Post Mortem #1: Waking the Dead, Ch 2

Alright, here goes Chapter 2.
Remember, I am looking for editors, since the only real proofreading comes from me (and many of these chapters have not been edited yet, anyway). If you'd like to help out, shoot me a message or comment!

Chapter 2
Crest despised Feara. He knew she hated what she was, and that she hated everyone around her, including him.
She had no idea the power Wolf had given her. Instead of helping them rise to greatness, she was pitying the poor humans she devoured.
Fool , he thought. She was lucky she did what she was told, or he'd do something about her. Wolf would let him, too. He knew he was Wolf's favorite of his small army of Bloodthieves.
Unlike Feara, he embraced the fact he was a monster. It gave him power. It made him almost invincible, and to the humans who didn't know his weakness, he was invincible. He didn't care that he killed people. He couldn't wait until his next feeding.
The humans had no idea what was coming, and it made him well up with a dark happiness, knowing that he would be apart of the genocide. He could hardly wait to hear the screams of fear as the terrified humans began to catch on. He wanted to feel their despair when they realized they couldn't escape.
Just thinking about it made him antsy in his seat.
Couldn't this plane go any faster?
But it didn't matter. He had strict instructions to feed as secretly as possible until Legion's 'delivery' arrived. Then he could commence the terror among the small town.
He grinned, allowing for his teeth to change shape and sharpen into gleaming fangs.
He was already hungry.
The quiet co-pilot looked back at him, keeping a nervous watch on Crest.
Wolf wouldn't mind if he had a mid-flight snack, right?

***

Blanca loved her job, and loved where she lived. Life really couldn't be any better for her.
Well, she wished she were a slightly more prominent author, but she was working on that.
Her favorite part of her job was that she didn't really have to go anywhere. She could sit in this beautiful park and write for as long as she wanted, and not feel the need to have to be somewhere.
Since her boyfriend had broken up with her (over the fact that she spent so much time writing her books and not spending time with him), she really had no attachments to anything other than her books.
Sure, she had friends, but it was mostly to ease the mind of her mother, who believed her daughter was too solitary and concerned for her well-being.
Her mother just didn't understand. She wasn't antisocial, she just preferred the company of her books, and her characters. They would never break up with her, or be mean to her, or leave her for any reason.
She did realize, of course, she couldn't live with the sole accompaniment of her creations, and so she did go out with friends, just every now and then, to have a drink, to watch a movie. They'd even taken a week to go skiing (which happened to be Blanca's other favorite hobby besides writing).
Now that winter was coming up fast, she'd spend more time skiing and less time writing, both to ease her mother's mind and to take a break from her near constant work (because even when you love something, breaks are necessary).
Living in Clearview, Minnesota was the absolute perfect place for her. In the summer, it was delightfully sunny and often a very mild temperature, making it the best time to venture out to the park for some writing. In the winter, the snowy mountains were a mere half-an-hour drive away for some skiing and snowball fights. As well, she found it comforting in the winter to sit in front of the television with a cup of hot cocoa and write.
As for her social status in Clearview, it was great. She was well-known among the small population, and so had her own tiny fan-base right where she lived, along with thousands of fans outside clamoring for her next release. It made her absolutely full of glee that she had so many people who loved her, even ones she hadn't, and probably would never, meet.
It was somewhat ironic-sounding to her mother that she had this view of her fans, considering she seemed so anti-social, but Blanca had to constantly argue and prove to her that this was not the case. Blanca saw it as proof of her companionable impulses that she loved her fan-base and did not shy away from the attention.
Yet still her mother pestered her.

As she finished the last sentence of her book's final chapter, she noticed a strange noise, getting louder every second.
She looked up through the tree's of the park to see a small plane of some sort traveling across the sky.
That's strange , she thought. There were no airports around Clearview (the closest one a good 4 hours in the opposite direction the plane was heading), and she'd never really seen any plane pass over Clearview before, save for a very small of number of flights from Canada to the faraway airport.
Still, it didn't seem suspicious. It appeared to be a private jet. Probably some rich person making their way to Canada.
She continued writing.

Post Mortem #1: Waking the Dead, Ch 1

Alright, my newest book is here! I've also added the [unofficial blurb on back] jacket design:

A few notes: yes, formatting is screwed up. It's what I get for copying and pasting this from my dA.

There aren't that many warnings about his book, just foul language, blood and gore, and disturbing scenes occaisonally.

Enjoy!

Chapter 1
"This is what you were created to do."
                 "Yes. I understand."
                 "You're sure you have the ability to do this? This may be be only one
ground-zero, but it's importance is unparalleled. The town is small for a reason."
                 "I know."
                 "The pawns will spread in all directions. They will reach far."
                 She hoped this conversation wouldn't last much longer. She'd heard this
information multiple times before; the only difference now was that he was
speaking to her directly. It made her feel important, but at the same time,
used.
                 She nodded. "We all know they will."
                 "Good. You're aware of your mission? You must fit in until Legion's delivery
takes hold. Feed in secrecy. Let no one know your intent."
                 "Yes sir."
                 She didn't want to do this, but denying Wolf was like denying God. Nothing ever
ends well.
                 Besides, Wolf and his…well, she didn't know what to call them. Mercenaries was a
good word for most. They had created her. They had taught her, nurtured her, and
been her family (she didn't find 'family' the best term for their relationship,
but she could not think of an appropriate alternative). They were all she had,
and while she wasn't thrilled at all about her new mission, she would get nothing out of denying it. If she even got a chance to leave, she would have no where to go. Wolf
was the one that supplied her with places to live and food to eat. Scissor was
the one that fed her when she craved blood.
                 The humans outside their secretive headquarters would never understand, or care
for that matter. Humans were afraid of what they didn't understand. To them, she
was a monster, not a girl (she never really thought of herself as a girl either,
but she couldn't quite live with the sole fact that she was, in fact, a monster.
                 She added the lie of being a girl to her mind to keep on living). Other than
that, she wouldn't even be able to handle herself. Not in the terms of living on
her own. Knowing she was out there killing innocent people and hardly even
realizing it would be too much. She feared death, but she'd surely find a way to
bring an end to her life, to spare the humans that were all, to her, prey.
                 She would have killed herself by now if she'd had the guts. But the creature
inside her wouldn't allow it. She believed she didn't want to die, because the
creature told her so. She was scared to die, because the creature did not want
to be killed.
                 She halfway hoped that on this new mission, given directly by Wolf himself, that
a human would come along and kill her, that someone would find her hunting,
infiltrating a home to steal the blood of innocents, and kill her.
                 But they'd need silver. It would be all they could use. Lead bullets would be a
mere thorn in her side. And the humans would never know her weakness.
                 Thinking of hunting the poor humans of Riverside made her feel sick to her
stomach. She'd killed many people her lifetime, but she never got used to it,
and she never would.
                 "There will be no one there to assist you, as in the past," Wolf continued to
inform her.
                 "I understand. I will be fine by myself."
                 "Don't think I'm unaware of your hatred toward me and yourself. You were made to
do these things, and you have no choice, and I'm sure you realize it."
                 That was Wolf. Able to read minds like a licensed psychic. Still, she was
stunned he saw right through her facade of bravery and compliance.
                 "I…" She knew it was inappropriate to stutter before him, but could not find the
words to continue. She had no idea what to say in response. She expected a
backhand from her master, but to her surprise, he only smiled.
                 "I'm glad. You have a brain. You may prove to be a very key component in this
chess game."
                 It angered her every time he called it that. To him, killing innocent people was
just a game. And the worse part? He never lost.

***

                 This was Thomas' favorite part of the day: riding home from work. His friend
Cruise always teased him about it; it being the fact that Thomas loved the
scenery. Cruise said it was 'unmanly', and 'something only chicks would enjoy'.
                But Thomas didn't care at all what Cruise said. Everyone knew the guy was a
stuck-up ass. Thomas was only friends with him because he happened to be friends
with Cruise's friends.
                 Thomas wasn't like regular guys anyway, and he didn't mind it. He enjoyed being
different from the flock of sex-craving, messy, inconsiderate jerks that roamed
his hometown of Riverside. Cruise was one of these, and look how he turned out;
he hardly had any friends, and the few he had hardly liked him.
                 That's not how Thomas wanted to be. Ironically, Thomas had few friends as well;
the difference between him and Cruise was that everyone liked Thomas, he just
happened to have few people he considered to be close friends. He could live
with this. He didn't want to be a popular guy everyone crowded around, he was
too solitary for that, and it would make him extremely uncomfortable if that were to happen to him.
                 He was happy right where he was, both in social status and in the world.
The road home was beautiful. It was rural, full of greenery like lush trees and
bushes, but with just enough houses to make him feel not so alone.
                 While he was a solitary person, he despised being completely alone. It made him
feel as if he had no one to run to, no one to fall back on. But this road was
just a perfect mix between quiet and social, a place that made him feel
genuinely comfortable.
                 The gentle breeze through his hair was a perfect end to a long day at work.
                 While working at a grocery store was hardly difficult for him, being as likable
as he was, it was still tiring, both physically and mentally. Since Geil's was
the only grocery store in town, everyone around went there, and it seemed
like they all went every single day. Thomas didn't understand it. And worst of all,
he was one of those employees that did everything. He restocked, he cleaned, he
checked, he bagged, he organized. The only things he didn't do were the
specialty jobs, like deli clerk or baker.
                 Riding his bike home was like an escape from the monotony.
                 The sun was setting to his left, sinking below the Rocky Mountains and into the
western ocean. The twilight cast shadows many found eerie, but to Thomas they
were like pets he wanted to reach down and touch. Nothing of the darkness of
night concerned him. It was only a phase the world went through. Thomas found it
nothing to be feared, only to be understood.
                 As he approached home, a strong wind gusted, sending a shower of leaves over him
and nearly causing him to lose control of his bike. He could hear the dry leaves crunching as they passed through the spokes of his wheels, and under them.
Another gust sent him stumbling down off the sidewalk and into the empty street where the leaves swirled like a cyclone. It
mildly concerned him. It was always so pleasant in the fall, but now was like a windstorm. Another gust forced him to put a foot on the ground and stop his bike. Leaves battered him from everywhere, like a swarm of small birds attacking a falcon.
                 It was such a contradiction to his previous thoughts that it scared him. It was like nature was telling him it wasn't to be merely loved, it was to be feared as well.

***

                 "It will take at least a week, possibly two, for the trucks to reach your
location. Until then, I expect you to avoid attention. Kill quietly. We must
scare them before we strike. More mayhem is more control."
                 Wolf's voice came out of nowhere, startling her and forcing her to stop in her
tracks.     
                 Her master was following her to the plane; probably making sure she wouldn't
back out and run away at the last second. Wolf knew all her secrets.     
                 "I'm counting on you for this."     
                 She nodded, unable to find words. She wasn't looking forward to this at all. She
wished she could just live in solitude in the home Wolf made for her; there, at
least she wouldn't have to kill people.     
                 But life would never be easy for a Bloodthief.     

                 The plane ride was terrible. The pilot was a young man Wolf had kidnapped a few
months earlier, and he did not enjoy the people he was not forced to attend to.     
                 He knew what she was. She could see him fidgeting in his seat, keeping a
near-constant watch on her.     
                 The plane was a Wolf's own private jet, swift and compact. She sat near to the
pilot, wishing there were some way to comfort him, but knowing all too well
there was nothing she could do.     
                 The young man wore a collar around his neck. If he did anything Wolf did not
approve of, he'd be left with a mere stump where his head used to be.     
                 She longed for a way to escape from this mission. If only that collar didn't
exist, she could make the pilot land and they could both escape. She could live
in the mountains, she supposed; there were few people to hurt there, only
animals. It couldn't possibly be that bad.     
                 However, she knew something would go wrong. Wolf would find her, and kill her
for her betrayal.     
                 She had no choice but to continue on with her mission.

***

                 The wind that night was vicious. It whipped at Tommy's bedroom windows like an
angry hound tearing at a rabbit hole.
                 It was strange. There had been very few clouds in the sky that day, and
certainly no warning for this sudden windstorm. It sounded now like it may have
starting raining, but he was too nervous to get closer to his windows to see.
                 The wind seemed about to break through the glass and snatch him out of his home.
                 He pulled the covers closer to his face and turned over, unwilling to view the
storm any longer.
                 It was like some bad omen.

Anarchy Prologue with Jacket Released!

Here's the newest jacket design:

And the prologue is posted below. Please remember, I use this only for posting finished works or WIPs. For updates on where I'm at in certain projects, you'll want to find me on deviantART (KyraMcKinley).
Thanks!

Also, for people who are just starting this series, I've got to make a few things clear in the rating:
VERY disturbing scenes
Very intense blood and gore
(Near) rape
Very foul language
Use of drugs/alcohol
VERY intense violence

Prologue:
Returning from a scouting party, Mishel Cresten was both a survivor and a witness to the bloodshed of his hometown. He watched the savage murder of those he'd grown up with, those he'd known and loved for years; worst of all, his wife.
As he burst into his home, he'd observed the slicing of his wife's throat; her blood painted on the wall, forming the all too well known World Kings logo; his children screaming in utter terror as the Anarchist headed toward them.
He grabbed his wife's murderer by the neck and snapped it, angry and fuming like a raging bull.
Forcing his children out of the house, he quickly gathered the survivors of Winsor and ran.
Covered in ash from the burning buildings behind them, the small group of survivors ran like a herd of rabbits fleeing from the snapping jaws of hungry coyotes.
Their hasty retreat did not go unnoticed. Leaving the town in ruins, the coyotes pursued the fleeting survivors down the mountains relentlessly.
Nearly half the survivors were hunted down on the way down the mountainside. The few left followed Mishel and his children to the east, toward the well-armoured town of Fort Mills, sitting about a mile out in the flatlands at the base of the Winsor mountain range that Mishel now traversed.
It was a long-shot; Fort Mills was notorious for turning away outsiders. They were one of those cities only accepting of those born within their walls, or with an identifiable clean background.
Mishel hoped they'd make an exception this time, or the entire population of Winsor would be exterminated.
He ushered his followers out of the mountain and across the flatlands.
This would be the most dangerous part. He knew many of the Anarchists had guns. He hoped they also had bad aim.
As the group made their way toward Fort Mills, the wave of Anarchists erupted from the forest like a small flash flood.
To his dismay, not only did the Anarchists have guns, but motorcycle-like devices that sped across the flatlands toward them, whipping up dust like a tornado.
Gunshots rung out. Mishel and the others flinched as the ground around them exploded from the bullets hitting the dirt.
A few fell to the shower of lead.
Some were taken down by the cycle-riders.
Blood littered the flatlands as the survivors were cut down one by one.
Suddenly, Mishel heard his young son cry out.
His sister had fallen. He wasn't sure if she had been shot or not.
The stampede of survivors did not allow for stopping and turning back. His eyes welled with tears for his beloved daughter as he forced himself to move on.
To his surprise, a young boy behind them scooped his daughter up in his arms and ran with her.
She was still alive, her arms wrapped around the boys neck tightly.
Relieved, Mishel found the energy to grab his sons hand and run faster than he knew he could.
They had almost reached Fort Mills. The guards were firing back at the Anarchists, but it didn't deter them. Left and right, Mishel's friends were cut down to the ground. The men on motorbikes used sharp-edged weapons to slice at them, while the chasers on foot fired shotguns and rifles.
Mishel felt buckshot break the skin on his arm. The person running near to him fell to the ground, back gaping and filled with pulverized muscle tissue.
Just a little bit further.
He looked back to see the boy holding his daughter beat down. Two bikers had surrounded them, taunting them with their guns. The boy was horrified, but held on to the girl tightly, protecting her the best he could.
They soon pried her from his arms and placed him on the back of a bike.
Mishel had no idea why they would want to kidnap people, but it didn't matter. They were about to take his daughter, and he wouldn't let that happen. There weren't enough survivors left to hold him back.
He instructed his son to head for the gate before turning around and heading for his daughters assailant.
He jumped the biker like a rabid wolf, clawing at his gun. He could see his daughter run away, following her brother toward the gate. Fort Mills guards were quickly outnumbering the Anarchists, who began to slow their advance.
He saw his children be swept inside the walls of the fort, just before a horrible, sharp pain pierced his back.
He couldn't breathe. Blood began to flood his lungs, choking him. He could taste the metallic fluid in his mouth, felt it ooze from the corners of his mouth as he fell to the ground.
The Anarchist looming above him pulled the knife from his back and ran north. The biker kicked him before driving away in the same direction.
He could no longer take a breath. Blood bubbled in the corners of his mouth as he thought of his daughter and the angelic boy that had saved her from death. He wished that boy had been saved somehow as well. He needed someone to look after his children, now that he couldn't.
A tear fell from his eye as the spirit that so loved his children left to be reunited with his wife once again.