Dead Summit (Book 1): Dead Summit Read online

  Dead Summit

  By

  Daniel Loubier

  www.AuthorMikeInk.com

  Copyright 2011 Daniel Loubier

  All Rights Reserved.

  ISBN: 0-9845801-6-6

  ISBN-13: 978-0-9845801-6-3

  Library of Congress Control Number: 2011910880

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the publisher or author.

  This book is a work of fiction. People, places events, and situations are the product of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or historical events is purely coincidental.

  First Published by AuthorMike Dark Ink, 10/15/2011

  www.AuthorMikeInk.com

  AuthorMike Ink, Dark Ink and its logo are trademarked by AuthorMike Ink.

  For Bailey, my favorite little zombie. Without all those sleep-deprived nights, I may have never found the inspiration or the stamina.

  There is a place in the woods occupied by things far more dangerous than wild animals. A place where bears, snakes, and mountain lions would be considered welcome guests by comparison. A place where evil endures only because the living continue to visit. A place so calamitous and so damnable nobody would go if they knew what awaited them.

  A centuries-old secret lies there, beneath the earth. A secret that, when the time is right, rises to wreak havoc and chaos on those who pass through. A secret, ready to unleash hell and anguish once again upon those who return...

  Contents

  Preface

  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

  Acknowledgments

  Preface

  1959

  There was a chill in the air that night. The moon, concealed by the clouds that canvassed the campground with a cold, dark gray blanket, offered no light. Low temperatures were typical in the mountains, even during the summer months, but especially at night. It was perfectly normal to have eighty-degree days and forty-degree nights. This particular night, Sam could see his own breath escaping from his mouth even as he sat by the fire.

  A Boy Scout as a child, Sam enjoyed campfires. He loved listening to the popping, snapping, and crackling of the little pockets of sap that would burst as the wood heated up, and the whoosh of the flame when it grew too high. For him, even as an adult, there was a sense of excitement, and pride, in being able to create a red-hot blaze from nothing more than a tiny spark and a stack of logs. Of course, he enjoyed building fires for her too—for Linda.

  Linda Ashley and Sam Campbell were high school sweethearts. The All-American Boy and Girl, the Homecoming King and Queen, the Yin and Yang—inseparable. They attended the same college; their families vacationed together in Cape Cod each summer. Although they were only dating, Sam called her parents “Mom” and “Dad.” They were the fairy tale couple personified.

  Linda sat in a chair, away from the fire, watching Sam’s concentration as he stoked the flame.

  “Are you going to teach your son how to build a fire someday?” she asked.

  Sam looked up. After all these years, she was still a vision. Her tattered and faded blue Yale sweater and sweatpants, unflattering by most accounts, still managed to hug all the right curves of her body. A runner in college, she hadn’t lost her athletic figure since graduation. Her dark, flowing hair only enhanced her intense brown eyes, which seemed to pierce right through his, probing his thoughts, perhaps. Sam loved the way she would rub her delicate little nose against the stubble of his face when they were in bed. The way her feet would seek his under the sheets on winter nights. Amid these thoughts, he almost forgot what she had said only moments ago.

  “Who says it’s going to be a boy?” Sam smiled. He knew Linda had dreamed of having kids ever since high school. He also knew she dreamed of having a son.

  “Why does it have to be Daddy’s little girl? Can’t it be Mommy’s little angel?” she pouted, playfully.

  Sam stood from where he knelt by the fire. He couldn’t tell if the sweat on his forehead was from the heat of the flame or just his nerves—all he could think about was his travel bag inside their tent. Inside the bag was a little box with a little ring with a not-so-little diamond in its setting. Sam planned to propose while they were on vacation.

  It made sense to propose while they were out here. They vacationed in the woods often. They even made love for the first time while camping in a tent as teenagers. Because they lived at home, they had never been able to find enough privacy until then, and they were more than ready for each other. Through college and even after, they still enjoyed the same intense affection for one another. They also shared the same passion for the outdoors. They loved the fresh air, the peace and quiet, the simpler way of life synonymous with the northeast.

  Sam walked over to where Linda was sitting and looked down. His eyes met hers. He stared for a moment, at the reflection of the fire in her eyes, and then reached out for her hand.

  “It’s getting late,” he said.

  “Are you saying you want to go to bed?” Linda asked.

  Sam nodded. She gave him her hand, and he didn’t let go as he led her into the tent. She turned toward the fire

  “Isn’t it dangerous to leave it like that?” she asked.

  “I thought it would be romantic,” he said.

  Linda smiled and followed Sam into the tent.

  Linda awoke with a start. It was late. Very late. And there had been a noise.

  What the hell was that?

  She sat up and waited in silence, waited for the noise to come again. She listened to the sounds of the night: the occasional chirp of a cricket nearby, the hoot of a night owl, the rustling of leaves and sticks off to her left.

  There it is again.

  She nudged Sam. He snorted and shifted, and his eyes eventually fluttered open.

  “What is it?”

  “I just heard something,” she whispered.

  “What did you hear?” he asked.

  “I don’t know. It sounded like...shuffling.”

  “Probably just a raccoon or something.”

  The sound came again. This time it was much louder.

  “Okay, that sounds close!” Linda said, a bit of panic in her voice. Sam was now sitting up too, immediately more alert than he had been only a half-second ago. Linda was sure that it was something big. Definitely not a raccoon or a squirrel. More like a deer or a bear.

  In that instant, Linda thought about the security of their bear bag. She was fairly certain that Sam had tied it high and far enough away from the site. In addition to building fires, Boy Scouts had also taught Sam that the safest place to store “smellables” (food, deodorant, toothpaste, etc.) outdoors is up high, about fifteen feet above the ground between two trees.

  “All right,” he said. “I’ll go check it out.”

  He quietly got dressed and unzipped the door to the tent. He found his shoes just outside and, after putting them on, stood up to take a look around.

 
It was dark. The clouds overhead remained; there would be no moonlight. He scanned their site and tried rubbing the sleep from his eyes. He looked behind the tent, by the car, even into the site next to theirs. It was then that he saw the man standing among the trees.

  WHAT THE FUCK?

  As his eyes adjusted, Sam could see that the man was facing away from their tent, unmoving, as if staring at something in the darkness. He turned back to Linda and asked her for a flashlight. Linda hurriedly looked around the floor of the tent—no flashlight. She began to search through Sam’s travel bag with her hands. She recognized a few items; a hair brush, shaving kit, and then she touched what she thought felt like a jewelry box. Ignoring it, she found the flashlight and handed it to him. Sam turned it on and aimed it in the direction of where the man was standing.

  He was gone.

  How is that possible?

  He scanned the area surrounding their site but saw nothing. The only sound he could hear was that of his own pulse thumping in his ears. The sound grew more intense as he walked away from the tent and toward the camp road, searching for the man in the woods.

  In the tent, Linda got dressed and looked for another flashlight. She was concerned about Sam, but she also began to wonder what was in the jewelry box in his bag. After putting on a shirt, she found a second flashlight and sifted through his bag again. She knew she shouldn’t, but her curiosity had gotten the best of her. When her hand finally rested upon the little box, she pulled it out of the bag and opened it. She saw the ring.

  OH MY GOD!

  She finally knew Sam’s intentions. He had been very secretive about their vacation plans; he hadn’t given her any details other than that they would be camping in the woods. She began to imagine herself wearing a white dress with a veil over her face, surrounded by a dozen bridesmaids all wearing Yale blue bridesmaid dresses. In her mind, she was walking down the aisle. She could see Sam wearing his tuxedo. The priest was there too. They were standing at the altar, waiting for her. Her parents were in the front row, turning toward her, watching proudly as their daughter walked toward her future. There was an organist too, and he was playing—

  She was roused from her fantasy by the sound of Sam’s screams.

  “SAM!” she yelled, snapping back to reality. She climbed out of the tent and shouted his name again as she left the site and began to run down the camp road, pointing the flashlight in the direction of Sam’s screams. She desperately needed to hear his voice.

  “SAM!” Still nothing. She expected to be joined by other campers awoken by Sam’s screams, but to her surprise, she was alone, searching through the shadows and led only by phantom screams somewhere far off in the night.

  After running for a while, she finally saw a figure up ahead, but she was unable to tell who it with her flashlight dancing around like a butterfly in the darkness.

  “Sam? Is that you, baby?”

  He didn’t move. He stood there in the middle of the road, looking off to one side. She called his name again, still unsure if it was really him. As she moved closer, she recognized the white polo shirt he’d been wearing earlier and knew it was him. Oddly, his shirt was covered in dirt, up and down his sleeves and all over the front. Linda stopped running but continued to approach Sam with caution.

  Something was wrong.

  Linda called his name again, but he was still unresponsive. “Tell me what happened, baby. You’re scaring me.”

  Without speaking, he began walking toward her. He moved with a half-limping, half-sliding motion, dragging his left leg behind him. Linda stopped moving. She could hear his sneaker scrape the dirt road as he inched toward her. His arms were stiff and barely swayed as he moved. And then she heard something else. Something...inhuman?

  It began as a low growl and then became raspy, like a gurgle. There was also a swishing sound, as if Sam were chewing and swallowing at the same time. She tried to ignore the sounds and watched with tear-filled eyes, helpless, as he awkwardly stumbled toward her, until finally she could see him clearly.

  It was horrifying.

  Sam’s shirt wasn’t dirty at all; the mud was, in fact, blood. Both sleeves were covered in bloody spatter. The front of his shirt was bloodied as well, and she realized that the chunky masses that stuck to him were pieces of flesh. His face was mangled badly, his upper lip completely gone and his lower jaw hanging down as if it had come unhinged. He had also been hit hard on the side of his head; he was missing a large part of his scalp, and his skull was exposed.

  Shocked, Linda drew in a loud breath, and at that, Sam’s head jerked, as his mind came back from wherever it had previously gone.

  “Sammy?” she called out softly, desperation in her voice.

  He took off running, straight at her. Linda screamed and ran back toward the site. She could hear the gurgling and chewing, and the scraping of the ground as Sam chased her. She saw other people now, too, among the trees and in the campsites around her, but nobody was doing anything. Nobody was helping.

  What the fuck are they doing???

  She looked back and saw Sam was still running after her. Her previous life as a track and field star served her well; she was able to outrun him to the car. She got in the driver’s side, slammed the door shut, and brought her hand to the ignition.

  Except there was no key.

  Where are the keys?!

  Then it all came back to her. She looked through the windshield, past the fire pit at the folding camp chair in front of the tent. A jacket hung off the back of the chair she had sat in just hours ago; the keys were in the pocket of the jacket. She was sure of it. Every hope and prayer of getting away from Sam was now fifteen feet away. She looked out the window and reached for the handle to open the door.

  But Sam had reached her.

  He knocked out the driver’s window; broken glass sprayed onto her face and hands. He reached inside the car and pulled her by the hair and the arm. She kicked and punched as hard as she could as he dragged her out of the car. Sam pulled so hard that he ripped out some of her hair and she fell to the ground. He lunged at her again and she continued kicking wildly, finally striking him in the neck. As he staggered backward, stunned, Linda got up and ran to the other side of the car. She thought about running to the chair and grabbing the keys. She could lead him away from the site and then run back to the car. She had outrun him once; she could do it again. It was her only chance, so she went for it.

  She saw Sam on the other side of the car as she ran by the passenger door. He still looked confounded.

  This just might work!

  She reached the chair and shoved her hand into the jacket pocket. There were no keys! She swore as she tried to remember where they had left the keys. She was sure she had stuffed them into the pocket. And then it came to her: Sam always made sure the keys were in the tent at the end of the night. It hadn’t occurred to Linda until now because they had made love before falling asleep. And now she heard Sam panting and growling, along with heavy footsteps running toward her.

  Out of options, she remembered Sam’s knife; he always kept one in his bag when they went camping. If she jumped inside the tent, she’d have a few seconds to find the knife before Sam came tearing through the door. At least she would be armed, better prepared to fight him off.

  The footsteps were coming faster, louder, and much closer now. Without thinking, she dove into the tent and zipped up the door. She felt around the inside of Sam’s travel bag and found the knife. She braced for the attack.

  But there was no attack. There was only silence. Silence and the sound of her own terrified breathing. Linda looked above and around, waiting to see the shadow of a figure cast over the tent, but there was nothing. She saw the keys on the floor of the tent. Quietly, she picked them up and waited, unsure as to where Sam had gone. She began to think that maybe the other campers she had seen in the woods had finally helped her. Maybe she was saved.

  Linda waited in the tent for what felt like an eternity, and when it appeared
that nobody was coming to the rescue, she decided to make a run for the car. She unzipped the tent and waited; waited for the attack, once again, but she heard nothing. No footsteps, no growling, no chewing-swallowing sounds. She stepped out into the night and stood still for a moment.

  She listened.

  There was an eerie stillness. The air felt stagnant and lifeless. And then, a slight breeze swirled through the trees, the wind seemingly calling her name, imploring her to leave. A few pebbles dug into the ground below her bare feet as she shifted her weight slightly. Satisfied that she was alone, she quickly began walking toward the car.

  The attack came from the left. And amazingly, she never saw or heard it coming. The force of the hit knocked her completely off balance and they both fell together, with Linda going back-first into the fire pit. She screamed, arching her back and pinching her shoulders as the hot coals immediately burned through her thin blouse and melted her skin. She tried to get up, to roll, to kick, to push him away, but Sam was on top of her. The weight of his body intensified the pain of the scalding hot cinders.

  As the embers quickly burned her hair completely off and seared her scalp, Sam clawed and bit at her flesh, tearing skin and muscle off her body. He was a wild animal. Linda weakly tried to defend herself, but Sam had already bitten off half her hand and part of her arm. She could only pray that death would come quickly.

  Amid the smells of flesh and blood and sweat and mucus, Linda now noticed a different smell: the smell of charred skin. She was being eaten and burned alive. Her legs cooked and sizzled over the remains of the fire. She looked at her arm, at the place where there used to be a hand, and felt a warm sensation as she watched her own blood travel down her arm to her shoulder. It was the last sensation she would ever know.

  Pain faded away as shock settled in. Linda only wished her four other senses had abandoned her as quickly. She could still hear the ripping and tearing of flesh, like a cotton shirt being torn to pieces. She heard the cracking and snapping of bones as he savagely tore her limbs apart. She could smell raw flesh, singed and charred. She could taste her own blood as Sam feasted on her. And worst of all, she watched it all happen before her.