Apocalypse Core: The Complete Trilogy

APOCALYPSE CORE THE COMPLETE TRILOGY JACK PORTER INK RIOT BOOKS Copyright © 2023 by Jack Porter All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review. CONTENTS Apocalypse Core Book 1: Forming the Party 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 Chapter 24 Chapter 25 Chapter 26 Chapter 27 Chapter 28 Chapter 29 Chapter 30 Merge Core Book 2: The First Trial Prologue 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 Chapter 24 Chapter 25 Chapter 26 Chapter 27 Chapter 28 Chapter 29 Chapter 30 World Core Book 3: End Game 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 Chapter 24 Chapter 25 Chapter 26 Chapter 27 Chapter 28 Chapter 29 Epilogue Afterword Books by Jack Porter APOCALYPSE CORE APOCALYPSE CORE 1 BOOK 1: FORMING THE PARTY CHAPTER 1 I was out fishing with my dog when the apocalypse began. I shouldn’t have been. It was a workday. Normally, I would have been at my job at the security firm, Security-R-Us, teaching the new hires hand-to-hand combat techniques, with an emphasis on working in teams. But even before the whole world turned to shit, it was already one of those days. Mostly, our new hires were big guys rather than smart ones. It was my job to teach these gorillas a few basic techniques to give them the upper hand in conflict situations. As far as jobs went, it suited me. After all, what else was a guy with my background and training going to do? The company was run by a grizzled old ex-army man named Ed Zadowsky. He was a decent guy overall. But he had a few quirks, and every once in a while had a ridiculous idea for increasing company morale. One day he made us all turn up to work cosplaying Star Trek. Another time, he had the whole office and the training rooms decorated in balloons and tinsel for no reason. But this time, the old man decided to host a Bring Your Dog to Work day. I tried to make him see reason. Tried to persuade him that my dog wasn’t the kind of pet to bring in to work. And when Maisie the receptionist complained that she should be able to bring her fluffy tortoiseshell cat, Mrs. Tiddles, I knew it was going to be a bad combination. But Ed had been insistent. “It’s for company morale!” he said. “Bring him along, and he can play with the other pets. What harm could it do?” My dog didn’t exactly play well with others. I argued a bit longer, but in the end, accepted the inevitable. Once Ed got an idea in his head, it could be hard to change. And he was the boss. When it came down to it, in this place, his word was law. Now, you need to know a few things about Humphrey at this point. Most people assume a guy like me would have a German Shepherd or Rottweiler. A large, useful dog that could scare the hell out of a person on my command. An animal that could be trained to disarm an intruder or complete a full obstacle course. Humphrey wasn’t that type of pet. He was a Jack Russell mix. Which meant he had the same size, shape, and boundless energy as a regular Jack Russell. He would bark at anything that moved, chase his own tail, and greet me enthusiastically when I walked in the door at the end of the day. But instead of a Jack Russell’s normal white color with spots, Humphrey was charcoal black, and hairy enough that he needed to be groomed every six weeks or his coat would become matted. But that wasn’t his most notable ‘feature.’ When I got him, his name wasn’t Humphrey. It had been Percival St. Beauregard the Third. And he had way too much personality for his previous owners to handle. When I brought him home, the dog had taken one look around my apartment and made it his by excitedly running up to my leather couch and humping the arm. Then he ran off and humped the footstool before turning his attention to the one and only potted plant I kept. It didn’t matter how many times I told him to stop, Humphrey’s true nature was clear. I dubbed him Sir Humpalot on the spot, but changed his name to Humphrey for public consumption. His actions were an ongoing embarrassment to me and everyone else, but Ed had apparently forgotten. “Nonsense!” the old man exclaimed as I objected one more time. “Bring him along! It’ll be a blast!” So I did. It probably saved my life. Things went surprisingly well at the beginning. Humphrey behaved himself, wagging his tail and playing nice with Maisie and the guys. It wasn’t until mid-morning, while I was in the middle of teaching my class, when the shit hit the fan. I heard Ed’s bellow reverberate through the entire building. “Marc! Where the hell are you? Get your ass in here right now!” I sent my class to lunch and then headed to Ed’s office. A quick