A Shrouded World (Book 4): Valhalla Read online

  A Shrouded World 4

  Valhalla

  Mark Tufo

  John O’Brien

  Copyright © 2018 by Mark Tufo, John O’Brien

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  Created with Vellum

  To our fantastic readers worldwide. Thank you so much for all of your support and kind messages. Without you, the stories wouldn’t exist. It takes both sides for a tale to live─both reader and writer. So, thank you very much for breathing life into the stories!

  Also By

  Mark Tufo

  Zombie Fallout Series

  Zombie Fallout 1

  Zombie Fallout 2: A Plague Upon Your Family

  Zombie Fallout 3: The End...

  Zombie Fallout 3.5: Dr. Hugh Mann

  Zombie Fallout 4: The End Has Come and Gone

  Zombie Fallout 5: Alive in a Dead World

  Zombie Fallout 6: ‘Til Death Do Us Part

  Zombie Fallout 7: For The Fallen

  Zombie Fallout 8: An Old Beginning

  Zombie Fallout 9:

  Zombie Fallout 10:

  Lycan Fallout Series

  Lycan Fallout 1: Rise of the Werewolf

  Lycan Fallout 2

  Lycan Fallout 3

  Lycan Fallout 4

  Indian Hill Series

  Indian Hill 1: Encounters

  Indian Hill 2: Reckoning

  Indian Hill 3: Conquest

  Indian Hill 4: From The Ashes

  Indian Hill 5: Into The Fire

  Indian Hill 6:

  Indian Hill 7:

  Timothy Series

  Timothy

  Tim 2

  Tim 3

  The Book of Riley Series

  A Zombie Tale Parts 1 thru 4

  Callis Rose

  The Spirit Clearing

  Dystance: Winter’s Rising

  Demon Fallout

  John O’Brien

  A New World Series

  A New World: Chaos

  A New World: Return

  A New World: Sanctuary

  A New World: Taken

  A New World: Awakening

  A New World: Dissension

  A New World: Takedown

  A New World: Conspiracy

  A New World: Reckoning

  A New World: Storm

  Companion Books

  A New World: Untold Stories

  A New World: Untold Stories II

  ARES VIRUS

  Ares Virus: Arctic Storm

  Ares Virus: White Horse

  Ares Virus: Phoenix Rising

  THE THIRD WAVE: EIDOLON

  Contents

  1. Jack Walker—Chapter 1

  2. Jack Walker—Chapter 2

  3. Jack Walker—Chapter 3

  4. Mike Talbot—Chapter 1

  5. Mike Talbot—Chapter 2

  6. Mike Talbot—Chapter 3

  7. Jack Walker—Chapter 4

  8. Jack Walker—Chapter 5

  9. Jack Walker—Chapter 6

  10. Mike Talbot—Chapter 4

  About The Authors

  Jack Walker—Chapter 1

  I’m standing on a rocky slope with overcast skies scudding seemingly just over the top of my head. My skin feels like it’s on fire thanks to the numerous scratches. Before I can take measure of where I am, a piece of paper flutters in the air, oscillating back and forth until it settles to the ground. My injuries stretch tight as I bend down to pick it up.

  “I’m sorry, Jack. It was the only way.”

  Instantly transitioning to another place is disorienting to say the least. One moment I’m surrounded in a glow of light and the next I’m standing on a barren, rugged hillside filled with the porous rocks of a lava field. In places, the burnt remains of trees protrude from the surface like skeletal arms reaching out from the grave. Waves of heat roll across one side of my body, accompanied by a dull bubbling sound as if thick oil were boiling.

  My side and neck are still sore from where the staples hit. It’s only a dull ache, but it makes its presence known nonetheless as I stuff the piece of paper in my pocket. It’s just a meaningless note, but I decide to keep in anyhow. I mean, who knows? Being authored by Trip, there might just be invisible ink that shows a treasure map or a way out, or I might have to present it as a ticket home. That would so suck if it were all I needed and I’d left it floating somewhere in the wind.

  Taking a closer look at my surroundings, a large cauldron of bubbling lava is off to one side, its glow lightly reflected off the dense clouds rushing past just overhead. A river of slow molten rock flows out from a low point of the bowl, heading downhill toward an ocean at the bottom of the ridgeline. The sluggish stream flowing in its deep channel is topped by a crust of cooling rock glowing orange between the cracks. A dense cloud of vapor forms where the heated stone meets the cool ocean waters, periodic surges of steam rising when large clumps fall into the sea.

  A light rain begins to fall, driven by gusting winds. With the heat rising from the bubbling cauldron, the showers nearby turn to mist before the drops hit the surface. Off to my other side, the sound of a hundred different bells begins to lightly chime as water droplets fall into a field of obsidian. With the low, bubbling roar from the pit and the musical chimes of the obsidian, I feel like I’m in the midst of an orchestra. With the scene I find myself in, I almost expect to hear the roar of a T. rex charging up the slope. Still on edge from my encounters in the other world and the knowledge that Trip “helped,” I’m a little nervous about what I’ve been thrown into. With Trip involved, materializing amid dinosaurs isn’t out of the question.

  Below, the lava field gives way to trees that stretch in a solid line like a fence attempting to hold back the rocks. It’s a very definitive demarcation between life and death. Even further below, at the foot of the ridge I’ve found myself on, I see the roofs and streets of a small coastal town nestled at the edge of a half-moon bay. The sands of the shoreline are occasionally hidden by the showers sweeping through the area, and long lines of white waves roll toward the beach as others form offshore.

  Who in the fuck would park a town under an active volcano?

  Across the small valley holding the coastal community, another line of peaks majestically rise from the floor of the basin. Towers of granite rise from forested slopes, a near opposite contrast to the hill I’m standing on: mountains being birthed on my side, those eons old on the other. Ridges extend from the soaring mountains to the sea where they end in rocky bluffs, sprays of white splashing upward from crashing waves.

  Both of the ridge lines, mine and the one opposite, roll inland with a narrow valley filling the void between them. A river winds through the middle of the gorge, the mirrored reflections from the still waters of ponds and the white of rushing rapids visible through the overhanging branches from all manners of tree species lining the banks. The narrow gorge and river widen as they near the coast, creating an alcove for the town below.

  Moving a little closer to the lava, to a place that’s not overly warm and where the rising heat from the bubbling cauldron will save me from being drenched by the showers, I take stock of my situation. Sitting in an small area sheltered by rising rolls of cooled lava, I open my pack to find that I have FTEs (Food to Eat) from the other world and bottles of water. Concerned with the heat generated in my little alcove, I move away and place the bottles where the water droplets hit the surface and don’t evaporate. I have enough f
ood and water to last several days.

  The weapon in my hand is my trusty M-4; the other carbine I was carrying having vanished at some point during my transition. I check through the mags attached to my vest and in my pack to find that they’re also full of ammo. The 9mm at my side is the same. I’m not sure how this whole fucking time thing works, but some of the stuff I had in the other world is with me and the rest is not. Plus, I had been running low on ammunition, so I shouldn’t have a complete loadout. But I’m not complaining. Somehow, I sense Trip’s involvement in all of this, but I don’t know how. He and Mike were in the portal.

  I hope they made it, I think, organizing my stuff and standing to look over the tops of the stones.

  The question, then, is how in the hell am I going to get back? My heart tightens with the thought that I’m going to have to figure out what this world is all about and then find a way out. After all, the last one wasn’t really packed with a carnival-load of fun. And, if truth be known, I’m a little jealous that Mike was able to make it back, and a little upset that I’m still hung out here to dry. I’m also glad that he did, but it would have been nice if we both could have.

  In the town below, a few vehicles roll along various avenues, their tires throwing up mists of water from the wet streets. I’m not sure where I’ve ended up, but the sight of civilization is heartening. Now, what that holds is anyone’s guess, but the fact that the settlement is there shows that zombies, night runners, or other monsters haven’t taken hold of the land. The question remains as to how I’ll introduce myself. After all, I’m armed, so walking through the middle of a town as an unknown entity isn’t exactly the best idea. The vehicles on the streets and the buildings look like they’re of human origin, so I’m reasonably assured they’ll know a weapon when they see one.

  Before heading into another adventure, I know I need to heal up from the last one. It’s not really fair, being thrown into another world without time to recover from the wounds I received. Well, fair isn’t exactly the right word. I was never given a contract detailing that life would be fair. “Prudent” might be the better word. And heading into an unknown wouldn’t be smart considering what I’ve been through. If I were to venture into the town below, I’d have to stash my weapons, and that’s just not going to happen right now. I could break them down and stow them in my pack, but if I were picked up for vagrancy, eyebrows would raise should they take a peek. Plus, there wouldn’t be enough room for my vest.

  The light begins to fade over the wonderland I’ve found myself in. My stomach clenches with night approaching while I’m out in the open. Although the community below seems to be thriving, darkness and night runners go together in my world. The shadows used to be my shield, but I now doubt I’ll ever be able to view the setting sun in the same manner. Should things somehow go back to normal in my world and night runners were eradicated from the land, I seriously doubt I’d ever be comfortable away from a reinforced shelter as night approaches. Looking around, where I’m at is pretty much it with regards to shelter. If it looks safe enough once night falls, I may venture down closer to the town to check it out.

  As the skies darken, the low-flying clouds more strongly reflect the orange glow emanating from the lava pit. Below, lights begin to glow from house windows, their warm yellow beams shining through opened curtains spread across manicured lawns. Bluish-white streetlights strobe a few times and then flash on, casting circular pools of light on the wet pavement. Green lights blink to red and back again from traffic lights hanging at intersections. Headlights shine forth from moving vehicles as they work their way along darkened streets and pull into driveways.

  In the gloomy night, the scene below gives off a comfortable feeling of peace. Behind the warm yellow glow from the windows, I can imagine families sitting down to warm meals and then sitting in front of televisions to laugh at their favorite comedies or cover their faces watching scary movies. It makes me want to drop my pack and weapons to join them. A twinge of sadness accompanies the anxiety of being out at nighttime. All of my life, I’ve wanted what those people below have, but I’ve also run from it at every opportunity. As nice as it would be, I know that I’d never fit in with that lifestyle. It’s more the ideal of it, probably the safety of it, that stays in my thoughts. But, that’s not the life I’ve chosen.

  Are you done feeling sorry for yourself, Jack?

  With a heavy sigh, I make sure my pack is together and then double-check my ammo. Gathering the water bottles, I listen for any of the familiar shrieks that usually accompany my nights. There’s nothing but the tinkle of raindrops hitting the obsidian field and the low bubbling of the lava. The wind sweeps over the lava field in gusts, and, away from the heat, constant light rain hits my face and soaks my fatigues.

  Working my way down the slope, opening up every so often to check for a night runner presence, I have to watch my step. The hillside contains porous igneous rocks between smoother mounds, bulging on the sides like a weld. The smoother rocks are slick with crevices between them, threatening to turn my ankles. Lower down the slope, the rough and smooth rocks give way to more porous loose stones.

  Behind, the clouds glow over the cauldron. I still can’t believe people would reside immediately downhill from something so obviously active. Granted, any pressure is being constantly released, diminishing the threat of an actual eruption, but that pool could change and lava could begin pouring directly toward the township.

  Maybe the solitude of the valley is greater than the threat of the lava flow.

  However true that may or may not be, there’s no way I wouldn’t have someone watching that fucker 24/7. But, I haven’t observed anything of that nature from those below. As I descend toward the tree line, the musical sound of the rain fades away until I’m left with the grinding of loose rocks beneath my boots. Several times, I nearly plant myself on my ass as the stones shift. The thought of falling and cutting myself on the sharp rocks keeps me from climbing down faster.

  I tell myself that this is a quick scouting trip for observation purposes only. If things seem okay, I’ll figure out what to do with my weapons and head in to check it out in more detail. I’ll be a stranger, though, sticking out like a sore thumb. From my earlier observations, this doesn’t appear to be a resort town that would be accustomed to outsiders. It also may not be vacation season, given the current weather.

  At some point, I’ll need more food, although I have no idea how I’ll pay for it. Sustenance will eventually become an issue and I’ll have to do something about it. I may have to seek out a homeless shelter if they have something like that, or resort to a five-fingered discount. But, that’s for later. Right now, I just have to get a lay of the land.

  The rain hitting my shoulders and face ceases as I enter the woods. The line between lava and growth is abrupt and straight. The only sound is from periodic drops falling off the branches overhead as they hit wet needles and leaves. I’m still not comfortable being out and about, but I don’t feel the presence of night runners or hear any screams of fear, panic, or pain. If it weren’t for the loss of my kids and Lynn, I’d live just about anywhere that didn’t have night runners prowling the darkened streets. And the secluded town I’m headed toward seems perfect, almost too good.

  Stepping between two trees in the middle of the woods, I feel a chill much like what I felt before being teleported from the other world. My heart races and my carbine comes up as I brace myself, ready to leap to the side or start firing. I’ve had just about enough of that shit of abrupt changes to my surroundings. Nothing happens, but I trust nothing. Looking through the darkened trees, everything showing in shades of gray, it all seems the same. Behind, the orange glow from the lava shows faintly through the trees.

  It could have been just a temperature change, a cold spot among the trees. I’m in an unknown place and on edge. I feel the adrenaline coursing through my system, my heart pounding against my ribs. I sniff, but the odor under the branches is only the smell of wet undergrowth
and fir. I don’t move, listening and waiting for something bad to happen. Every time it’s happened in the past, nothing good has come of it. Now, if I were to just be teleported home, like that one time, then I’d go for that. Anything else, no thanks.

  I take a cautious step forward. Another intense cold sweeps through my body and I’m momentarily taken aback. There wasn’t any sense of movement, no muscle tensing, but my view has changed. It takes me a moment to realize that I’m staring back in the direction I came from, toward the faint glow of the pit. Looking behind, it looks the same as it did. I step backward. The chill rushes through my body and I’m back where I was before I took the step. Turning around, I place another foot forward and I’m staring back up the slope. I’m about to try again when the little man in the control department of my brain tells me not to push it.

  That’s the voice I listen to, and he only speaks up when my stubbornness or ego kicks in. He’s the voice of reason when I have none, which is most of the time. I’ve always pictured him up there in a control room, looking at my world through a series of monitors. On a panel in front is a huge lever that he pulls whenever he needs to bring whatever I’m about to say or do to a screeching halt. At times—too many to actually count—he screams “Oh shit!” and pulls on the lever to the sound of grinding gears and smoke. There have also been times when he’s a little late with the lever pull, having to race across the room screaming, “Fuuuck! Nooo!”

  “I can’t believe you just said/did that!” he says, once the smoke clears.