A Town Called America
Read A Town Called America Online
Authors: Andrew Alexander
Tags: #Post-Apocalyptic | Dystopian | Vampires
A TOWN CALLED AMERICA
A
NOVEL BY
M
R
. A
NDREW
A
LEXANDER
Copyright © 2014 Andrew Alexander
All rights reserved.
ISBN: 1500614378
ISBN 13: 9781500614379
Library of Congress Control Number: 2014917517
CreateSpace Independent Publishing Platform
North Charleston, South Carolina
DEDICATE TO
My wife Lisa and our wonderful children, Paul,
Elizabeth and Catherine. Without your support, this book would not have happened.
My mother Ginny, my brother Paul and sister Rebecca. All three of you have given me the courage to meet any challenge.
Carol and Valery, for your inspiration and encouragement.
Zack, for all your support and help along this journey.
Tina, for always encouraging me to make my dream a reality.
Lastly, my dearest friend Ben and his lovely wife Amanda. You both have listened to me go on and on about this book for over two years, never discouraging me from pursuing my dream.
PROLOGUE
T
he horse-drawn wagon, with its aging white-and-brown stallion, slowly made its way down the mud-covered street, past buildings of wood and stone that were sparsely adorned with the few items the poor villagers possessed, such as wind chimes or an occasional faded doll or trinket that lay outside.
Road after road and village after village, the wagon made its way through the rugged countryside. After nearly three days of traveling through mud and rain, it eventually arrived at its destination, a cottage nestled deep in an overgrown forest. The home belonged to the wagon’s sole occupant, a short, out-of-shape, middle-aged man with unkempt hair.
Quite intelligent despite his appearance, he was one of only a few educated citizens in the surrounding countryside and was fluent in reading, writing, and mathematics. A recluse, he had no desire to educate or better the lives of anyone other than himself, much less the local villagers and certainly not the young servant who met him at the wagon to secure the horse’s reins.
The servant knew all too well not to meddle in her master’s business. She had made that mistake just once, and that was all it had taken for her to learn her lesson. She knew the man’s only ambition in life was to translate and understand a parchment he had discovered many years before. This parchment consumed nearly every aspect of his life.
For nearly a decade, he had worked diligently night after night in his study. Under the soft glow of candlelight, he had spent countless hours attempting to translate the ancient document. Local academics called him a fool for undertaking such a task, all of them believing the document was a forgery. They had made their feelings on the matter very clear during his recent visit to the university—a visit he now regretted making.
He, on the other hand, knew the document was genuine. Was there any proof? None whatsoever. It was just something he felt. He knew it to be true, and if he were correct, then perhaps the creature was still out there somewhere, possibly the last of his race.
But regardless of the opinions of others he questioned why it was so hard for those simpletons at the university to believe there once had been a civilization in history that was advanced, perhaps even more so than theirs.
Did he understand why the critics had their reservations? Of course. It still, however, didn’t change the fact that his peers had torn apart his findings before he had completed his study of the document, before he had fully translated it, and before he could even present his findings.
The moment these so-called scholars had read such an incredible tale about wars, vampires, and a great lost civilization with flying machines and horseless carriages, they had tossed away the entire story, along with his credibility, which eventually was completely diminished.
Regardless of his peers or his reputation, the following is what he believed to be true. This is the story as he translated it after finding the parchment buried under an enormous inscribed boulder.
PART ONE
ONE
M
y body had been lying on the shore for hours, facedown in the sand. I was without clothes, and my skin was sunken to nearly that of a skeleton. Wave after wave of salt water washed over my body from the great Atlantic. The moon was high that evening; there wasn’t a single cloud, and the sky was full of stars
.
The storm had finally passed after three days of pounding the coast with hurricane-force winds. Once the massive winds finally subsided, my body had washed up on the beach. My name is Rick Nolan, and for all intents and purposes, I am dead and have been for a very long time
.
I am different from humans. I am indeed a vampire…a vampire who is slowly beginning to heal
.
As the cold salt water evaporated from my body, and the cool night air finally began to fill my lungs, I took my first breath in what may have been centuries, possibly longer. I was exhausted, coughing and gasping for air, weak and disorientated. Freezing cold and barely able to move, I knew only one thing: I needed to feed, or I wouldn’t survive for long. In unbearable pain I crawled up the beach on my hands and knees toward the blurry tree line in the distance
.
With the sand clinging to my wet body, after what felt like a lifetime, I pushed myself to my knees. As time passed my mind slowly became clearer, and eventually my vision began to return
.
There in the distance, possibly three hundred feet from the shore, I saw it. It was my ticket to expediting the healing process: a small white rabbit. I focused
my eyes and thoughts; I was able to anticipate exactly where the rabbit was going
.
Faster than any other living creature on earth could move, I was upon my prey. As I sank my sharp teeth into the animal, warm blood filled my mouth and began to restore life to my weakened body. I knew the rabbit wouldn’t satisfy my desire for human blood, but it would sustain me for a short time
.
In the weeks after I washed up on the shore and was set free from my prison, I slowly grew stronger. As my strength returned, I finally was able to begin my search for human life
.
Day after day I hunted to no avail. There wasn’t a single sign that indicated human life existed any longer. Eventually I expanded my search and explored deeper into the forest. I pushed my way into the dense woods toward a hilltop that protruded far above the tree line. On my hands and knees, I crawled through the thickets and mud, making my way to the top
.
The slope was slippery from the dew-covered grass, but I was hungry for blood, which only gave me more determination. I wasn’t about to let wet grass stop me from reaching the top. It was slow going, but I did make it. Finally I reached the top only to find a rather large plateau that overlooked a valley far below
.
After climbing atop a boulder, I stood looking out over the vast landscape. In that moment I knew without a doubt that I was alone. Although the view was majestic, I saw nothing that looked like anything I remembered. It was then that I knew I was blessed with the gift of immortality but cursed to spend eternity alone
.
As far as I could see, there was a vast ocean of trees and vegetation that had long since swallowed up nearly every manmade structure that ever had existed. The only signs that humans ever had walked the earth were a few dots on the landscape—a handful of tall buildings poking up through the treetops and a collapsed bridge or two. Looking out over the trees, I decided that if I were going to keep my sanity in this foreign world, I’d have to find a way to occupy myself
.
I sat on the boulder and pulled out a large roll of blank parchment I had acquired from the ruins of a collapsed building several days before and began to write the story of my life
.
I wish I could say that everything was perfect before the fall of humanity, before I became what I’m forever cursed to be. I wish I could say the world was
a wonderful place and civilization had no problems, but sometimes the truth is far more interesting
.
Just like you, I started out in this world not as a vampire but as a human. I grew up just before the great global collapse, hearing stories about how society once had been. By the time I was in my early twenties, any hope that people could fix the world’s problems was a distant dream. The reality was that the world was shit, and I was stuck right in the middle of it
.
Regardless of the economic issues, the lack of food, and the poverty that surrounded all of us, as I sit on this hilltop, I can only come to one conclusion: I had a good life
.
As I look out over the world now and see nothing but ruins, I miss the people I was fortunate enough to have in my short life. They helped define who I was and who I am now
.
After everything I’ve been through, all the lives I’ve taken and the loves I’ve gained and lost, I don’t feel like the same man who dove into the cold waters of the Atlantic so long ago, and it’s for that reason that I now write the story of my life as a spectator. The one question that keeps running through my mind is “Would I do it over again, given the chance?” You bet your ass I would
.
TWO
T
hat winter was cold, with at least an inch of ice on the ground. Rick’s driver’s-side window was down, and he saw his breath. Little puffs of smoke hovered between him and the windshield. They floated there in perfect peace until they vanished moments later. It reminded him of how fragile life was.
Trying to smoke a cigarette while weaving his vehicle around all the junked cars that littered the freeway in every direction was a hell of a task. Vehicles of every sort had been abandoned, and for a moment, Rick thought he might actually get be stuck. The fog and ice seemed to blur everything, but the one thing he had going for him was that nothing ever changed. The same cars were in the same places they had been for years, and he knew every twist and turn to get through this maze of twisted metal and debris.
He had two choices; he could try sitting out the weather or push through. It wasn’t much of a choice, but fortunately he had just stocked up on a couple days’ worth of food and water. More important, he had found a carton of cigarettes, and to him that was the equivalent of finding gold.
Several hours earlier, Rick had been at a truck stop a few miles up the road, scavenging for fuel, when he saw a fishing pole that was perfect for his son, Eric. Dark red, with a blue stripe down the side, it needed to be taped up because it had a small crack, but it was still a
fantastic find. It was two days before Eric’s birthday, and Rick knew the fishing pole would be the perfect gift.
His car was empty except for rations he had found. It was getting harder and harder to find anything, and he had to travel farther every time he left the security of town. Rick was again going back with little to show for his efforts, as every store shelf within twenty miles had been stripped clean long ago. Except for the fishing pole and a measly two days’ rations, it had been a waste of time and precious gas.
The car Rick was driving was highly modified to say the least. It was a 1968 black Chevy El Camino with no hood or bumpers. Around the body one-inch-thick steel plating had been welded in place to protect him from unfriendly encounters with any fool who tried to shoot at him for the car or his supplies.