PROLOGUE
Sergeant Kleg
Holstead peeked through the gaps between boards and barbed wire that surrounded
their flanks. Nervous soldiers—perhaps the last left alive on this
world—shifted their weight behind him, armor and guns clattering in the quiet
morning. Beyond them, deeper inside their fort, Kleg heard the soft weeping of
the civilians under their care. He and his men had sworn to protect them from
the beasts that roamed the planet of Chelkan. But though he lied to them, he
could not lie to himself. They were going to die. All of them. It was
inevitable. Even if they held out in their stronghold for a year or ten, the
grey devils that bayed at the moons at night and feasted on the flesh of human
stragglers by day would never go away.
The monsters had
consumed the world like wildfire. And humankind
is facing extinction.
It had happened
almost overnight, when the strange visitor arrived from beyond the stars. The
“alien” was human like them, and a young man, but with pale marbleized skin and
white-blond hair. Contrasting with his albino appearance, the boy wore all
black—leather, with straps and buckles on his jacket. Kleg had been part of the
envoy sent to meet this visitor.
Before the
stranger’s arrival, wars on Chelkan had finally been all-but quenched. They
were entering a time of unprecedented peace. Kleg had nearly forgotten the
primal, maddening fear of combat, except in his nightmares, but seeing that boy
in the leather jacket with the blackest eyes had changed all of that.
The boy came
with a message that day. A “gift” from the darkness between worlds.
Then he lifted
his hands and a rip in the very fabric of reality had split behind him, crackling
with black energy. Out of it clambered them.
The monsters. Kleg retreated with a few others, but the hordes massacred the rest
of Chelkan’s welcoming committee.
The Grey Death
had come, and now all of Chelkan was going to fall.
Kleg’s weathered
eyes narrowed at the innumerable creatures beyond the fenced perimeter. They
prowled about, their naked bodies ashen. Their rows of dulled, cracked teeth
opened and closed in anticipation of their next meal against a face devoid of
eyes and noses. The beasts walked on all fours, their toes curled under and their
arms tapering into deadly blood-drenched insect-like spears.
“Sarge?” Private
Telgan whispered from his left.
Kleg had
witnessed his teenaged daughter impaled by one of those spears a week ago.
“What is it,
Private?”
“Sir…request
permission to speak freely.”
“Get on with it,
Telgan.”
Telgan shuffled
out of the corner of Kleg’s eye. “Sir, people are starting to talk. They think…they
think you’ve led us here into a death trap.”
I have. “What do you think, Private?”
“Sir?”
Kleg faced the
young man. “Give me your assessment.”
Telgan paused,
his face paling. He looked to his scuffed boots. Gripped his rifle tighter. “I
think we can hold our position, but not forever. We’ll starve long before the monsters
get inside. I…I think we should keep moving.”
“Where would we
go? Would we just forage for food from town to town, losing more from our camp
every night?”
Telgan kept
quiet, the ground holding his interest.
Kleg leaned in, letting
his rifle hang off his shoulder as he balled his gloved fists on his waist.
“We’re talking about a new world order, here, Private. This planet belongs to
them, now. Stay here or leave…we’re only delaying the eventual.”
The young man’s
eyes cut sharply to Kleg, as if slapped. “You’re saying we should quit?”
Kleg grew sullen.
He didn’t know what he was saying anymore. Just knew that his family was dead
thanks to those creatures out there and the punk kid who brought them to his
planet. If he didn’t have these civvies under his care, he had half a mind to
take a couple rifles, as many clips as he could carry, and walk through the grey
hordes, blasting until they took him down.
He was ready for
payback. One last guns-ablazin’ stand.
Private Telgan
trembled beside him, whether with fear that his commanding officer had lost the
hope of survival or angry for the same reason, Kleg didn’t know. Didn’t care.
“How about
this?” Kleg spat on the ground, hoisting up his rifle, the only thing he had
left in this life. “Why don’t you lead them, Private? Go on. Run out the back
and I’ll cover you.”
“But—”
Kleg’s earpiece
squawked, “Sergeant Holstead? You’d better come take a look at this.”
Kleg stepped
away from the private, knowing the kid wouldn’t do anything. People talked,
people complained. They wouldn’t be people if they didn’t. Kleg didn’t care
about them or their worries or fears. If the civilians were merely worried
about where they’d find their next meal, they didn’t understand the reality
that was staring them in the face.
They were up
against total annihilation. And if they didn’t get that, he had no time for them.
Taking hold of
the steel rails, Kleg ascended the steps to the watchtower. Eagle-eyed guards
leaned at their posts, casually keeping eye on the milling extra-dimensional
invaders beyond the gates. Kleg stopped before Private Rickmond, a dirty-faced
youth who didn’t bother saluting. Kleg wasn’t offended. “What?”
The young man
pointed across the horizon. Kleg placed both hands on the edge of the wall and
peered closer. Hundreds of charcoal bodies danced around each other, huddling
closer and closer in some sort of celebration. They had their claws squirming
under the cloudy sky, their teeth chattering in a way that set Kleg’s gut on
edge.
“They’re moving
into one group,” Rickmond said.
“For how long?”
“Just started a
couple minutes ago. It looks like they’re gearing up for something.”
Kleg stiffened.
Thought he saw…“Give me your binocs.”
Rickmond had
barely offered them before Kleg yanked them from the boy’s hand. Pressed them
to his eyes. “Skiv-steen,” he cursed.
“It’s him.”
Rickmond
motioned for the others on the wall and everyone fell into position. Eager, the
private hovered nearer. “Are you sure?”
Kleg felt the
sting in his heart. Saw the boy standing there, like some sort of deity, amidst
the growling, worshipping, no-faced monsters. The boy, dressed all in black
leather like some common rebellious teen. His eyes void of life and compassion,
his skin and hair pale to the point of being white. He’d never forget the sight
of that kid nor the fear he felt when he first saw him.
A fear which
only magnified when the boy looked up, directly into the binocs, and saw Kleg
Holstead.
Kleg lowered the
binocs, his heart hammering, now. “Then we’re the last,” he whispered. “The
last ones on Chelkan.”
“Sarge?”
Tears built in
Kleg’s eyes, and he lost all the bluster he felt only moments ago. All thoughts
of fighting some heroic, though foolhardy, last stand were gone. He didn’t want
to die in a blaze of glory. He wanted to live. He wanted his wife back. His daughter.
Wanted to hold them and kiss them and laugh and cling to all that had been
stripped from him.
I don’t want to die. Not like this.
A tumultuous
roar came from the devastated streets below. Kleg’s hands reached for the gun
slung over his shoulder, felt its familiar grip, but his fingers were numb and
heavy.
“Sir?” Rickmond
hesitated, as the other snipers shuffled about, anxious and uncertain. “What do
we…?”
A stampede of
galloping grey figures surged ahead, trampling broken-down vehicles and upended
sections of street alike. Running in their midst, sporting a wicked grin, was the
kid—their master.
We’re going to die. This is it.
Wide-eyed Rickmond
brought his rifle to bear. “Sir! What do we do?”
Kleg remembered
the last time he held his daughter. She’d just graduated from school. Ready to
be a woman, forge her own path.
“Sir!”
Kleg looked to
his rifle. Heard the thumping bass of the charging monsters at their gates, the
screams of frightened women and children in the stronghold. He knew, then, that
he couldn’t save them. Not all. Maybe none of them.
But that didn’t change
anything. He was a man of war.
“FIRE!” he commanded,
and the walls lit up with gunfire.
Rickmond moved
his friends where they needed to be to best thin out the herds. Kleg left him
to it and jogged down the stairs. He found Private Telgan among the terrified
masses. “Get the families back! We’ll bottleneck the creatures through the
front gate. Distract them and maybe buy you some time.”
Telgan nodded
and rushed off.
Kleg raised a
closed fist to the remaining soldiers. “On me! You got one order: Kill ’em all!
Let’s show them what happens when you try to take over our planet!”
The soldiers cheered,
“Oveka!” and formed up, locked-and-loaded.
He grinned at
his men. His army. “Oveka,” he whispered and took the lead.
He was going to
see his daughter again today.
Bring it on, you blargin’ ghiffas.
Rickmond
shrieked from the watchtower and Kleg looked up just in time to see a beast
ripping the private’s rifle arm off before plunging a long, crimson lance
through his chest. Rickmond twisted, then fell off the wall, inches from Kleg’s
feet.
“Hold the line!”
Kleg roared as a flood of ashen monstrosities spilled over the edge of their
barriers.
He and his men
opened fire, their bullets chewing through the first wave of creatures. The
monsters were strong. A gunshot or two couldn’t pierce their rubbery flesh.
But a hundred
could.
The perversions
fell like insects and Kleg shouted in vindication. It felt good to cut them
down. To repay them for their horrors.
He looked to the
walls where the men either retreated to the ground floor or were consumed by
the flood of evil. Kleg kept firing, pushing back the droves, praying that
Telgan and the others were able to get out. He knew there was nowhere else to
go, but now he didn’t care. The will to live—to survive—shoved all logic aside,
replacing it with irrational and powerful instinct.
Thunderous
pounding shook the front gates. They wouldn’t be able to hold off a two-fold
attack from above and ahead. There were simply too many of those things, not to
mention their master, that damnable boy.
“Door!” He
pointed at a battle group and gestured for their gates, assigning them to the
area. Just as the men changed targets, the doors burst open.
Legions of extra-dimensional
devils strode in, their barbed arms twirling, lashing, killing. Kleg lost
several good men in the second and a half it took for the things to get inside.
And, surrounded by their madness, the boy. Kleg ground his teeth in seething
hatred.
“Kill him! Fire
on the kid!”
His troops did, diverting
attention from the alien armies, and focusing only on the pale youth in the
black leather jacket. But the kid—
Bullets zipped
all around him, perforating his animal minions, but the kid simply dodged out
of the way with unnatural speed, and brought out two pistols of his own. He
twirled, as if dancing around the soldiers’ shots, and opened fire. Bullets
tore into soldiers until the kid’s guns ran dry. Deftly, he tossed them aside
while simultaneously leaping through the air, kicking out. His boot caught the
chin of a nearby soldier and Kleg heard the man’s neck snap.
“Don’t you
quit!” Kleg said as soldiers hurried after the boy.
They fired, they
punched, they leaped, but the kid seemed invincible, bobbing and weaving—that
cocky grin still on his face. Without breaking a sweat he caught fists, popped
wrists, broke arms, shattered shins, and dispatched every soldier who came at
him. Kleg lost sight of the monsters tearing apart his men around him. He
focused only on the insufferable teenager. The teenager who should not be here,
in this world.
“Where did you
come from?” he hollered in desperation, his voice growing hoarse.
The kid did not
answer. Just kept killing, using the guns of his fallen foes on their brothers.
An army of the
dead at his feet, the kid gave the sergeant his full attention and charged. Kleg
fired his rifle, blinding light exploding from the barrel. The youth sprang
into the air, pirouetting overhead, and came down with a fist that separated
Kleg’s jaw. The military man could not close his mouth. Pain blossomed and he
felt like passing out, but he wouldn’t give the kid the satisfaction. Dropping
his gun, he brought out his blade. He thrust the tip forward, tears of agony
streaming down his face. The kid whirled out of the way and deflected the Sarge’s
arm, coming up with a kick to the gut.
Kleg’s breath left
him and he doubled over, but kept a grip on his knife. He slashed up, cutting
the boy in the stomach.
Time seemed to
slow as the kid looked down, seeing a tiny trickle of blackish blood expanding
on his shirt. Dripping onto the ground.
“So,” Kleg grunted
through pained breaths, his words garbled because of his useless jaw. “You can be hurt.”
Enraged, the boy
punched again, shattering Kleg’s nose. But the old war horse pushed past the
pain, the humiliation, the misery of seeing his wife and daughter taken from
him. None of that mattered now, for he had wounded the boy. He had cut a god.
Kleg slashed
again, again, again.
The boy flailed
wildly, dodging the attacks, but the smile was gone now. Off-guard. Kleg understood.
This kid was used to inciting fear and always having the advantage against a
foe clinging to life.
But I want
to die. I’ve got nothing to lose.
His smile held
back an outburst of laughter as Kleg charged, hacking with the blade. The boy
backed away, dancing away from the knife’s edge, but not every time. Sometimes
the metal drew yet more blood.
“Come on!” Kleg jeered.
“Don’t stop now!”
The boy dodged
another attack, but lost balance in his retreat. Stumbled to the ground.
Carried by his own momentum, Kleg landed on top of the kid, blade out.
The youth gasped
and sputtered, those dark soulless eyes widening in shock and pain.
Kleg buried the
knife deeper, barking laughter in the kid’s face.
The sergeant
rose off the bleeding boy, heaving giant-sized breaths, his insides on fire.
The boy looked at the wound as though he’d never felt hurt before. As though he
were above that kind of thing.
Welcome to the human race, ghiffa.
The punk laid
his head back on the cracked concrete and a sublime euphoria washed over Kleg’s
soul. With the boy dead, Kleg turned to the grey monsters once more. He spotted
a handful of his men still alive—still fighting. The horde was thinner now, and
weaker with their master lifeless. Kleg wanted to believe that Telgan and the
others were far away from this place. That they found some hidden sanctuary,
safe from this death and free to start a new world.
Yeah. Yeah, that’d be nice.
He felt white
hot pain enter his back. Wheezing, he groped behind him. Felt the familiar hilt
of his own knife.
Kleg slumped to
his knees and faced the boy, still lying on the ground, the knife removed from
his bleeding gut. And not dead. The kid did not grin. Instead, his face was set
and somber. Resigned to his fate, perhaps, and Kleg felt the same. With war
still raging around him, he crawled to the boy and sat beside him, sensing his
own life ebbing away.
After a long
moment of silence, the dying sergeant asked through excruciating huffs from his
punctured lung, “What’s your name?”
The boy took a
moment to answer. “Michael,” he said in a lazy drawl that made the word sound
like Machel. “Michael Morrison.”
Kleg nodded in
return. “Kleg Holstead. I used to be a sergeant.”
The
kid—Michael—regarded Kleg with a furrowed brow. “You lost,” he said.
Kleg grinned,
hearing laughter from somewhere. Sounded like his daughter. “Guess we both
did.”
“No,” the other
shook his head. Looked to the swarming monsters. “There’ll be more. I’m just
one.”
“Where did you
come from?”
“Everywhere…nowhere.
There are more worlds than these.”
Kleg no longer
felt angry. He saw the sadness in this kid’s eyes. The boy was lost without his
war, his victory. Kleg pitied him. “Why? Why did you do this?”
Michael looked
to the sunlit sky as he lay down, his hand resting over his open wound where a
thick black substance oozed. “It’s what I was told to do…And I’ll do it again.
Another me will do it all again…Other worlds…other me…I don’t matter,” he rasped,
his eyes turning glassy. “I’m just one of them…”
Then the kid
died with that mystery still on his lips.
Kleg reached
over with bloodstained hands and closed the boy’s eyes. His daughter’s laughter
filled his hearing and he smiled. There
are more worlds than these.
He looked
forward to seeing them.
Kleg Holstead
closed his eyes too, and saw his daughter waiting to embrace him.
Copyright 2012 Greg Mitchell
Liking it so far? Now that you've seen what kind of damage one Michael Morrison can do, read on to discover if the next Michael Morrison that is chosen can escape the same dark fate. Order the book today and uncover what mysteries and adventure await you within the multiverse!
UPDATE--This just in: The Splashdown Blog Tour for Rift Jump is in effect. Head over to my publisher's blog to read the first of many insightful interviews behind the new book and follow the links to other participating sites.
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