Blood Dawn (Blood Trilogy Book 3)
Praise for BLOOD DAWN
“Jason Bovberg brings his Blood trilogy to a close with an assurance of redemption in the midst of terrible destruction. The narrative steadily amps up the tension while delighting us with continual surprises along the way. Blood Dawn is an exceptional tale delivered with exceptional care, and it’s a fitting and powerful conclusion to a not-to-be-missed trilogy!”
—Robert Devereaux, author of Caliban and Oedipus Aroused
“Blood Dawn ends with a bang, and a ton of heart! It’s a terrific final novel in a trilogy so inventive and unique that it’s all but impossible to compare it to other tales in the genre. But be sure to read these books in order!”
—Rob Leininger, author of Killing Suki Flood and Gumshoe
“Blood Dawn provides a slam-bang ending to a compulsively readable saga. It’s even bloodier, weirder, and crazier than Blood Red and Draw Blood, bringing this wacko sci-fi/horror mashup to a satisfyingly splatter-drenched conclusion.”
—Bill Braddock, author of Brew
“With Blood Dawn, Jason Bovberg has crafted a chilling end to his twisted world.”
—Kirk Whitham, documentary filmmaker, creator of Postcards from the Apocalypse and The Life and Various Deaths of Ambrose Bierce
“I absolutely love the Blood saga—it’s gripping, raw, and inventive. Thumbs up!”
—Jonathan Maberry, New York Times bestselling author of Rot & Ruin and Code Zero
“With Blood Red, Draw Blood, and Blood Dawn, Jason Bovberg—a master of tension—offers up a zombie epic for the new century.”
—Alden Bell, author of The Reapers Are the Angels and Exit Kingdom
“You've been to the end of the world before, but never quite like this.”
—Richard Lee Byers, author of The Reaver and Blind God’s Bluff
“The Blood trilogy is must-read zombie fiction—familiar enough to keep you glued to the action, innovative enough to keep you guessing.”
—Craig DiLouie, author of Suffer the Children
Praise for DRAW BLOOD
“Draw Blood is a real nail-biter of a zombie novel that will delight die-hard fans and draw legions of new ones to the genre!”
—Jonathan Maberry, New York Times bestselling author of Rot & Ruin and Code Zero
“Draw Blood launches itself at you with relentless terror from the first page to the last. Bovberg, a master of tension, keeps the action taut and breathless, driving the story forward with a combination of excruciating dread and linguistic majesty.”
—Alden Bell, author of The Reapers Are the Angels and Exit Kingdom
“Draw Blood is a terrific sequel, propelling the story forward with singular intensity—and a great twist.”
—Craig DiLouie, author of Suffer the Children
“In Draw Blood, Jason Bovberg attains a new level of mastery, guiding us with assurance and control into the finely etched, moment-by-moment travails of his characters without once relaxing the tension. Draw Blood deserves the widest readership possible and consideration for top awards. This one's a keeper!”
—Robert Devereaux, author of Deadweight and Santa Steps Out
“Jason Bovberg one-ups himself with Draw Blood—this menagerie of grotesqueries is a faster, bloodier, and even more demented thrill ride.”
—Grant Jerkins, author of Done in One and A Very Simple Crime
“Draw Blood combines the best things about the Autumn series, Invasion of the Body Snatchers, and Night of the Living Dead into one coherent tale. If you liked Blood Red, Draw Blood will definitely not let you down.”
—Robert Beveridge, former Top 50 Amazon reviewer
“Draw Blood starts off firing on all cylinders and never lets up. It’s a fresh take with all the best elements of the genre.”
—David Dunwoody, author of Empire and The Harvest Cycle
Praise for BLOOD RED
“An epic addition to the genre, Blood Red delivers a nonstop, real-time experience of the End Times—replete with visceral terror, buckets of gore, and, ultimately, a redemptive humanity.”
—Alden Bell, author of The Reapers Are the Angels and Exit Kingdom
“Jason Bovberg proves he’s got the goods with a whole new kind of horror novel.”
—Tom Piccirilli, author of The Last Whisper in the Dark and The Last Kind Words
“With Blood Red, Jason Bovberg infuses a post-apocalyptic tale with a sustained sense of genuine mystery; of having no idea what’s happening to the world and the people around you, or why.”
—Brian Hodge, author of Whom the Gods Would Destroy and Dark Advent
“Guaranteed to creep you out!”
—Robert Devereaux, author of Deadweight and Santa Steps Out
“Jason Bovberg’s Blood Red is unlike anything I’ve ever experienced. It starts as a slow-burn freak-out and culminates in a series of horror-show set pieces that will forever be etched in my mind. This book made my skin crawl.”
—Grant Jerkins, author of A Very Simple Crime and The Ninth Step
“Blood Red is a tour de f***ed-up!”
—Peter Stenson, author of Fiend
A DARK HIGHWAY PRESS book
published by arrangement with the author
ISBN (trade paperback): 978-0-9662629-6-4
ISBN (eBook): 978-0-9662629-7-1
Blood Dawn copyright © 2017
by Jason Bovberg
Cover art and design by Christopher Nowell
Layout by Kirk Whitham
This book is a work of fiction. People, places, events, and situations are the product of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or historical events, is purely coincidental.
No part of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted by any means without the written permission of the author and publisher.
Contents
CHAPTER 1
CHAPTER 2
CHAPTER 3
CHAPTER 4
CHAPTER 5
CHAPTER 6
CHAPTER 7
CHAPTER 8
CHAPTER 9
CHAPTER 10
CHAPTER 11
CHAPTER 12
CHAPTER 13
CHAPTER 14
CHAPTER 15
CHAPTER 16
CHAPTER 17
CHAPTER 18
CHAPTER 19
CHAPTER 20
CHAPTER 21
CHAPTER 22
CHAPTER 23
CHAPTER 24
CHAPTER 25
CHAPTER 26
CHAPTER 27
EPILOGUE
Dedication
For Barb
From dawn to sunset
and dream time too … always
CHAPTER 1
“Felicia!”
She jerks awake atop her warm bed. The blue curtain is moving restlessly against a morning breeze, her small oscillating fan is rattling, and that horse-sized dog on the other side of the parking lot is already barking. Oh, what a lovely summer.
She peers over at her bedside clock.
6:17 a.m.
Felicia groans softly. Too early.
Nicole shifts next to her, their hips bumping. The tactile memories and flavors of their night together flicker through Felicia’s consciousness, bringing a secret smile to her lips. She feels a touch of wine hangover, but not too bad. Very much worth it.
Someone called her name, loudly inside a dream—it wasn’t Nicole, but it was a woman’s voice—and now that dream is quickly fading. Who was it, in there? Was it Janet at the store? Possibly. But talk about a dream character acting against type! Janet never raises her voice or gets demonstrably angry, even when thr
ee of her employees (Felicia included) call in sick simultaneously, as happened last weekend. Felicia had felt the need to exude a little extra cheerfulness for the past week to get back into Janet’s good graces, but the fact is, Janet is just too nice.
Fantasizing briefly—not for the first time—about central air conditioning, Felicia pushes herself up from perspiration-moistened sheets and enjoys the meager pleasure of the whirring fan’s breeze against her face and upper body. Before Felicia moved to Fort Collins, she assumed her new home at the foot of the Rockies would deliver cool, fecund mountain breezes at all times, even in summer, but the reality was quite different. Summer brought some pretty intense, dry heat. The intermittent draft of the fan cools her barely damp skin, and she’s grateful for the sensation.
This current apartment is on the second story of a shoddily maintained complex north of the drive-in and Hughes Stadium, in the older, northwestern section of Fort Collins, probably built before air conditioning was even imagined. She’s lived here for about six months now, and no way would she ever again rent a second-level apartment with no A/C. In the summer anyway. And this is only morning. Early morning! She’s already thinking of ways to escape the heat this afternoon. A movie at the $2 theater? A dip in the pool at City Park? Too many kids there. If only the apartment complex had a private pool! That hadn’t been a priority in January, when she signed the papers, but now it feels like a tragic oversight.
Today is Friday, and it’s her day off, and all she’s done since the end of her morning shift yesterday is hang with Nicole. Nine hours at the store, followed by a ride home from her willing roommate—Felicia’s Jeep is in for repairs, so she’s relying on Nicole for once, getting carted around in that old red Honda Civic. Felicia smirks at the memory of their giggles at Wilbur’s, trying to choose exactly the right cheap variety of vino. Hanging off each other, both of them knowing exactly where the evening would end. Nicole also gives the best massages in the world.
Neither woman has any illusions that they’re engaged in anything long-term—or at least that’s how they’re fooling themselves. But it sure is fun getting playful together. Since the day they met in the CSU quad—Nicole new to the school and needing help from a Fort Collins native—they’ve simply clicked. They’ve been together for nearly nine months now, but who’s counting? Meeting near the student center might have been a goofy one-off, except that they’d sighted each other again, later, walking near Aylesworth Hall, both rocking their cheap-ass earbuds and laughing when they acknowledged each other. That had led to lunch, which had led to music in Nicole’s minuscule dorm room, which had led to plans to bike together for Fort Collins’ celebrated Tour de Fat event. And that day had led hilariously to their first fumblings at Felicia’s place, and suddenly Nicole was the most natural, enjoyable girlfriend she’d ever had. No weirdness, no hesitancy, merely a human connection.
Not to mention, Felicia feels like she might have trouble imagining her life without Nicole’s talented hands (and fingers), and she’s sure Nicole doesn’t mind the non-dorm place to stay on the weekends. They both have their stressors—involving family, money, and the future—but they’re having fun. No doubt about that.
Watching the muscles of Nicole’s toned right thigh tremble in sleep, Felicia is thinking again about her dream. Something else happened in there, didn’t it?
She cocks her head, stares at the stained popcorn ceiling.
Something weird.
She tries recalling what happened inside the dream, but as with any dream, it’s elusive. It’s like grasping at smoke.
But wait—she remembers something red. Like blood. Just a suggestion of that. Blood. Fingers grasping. No, not fingers. But something like that. Rooting around. And something like tendrils, red tendrils snaking like lightning. Or blood spilling in jittery fast-motion.
She shrugs herself away from these peculiar perceptions. They’re starting to make her heart beat faster.
Felicia gently extricates herself from the bed, knowing that there will be no more sleep for her this morning. Which is a bummer, because she likes to sleep past 7 a.m. on days she’s not working or going to class. Maybe even 8 a.m., if she’s feeling indulgent. Nicole is an even later sleeper and probably has three more hours ahead of her. No sense waking her. Felicia looks down on her for a long moment, appreciating the view, and then pads out into the small living room. She has to admit, the relative coolness of the morning is nice. She goes straight to the front window and opens it up.
There are the two empty Pinot bottles that they bought at Wilbur’s, upright on the coffee table. One of the glasses has about an inch left. The other is empty, angled against the sofa cushions, against a pillow. More memories flood her, and she smiles again. Ah, the couch. She begins cleaning up, grabbing their flung-away clothes, replacing pillows, and taking the glassware to the tiny kitchen. She tiptoes back into the bedroom and silently drapes the clothes over the desk chair, then returns to the kitchen to take care of the dishes.
That damn nightmare keeps strobing back at her.
Red.
Blood red.
Like a flash of crimson behind her eyes. And more to it than a splash of color. Something malevolent. No, not quite that. But disturbing.
“Knock it off,” she whispers to herself, soaping up another glass and setting it on top of a dish towel to dry. She gradually loses herself in the monotony of her task.
When she’s finished, she dries her hands and returns to the bedroom door. She peers inside, sees that Nicole hasn’t stirred.
Felicia moves quietly through the room and into the bathroom, whispers the door shut. She turns on the shower and steps in. The cool water is a thrill against her flesh, and she enjoys the sensation for a moment before twisting the faucet to lukewarm. She washes her body slowly, her eyes closed.
She’s thinking about what to do with her day off. She now has a vague memory of Nicole suggesting something about a hike—Horsetooth Rock?—but today Felicia feels like escaping the heat rather than embracing it. If she were a shopper, of if she had any money at all to burn, she might suggest jetting down to one of the big malls in Denver, maybe Flatiron Crossing, and making it a day, perhaps catch a movie down there, but lately she’s found casual shopping to be a depressing exercise, at least on what Janet pays her for part-time work. Why couldn’t she have sprung from some disgustingly wealthy family?
Felicia has a year left at CSU, and then the real world looms. It might not have been that way had she not shifted her major from English to Business two years ago—much to her finance-minded mom’s delight. Doing so had added an extra year to her regimen. That was okay with both her and her mom, who was and still is helping bankroll her education (barely). Because for the first time in her life, Felicia is almost feeling confident about her future. She’s planning to run a health food store here in town. Somehow, some way. And as much as she admires Janet at the Food Co-Op for what she’s accomplished, Felicia can think of several areas where she knows she could improve profits, and use social media to start drumming up more business. Social media is where it’s at, any fool will tell you that, and although she would never say it to Janet’s face, she knows she could run the store better than her boss.
Now, feeling the water course over her grateful skin, she lets thoughts of business plans and inklings of future marketing endeavors drift through her consciousness. She tries to ignore the tendrils of nightmare still slithering around inside her.
The touch of Nicole’s hand, curling around to her abdomen, makes her jump.
“You’re up early,” comes her lover’s soft voice.
“Oh!” Felicia giggles, twining her fingers through Nicole’s. “I hope I didn’t wake you.”
“Fun night.” Nicole leans forward to catch her eye. She has her crooked smile on full display—emphasized by the nose stud, the ratty blue string necklace, the shag cut of her short hair.
“Yes, and you’re ready for more, I see.”
“I could be per
suaded.”
“What the hell are you doing up?” Felicia asks.
“Well, heck, on a day off there’s no such thing as too early.”
Felicia smiles.
“Still up for Horsetooth?” Nicole asks her.
Felicia closes her eyes and makes a small, involuntary sound, trying to lose herself in the moment. She doesn’t want to acknowledge it, but when Nicole’s hand touched her, startling her, her mind went straight to the nightmare—the slink of the tendrils like reaching vines, burrowing roots. She had to forcibly constrain a full-body shiver.
“I was just talking myself out of it.”
“Why?” comes the whisper at her ear.
“Heat.”
“You can’t take the heat?”
Felicia smiles. “Oh, I can take it.”
“Come on, we need to work off that dinner.”
“I thought we already did that. A couple times.” Felicia takes a quavering breath. “But you do make a very persuasive argument.”
“I should have studied law.”
“I’m not sure they cover that kind of persuasion in law school.”
“Purely extracurricular.”
The women enjoy an extended moment of silence under the steady pulse of the water and other sensations. Felicia furrows her brow, concentrating.
“You know, I don’t even have much of a headache,” Nicole says, breaking the silence. “Usually the wine decks me.”
“I have a little one, but I think … I think it actually came from a dream.” Felicia turns to face Nicole. She needs to see her there in front of her. “That’s weird, right?”
She slowly runs the bar of soap up and down her roommate’s arms. On Nicole’s left shoulder is a tattoo of a butterfly, colorful and new, and Felicia uses the edge of the bar to trace the wings.