C.O.T.V.H. (Book 1): Creation by Dustin J. Palmer Read Free Book Online Page A

from the back of his closet, he pulled a long rifle case and three boxes of shotgun shells. Jake had no idea his dad even owned a gun.
    John pulled out a shotgun and loaded it with five shells then cocked it. “Grab your stuff. We’re leaving,” he said, walking down the hall, a suitcase tucked under each arm.
    Jake stopped at his room, it dawning on him that he didn’t have any shoes on. “Dad, I forgot my shoes!” He called out to him.
    “ Leave them! We’ve got to go now!” John's panicked voice cried out from the front door. Jake came outside to find the suitcases dumped on the front yard. The shotgun held tightly to John’s shoulder. He was scanning over the yard.
    “ What is it?” Jake asked, afraid to even step outside.
    “ Get my bags and get in the truck,” he whispered. “Quickly, go now!”
    Jake jerked them up from the ground, running clumsily to his dad’s old '86 Ford F-250. Tossing them into the bed of the truck, he climbed into the passenger seat and buckled his seatbelt.
    John walked backwards toward the truck, his eyes never leaving the darkness of the front yard. As Jake stared past him, he could just make out a lone figure standing at the edge of the yard looking back at them. "Why couldn't you just leave us alone?!" John yelled, his finger hovering over the trigger.  "I was out damn it!  Don't you understand?"
    The figure didn't move forward but didn't retreat either.  Jake heard the stranger say something he couldn't quite make out, before disappearing back into the night.  
    Climbing into the truck, John slid his gun behind the seat. Then started the truck, it’s diesel engine roared to life. He peeled out of the driveway, leaving their home behind.
    Jake stared at the house as it disappeared behind them. Somehow, he knew he would never set foot there again. "Who was that?" he asked. “In the yard? Was it one of them?” 
    "It doesn't matter," John said, glancing in his rear view mirror.
    "Well what did he say?" Jake asked, infuriated his dad was being so vague.
    John didn’t answer until they had reached the end of the block. "He said he was sorry," The truck pulled onto the highway speeding ten miles over the speed limit.  The clock on the radio said the time was now 4:26am.  Both father and son were beyond exhausted, not just physically, but emotionally as well.  
    Jake laid his head on his dad's lap, something he hadn’t done in years. Reaching back, John pulled a dusty red jacket from behind the seat and covered his son. Right before he dozed off Jake asked one last time, "Where's Mom?"
    "I don't know son.  I don't know,” John patted him gently with his right hand. Jake looked up at him one last time, and in the passing glow of a street light saw tears streaming down his cheeks.  With that image, he fell asleep.
    Nearly two hours later he was gently shaken awake by a rough, calloused hand on his shoulder. Sitting up he looked around.  It was still dark out. The slight orange glow of the sun was just peeking in the sky to the east.  They were parked on a dirt road seemingly in the middle of nowhere. Jake rubbed his eyes sleepily.  "Dad, where are we?"
    John looked straight ahead, his hands gripping the steering wheel. "Jake, I have something I have to show you.  I don't want to, but you need to see this to understand what's happening to us," He stepped out of the truck and lowered the tailgate, pulling several large black trash bags out of the back then dumped their contents into the middle of the road where they were lit by the truck’s bright headlights. Jake was so in shock at this point that the sight of the Marty White’s dismembered; bloodied body parts dropping onto the dirt road didn't even bother him. Marty's dismembered head lay staring at Jake with its lifeless red eyes wide open.  
    It all seemed so very unreal, as if he was watching it through someone else's eyes. John came back into the truck then killed the engine, shutting off the headlights