Prophecy of the Undead

Prophecy Of The Undead

By
Fiona McGier

Eternal Press
A division of Damnation Books, LLC.
P.O. Box 3931
Santa Rosa, CA 95402-9998

www.eternalpress.biz

Prophecy Of The Undead
by Fiona McGier

Digital ISBN: 978-1-61572-798-8

Print ISBN: 978-1-61572-799-5

Cover art by: Dawné Dominique
Edited by: Kim Richards

Copyright 2012 Fiona McGier

Printed in the United States of America
Worldwide Electronic & Digital Rights
1st North American, Australian and UK Print Rights

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced, scanned or distributed in any form, including digital and electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without the prior written consent of the Publisher, except for brief quotes for use in reviews.
This book is a work of fiction. Characters, names, places and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to any actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

To my boys who listened to my plot points as I wrote them and encouraged me by saying they might want to read this one, since it’s “more sci-fi and less porn” than my other books! To my daughter who will have to forgive me for not using her first idea for a title, since she also suggested the one I chose. And to my husband who is my constant support and inspiration, and who wisely didn’t remind me that I swore to never write a vampire romance.

“Ms. McGier’s characters are realistically drawn, including a few secondary players who figure into the plot. Her location descriptions provide enough atmosphere without going overboard on details. The same can be noted about her sex scenes, which get the point across without being over explicit.”

—Tim Smith at
Two Lips Reviews

“Ms. McGier’s book has a fast pace, believable characters and an interesting storyline. There are equal amounts of romance and suspense mixed in with frequent, spicy love scenes.”

—Keitha Hart at
RT Book Reviews

Chapter One

Keisha was surprised at how uncomfortable she was when she woke up. At first she couldn’t figure out why her body ached so much in unfamiliar ways. She tried moving the parts that hurt and realized she was tied up with her hands behind her back and her ankles rubbed raw by the ropes that held them tightly together. Judging by the amount of stinging pain she felt, she figured her wrists and ankles were probably bleeding—the bonds were that tight.

She was in a small, dark, enclosed place that moved. She tried to scream in her panic but there was a ball-gag in her mouth so the only audible noise she made was a whimper.

I want to live through this. If I keep up this panic I’ll hyper-ventilate and pass out again. If I’m conscious, maybe I can escape. If I’m unconscious, I may not ever wake up again. Think, Keisha, think. What’s the last thing I remember?

I walked down the street trying to get to the train station. I thought I was being followed...obviously I was. I was grabbed from behind and then I felt a needle in my neck. I was drugged. Now I’m in the trunk of a car, trussed like a turkey. What the hell do I do now?

The motion of the car ceased and she heard music briefly, then it was turned down and she heard male voices arguing.

“What the fuck did you do that for? I like that song.”

“I thought I heard a noise from her back there. I don’t want her waking up until we are ready to get rid of her.”

“Can’t we fuck her first? She’s got nice tits.”

“Fuck yeah. We don’t want her struggling around back there. We gotta keep her drugged up until we are in a nice, isolated spot. That’s where we’ll dump the body.”

“Well I don’t hear anything and the light’s changing. Turn the music back up.”

“Okay, okay. She’s quiet now. It must have been part of the song I heard.”

The car started moving again. The noise of the road under the tires made her unable to hear much beyond an occasional squawk from the radio.

She was alone with her thoughts again but that was not a good thing. She spent too many days and nights on the run—never sure just where the next threat was coming from but always aware of being followed. She had no idea how someone always knew where she was but no matter where she hid, she was found each time. She was so sick and tired of being chased that it was almost a relief to have been caught...almost. Of course there was the whole gang-rape and eventual death thing to make the relieved feeling extremely short-lived.

She tried to remember just how long she had been running but the passing time had just become a blur. When you are living a normal life, you have calendars, clocks, job responsibilities, all kinds of things to let you know how many days have passed, and what day of the week it is today. Once she escaped from the men trying to kidnap her after breaking into her apartment, she was running continuously. She emptied her back account as one of her first moves so any money she spent on motels and food wouldn’t be traceable, as it would using a debit or credit card. No matter, her pursuers were always close behind her.

She couldn’t remember the last time she had a good night’s sleep...or even a shower. She wore the same clothing for more days than she could remember. Her stomach took to growling at odd times to remind her that her food intake was drastically reduced to problematic at best. Some days she ate, others she didn’t. She drank water whenever she was near a tap of any kind and even drank from decorative fountains.

She knew she must look terrible, because that’s how she felt. Her head ached, her bones were tired, and the muscle aches were not just because she was tied up in an uncomfortable position. She knew she should think about a way to escape but all she felt was an overwhelming tiredness. She wanted this nightmare that her life turned into to be over. One way or another, it had to end.

The car slowed down. The radio was silenced and she heard male voices swearing loudly. The car coasted to a stop. She listened.

“Goddammit. We are out of fucking gas? I thought you filled it at the last station, you asshole.”

“You didn’t give me enough money for that,” the other voice whined. “I had to buy cigarettes and beer too. I got us a half a tank. I thought that would be enough.”

“We are in the middle of butt-fuck nowhere and you thought a half-tank would be enough? The last gas station was about twenty miles back. Now we gotta walk back there to get it.”

“You want I should stay here, to make sure the bitch stays in the car?”

“Hell no. I can’t trust you not to pull her out and fuck her the minute I’m not here. She’s smart enough to escape once you are not paying attention. I know what you are like around women. Besides, one gas can only holds two gallons. That wouldn’t get us back to that station, let alone anywhere we want to go. We both have to walk back there and both of us will have to carry a coupla gas cans each back to the car.”

“I can’t walk twenty miles.”

“Then I’ll just shoot you now. How’s that?”

“Aw you’re just fooling, right dude? You need me to carry a coupla cans back.”

“You’re damn right, I do. Come on, let’s get moving. It’s already getting dark. We gotta get back to the station before it closes. Then we’ll put the gas in the car, drive up to a more deserted place, set the car on fire, and dump the bitch in a ditch.”

“Yeah, dump the bitch in the ditch. You’re a funny guy.”

“Move it.”

The sound of two car doors being opened and slammed shut was deafening. The voices continued to argue as the men walked away from the back of the car, presumably back in the direction they just came from.

Keisha held her breath, praying that the men wouldn’t think to open the trunk and drug her again before they left. Once she was unable to hear their voices anymore, she tried to figure out a plan.

Think, Keisha. Think.

It was too dark in the trunk to see much but she moved around until she felt in the air around the back of the car for a latch. She knew some of the newer car models had a hanging latch so you could pull it to open the trunk in case you were ever locked in it. There was no latch.

Just my luck. Those creeps have an old car.

She turned herself around so that she felt with her feet for the corner end of the trunk. She knew the lights were somewhere there. If she could just kick out one of the rear lights, maybe she could get someone’s attention.

Yeah, right. I haven’t heard another car pass us since we stopped moving. If we really are in the middle of nowhere, they might not have much traffic here—especially at night.

Panic rose like bile in her throat. A scream bubbled up and out of her mouth. All that did was make her throat hurt. The ball gag prevented most of the noise from escaping and she panted fast through her nose to get herself under control again.

Tentatively she kicked purposefully at the corner of the car. At first nothing moved. Then she felt her foot make headway in pushing part of the car out of the way.

Kick...please, God; let me escape again. Kick...I promise I’ll be a good person from now on. Kick...oh, God; please don’t let me die here, in the middle of nowhere. Kick...kick...kick...

Chapter Two

He smiled to himself as he woke up. Yuri Kozakov expected this to be a good night. He looked for someone to answer his questions for years, though he forgot exactly how many years. It didn’t matter because he found her now. He hadn’t even known what kind of person he needed until he did some research of his own.

He spent many hours on-line, which was funny since usually only the youngest ones were good at using the new technology. He taught himself how to use it mostly. He learned a little from a programmer he entertained one night but that was enough to get him started.

He discovered that the field of knowledge he needed was neurobiology, and that he specifically needed someone skilled in molecular biology with an interest in biomedical engineering. He needed someone who knew how to research into how the brain and body synthesized information, and how the various parts worked together. That was his starting point.

After that, he read papers published by researchers in the United States. He could have chosen any country but had grown to like the casual freedom taken for granted in the U.S.A. So, he honed in on researchers and found much of what he was looking for published in the Midwest, especially in the Chicago area, by the researchers who worked for the various teaching hospitals there. When he first read an analysis of Keisha Brown’s work he was excited enough to Google her name and read her work for himself. He was impressed by her intelligence and her knowledge, and eager to meet the person who he felt could finally pursue the research to answer the questions that troubled him for so long.

What he found in looking at her profile was that she seldom took any time off. She spent most of her time doing the research that was her life’s passion, and wrote about it during her off time. Once he found a picture of her, he quickly located her office and monitored her comings and goings for a while. He learned that only once in a great while she went with fellow scientists to have a meal or just a couple of drinks in a local bar close to her office.