The Dark Rift: The Supernatural Grail Quest Zombie Apocalypse (The Last Artifact Trilogy Book 1)
Authors: Gilliam Ness
by GILLIAM NESS
Published by
POLYMATH PUBLISHING
Toronto, Canada.
Kindle Edition
All of the characters and events in this book are fictitious, and any resemblance they might have to actual persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.
ISBN 978-0-9917265-5-4
Copyright 2016 Gilliam Ness
All rights reserved
Sign up for the author’s New Releases mailing list and get a free audiobook of:
Book One -
The Dark Rift
.
Click here to get started:
FREE AUDIOBOOK
DEDICATION
This trilogy is dedicated to the 28%
of voters who believe that a secretive, powerful elite is conspiring to rule the world through an authoritarian world government (or New World Order). It is also dedicated to the 14% of citizens who believe that there is at least a small chance of a zombie apocalypse actually happening, as well as the 13% of voters who think that the President of the United States is the anti-Christ, and the 4% of voters who believe that “lizard people” really do control our society.*
*U.S. Public Policy Poling - April 02, 2013
U.S. YouGov Omnibus - May 17, 2013
AUTHOR’S NOTE
After the many years of deep contemplation that have brought me to this, my
Opus Magnum Unifying Theory Of All Things Light And Dark
, my best advice to you, my esteemed reader, can only be this: Stockpile Kraft Dinner. You’ll be able to trade it for all kinds of stuff when the zombies come, and if everything goes wrong, and the apocalypse never happens, then it’ll all get eaten anyway. That crap never goes bad.
—GILLIAM NESS
…And then the final days arrived,
When all the wild imaginings of men came to pass.
When the myths, theories, and legends were made manifest,
And the prophecies and suspicions were fulfilled.
In those final days they trembled and cried:
“How came we to conceive of such monstrous inventions?”
For the gods and demons they had imagined were all realized.
And a great shadow spread across the world.
-The Great Fall of the Angels
(From the Compostela Manuscripts, circa 865A.D.)
The Cantabrian Mountains – 2243 B.C.
A heavy mantle of fog
clung to the surface of the small mountain lake, its dark waters emitting a profound stillness. Amid the gurgle of a slow moving paddle, a primitive dugout made its way out into the gloom, its two occupants dwarfed by the looming peaks that encased it on all sides. There was not a soul in sight.
The boy with the paddle completed another stroke, the boat sliding effortlessly forward. Their destination lay just ahead; a tiny island enshrouded in mist.
“It is strange here,” said the girl in the boat, “but it does not seem as dangerous as they say.”
There was something otherworldly about this place. It was sending waves of excitement through her. Like the boy, she too had turned twelve that day, and to celebrate their birthdays they had decided to investigate the mysterious island, knowing full well that they were forbidden to do so. She studied its dense tangle of trees.
“I want to go ashore.”
The boy frowned.
“That was not the plan,” he said. “We only came to look.”
“We do not have to go into the shrine. We can just find it and see what it looks like.”
The boy shot a suspicious glance at the island and then made up his mind.
“Very well,” he said. “We go.”
They circled the island until they had found a place to land. Above them a veiled sun was already beginning to dip behind the mountains, and the girl felt a sudden twinge of fear. The shadowy trees were dense and ominous.
“It is getting dark too quickly,” she said. “We should go back.”
“We are here,” said the boy. “We will look.”
He jumped from the primitive dugout and dragged it up onto the rocks, holding out his hand for the girl to take.
“Very well,” she said. “But only for a moment.”
The island was unkempt, and the vegetation quite dense. Lush ferns covered most of the ground, and many of the rocks were rounded over with moss. From where they stood, a path could be seen climbing into the foliage. It picked its way through the rocky terrain in a series of natural steps and landings. The two were soon finding it quite easy to navigate their way up.
“My love,” said the girl, following behind.
The boy frowned.
“Do not call me that.”
She shrugged.
“This was a mistake.”
“Why do you say that?” asked the boy.
She peered into the woods. She thought she had seen a shadowy figure moving through the trees.
“I feel we are in danger,” she said. “What if the Druid Fathers are not mistaken?”
“The Druid Fathers are old fools,” said the boy. “People no longer believe their stories. Come along. Let us see for ourselves.”
It was not long before they arrived at a small, circular clearing, not twenty feet in diameter. There was no visible shrine here, only what appeared to be a large flattened boulder located directly at its centre. As they made their way towards it they could see the weathered image of a maze carved into its surface, with a crude figure of a man standing at its entrance. The carving seemed ancient, and was covered in lichen and moss. More disturbing still was what lay at the outer extremities of the clearing: A grouping of fourteen standing stones, each as tall as a man, and forming a perfect circle around them.
“What is this place?” asked the girl.
The boy shook his head and frowned.
“I do not know.”
The sound of a large bird taking flight startled the girl. As her eyes followed it up through the tangled boughs she saw how dim the sky had become, and noticed only then the darkness that was growing in the woods. She found herself wishing that she were far away from the island, and more importantly, from this disturbing circle of stones.
“I am frightened,” she said, clutching the boy. “Let us go now. I do not like the way this island makes me feel.”
“Just a little while longer,” he said, taking her hand. “Come along. We are very close.”
She followed him reluctantly, deeper and deeper into the thick. It seemed to her that the island was swallowing them alive. After a five minute hike the boy stopped suddenly, his heart pounding with excitement as he pulled her into yet another clearing.
“This must be the place,” he said, oblivious to the paralyzing fear that had overtaken her.
“Wait,” he muttered, his eyes straining. “What is this?”
He could see the standing stones looming in a circle around them. They had somehow returned to the same place, and something felt terribly wrong. It was too dark. At some point the overcast sky had transformed into a starless void, and only the muted light of a crescent moon leaked through the twisted branches above.
“We have been walking in circles,” he stammered.
A shrill pitch of the purest fear was ringing through his body now. He could not understand. The air had become frigidly cold.
“The Druid Fathers were right,” he whispered, shaking his head in horror. “By the gods, what have we done?”
A deep and inky void had appeared where the central monolith had been, but just then, something even more unsettling came into view. Shadowy figures were materializing behind the standing stones. They were stumbling forward, their arms hanging limply at their sides, their gazes vacant and cold. The boy’s eyes opened wide with fear. These people were dead. Their flesh was crawling with worms, yet they somehow still walked.
“No!” he grunted, unable to move. “This is impossible.”
It was only then that it came. It was an invisible force of unimaginable potency. It moved over the two of them with the momentum of an ocean tide, forcing them both to the ground, and driving the sight from their eyes.