Dead Moon: Nightmares are Born (Dead Moon Post-Apocalyptic Survival Thrillers Book 1) Read online

  DEAD MOON

  By Matthew James

  Description:

  My name is Frank Moon, and I used to be a detective with the NYPD. I say used to because, ever since the demon, Abaddon, came for a visit, nothing’s been the same.

  Okay, so technically it wasn’t the fallen angel himself that arrived in Manhattan. It was actually a meteor, and due to its blood-red coloration, the description stuck. Almost immediately after ‘Abaddon’ arrived something horrifying happened. People started changing, turning into the things of nightmares right before my eyes. Some were my friends. Some neighbors. Some were just people passing through. Either way, they didn’t deserve that fate. No one did.

  Now, I only care about one thing…

  Finding my wife and getting the hell off this island alive.

  Also by Matthew James

  The Hank Boyd Adventures

  Blood and Sand

  Mayan Darkness

  Babel Found

  Elixir of Life

  The Hank Boyd Origins

  The Cursed Pharaoh (April 2017)

  The Logan Reed Thrillers

  Plague

  Evolve

  Standalone Novels

  Dead Moon

  Co-Authored Projects

  Berserk w/ David Wood (2/9/17)

  PRAISE FOR “DEAD MOON”

  “DEAD MOON is a high-octane thrill ride filled with action, suspense, sadness, and of course, monsters! An amazing read!”

  —Zach Cole, author of KAIJU EPOCH

  PRAISE FOR “THE HANK BOYD ADVENTURES”

  “BLOOD & SAND takes readers on a spellbindingly treacherous journey that also manages to have fun along the way!”

  —Rick Chesler, Bestselling author of HOTEL MEGALODON

  “The Hank Boyd series has been added to my must-read list!”

  —J.M. LeDuc, Bestselling author of SIN

  “The next Hank Boyd Adventure can’t come soon enough!”

  —David McAfee, Bestselling author of 33 A.D

  PRAISE FOR “PLAGUE”

  "PLAGUE erupts from the pages in a steroid-filled tornado of terror and shock!"

  —SUSPENSE MAGAZINE

  “PLAGUE is filled with action, monsters, and our new favorite hero, Logan Reed. Need a cup of coffee and the next book!”

  —THE MR. CAFFEINE SHOW

  "PLAGUE is a monstrously thrilling read!"

  —John Sneeden, Bestselling author of THE SIGNAL

  PRAISE FOR “EVOLVE”

  "A rip-roaring action/adventure that grabs you by the throat and doesn't let go, with compelling characters who will stop at nothing to protect one another. Looking forward to the next installment!"

  —Richard Bard, Bestselling author of BRAINRUSH

  ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

  As time goes by and I finish another project, I come to reflect on who has helped me during that book’s birthing. There have been so many as of today with this now being my fourth novel. The latest to give their gifts of goodwill are authors John Sneeden (Delphi Group Thrillers) and Richard Bard (Brainrush series). Also on my latest thank you list are the wonderful people over at Suspense Magazine who published a glowing review for PLAGUE. You all have been amazingly supportive. As always, I’m floored by the generosity that some of the busiest people in the industry have shown.

  I’m truly humbled and extremely appreciative for everyone who has supported me and picked up a copy of my work. Without my fellow authors and of course my readers, I wouldn’t be typing this ‘ACKNOWLEDGMENTS’ section.

  Thank you.

  For Willy B.

  DEAD MOON

  By Matthew James

  “Their king is the angel from the bottomless pit; his name in Hebrew is Abaddon, and in Greek, Apollyon—the Destroyer.”

  ~The Book of Revelation, 9:11 NLT

  PROLOGUE

  “We now go to Kat Anderson, who’s out in the field with NASA meteoroid expert, Dr. James Kent.” Seriously, Kat? I shake my head, but continue to watch as the video switches from the anchorman and the studio around him to a curly-haired blonde standing in what looks like the control room of a space station.

  “Thank you, Richard. We’re live inside Kennedy Space Center in Merritt Island, Florida.” She turns from the camera, flipping her hair like a pro. The camera operator pans out showing a man with wild-bleached white hair and tinted glasses. I know from various movies that the tint helps when staring at a computer screen all day. “Dr. Kent, thank you for talking to us on such short notice and with such a historical event taking place in less than two hours.”

  “Yes, yes,” the man says, fidgeting. “You are quite welcome.”

  “Can you tell us a little about the meteor for those who don’t know?”

  He nods emphatically. “Yes, of course. Abaddon, as we’ve come to call it, is an extremely rare occurrence indeed. As far as we know this is the first of its kind to come in contact with our planet in centuries.” He produces a handkerchief and wipes his sweating brow. “As far as my colleagues and I are concerned the only other time something of this elemental make up has arrived on Earth was during the last ice age—our last extinction event.”

  I closely watch Kat as her practiced smile falters a little. “Extinction event?”

  “Yes, yes. Our planet has gone through five extinction level events since its creation. The last coming sixty-five million years ago when the dinosaurs died out. Like some of you are aware of, we are currently in our sixth such cycle.”

  “Cycle? It sounds like you agree, or at the very least, believe in such a claim.”

  “I do,” Dr. Kent says. “Evidence has shown us as much and we are the culprit, but that’s neither here nor there. We are here for the meteor are we not?”

  The reporter puts her phony smile back on, but it’s easy to see through it. My training has taught me enough to know when someone is lying. Kat is nervous and scared. “So…” she begins to ask, her voice cracking a little. Scratch that, I think. She’s terrified. “…what else can you tell us about this Abaddon?”

  “Unfortunately, not much. We only know some of its elements from our past research, but there is some excitement brewing around here that there may actually be some previously unknown or undiscovered ones as well. Once it makes its arrival, we’ll know for sure.”

  “What are your plans for it?” she asks.

  “I’m sorry, Ms. Anderson, but I’m not at liberty to divulge that until we are certain what we find. The last thing we need is for it to be vandalized before our field team can analyze it. If we do find something that’s…curious…then we don’t want to cause any hysteria. Chances are this is just another falling body and we will have nothing to fear. By this time tomorrow the world will probably forget all about it.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Meteors collide with Earth all the time. The only reason this one is even talked about is because of the radiant coloration and the possible unknown elements housed within it causing said pigment.” He turns to the camera like he’s looking directly at me. “But I must implore those that live around the projected impact zone of Manhattan, that you please stay in your homes if at all possible just in case.”

  “Just in case?”

  Dr. Kent turns back to the nerve-racked woman. “You never know what can happen. There are a lot of different ways that a rock falling from space can harm you. It’s not a feather I remind you.” He laughs a little, but sees the uncomfortable look on the reporter’s face grow and quickly stops. “But t
hat’s more science fiction than science fact, Ms. Anderson. We here at NASA wholeheartedly believe that everything will be fine. So please, do not worry. We have everything under control. I assure you that you and everyone else is safe.”

  ARRIVAL

  1

  Saturday Afternoon / Present Day

  Have you ever done something that you immediately regretted doing, even if what you were doing was in the middle of said action? Well, I have. Funny enough, I’m actually doing that exact thing right at this moment.

  My finger twitches and I reflexively pull the trigger, erasing the son-of-a-bitch’s toothy grin. As soon as the bullet leaves my weapon’s barrel, I wince. The gunshot’s report echoes off the surrounding buildings, sounding ten times louder than it really is.

  Why is this bad? Because not a second after the body hits the concrete, ten more of the little shits take the dead one’s place, funneling in from the alley ahead. Then, another ten. Twenty in all…and boy they’re pissed.

  I call them the Unseen. They have no eyes to speak of, having only scarred flesh where their eyes should be. It’s like looking into an eyeless skull, but with flesh…and alive. Pretty horrid. Also, combined with their bald heads, they sorta’ look like the monsters from the Alien movies.

  Xenomorphs, I think they’re called.

  The one—the dead one—that caught me by surprise was standing behind me, not twenty feet away when I turned and saw it just inside the northbound alleyway. I was trying my best to sneak out, through the south alley, attempting to avoid the very situation I now find myself in.

  Anyways, enough explanations. Now…it’s time to run.

  I turn and bolt through the cramped alley, tipping trash cans as I go. The 66th Street Dunkin Donuts passes me in a blur as I head for the closest structure, an apartment building. As soon as my foot strikes asphalt, I turn on the afterburners and sprint as fast as I can. Thankfully, the Goblins behind me are slow to react because of their lack of sight, but their sense of smell and acute hearing more than make up for it. They’ll be on me quicker than I can say—and they are. Now all I need is for the normally locked front door to be open.

  Screw it, I think, not wanting to take the chance. I raise my Glock and fire one shot, spider webbing the glass. Good enough.

  I leap through, ducking my head and closing my eyes, obliterating it the rest of the way. Slowing down to try the knob isn’t an option right now. It would have taken way too much time—time I don’t have. If it was one or two of them, I could have handled the situation without breaking a sweat.

  Not that sweating is possible right now, I think, feeling a brisk breeze sting my nose and ears as I turn to look back at my pursuers. The winter air is being funneled into the opening I just created.

  It’s too damn cold to sweat and being a Florida transplant, I’m not overly thrilled with the bitter weather. My kind of cold is like fifty degrees, not thirty. Snow is neat on vacation, but living in the stuff is just brutal.

  I slide through the lobby, riding some of the broken glass like an icy sidewalk, stopping in front of the elevators. Damn, I think. It would have been nice if we had power on the island, but alas, we don’t. Not since that fateful night anyways. So instead, I pound through the first floor and head for the stairs in the back-left corner of the room.

  The slapping of bare feet mixed with the clunking of shoes fills the space behind me as I turn the corner. Screeching erupts as a good chunk of the Unseen go down, slipping and sliding on the loose glass. But not all of them are out of it, and those that are won’t be for long. They don’t give up that easily.

  “Why can’t they be vegetarians?” I ask myself as I take the first flight of carpeted steps two at a time. The good news is, the freaks behind me aren’t the most agile of the creatures.

  If they were Sirens, I’d be sliced to ribbons for sure.

  Sirens are what I call the women that have turned. They, for the most part, keep their looks, minus the eyes of course. That’s a common trait with all the Unseen. The ladies have elongated nails and are built like triathletes. For whatever reason, the changes the female victims went through are different than the men.

  Men are Goblins. Literally… They are hunched and savage, hunting in packs. They have zero of the grace that the Sirens have too. Like a group of wild dogs, they snap at each other as they chase their prey, vying for position.

  Like now.

  I hit the landing inbetween the first two floors and spin, squeezing off three more shots. The first hit strikes gold, sending the foremost Goblin spiraling down the stairs. It crashes into four others, tripping them up some. The entire feat acts like a tidal wave of falling bodies on America’s Funniest Home Videos. Each successive monster stumbles the next, which stumbles the next.

  Like I said…not agile.

  It gives me a little breathing room and I turn and flee once again. My foot hits a slick of something wet as I step into the second-floor hall. I chance a glance as I pass and see what I’ve come to expect.

  Blood…and there’s a lot of it. It’s congealed in the carpet, causing my already soiled shoe to stick. I also notice that it originated under one of the many doors in this particular building. Someone apparently had a massively brutal ending just behind it.

  As my foot pops out of the mud-like goop, I turn my attention back to my escape route. Like a lot of places I’ve visited so far, this residence has seen its share of tragedy. The next set of stairs are a no go because of it.

  More blood. The staircase is coated in the stuff. Plus, the bodies littering them would be terribly difficult to navigate. If I had been going down them instead of trying to scale them I would have chanced it, but I’m not. So I opt for Plan B instead.

  From what I’ve seen in my short time on the run, the fire escapes seem to be pretty much clear of debris, including bodies. If there are blockages, they look easy to navigate. I quickly glance left, and curse. Then I look right, down towards the end of the hall and frown.

  But first I need access. There isn’t a way out to them through this hallway.

  As I haul ass down the hall, I grab each doorknob testing them. I need to find an open one before it’s too late.

  I try the first five doors on the left, the ones on the outside of the old brick building, finding them locked. Upon turning the sixth knob, something clips my shoulder as I turn to enter the opening door.

  One of the Goblins attempts to tackle me to the ground with an uncontrolled leap. It misses though, flailing almost comically down the corridor. Having my share of run-ins with these things, I’m confident in what to expect next.

  It hits the floor and quickly regains its feet, but instead of me just shooting it point-blank, I decide to use the less messy, quieter alternative.

  Shink.

  With a flick of my wrist, I unsheathe my collapsible police baton. The wrist action unfurls the telescopic weapon and before the half-naked creature can rebound on its missed opportunity, I attack.

  I lash out, striking the thing in the knee like I’m chopping wood, crumpling it to the ground. Then, without hesitation, I bring down the steel shaft on its neck, breaking it with an audible crack. For whatever reason, the Unseen have brittle bones. I’m not about to apologize for the convenience though. I just really like to know all the facts. Call it my policeman’s anal retentiveness for details. Either way, the reason they die easier is something I’ll never question or take for granted. I’ll take any advantage I can get at this point.

  As the Goblin dies, a group of six more come screaming around the corner, intent on finishing what their faster, but just as clumsy brother couldn’t. I don’t dawdle. I push open the unlocked door, leap in, and swing it shut, locking it in one fluid motion. I lean against the closed door and breathe in deep, doing my best to catch my breath.

  Boom.

  The door shakes from the other side, causing me to jump and turn back towards it, gun raised. If they try long enough, the horde will make it inside. I’ve seen the
m claw and eat their way through the drywall once, trying their damnedest to get to someone on the other side.

  “Damn,” I say, slowly looking back over my shoulder. The door bucks again, hit once more. My egress is only a few feet behind me. If I can escape before they get inside, I may have a chance of losing them on another floor above me.

  I fully turn, seeing my exit, but stop when something to the left…something—someone in my periphery, catches my attention. Standing still, I glance towards that someone. The sight instantly makes my shoulders drop.

  “Double damn.”

  It’s a Siren and she’s got those dead eyes locked on me. If I was single and into that sort of thing—dead girls I mean—then I might have a go at her, but I’m not…and gross. So, instead, I survey the situation and come up with one distinct likelihood.

  “This may not end well.”

  2

  She leaps across the threshold of the bedroom, arms outstretched. Luckily for me, I anticipated the attack, watching as her legs bent and then flexed. I’m not an expert in the combat styles of a Siren, but I do know a little about fighting in general—boxing mostly.

  You could also call it the wannabe Sherlock Holmes in me. I see patterns and use them to exploit my enemy. It’s a method I learned from my father. He’s a retired boxer and was known for his sixth sense in the ring. He never made it big due to numerous head injuries, but he did become a renowned trainer. I was actually one of his pupils once upon a time.