About Itinerant:
It is a time of discovery, as our heroes venture forth on expeditions.
General Theodore Davies rushes to meet an ally, but will it be for naught? Olympus is but a shell, ready to be crushed under the heel of Rosae Crucis. The enemy is at the gates.
John Miller leads a team in search of answers. He knows the coordinates of his goal but doesn't know if they will make it to their destination and back, or what they will even find.
New characters step out of the shadow and into the light. Their stories are told, and revelations made. What are the things that link them together? A mosaic is slowly being laid; Tile by tile.
In the meantime, the undead continue their mission. They snuff out all life that they find. They heed the call of the collective. They mass together, forming a tide that will wash over the living.
Now they come.
Follow along as events unfold in Itinerant, the third volume in Apocalypsis Immortuos.
Excerpt:
Knock, knock, knock.
Charles ignored the sound. He sat on his couch and luxuriated in the afternoon sunlight shining through his west-facing living room window.
Not now, Evelyn, he wanted to call. Or, Just a minute, dear. As he so often had in the past.
But that would do no good now. In fact, it would only spur his wife of thirty-eight years into a frenzied assault on the bedroom door.
Not that she would be able to get through. Evelyn had weighed all of a hundred and ten pounds. When she was soaking wet.
And now, decidedly less, Charles figured, although he had not looked upon his wife for over two weeks.
Oh, my poor Evelyn.
She’d been the one constant thing in Charles’ life. Their house, the career, the children: Those things all came and went. But Evelyn had always been there, from the moment he’d first met her. That ended on a fateful night. When she succumbed to the syndrome. Charles had run to the telephone, anxious to call for help even though deep down he knew there would be no help.
There wasn’t even an answer.
He did not expect to see her standing beside the very bed she had died in when he returned several minutes later. The look on her face and the way she moved freaked him out, but this was his wife, so he went to her. She’d attacked him, of course. He’d seen enough footage on TV and the internet to know what was truly going on. Still, he refused to believe it. This was his Evelyn. He had held her down and tried to talk to her.
It took him nearly a half hour, until exhaustion threatened to give her the upper hand, for Charles to finally give in to the facts. Evelyn had died. Then she rose from the dead and attacked him. Charles wrapped her in blankets to keep her immobile for a minute. He quickly pulled three entire drawers out of their chest and tossed them out of the door. Charles had even had the foresight to run to their en-suite bathroom and grab his glasses, teeth, and toothbrush. He drew the door shut just as Evelyn wormed most of her body free of the blankets.
He still thought that he could get some help, so he ran out of his apartment and knocked on all the doors on his floor, begging for assistance. Nobody opened. The only response he got was somebody yelling from inside their home for him to go away.
Actually, that’s not true. There was another response. Charles shuddered as he remembered somebody pounding on the door without uttering a single word. He backed away from it as if it had caught on fire. He ran into his own apartment and locked his door.
Evelyn started pounding on the bedroom door once he got back into the apartment. She had sensed that he had returned. Charles had dragged the drawers away from the bedroom door and now lived out of them, like some tourist living out of luggage.
Forgot your pants though, didn’t you ... Charles looked down at his knobby knees. He’d been walking around in boxer shorts since that night. So far, it had not been a problem. Nobody complained, anyway. At least he got his t-shirts. Today he sported the deep purple shirt of his favorite college team. The shirt was too large for him and hung down nearly past his boxers. It almost looked ridiculous, like he was wearing a purple dress.
Forgetting his pants was not the worst thing, however. Those same knobby knees were a testament to that, as they complained whenever he got up. He could almost picture the little orange bottle of arthritis medicine, sitting there on the counter of their bathroom.
They were right beside your teeth, in fact. Why didn’t you grab them, you fool!
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About Marco de Hoogh:
Marco moved to Calgary, Canada with his family when he was twelve years old. His parents started up a chocolate factory, which existed for twenty years. Marco is addicted to chocolate.
He still names Calgary his home, and lives there with his wife, two sons, and various house pets. He loves to read, play and watch soccer, and hang out with friends. But mostly he loves to write.
Thanks for posting this!
ReplyDeleteMarco