have slight, dark skin, but not from any sun as I easily assume I haven’t been outside for a long time. I’m wearing a white jacket and dark pants.

  Even in this blurry reflection, my eyes look tired. I look like I haven’t slept for a month. I notice my lips are turned down in defeat.

  I step up so I can more clearly see through the window. I stare longingly at the city that was once alive and I find that I am filled with sadness. Standing here, I’m aware that not long ago those buildings all went black. From this viewpoint, I can see the airport which is a few miles away, dark smoke drifts up from it.

  Standing on the upper floor of this medical office, I stare down at the campus courtyard below. It used to bring me peace and calmness, but not tonight. Tonight, it brings coldness to my bones.

  The military had secured this area over a month ago, shutting off surrounding highways, building barricades, and held strict martial law. They set a command post at Dallas Love Field Airport. Military personnel had once thronged the area but they were gone now.

  Turning to look inside the office I am standing in, I look across to the doorway. People are hurrying by in white coats. An illuminating bright light spills from the hallway.

  Something is going on. I do not hear the alarm so I assume that there is no emergency. It does not matter now, time is short and I need to make a decision. I turn back to stare out the window again.

  Inside the city, my eyes observe the blaze. A fire that will burn for days, perhaps even weeks, no one cares any longer about fires. This is not a peaceful night, but another night gripped in an everlasting shroud of darkness. I’m desperate, ready to give up, but hope is clasped in my fingers.

  I glance down at my hand. Clasped in my left hand is a smooth, metallic, cylindrical object. It is basically a high tech syringe. My thumb rubs the trigger that will activate a needle to spring out.

  Will it work? It has to. Hope lies inside.

  CHAPTER THREE

  My mind returns to the tomb that I am inside of.

  I'm immobile, unable to shift my body. The same question forms again in my mind, but it’s faint.

  Who am I?

  This question is quickly forgotten as a scent permeates from above-ground to my nose. My eyes enlarge as my body experiences a shock. My stomach aches and saliva pools inside my mouth, I need to feed.

  Instinctually, my arms shoot upward from my side and I’m surprised as they easily
slice through the ground as if it were butter. I twist, wiggle, and push. Quickly, I find my body ascending. The ground rearranges itself around my upward moving body.

  An arm breaks the surface and I instantly feel cool air on my skin. A final push places me into open air, and I find myself sitting on crumpled dirt mixed with grass and weeds.

  Sitting on this disturbed earth I bend my neck back to gaze up at the sky.

  Stars. It’s night time, almost dawn.

  My eyes have a keen visual acuity that allows me to inventory the scenery around me in detail. Far in the distance is a hint of a smaller city that reminds me of the memory I just had. This one has a sense of emptiness too. Beyond it are mountains.

  I look around me. Ten feet from me is a wooden bench besieged by over-grown grass and weeds. My eyes discern each blade of grass bending softly in the night’s cool breeze, softly tapping the bench.

  My ears pick up the crispness of insects scurrying nearby, a lazy, tranquil gurgle sounds behind me, and I detect the delicate wings of a moth as it lands on the backrest of the bench.

  Turning behind me, there’s an embankment. Beyond it is water. This is the source of that calming, gurgling sound.

  A creek.

  I am experiencing a new world. It seems like I am seeing everything for the first time.

  But I know this world. What is happening? Who am I?

  Rising to my feet, my nostrils catch that fresh savory scent again, which electrifies my body.

  Meat...a feast is nearby.

  I’m dizzy from this scent. In this open area I detect there’s a similar smell that is concentrated in the city far away. But this particular smell is actually quite close.

  Somehow I instinctually gather the source to this scent will nourish me, make me stronger, and help me remember more. I stare at the ground, focusing on that scent. I want to determine its direction so I can ravenously embrace whatever is emitting this delicious smell.

  Yet, this scent soon dissipates in the breeze, and I’m uncertain of the direction to turn. Sighing inwardly, I consider to myself, Be patient. I need time to think.

  I start to put my hand to my forehead, as if it’s a habitual practice from another time. I stop my arm in midair.

  My eyes are transfixed on my wrist.

  I have no hand?

  CHAPTER FOUR

  My eyes attempt to understand the limb before me. This anatomical structure of my arm is altogether wrong. Vulgar.

  From my elbow to where my hand is supposed to be, is an elongated, smooth talon that is lethally pointed at the end.

  Bringing this arm up to my eyes, my mouth gapes open taking in the series of miniature, jagged edges that form a blade. My mind automatically deduces an answer.

  That’s why I can slice through the dirt so easily.

  Examining it closer, I surmise, I can slice through anything. Without thinking, my eyes turn to my other arm, and it looks the same.

  My mind, now desperate for memories, asks emphatically once again, who am I? What am I?!

  Looking down, my feet are nothing but flexible-claws connected to an ankle. My entire body appears to be calloused and roughly textured as if it can withstand any blow. Turning my head, I look over my shoulder at my heels, and observe a large hook claw on the back of each foot. I’m even more bewildered by my thick, reptilian-like tail.

  My mind searches wildly for memories. I search for anything to give me an understanding of what I’m seeing. I remember standing in front of the window, staring at the Dallas city skyline, holding that metal canister.

  This was last night, right?

  Confused, I stare at my arms and clawed feet. I simply know that none of this belongs to me naturally. I know I was once human, but I am certainly not human any more. Strangely, at the same time, it feels … right. In fact, it feels perfect. I wonder to myself, how did I become this . . . thing?

  Believing, hoping that my surroundings will give me answers, I start turning my head back and forth, searching.

  There are sidewalks that twist through overgrown grass and uncountable number of overhanging trees lining them. The large thick trees have mossy leaves that reach down, gently brushing the sidewalks, making a light scraping sound.

  Looking behind me again is the creek. The water flows leisurely over the rocks.

  I look around me one more time. I examine the area I’m standing in, taking in the overhanging trees, overgrown grass, and the lazily flowing creek. This is a park.

  Turning to the bench near me, my eyes focus on the bench seat where a wrinkled worn poster sits. A rock has been placed on the poster’s edge.

  On this poster is a picture of a man wearing a white suit. His arms are splayed out in front of him with his palms upward as if he wants to embrace someone. The man’s head is bent back, his eyes are closed, and his mouth is yawned open. He appears to be bellowing out a song.

  On the bottom of the picture are faded letters that once formed words, but are now mostly unreadable but I can just make them out.

  Join us … Sunday … AMEN.

  My eyes fixate on one word, AMEN.

  Staring at this word, AMEN, with the scent in the air, activates a series of indescribable emotions, stirs layers of dim memories.

  A faint memory comes to me. My father is standing near a river, holding a fishing pole.

  Dad used to take me fishing here.

  I can just barely hear his voice. I hear him say, "Amen".

  I repeat the word in my mind. Amen. Amen? Isn’t that my name?

  A soft breeze buffs my face, and the smell of sweet air attacks my nostrils again. It rivets my attention, distracting me. I’m invigorated by this scent.

  All of my senses are acute, and I’m attuned to every detail around me. I know the direction to take.

  Before I start off, I think one last time on the word Amen.

  I consider that faint memory of my father speaking. His voice is muted, it’s an echo of a time passed. I have intuition that remembering him will help me remember who I am.

  I recall he loved to use the word Amen. I decide, My name is Amen.

  As I walk down the sidewalk through overflowing weeds, my mind reels back to that memory of me standing in front of the office window.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  . . . Last Night

  I am standing in front of the window, staring out at the distant skyscrapers. A fire rages in the city. There is more commotion in the hallway. I turn and see a white face peek in the door, seeming to frantically search the room but then it disappears.

  I realize I am standing in the shadows and no one can see me. Placing my hand to my waist, I take my radio off my belt then stare at it. It is turned off.

  I turn one last time to the city skyline before I leave to find out what is causing the commotion outside. I notice movement below and look down. My heart starts to race as I see three people running outside. The last few military personnel we have on site are heading towards the building, their rifles unslung, screaming into their radios.

  Within the next second the hair on the back of my neck stands up. Someone, something is suddenly standing behind me. My eyes catch the reflection of the pale figure in the window, right before the icy, bone-chilling fingers grip my shoulder.

  I jerk away instinctually and one thought races through my mind.

  I know whose fingers these belong to.

  Then, the next thought I have is … Oh God, it’s now or never.

  I spin, knowing what I will see. My heart beats, pounds in my chest, my left hand grips the canister with dear life. I turn to fully face … Him.

  I stare at him.

  A person I once loved.

  CHAPTER SIX

  I blink my eyes as I stand on the sidewalk, realizing I just lost the scent once again.

  I walk down the sidewalk with my nose raised up, trying to capture that smell one more time. The sidewalk has winded out into a large grassy meadow with a large thick row of trees lining one side of the s
idewalk. I observe the sea of tall weeds and grass that bend lightly in the night breeze. Across this meadow is a small pond surrounded by foliage and trees.

  Walking, I reflect on this memory.

  That metal syringe I held. Did it turn me?

  I instantly forget this thought when I hear the screaming, a child shrieking into the night.

  It’s far ahead. In fact, the screaming seems to be very far across the park, beyond a large lake. The helpless shrieking grows desperate. The screaming, even though it is distant, is piercing and nerve wrenching as if it was a foot in front of me.

  Suddenly, there is pain that jolts throughout my body, and I find myself stumbling to the thicket of trees. I place my forearm, with its razor sharp edge, against the tree and immediately feel it cutting into the bark.

  I lean on the tree as an electric pulse of pain pulsates throughout my body. A crippling pain grips my entire being, and I fall to my knees, shaking with fear.

  I hear sounds filling my ears, and it sounds guttural, inhuman, and monstrous. I realize I am hearing myself.

  Am I sobbing?

  I am again taken back to that memory of standing in that office.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  . . . Last Night

  The office window is behind me, touching my back.

  He stands in front of me with yellow eyes that are filled with hunger, rage, and pain. He has pale yellowish skin, thin brown hair, and is wearing a white uniform that is torn and stained with blood. He had been a patient at the main command center not long ago.

  I watch as he bares his teeth down and I smell the harsh stench escaping his breath. A tear falls down my face and my lips quiver in fear and sadness.

  I try to step backwards, forgetting the window is right behind me. My heel bumps up against the glass. The metal vial in my left hand hits the glass, making a loud chink sound. I grip the metal container tighter as if it’s my life.

  It is.

  I promised someone I would never part from it. In fact, I promised the one standing before me. I promised I would use it when the time was perfect. Like right now. Another tear falls from my eye.

  But it’s too soon. I’m not ready.

  Blood dribbles from his chin dripping to the floor. He stares at me, and I comprehend his human brain part is becoming lost. But I sense the human part is whirling now, wanting to come forth. He has one last deed to complete before giving in fully.

  I will myself to move, to run, but I am fastened to this spot staring into his eyes. My mind is spinning, filled with despair and horror.

 
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