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Authors: A P Fuchs

Discovery of Death

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Discovery of Death
Blood of my World [1]
A P Fuchs
Coscom Entertainment (2011)

Zach and Rose had fallen in love during their sophomore year, their worlds completely changed and utterly belonging to each other's. It was the first time either had fallen in love, deeply, purely. Aiming for a future together, plans were interrupted when Zach went missing for three long months, leaving Rose distraught, heartbroken and depressed. Zach awakens in the dark of a coffin, his memory erased, his life and feelings for Rose forgotten. A strange group of people who identify themselves as his family reveal he has become a vampire, one of the undead, and is now a being with incredible power and a thirst for blood. 

However, during Zach's absence, Rose learns of her own secret heritage: she comes from a long line of vampire slayers, hellbent on eradicating the unholy threat of the undead from the face of the Earth. Now, not only does she need to try and get over the young man she loves, she must also come to terms with her new life and what that means for her future. It is only when her path accidentally crosses with Zach's does lost love begin to surface again.

About the Author

A.P. Fuchs is the author of many novels and short stories, most of which have been published. His most recent books are
Possession of the Dead
,
Magic Man Plus 15 Tales of Terror
and
Zombie Fight Night: Battles of the Dead
, in which zombies fight such classic monsters as werewolves, vampires, Bigfoot, and even go up against awesome foes like pirates, ninjas, and . . . Bruce Lee.

A.P. Fuchs is also known for his superhero series,
The Axiom-man Saga
, and the author of the shoot 'em up zombie trilogy,
Undead World
. He also edited the zombie anthologies
Dead Science
and
Vicious Verses and Reanimated Rhymes: Zany Zombie Poetry for the Undead Head
.

Fuchs lives and writes in Winnipeg, Manitoba.

Visit his corner of the Web at canisterx.com

Check out the
Undead World Trilogy
at undeadworldtrilogy.com

And follow him on Twitter at
twitter.com/ap_fuchs

 

 

 

Coscom Entertainment

winnipeg

 

 

The fiction in this book is just that: fiction. Names, characters, places and events either are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events or persons living or dead or undead is purely coincidental.

 

ISBN
978-1-926712-82-6

 

Discovery of Death
is Copyright © 2011 by Adam P. Fuchs. All rights reserved, including the right to reproduce in whole or in part in any form or medium.

 

Published by Coscom Entertainment

www.coscomentertainment.com

Text set in Garamond; eBook edition

Cover Art by C.J. Hutchinson

 

 

For B
uttons

 

 

 

 

What We Created

 

 

Always remember

Do not forget

The world we created

Together

 

I’m at its edge now

My feet on the line

Gazing off

Hoping to see you

 

Instead it’s just me

The line

And a chamber of nothing

Before me

 

Without you

I can’t see

Without you

I can’t breathe

 

You are my five senses

Six

If you count my heart

Seven, my soul

 

Always remember

Do not forget

The life we created

Together

 

 

K
issing Rose was
like kissing blood: warm, smooth, sweet; a gentleness to her lips that made Zach cry out for more. When their lips met, his heart held hers and she his; her life flashed before his eyes and he knew her better than she knew herself.

As their lips playfully melded, separated, merged, he held her close, his embrace gentle and careful, yet firm enough so she knew he’d never let go. Her arms wrapped tightly around his neck, he sensed that if it was possible, she’d pull him deep into herself and make their bodies one. Instead, Rose’s hands tugged behind his neck, her fingers stroking its nape, letting him know how much she loved him.

Tongues gliding across each other’s, Zach was ever cautious that Rose didn’t accidentally drag her tongue across his fangs and cut herself. The last thing he wanted to do was hurt her. They’d already been down the road of pain, loneliness and separation. For something to happen to set them on that path again, he couldn’t bear it.

Even now, standing here with her, holding her, kissing her, there was the underlying trepidation that something might go wrong.

Zach’s heart raced with phantom beats, his uneasiness at the prospect of losing her distracting him from their kiss.

Rose must have sensed it because she pulled slightly away and said, “What’s wrong?”


I just . . . I love you so much,” he whispered. “I never thought—”

She placed the soft skin of her fingertips across his lips. “Shhh.” And drew her to him.

Their lips met and Zach’s world exploded in flashes of Rose growing up, a little girl with brown hair in pigtails wrapped in purple ribbon all the way to the gorgeous sixteen-year-old she was now.

The images—flying photographs wrapped in light—not just mere pictures but each a snapshot of Rose’s time on this earth oozing with meaning and life, their display not just impacting his mind’s eye but also his heart. Though each image flashed but for an instant, the sensations crashing through him drew on, the events depicted happening in real time. A nightmare when she was three; a pizza party for her and her girlfriends when she was six; the cake falling off its tray as her mother tried to bring it to her on her tenth birthday; her first pimple; her dad giving her the keys to the car when she got her license.

It was Rose’s life that kept Zach connected to the realm of the living. His life . . . he didn’t know it, at least not in the way he should. These past few weeks with Rose were all he knew by way of life.

It was a few months ago that he emerged from the dark, unsure of who he was and how he wound up in a crypt in Eagle Park Cemetery.

It was several months since he became a vampire.

 

 

1

 

Rebirth . . .

 

T
he dusty texture
of nylon rubbed against his fingertips. At first it was difficult to see, but as his eyes adjusted, all was bathed in a gray hue as if moonlight was the source of light here in this dim place. Only a scant few inches away, bluish-gray waves of fabric were before his eyes. The musty scent of age and antique doilies greeted his nostrils with such potency he thought he was going to sneeze. But he didn’t. Instead, his senses absorbed the crisp smell and he was at ease with its strength.

A part of him was comfortable here in this plush chamber. He was pressed in from all sides by pillowy fabric and padding. It was a narrow place, probably no more than the length of his body.

I don’t really know.
His inner voice seemed louder, clearer than it was supposed to be. Yet at the same time he felt at home here and a part of him wished to sleep, because something inside said it was not yet time to wake and emerge from this place.

Worms slithering in soil somewhere beyond caught the attention of his ears and he squirmed inside his plush cocoon, thinking these things were somewhere in here with him. He glanced side to side and didn’t see anything.

Leaves rustled on trees and he instinctively drew his hand to his face within the confines of this tight space when he heard a leaf break free of its branch and flutter through the air down toward his face. But nothing touched his skin.

Footsteps thumped from somewhere above, slightly muted, like someone walking on carpet. Wait, not someone. More than one. At least five. Yes, five people. Ten separate feet.

For a second he thought they were going to step on him, their feet bursting through the fabric in front of his face and squish him. But they didn’t.


I can’t stay here,” he whispered. There was a need to properly address himself but he couldn’t remember what that address might be. A title? A name? A combination of both? All he knew was he lay here alone with vibrant activity above him.

He placed both palms against the fabric, his fingertips once more discovering its smooth
under
-texture in a powdery coating, and behind that, wads of cotton, and behind that still—oak.

He pushed. At first, it seemed that the hard oak on the other side of the padded fabric would not move, but a moment later, its heavy weight gave way and pushing it aside was as easy as throwing off a blanket. The wood moved up and over to the side like a lid, its hinges stopping it before it completely fell off to the left side. Musty air washed over him and a dark ceiling made up of rock and dirt hung overhead. A second lid—black, scratched and old—still covered his legs. He sat up, reached forward and lifted that one as well.

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