The whispers began subtly, almost apologetically. News anchors, their smiles a little too tight, reported on an uptick in seismic activity around Yellowstone. The caldera, a slumbering beast of unimaginable power, seemed to be grumbling in its sleep. Geologists, their voices tight with concern, spoke of rising pressures, of magma chambers stirring from their millennia-long slumber. #ApocalypticFiction #Dystopian #Horror #Survival #Adventure #Saga #WendellSweet Wendell Sweet, Dystopian, Apocalyptic Fiction, Horror, D2D https://books2read.com/u/bw5ona
Steel and Dust Book Two:
The wind, a mournful dirge, whispered through the skeletal remains of skyscrapers. What had once been a symphony of urban life – the rumble of traffic, the laughter of crowds, the distant hum of industry – was now a hollow echo in a world silenced by dust and despair. Survival, Dystopian, Apocalyptic Fiction, Wendell Sweet, Google Play, Horror, #Horror #Dystopian #ApocalypticFiction #WendellSweet #GooglePlay #Survival https://books2read.com/u/mB0Z9y
Steel and Dust Book Three:
The skeletal remains of skyscrapers, like broken fingers, clawed at a sky perpetually stained a bruised, lifeless grey. Each colossal husk was a monument to a forgotten hubris, a testament to a civilization that had gorged itself on progress until it choked, leaving behind only the lingering stench of its own decay. Dystopian Fiction, Apocalyptic Fiction, Horror, Wendell Sweet, Survival #Survival #WendellSweet #Horror #Dystopian #ApocalypticFiction https://books2read.com/u/mVG6z5
Bear squatted and peered down at the girl and the boy for a few moments before he spoke again. “What do you think of her hand?”
Beth squatted beside him and looked down at the girl. She stood and shook her head. “I can’t tell. It looks like she’s turning. Turns black, you know, but just under the skin… like… like a spiderweb flowing out under their skin. Bad description, I know,” she finished.
The sun, a weak, watery orb, struggled to pierce the perpetual gloom of the junkyard. Its rays, filtered through the grimy haze of industrial decay and the skeletal remains of rusted cars, cast long, distorted shadows that danced with the shuffling figures of the undead. This was their sanctuary, a chaotic landscape of twisted metal, shattered glass, and the lingering stench of decay – their home.
The rusty hinges of the dilapidated shack groaned a mournful protest as Bear pushed open the door, the scent of damp earth and decay clinging to the air like a shroud. Inside, Winston lay huddled beneath a threadbare blanket, his breathing shallow and ragged.
“Beth!” Billy screamed from behind her. “Right. Your right!” She had been just about to fire at the two zombies attacking Mac, and so even as she turned, she did not turn her pistol completely, but kept it aimed to the front towards Mac and the two zombies. By the time she registered how close the three zombies were to her, there was no time to turn the pistol and fire.
There were four of them outside the vehicles talking or keeping watch on the parking lot. Bear and Beth, Mac and Billy. When the first one dropped, Billy spun around and clubbed it to the ground. But the rest came so fast that they could not hope to easily and quickly pick them off.
A crash came to his ears, but he could not tell if it was from the downstairs hallway. At least he hoped it was the downstairs hallway, not the stairs outside of their apartment, or, God forbid, even closer. He jumped from the tangle of blankets, started to pull his shoes on, and then reached for his machine pistol instead as another noise came from the hallway.
Things were crazy, and they seemed to be getting worse as the days rolled by. The police precinct was still burning. It had started sometime during the night two days before, and since there was no one to put the fire out, it had been raging for hours now. A few minutes ago, the roof of the building next door to the precinct burst into flames.
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They navigated a maze of shattered streets, the buildings looming over them like skeletal giants. The air vibrated with a low, guttural hum…
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The initial reaction was instinctual – fear and suspicion. But as they crept closer, the fear began to give way to a cautious curiosity. The group in the cellar was clearly as desperate as they were, as weary and worn as they felt…
My head swam. I tried to focus, to piece together what had happened, but my memories were fragmented, blurred like a badly scratched photograph. Images flickered – a flash of bright light, the deafening roar of something immense, the sickening crunch of collapsing structures…and then, nothing. Only the darkness before the agonizing awakening in this hellish landscape.
