Out of the Shadows by Timothy Boyd Read Free Book Online Page A

into my truck, tossing my red ball cap into the passenger’s seat, wiping my forehead on my arm. I took a deep breath, attempting to let the past go, and I started the engine, knowing that in a matter of minutes, an army of emotionless carcasses would dash toward me. And considering I was pretty sure they were done giving me my own choice to join them, they would likely not stand back in favor of diplomacy.
    I sped away from my crumbling past, knowing I likely would never step foot on this street again. I fled down once-familiar roads, weaving through useless stoplights, swerving around abandoned cars. Alcohol withdrawal was, again, messing with my mind, clouding it with images of an undead Sarah, a little girl with charred and melting flesh, and a decrepit world overrun with lifeless bodies.
    Like before when I fled down these roads, the trees looked odd. They sparkled with a soft sheen from my headlights’ illumination, and it was then that I knew I needed a drink. I pounded my fist on the steering wheel at the thought of sipping a shot of whiskey. I didn’t need it, but I definitely wanted it. And it would certainly make these strange glitter-tree visions go away.
    My truck skidded to a halt in the gravel parking lot in front of Gravediggers, its wooden façade giving the impression of a lonely shack in the woods. And maybe that’s exactly what it was, but it felt like my home away from home.
    The titular neon sign on the roof was not illuminated, and the place looked abandoned. I glanced around at the surrounding trees, unable to shake the idea that something was wrong, that the balance of nature had been upset. The night was devoid of the familiar resonance of cricket chirps, which made me shiver.
    I knew that Deb and her partner were having relationship troubles, and for the past few weeks, she had been sleeping on a cot back in the kitchen. I was hoping that she was still here – and still the same old “mama” that had to cut off my whiskey supply every morning after work.
    The darkness surrounded me, and I felt vulnerable standing outside in the middle of the woods with no one else around to hear me scream. I stood at the door, listening for sounds of movement inside. The blinds were drawn over the windows, and there was no way to see in. At least a minute passed before I finally raised my hand to knock on the wooden door.
    A moment before my knuckles rapped to announce my presence, I felt something hard being pressed against the back of my head, and a man’s voice said, “Don’t you move a muscle.”
    Well, as Sarah had pointed out, I’m not a great listener, so when I spun around to see who was threatening me, I only caught a glimpse of a black braided pony tail before something cracked against my skull, my vision went dark, and I passed out.
     
    *     *     *
     
    Through the blackness of my closed eyelids, my head throbbed with nauseating pain. My eyes fluttered open carefully, expecting a blast of fluorescent light that would almost certainly induce vomiting. However, only a faint orange glow illuminated the room.
    I was lying down on something soft. I pulled up on my wrists and legs to fight against my bonds when I realized there were none, so I slowly sat up, rubbing the back of my scalp tenderly. My eyes squinted around to identify my location, and I recognized it immediately: the kitchen in Gravediggers. A small kerosene lamp warmed the room on a nearby table.
    When I noticed my holster and gun were gone, I sprang up from the cot. Dizziness washed over me, and I fell back onto the makeshift bed.
    “Sorry about your head,” came the same male voice that had been behind me outside.
    I turned and saw a short, young Asian man, probably around five-foot-eight, leaning up against the dishwasher. He was in a black T-shirt, blue jeans, and old Airwalk shoes. His arms were covered in tattoo sleeves depicting an epic battle between what I assumed was heaven and hell. His long, black hair was