About the Author
When I was born my parents put one T on the end of my first name, instead of the traditional two. They also made my middle name the same as my fathers, though they spelled that differently as well. Thus began my career of horrible spelling. Early on in school my poor spelling got me labeled with a learning disability. My constant daydreaming and active imagination did little to convince the teachers otherwise. They stuck me into special education classes for English, where I would spend the remainder of my high school career. I can still recall a few times being backed into a corner by other students and being forced to spell words out loud. It was a lovely game where they would then laugh at me as I spelled the word horribly wrong. I despised English after that, choosing to barely skate by and make little to no improvement. In a way I think I became known for my bad spelling, it was almost like a trademark. As long as the word sounded right to me, I stopped caring what others thought. Things wouldn’t change until after high school.
When I graduated, I had probably the worst job I could imagine. I worked on the road, usually ten to twenty hours away from home, doing construction. It was long hard hours, in the blistering sun and icy snow. I made decent money there, more than I could imagine getting with my education. It made me feel trapped. I didn’t think I could survive off the pay anywhere else. So, desperate times called for desperate measures and I hatched a plan to get myself free. I was going to use my wild imagination and write a novel. That’s right ladies in gentlemen, me, Bret Wellman, the worst speller in the world, was going to use my greatest weakness to dig myself out of a hole.
I spent the next four years writing
The Sword and the Staff
. It was over a hundred thousand words and I wrote the entire thing on word pad, without using spellcheck. I then handed the rough draft to one of my cousins who said she would spell check it for me. Two or three months later, I got it back with less than five chapters fixed (God bless you for even attempting that project Kim haha). I then spent the next year revising, polishing, and giving my left arm to a professional editor. In the end, I self published it and sales were minimal.
Determined to succeed, I spent the next two years writing the novella and novel, Murder Man, and Sapience. Between the two, they sold a little better, but not significantly.
One more year and I had written Hurricane Dan. I’m not sure why, perhaps people just love zombies, but this book began to sell. I was so excited that I wrote my next novel, Takedown, in three months. It seemed like every book I wrote did a little better than the last. Finally having proof that I could make it as an author, I felt like doing a double backflip (not literally).
Something else weird happened shortly after the release of Hurricane Dan. I enrolled myself into a few college classes, one of which was an English class. The assignments in that class felt childish. I remember turning in assignments that I had only worked on for short periods of time, and getting high marks. It seemed like every paper around me was covered in red ink and mine was left as is. A couple of people came to me asking for advice, so I did my best to help them with their papers. Looking back on where I started, that seems crazy to me, CRAZY! At some point when I was writing all those novels, I had taught myself what I failed to learn in school. I could write and I could spell.
Don’t get me wrong, I’m still nowhere near perfect. I still make my fair share of mistakes, but they are nowhere near what they used to be. Besides, that’s what the editing process is for.
In the future, I look forward to keep writing stories, and seeing how much farther I can improve. But the real reason I’m going to keep doing this, the thing that keeps my fingers typing, is that I love entertaining people.
As long as there is somebody out there, willing to pick up one of my books and get lost in it’s world, then I am going to keep writing.
Bret Wellman
Bret’s secret short stories
Still here? Awesome! I decided I wanted to give you a little something extra for buying the ebook version of this novel. I should give you a little information first, for context. The rough draft of Dead by Dawn began a little different than the version you just read. It originally started with an opening chapter explaining how the vampires ended up in the United States. It gives the reader a little perspective on the other side of the fight, introducing characters that were only seen briefly in the final draft.
Unfortunately, the beginning of Dead by Dawn was far too fragmented with five strait character introduction chapters. Because of this, I was forced to cut the first chapter and replace it with one that would help the book flow better. Either way, this was the first chapter I wrote and I really liked it.
So, without any further adieu, here is the lost Prologue of Dead by Dawn…
Prologue
Roanoke Colony, May 1589
Anthony Taylor sat on a rock, staring at the sun and wondering what would come next.
The tide was low in Otis Cove. It was at times like this that they could actually go down and enjoy the beach. Fort Raleigh was to his back and to say the least, looked quite rough. They relied on the land for all their immediate supplies which could become tedious when working on their traditional two story huts. The entire border of the village was circled with a split-rail fence. The hope was that it might intimidate any hostile natives. Not far from every hut was a garden, the people who tended them did their best to keep the village alive. The gardens and livestock would be all that sustained them until Governor White’s return with supplies from England. When that was, no one could say.
Anthony chewed on a long weed that protruded from the side of his mouth. He cursed under his breath when he thought of how they had gone through all the tobacco. It had been over a year since his last smoke. If white didn’t get back soon, he was sure to run off and start begging the natives.
He sighed and tossed a pebble down at the beach. With the day’s work done, there was nothing left to do but wait.
A short while later, he spotted Eleanor Dare coming up the trail from the village. She was a young girl in her early twenties. She had thick red hair that curled down over a dust caked dress.
“Ey, shouldn’t you be looking after the little one?”
Eleanor brushed down her dress before flashing him an apologetic smile. “I’m sure Virginia will be fine with Ananias while I stretch my legs.”
Anthony grunted. “I’m sure, it just isn’t very proper.”
“You and I both know there’s nothing proper about living on this island.”
“So I’m coming to discover, Mrs. Dare. Will you be heading down to the beach?”
“Undecided Mr. Taylor.”
“If you are, you should do it quick. The sun is going down and you shouldn’t be out past dark when natives could be around.”
Eleanor gave her head a small shake. “When’s the last time you saw natives come out to the island at night?”
“For all we know they come out every night, we just don’t see them.”
“Oh, so they are like ghosts?” The hint of a smile played at the edge of her lips.
“This is their home young Eleanor. They may be savages but they know this land better than anyone on this island. I implore you to remember that.”
Eleanor held the hem of her dress and gave him a curt bow. “If that is the case than I’d better be getting a move on before dark. I wouldn’t want the creatures of the night stealing me away.”
“You do that, young Eleanor, you do that.” He turned back to look out over the bay.
The waves were low and there were very little white caps to be seen. He could smell the salt in the air, it was a scent he enjoyed.
Anthony’s mouth fell open and the weed dropped to the ground. He stood up, holding his hands to his face and squinting his eyes. There was a black dot on the horizon, a ship.
“What is it?” said Eleanor from a short ways up the trail. She began walking back, stretching to see what he was looking at.
“A ship, let us pray it’s the governor and not the Spanish,” said Anthony. “We must inform the others, come on.”
“I was beginning to think my father would never return,” said Eleanor.
She hiked up her dress and followed Anthony as he hurried back to the village. Anthony made no attempt to slow for her and by the time they got back she far behind.
Charles Lovell was the first person they saw upon entering the village. He was an older man with a balding head and big white beard. He was tending to the weeds that grew against the side of his hut as the pair rushed up.
“A ship approaches,” said Anthony, half out of breath.
“A what?” Asked Charles.
“A ship, I can see it coming. It’s barely visible but I can still tell.”
“It’s true,” said Eleanor, coming out of the trail. “I’ve seen it, just on the horizon.”
“All right, all right, calm down,” said Charles. “The two of you act as though you’ve never seen a ship before.”
“But it could be my father,” said Eleanor.
“Or the Spanish. Either way we need to be prepared,” said Anthony.
“If it’s your father, he’ll know where to find us. If it’s the Spanish, well then we probably won’t live to see the morning,” Charles said with a wink.
Anthony’s face reddened. “You propose we do nothing?”
“Oh I’m just having a little fun. No need to get your knickers in a bunch. If the ship is still on the horizon as you say, then we have all the time in the world.”
“Shall I inform the others?” asked Eleanor.
“You should go back and tend to little Virginia,” said Charles. “That husband of yours is in over his head. Leave the rest to us.”
“If I left everything up to you men there’s no telling how long it would take.”
Charles flashed a smile, revealing three missing front teeth. “Isn’t that the truth Elie, isn’t that the truth!”
“Damn it, shall we warn everyone now or not?” Asked Anthony as Eleanor walked away.
“I suppose we shall Mr. Taylor.”
It was almost an hour before the ship was close enough to make out. Nearly everyone from Roanoke Island was at the beach when the good news was discovered that the ship was indeed English. Relief could be seen on every face. The men lowered their muskets, a few even breaking into song.
As the sun sank and darkness fell over the land, Anthony Taylor, Charles Gifford, and Ananias Dare took a small row boat out to meet the ship. They were all excited and rowed with a purpose. Charles, being the oldest, sat at the front of the boat. Anthony was in charge of paddling the oars while Ananias sat in the back.
No noise came from the ship, only the sound of rustling sails and water lapping against the wooden hull.
Anthony was waiting to hear the cheers from the crew, but none came.
“Hello,” called Charles. “John White, are you up there?”
Nothing, not a single word.
“Come on!” Anthony yelled. “Quit fooling with us.”
Ananias stood and grabbed the side of the ship.
“What are you doing?” asked Anthony.
“I’m going to find out what’s happened.”
“Damn you,” mumbled Anthony as he began to climb. “We don’t have permission to go up there yet.”
“Well don’t look at me,” said Charles. “I’m an old man, I’ll never make it up there.”
Anthony spit into the water and beginning to climb up the large ship after Ananias. There were engravings and portholes that made the ship fairly easy to climb. Five feet from the top a ladder had been built in.
Anthony made the climb in less than a minute and hopped onto the deck of the ship.
The sails blocked a solid portion of the moonlight, making the ship extra dark and hard to see. If their eyes weren’t already adjusted to the dark they would have been blind.
“There’s no one here,” said Ananias.
Anthony squinted through the dark, trying to make out any figures. He could see none.
“Ahoy, is there anyone up here?” his voice came out shaky and timid.
From what he could tell, the ship was luxurious. The deck was grand and the railings thick and elegant. The Captain’s quarters were large, positioned to look over all the sailors on the ship. But there were no sailors.
“You made a mistake coming to this ship,” said a scruffy voice from above them.
Anthony looked up to see the figure of a man standing at the helm.
“Ahoy there,” said Anthony after nearly jumping out of his skin. “Have you brought us Governor White’s supplies?”
The man let out a hollow laugh that died out into a cough. Anthony could feel Ananias sink back behind him.
“Supplies, I’ve brought you no supplies.”
“I beg your pardon,” said Anthony. “Then why have you come here?”
“I had no choice, they made me come here. I had forty men with me when they first took this ship, I’m all that remains. They would have killed me too if I didn’t take them where they wanted to go.” The man sank forward and Anthony saw that his wrists were bound to the large wheel. “Now that we’re here, they’ll surely kill me as well.” At that, the man let out a small whimper.
“I don’t understand,” said Anthony. “Who made you come here?”
“The Devil!”
There was a scream that came from the shore.
Both Anthony and Ananias ran to the bow of the ship. From there they had a good look at the shore.
Under the light of a cold moon, thirty or forty figures rose up out of the ocean to meet the colonists. As the first figure reached the land, he began to run, pouncing on the first person he reached.
The colonists dispersed, taking off in every direction. The forty figures took off after them. They were fast, catching their prey and taking them down, one after another.
“Eleanor!” Ananias yelled.
They ran back towards the rowboat, desperate to help the others. A few muskets fired, adding to the screams.
When they reached the edge of the ship, Anthony peered over the railing. Charles was laying on his back in a puddle of blood, his throat was slit.
“No!” Anthony yelled.
Ananias fell. Anthony turned and was shocked to find a figure standing right behind him.
The creature looked like a man, only it couldn’t be. Its skin was pale like a corpse, and it had fangs.
“Oh yes,” whispered the creature, it’s dark red eyes burning through him.
Anthony screamed as the creature grabbed him and bit down on his neck. The world spun, the creature was too strong for him to push away. He could feel the blood being pulled from his body. A paralyzing force held him in place.
The world faded, and Anthony’s life was sucked away.
Ambrogio stepped out of the water and onto the foreign sand. The screams were beginning to quiet as all of the colonists were killed. He had given his coven instructions to bleed them dry. He didn’t know how abundant food would be on this continent, but he was sure he didn’t want the strain of trying to feed an army. No, he would make sure to kill them all.
An urge ran through his body, making him screech a loud and shrill cry into the air. It had been four long months since leaving Italy. They finally made it, on the brink of starvation. The crew of the Saturnia had not been enough for the last week of the journey.
Now they were finally on land again.
It had been more than a millennium since he felt such an uninhabited wilderness around him. Even then it was nothing like this place.
He would have to be cautious, lest they kill all the natives and deplete their food supply. His first task would be to find out how many natives there were. This trip would turn out to be a horrible mistake if he had to turn to animals to quench the thirst. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d feasted on swans for blood. He would rather die than do it now.
He stretched, feeling full and vital for the first time in months. The captain and three colonists had satisfied his thirst quite nicely.
With the slow patience of the longest living creature to ever walk the face of the earth, Ambrogio made his way to the village. Moonlight passed over him as he slipped through the night. To look upon him with human eyes, there would be nothing to see but a shadow.
Up on the top floor of one of the huts, came the soft whimper of a young toddler crying. The night was silent and her sorrow carried through the air.
“Stay back, all of you,” said Ambrogio as he walked up to the hut. Six of his companions backed away, allowing him to get close. He stopped at the doorway and sniffed the air. “I can smell you woman.”
“Demon!” came a voice from somewhere inside.
Ambrogio licked his right fang, feeling impatient. “Oh I’m much worse than that. Now step closer to the doorway where I can see you.”
His keen eyes focused and a shadow grew out of the darkness. It was a young woman with long red hair, in her hand was a matchlock pistol.
“What do you think you can do with that?” he asked.
The pistol went off and the ball hit him in the center of his neck. Ambrogio took a step back feeling the lead inside his throat. He hacked and the ball slid higher, into his mouth. The hole in his throat healed itself back and he spit the ball onto the ground. He was annoyed.
“Here’s how this is going to go,” he said. “You are going to grant me passage across this threshold or I am going to burn this place down with both you and the child inside.”
The woman fell to her knees, shaking and sobbing. “Leave this place wretched creature!”
Ambrogio glanced backwards and one of his coven brought forward a torch. He clutched it in his cold hands, digging his claw like fingernails into the shaft. The firelight danced across his ancient face.
He turned back, ready to throw the torch against the hut.
“Wait,” called the woman. “Please, don’t hurt my baby.”
“Too late,” said Ambrogio, thrusting out his hand.
“You may enter!” cried the woman.
Ambrogio caught the torch before it could touch the hut. He handed it back to his coven.
Remembering the feeling of being shot, he raced forward and scooped the woman up by her throat.
“Please,” she managed. “Don’t-“
Ambrogio squeezed and felt her neck snap under his fingers. He let her drop to the floor. Her body folded over itself in a heap. He stared for a moment. Her eyes shifted, she was still alive. Good, he would let her suffer.
The air was damp inside the hut and he could smell the child.
He made his way to the upper level, finding the girl in a corner, hiding under a cotton blanket.
“Don’t be afraid little one, I’m here.”
A thick mat of curly red hair and two blue eyes peeked out from behind the blanket. “Where’s mommy?”
“She’s close my dear.”
“Is mommy coming?” She sniffled, rubbing her right eye with the blanket.
“Yes my dear, your mother will be along shortly. What is your name?” He did his best to hide his fangs as he spoke.
The toddler lifted the blanket back over her head. “Vaginya.”
“Ah, young Virginia it is. How about you take off that blanket, what do you say?”
“No, I want Mommy.”
Having an idea cross his mind, Ambrogio flashed a wicked grin. He would raise this child. He would turn her into an adult that could do his bidding. She would watch over him while he slept, be his strength where he was weak.
After years of being hunted, separating from the rest of his coven to find a safer place, he could finally relax. If this continent didn’t work out however, he didn’t know what he would do. But through this young girl, he saw hope.
“I am your Mommy now.”