The Beginning of the End (Book2): Road to Damnation

The
Beginning of the End

Book
2
Road to Damnation

A
novel

By

Sean
Kidd

This novel is part 2 in The
Beginning of the End series. If you haven’t read the first yet, you
can find it at:
http://www.amazon.com/gp/product/B00W4D250O

THE
BEGINNING OF THE END
Book 2
ROAD TO DAMNATION

COPYRIGHT
© 2016 by Sean Kidd

All
rights reserved. This book is licensed for the personal enjoyment of
the original purchaser only. This book may not be resold or given
away to other people. If you would like to share this book with
another person, please purchase an additional copy for each
recipient. Thank you for respecting the work of this author.

The
characters and events portrayed in this book are a work of fiction or
are used fictitiously. Any similarity to real persons, living or
dead, is coincidental and not intended by the author.

Cover Design and Layout

Paramita
at Creative Paramita

www.creativeparamita.com

Ebook
and Print formatting

Jesse
Gordon

adarnedgoodbook.com

A
special thank you to my proofreaders

Michael
J. Bergman

and

Charlie
Wolff

Thanks
to Casey Skelton

at

Wasteland
Book Editing Services

http://cskelton4965.wix.com/wasteland-editing

for
all the advice and help on both books.

Thanks
to Danielle

at

Danielle
Pascale’s Editing Services

[email protected]

for
the time and effort you put into both books.

• The Beginning of the End, Part 2: Road to Damnation
  
• 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
  
• Chapter 28
  
• Chapter 29
  
• Chapter 30
  
• Chapter 31
  
• Chapter 32
  
• Chapter 33
  
• Chapter 34
  
• Chapter 35
  
• Chapter 36
  
• Chapter 37
  
• Chapter 38
  
• Chapter 39
  
• Chapter 40
  
• Chapter 41
  
• Chapter 42
  
• Chapter 43
  
• Chapter 44
  
• Chapter 45
  
• Chapter 46
  
• Chapter 47
  
• Chapter 48
  
• Chapter 49
  
• Chapter 50
  
• Chapter 51
  
• Chapter 52
  
• Chapter 53
  
• Chapter 54
  

A very special thank you to my wife, Jennifer. For all those nights I
threw printed chapters at you, begging you to read and correct them.
Your opinions and suggestions helped shape my novels. If it weren't
for your tireless efforts, I would have never made it through my
first two books.

Have a question or comment? Connect with me!

http://www.facebook.com/SeanKiddAuthor

http://www.twitter.com/SeanKiddAuthor

http://instagram.com/SeanKiddAuthor

[email protected]

Rays of light passed
through the edges of the door into the dark room. Dead creatures
pounded from the other side. A hunger deep inside of them forced
groans out of their stinking rotten mouths. The sounds of terror sent
chills down the spines of the two policemen who desperately pushed
against the old wooden door, trying to keep the creatures out. They
were unaware the piercing screams in the room were coming from their
own mouths.

A monstrous man stood
behind them in silence, watching, ready to answer their call for help
if it came. Bulging muscles and intimidating tattoos added to the
horror of his nearly seven-foot frame. His hardened chiseled body,
transformed from spending a majority of his adult life behind bars.
No less intimidating than the full neck and tattooed arm sleeves was
the pair of black handcuffs binding his wrists together.

The rookie cop felt the
convict’s massive shoulder drive his lightweight frame off the
door, “Why don’t you take a break there, kid. This is man’s
work,” he said with a gritty smirk.

The convict slammed his
back against the door while raising his restrained wrists to the
rookie cop, “It’d be a hell of a lot easier if you’d take off
these damn handcuffs,” he said with an innocent smile.

The older cop,
supporting two chevrons on his sleeve, glanced at the handcuffed man
and didn’t say a word. He glared back at the younger cop, “Do it,
Cooper.”

Cooper questioned the
order throwing his open palms in the air, “But Corporal he’s…”

Before he could get out
another word, the Corporal roared, “That’s an order, rookie. Take
the cuffs off.”

Cooper didn’t like
the order but did it without question.

With the added weight
of the convict against the door, the dead lost the advantage and gave
up ground. “Give me another inch and I can slide the deadbolt
closed,” the Corporal pleaded. A mighty push from the convict, and
the door slammed shut. A click of the lock told them they were safe
for the time being.

The Corporal turned
away from the door and eyed the room. He wondered how he had ended up
here with this group of scared people. Four strangers whom, if not
for these unexplainable events, he would have had never met.

With his guard down,
the Corporal felt the air rush out of his lungs as a rotting fist
smashed through the weakened door, striking him square in the chest.
He fell backwards and tumbled onto his ass knocking his head against
the wall. The lock gave way freeing the door, the dead were again
gaining the advantage. They began to push harder and in larger
numbers. The convict slammed his shoulder against the opening door,
but was off balance and lost his footing. This fight was quickly
turning into a losing battle. All the weight of the dead pushing
against the door was too much for one man, no matter his size.

The door swung open
pushing the convict back on his heels.

Corporal Daniels was
still trying to get up off his ass. He leaned back and pulled his
Police issued Sig Sauer 229 from his holster and fired into the crowd
of dead. The two rounds struck the first dead man in the chest.

It didn’t phase him;
he kept coming. Daniels lifted his arm higher and pulled the trigger
a third time. He watched as the .40 caliber round traveled through
the man’s skull leaving a dime-sized hole in his forehead, briefly
allowing a tunnel of daylight to shine through. The dead man
collapsed to the floor at the Corporal’s feet.

The veteran officer
thought back all those years ago when he first joined the police
force. That hot summer week he’d spent on the shooting range, where
his instructors referred to his technique as the Mozambique Drill.
Two in the chest and one in the head for close quarters combat. He
had never used it until now, and he knew it would bother him the rest
of his life. No matter how short that may be.

“They’re fucking
zombies!” the convict screamed as he snatched a lamp from a nearby
desk, striking an attacking dead woman on the temple. She dropped her
head and clutched onto the convict’s shirt.

He jumped back toppling
over the edge of the desk he had stolen the lamp from, taking the
zombie with him. They landed on the floor, the dead woman on top of
him. He held the dead woman’s neck, fending off the attack. She
snapped her teeth and clawed at his shirt pulling her way on top of
the convict. He was mesmerized as her zombie face neared, fixated on
those hypnotizing blue swirling irises.

Time seemed to slow, as
cold black blood and ooze erupted from the dead woman, covering the
convict’s face. It was almost a full second later before he
realized the zombie’s head exploded. He rolled over to see Cooper,
the young rookie cop, standing there with a shotgun in his hands. He
was screaming, “Get up and fight! Destroy their brains, it’s the
only way to kill them!”

An aging hooker huddled
in the corner of the room watched as the three men put on a show of
blood and carnage. Blood splattered across the walls and floor. She
held her chest, but still couldn’t catch her breath. Her ears rang
from the gunshots and the piercing screams of a petrified woman. The
assault continued as the men neared victory and the hooker slowed her
breathing. It was only then she realized, it had been her screaming
all along.

All but two of the
zombies were dead. Both of them had lost their lower limbs and were
clawing their way toward the Corporal.

Cooper stood over one
of the creeping zombies, lowered his shotgun, and dropped a round in
the back of its head. The remaining bit of life left the creature.

Cooper looked over at
the Corporal, “That’s it. I’m out.”

The Corporal, off the
floor now, stood over the last zombie and pointed his .40 caliber Sig
Sauer at the monster’s brainpan. He pulled the trigger, not
realizing the Sig’s slide was locked back, “Shit, I’m empty
too, Coop.” He glanced back over his shoulder at the convict with a
smirk on his face, “You still got your lamp, convict?” The three
men released a stress filled chuckle, but the moment of levity ended
when the zombie at the Corporal’s feet snatched his ankle. The dead
man yanked on his boot, pulling it in close to his mouth while
chomping his jaws. Vile remnants of teeth were no match for the steel
toed combat boot. The Corporal yanked his foot away, slamming his
heel onto the zombie’s skull. From a distance, it would have looked
as though he was trying to squish a giant spider. When his attack
ended, the head resembled the aftermath of an inattentive rabbit
crossing the freeway.

The Corporal stepped
back from the zombie and leaned against the wall, trying to catch his
breath, “I guess I’m not as young as I used to be.”

He gave the other two
men the nod, letting them know he was all right. With the threats
eliminated, he reached into his pocket and pulled out his phone. He
tapped the screen, choosing the name and raised the device to his
ear.

Seconds passed, and
nothing happened. He leaned back, closed his eyes, and took in a deep
breath, “Please work,” he begged.

A few more seconds
ticked away, he began to lower the phone from his ear. He slid his
thumb over the END button when he heard a click.

Frustration turned to
relief when the static gave way to a broken ring, then a second.

“Please answer this
time,” he pleaded with the device.

Three, four, five
rings. There was no answer. A garbled voice recording came on. It was
full of static, but he knew he had connected to the right phone when
he heard his son’s name on the message, “Ty. Ty, It’s Dad. Can
you hear me? I’m trapped in a building in Manhattan. I’m with
some people. We’ve joined together to fight. There are dead
everywhere. You need to get us some help. Ty, can you hear me?”
Then the phone went dead.

Someone was talking to
me, but I couldn’t tell you whom it was. My head was throbbing and
my vision blurred, I needed time to think. I wanted to be alone and
made my way toward the twisted pile of steel, which was once our
stolen Humvee.

It had saved our asses,
and now it lay there wrecked, with .50 caliber bullet holes scattered
through its shell, allowing light into its darkened interior.

Disappearing around to
the backside, out of the sight of curious eyes, I rested my throbbing
forehead against the cool metal.

Breathe in through the
nose, out through the mouth, I kept telling myself. I fought the good
fight, but it didn’t work, and I hurled all over the front of my
shirt.

I felt a cool hand
touch the back of my neck and jerked away. Looking back I saw the
woman who had always been there for me. I lay my head back on the
Humvee absorbing the cold into my forehead as her always comforting
words came from her lips, “It will be okay, Ty. We’re going to
find your father. I promise you.”