Unbowed, Unbroken, Unrelenting: An Antihero Anthology (A DLP Anthology) (Volume 1)
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Unbowed, Unbroken, Unrelenting - An Antihero Anthology Sixteen tales of fantasy, horror, suspense, and drama, with some rather unconventional heroes. Discover the truth at the end of the world, escape from labs buried deep within the earth, and never stop running from the creatures hiding in the shadows. Trade destruction in a world where the Cold War heated up fast, dance until last call in a club without time, follow a master assassin on one last mission for redemption. The following stories contain zombies, monsters, angels, demons, and heroes of an altogether unsavory nature. Unbowed, Unbroken, Unrelenting: Antiheroes The first anthology from DLP.
the poor women. John hesitated with his hand over the jeep’s horn. If he could get her attention... but that would bring the horde, too. He froze, gripped with indecision. A hot shot of nerves shivered up his spine and forced goose bumps to ripple up and down his arms. The Z’s stumbled after the woman—not quite running, but moving at a brisk enough clip on rotten legs. Lifeless eyes glared from sunken and hollow sockets, jaws hung askew and bloody, and the low, deep-throated moan from the
out. He paused before responding. A cryptic utterance caught by awareness, or a minor gaffe only noticed by its disturbance of routine? It was worth thinking about. He shrugged. “Just… because.” It was cursory, sufficient, adequate enough for the other girls to call their friend into the building, with a hasty reassurance that she was coming. He shook his head, and then looked back at his clipboard, an island for his focus in the sea of sound. Nobody noticed that the numbered list clipped to
thick-rimmed glasses—handsome enough. He gestured up at the wall perpendicular to the couch. “Seen the painting?” She glanced up at the painting, perhaps the best illuminated of the three she’d seen. But in this one, there weren’t any silhouettes or figures, or much of anything. A grey canvass, split by thin black horizontal lines spanned the picture. “I see it,” she replied over the omnipresent bass, “but it’s not—” “If you knew anything about art, I could tell you how amazing it is,” the
Maybe even younger than yours.” “When did you see him?” I ask, before the question even fully forms in my brain. I hate mornings. “A few weeks ago, in a bar.” “Was he... fine?” Now I can’t drop the subject, can I? “He was mostly drunk. I barely recognized him. Said something about my sister-in-law being in a hospital. Also, a few choice words about his dear father.” I glare at him, annoyed, but still continue the topic. “She's sick?” I hadn't seen both of them for close to twenty years, but
fury. This is very obviously not going down the way he thought it would. Will ducks his head down and mumbles into his chest, “None of us can. Nobody has a key. And there's...” There's a whimper to my right. The only other customer in the shop smells so strongly of alcohol, he might as well not be here. He's a wheezy, ageing rocker with grey-streaked hair, wearing a wash-worn Black Sabbath tee and a leather vest with more metal hardware hanging off it than a handyman's tool belt. Prayers fall