Sample Chapters - Bloodbane: Quest of Lance
If you’re looking for a fun, pulp-horror adventure, look no further!
I present to you a short sample from my new release, and I hope you enjoy.
Grab the book here, and listen to the original soundtrack too.
Chapter One
There was no good reason for the company to be out logging this remote stretch of woods, but Lance wasn’t paid to think. He was paid to cut.
Lost Hills Logging wasn’t just the biggest outfit in the region, it was the best. Lance took pride in being on the team, even though today, he’d much rather be in Sadler City with his wife and daughter. In any case, the faster he finished, the faster he could get out of here, and back to them. Currently he was attacking a tree atop a tricky slope the feller buncher couldn’t quite manage.
Rope secured and crampons dug into the bark of the ninety foot pine, Lance let his chainsaw bite into the nearest branch, chewed through it like butter, and watched hundreds of pounds of wood fall to the forest floor with a boom. The woods were a racket of power tools, digging and hauling machinery, roughnecks hollering and laughing. It had to be the most action this forest had ever seen.
Lance was about to scoot himself down to the next set of branches when there was a bright flash of light to the north. Someone cursed in surprise and several shouts of warning rose from among the hills.
A still moment passed, Lost Hills loggers trying to imagine what it was they’d just seen. Then another, brighter, longer flash accompanied by a rapid series of deafening pops and one final CRACK as something unfathomably huge and hard gave way.
Hundreds of old growth trees and tons of rock and dirt rocketed skywards. Lance could hear the screams of lumberjacks as they were tossed helplessly by the eruption. As the debris fell and men bellowed for order and a plan, a bruised light painted the ruined clearing and nearby trees crimson and green. The light grew, reaching in nebulous tentacles above and among the trees.
Lance had no idea what the blood light was, but his soul screamed that it couldn’t be good. He touched the lump of his cross beneath red flannel and prayed for protection from he knew not what, then started descending his tree on the edge of panic.
Just before his boots touched ground, the screams started.
It was a sound unlike anything Lance had ever heard. Horrid and sharp and desperate, like the wails of undead babies wracked with hunger pangs. Shouts of warning and panic joined the chorus of terror. A truck started up and boots pounded the ground, fleeing something.
Lance raced to get his climbing gear off. He’d put down his chainsaw and was about to run toward the sounds of trouble. He looked at the tool, squinted, and picked it up again, then ran. He passed Marco along the way. The burly Latino’s eyes were wide and dark. Sweat poured down his face.
“Where are you going? We have to get out of here!” Marco screamed. He didn’t wait for an answer and rushed away from the trouble.
Lance thought Marco might be right, but he couldn’t flee without answering the screams for help. It didn’t matter what the cost might be.
The sickly light grew more present, if not brighter, as he came near to the site of the eruption. The trees ahead were broken, askew. Beyond the tree line, a crater filled with gangrenous light. In the shadows, crooked forms slunk to and fro as if in confusion. Suddenly Lance realized the chorus of screams had ceased. An old pickup truck was parked just off the road they’d forged to the logging site. Lance hid behind it and observed.
A human form struggled to pull itself out of the crater and succeeded, resting on hands and knees in the shadowed grass, breathing hard. It looked to Lance like Jerry, a grizzled veteran of the forest who’d lost a few fingers on the job but kept at it nonetheless.
Jerry seemed to notice something behind him and scrambled to his feet. But when he tried to run, a scythe of shining blood lashed out from the pit and took his feet off at the ankles. Lance gasped and stood. He wanted to help but was paralyzed. If the light were alive, he did not think that his chainsaw would work against it.
Jerry fell screaming, clutching at the stumps of his legs as the luminous blood merged with his own. The bright, crimson liquid was flowing into him. Jerry’s veins lit up, then faded to black, and even at a distance Lance could see his skin gaining a green pallor. The blood light reached Jerry’s eyes, and replaced their cool blue with a deep red that shone like hate through the shadows.
Lance took a step back.
Something screeched and tore at his flannel shirt. Lance spun to find a man named Kyle before him, red eyes blazing with mindless evil. Instinct brought the chainsaw around and into the side of Kyle’s head. The resistance of contact was more like hitting tree bark than a human skull, and though it cut Kyle’s sickly skin, the static blade did not penetrate bone. I just hadn’t been a good enough swing.
Kyle’s hands clamped down on the saw blade. The skin of his fingers had been worn to the bone, and what was left looked sharp as knives. Lance frantically tried to start the chainsaw motor. It choked. Kyle sliced through one of his sleeves, drawing blood. Lance gritted his teeth.
He planted a foot in Kyle’s chest, driving him away, but the other’s grip was stronger and the chainsaw went with him.
“Get your own saw!” Lance spat as he vaulted up into the pickup truck’s bed.
There were tools here. A hammer, coils of rope, a machete. But Lance’s eyes fell on a gas-powered pole saw. He lunged for it as Kyle scrambled up into the truck with him. His old coworker apparently lacked the presence of mind now to retain a weapon. He brandished his bone claws instead. Lance stumbled as Kyle’s weight shook the truck on its shocks. Lance twisted to keep balance and one hand landed on the shaft of the pole saw. The other slapped cold metal near the machete. He grabbed it.
Lance swept up with a rising cut and caught Kyle in the jaw. The beast inside the once-man screamed even as the machete ruined his monstrous face. Barely keeping balance, Lance jumped the tailgate, braced himself, dropped the machete, and pulled the cord to start the pole saw. Still warmed-up, it started on the first pull and Lance grinned.
Kyle’s jaw was falling off but the monster came on. It vaulted to the ground with somewhat less grace than Lance, and was met with the growling saw chain. Lance carved a hole in Once-Kyle’s chest and only let himself breathe when the body fell aside, limp.
Lance expected the corpse to leak luminescent blood like that in the nearby crater, but it bled like any body and the light of wickedness faded from its eyes. Was it Kyle again? Either way, it was dead.
Lance had let his guard down out of relief when something growled to his right. He turned. Jerry approached, but slowly, stumbling on the ruined stumps of his ankles. He showed no reaction to what must have been excruciating pain. If Lance had any doubts about the humanity of these once-beings before, it was now entirely dispelled. Lance one-handed the pole saw and retrieved the machete. Might as well save the power tool if it was possible.
Lance closed the distance to Jerry, casting his eyes to the sides to check for flanking monsters. They seemed to be alone, though Lance was certain other men would have been altered during or after the blood eruption.
Lance feinted a strike with the machete, testing his enemy’s reflexes. They were good, but Jerry still fell for the trick. He moved to block in one direction as Lance switched it up and brought the machete across Jerry’s exposed neck. He didn’t quite behead the once-man but it was more than enough to take him out. Jerry fell to the ground, dead, again.
Lance allowed himself a quick debate. What was in the blood pit that had caused this? How close could he get without being altered himself? Was it worth the risk to know? He decided it was.
He jogged closer to the crater, sweating like a pig. There was a thankful rise, the merest swell of a hill, which gave him a better angle into the pit. It was hard to see through the swirling blood light, but he thought there was indeed an anomaly down there, a formation of absinthe-hued gemstone, dusted with dirt and rock blasted from the eruption of power.
It occurred to Lance very briefly that this might be what Lost Hills Logging had been after. Them or their clients. But there wasn’t time to tease out a conspiracy. He needed to flee before the situation here got worse, and he didn’t want to have to kill more of his former colleagues.
Jogging back to the rusty old truck, Lance checked the ignition on a whim. The keys were in, and it started. He threw the pole saw in the bed but kept the machete close at hand. Whatever else was in the truck’s storage chest was his now. Soon Lance was bouncing down the rough road, eager to leave the cursed forest behind.
***
But leaving altogether wasn’t the smartest course, he realized.
First, he needed to snag some signal and make some calls. Wife, boss, then 911. Surely the people at the ranger station knew something insane had happened, but in case they didn’t, he needed to report in to them too.
As he fished his phone from its belt case, a stinging in his arm reminded him that his wound needed tending as well. He’d hardly noticed that his skin was cold with the blood congealing on his sleeve. But it could wait a few more minutes.
Careful to keep his eyes on the dangerous road, Lance dialed Celia. Only when the call failed and he risked a glance at the screen did he realize that there was still no signal here. He’d have to call from the ranger station's landline.
Being prudent, Lance dialed 911, figuring that would go through if nothing else, but this also failed. That was a little concerning.
He gauged nearly an hour to the ranger station. He could try calling periodically on the way, of course, but with the unknown hellish entities behind him in the woods, every moment felt precious. There might still be survivors back there. He kept his foot on the gas and eyes on the road.
A strange fatigue pulled at the edges of his perception despite the fact it was mid-morning. Waning adrenaline? He ignored it, thought of his family and the dead colleagues back near the crater, and drove on. But the closer he came to the station, the stranger he felt, as if it were deep night and he should be headed home to bed. The sky seemed darker than it should be, the horizon redder. It put Lance in mind of the blood crater and the horrors it had spawned.
His eyelids were heavy and closing of their own volition. He swore he startled himself awake just before the turn off into the ranger station. He had made it alive and conscious, but just barely.
Gravel crunched under his tires as he brought the old pickup to a stop, parking crookedly. The station looked deserted, and it seemed the rangers had left in a hurry. Their garage was open, the ATVs missing. There were only two vehicles in the lot - a sedan and an old Ford pickup. The lights were on inside, but the station’s door hung open as if forgotten in the rush.
Lance wasn’t so sure he wanted to go in, but if the rangers had run off to see what had happened back at the blood crater, what danger could there be here? He shut off the truck’s engine, snatched up the machete, and got out. He almost left the pole saw in the truck bed but thought better and reached in to retrieve it.
Being on his feet felt good - his eyes were willing to be open again. But the sky was still unnerving. Was a storm rolling in?
No matter. The station was the thing at hand. Now, to start the saw, or not? He couldn’t hear anything rooting around in the station, but that didn’t mean it was empty. Lance preferred to be ready for anything, though of course the saw’s noise might attract undesirables from nearby as well as inside… He decided he couldn’t be too careful and pulled the starter rope. Its stuttering growl was comforting.
Lance swiveled his weary head to check the perimeter. Nothing stirred in the woods. He approached the door to the station, watching for shadows in the entryway. Nothing. He passed through the door frame and into the short hall beyond. Water was running in a bathroom or kitchen. Turning into an open office, Lance found the floor strewn with paper. A single stripe of blood painted the wall to his left, but he saw no bodies and heard naught but the idling of his pole saw.
The rangers’ desks were mostly chaos. Only one still looked orderly and the incongruous detail was in itself unnerving. The large office area led to a back hall, where Lance found the bathroom and shut off the running water. Splashes of pink on ceramic suggested that someone had washed blood off their hands here. Following the hall, Lance found the rangers’ small armory door open. They’d ransacked the room for guns and ammo, leaving everything not taken strewn about. He only spared a glance for the moment, moving on to clear the rest of the station before daring to let his guard down. There was nothing else of note downstairs, and only an administrative office upstairs.
No survivors, no monsters.
Lance returned to the armory and turned off the pole saw to save gas. There was a rack on the wall for long guns, but all the rifles had been taken. Empty boxes of bullets lay among the debris on the floor. There was an M1911 resting alone on a shelf, but Lance didn’t see any ammo for it. He did find a nice Mossberg 590 resting in one corner, as well as a half box of shells.
It seemed a crime to leave the handgun behind despite it being empty, so Lance tucked it into his waistband. The Mossberg had a strap, so after loading it and stowing the extra shells, Lance slipped the strap over his head and let the gun hang at his side.
Having a gun made him feel better, even if he didn’t have much ammo.
Lance dug in the mess for another gun strap and found one. He fiddled around with tying it to the pole saw so he could sling the tool around his back. Then he returned to the main office.
On closer inspection he could see how the struggle in the room had gone. There had been a fight - shuffling boots left dirty prints on the old carpet. The combatants had knocked stacks of paperwork from the various desks as they grappled and struggled. Someone had hit or cut their assailant and painted the stripe on the wall. Then they had either taken the fight outside and left, or the winner had taken the loser’s body with him.
Or the body had left on its own.
On the wall next to the stripe of blood there was a map of the area.
Someone had hurriedly scribbled black circles around several spots in the forest, arranged in a large X. One of the circles was the logging site Lance had just fled from. He hadn’t known Lost Hills Logging was running other operations in the forest… He glanced at the legend and estimated. His site was at the farthest end of one stroke. Something worse could very well be at the center of the X. But Sadler City lay past a hundred miles of forest and half the state beyond. His best bet at getting to his family was making a b-line to the east, keeping as far from the center of the X as possible. He'd alert the authorities about the disaster as soon as he had a chance.
Though surely someone knew by now...
He was about to leave when he remembered food. The kitchen had been ransacked as well, as if someone had spread packaged items all over the counter and then swept things into a pack with a hurried arm. Lance made out with an armful of abandoned jerky, some cracker packs, nut mix, and a Twinkie. He unwrapped one of the jerkies and popped the whole strip in his mouth, chewing as he wound back through the station.
Lance had just stepped out of the ranger station when he heard a chorus of barks and snarls, followed by the report of a rifle. His mind raced. He could make the truck and haul out before the threat was even in sight, but then he'd be leaving the shooter to his death. Lance filled his lungs with courage and crept to the corner of the station. The sounds had come from uphill. Another rifle shot, and more snarls. A man cried out.
The man rolled down out of the tree line and lost his grip on the rifle. The gun clattered against stone and fell into a ditch. The man - he was dressed like a ranger - hit his arm on a rock as he tumbled. Lance heard it break. He took several running strides toward the ranger but the things chasing him were faster.
It was a pack of wolves, but changed. Their eyes were as red as the things that had been Kyle and Jerry, but there was something more cunning about these beasts. Two of eight must have sensed Lance because they perked up their heads, then dashed toward him even as the rest descended on the ranger.
Now he was too far from the truck to run. He’d have to cut the once-wolves down. Lance started the pole saw again in two pulls. The wolves closed on him faster than he would have preferred and lunged at him, heedless of the growling weapon in his hands. He caught the first wolf’s jaws on the saw chain and cleaved its head in two. The corrupted body fell to the ground, twitching. Lance kicked the second wolf aside. It did not yelp in pain as a living creature would have done, but recovered and leapt at the pole saw.
The beast got its powerful jaws on the shaft and tried to wrench it from Lance’s grasp. Hardly thinking, Lance let the saw go, unslung his requisitioned shotgun, pumped and fired into the once-wolf’s body. It tumbled aside and lay still. Lance retrieved his pole saw and started backing away. The other wolves were too busy with the ranger to care about the death of their kin.
At first, the ranger struggled, but Lance saw that as the wolves dug in to feast on him, tendrils of that accursed luminous blood flowed out of the brush and bramble, seeking the ranger. It entered him. His arms stopped flailing and his fingers tensed with pain and mounting anti-life. Then he bellowed and surged to a sitting position. The wolves backed away from him in a panic, confused? Cowed?
Whatever the case, the ranger had changed now as well - his red-lit eyes told Lance all he needed to know. He did not wait to find out if the wolves would notice him and switch targets - he ran.
The barks of the horrors chased him, but he made the truck and started it up in one swift motion. There was only a low curb and a slab of old concrete in front of the truck, so Lance gunned it and the truck jolted over the bumps and onto the road.
Red-eyed once-beasts filled his rearview mirror, then fell away behind plumes of dust.
Grab the book here, and buy the original soundtrack too!