Leap of Faith

  Leap of Faith

  Anura Rising: Book One

  J.S. Grulke

  J.S. Grulke

  Copyright © 2019 by J.S. Grulke

  All rights reserved.

  Disclaimer: This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the author’s imagination or used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, businesses, companies, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

  No part of this book (except brief quotations for articles or reviews) 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.

  Editor: Lit Forge Edits

  Proofreader: Karen Bennett

  Book Cover Design: eBook Launch

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  To Dr. Boo,

  Your patience and encouragement is unparalleled.

  And Gavin and Everleigh, who are ALMOST better than me at video games…ALMOST.

  Contents

  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

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Chapter 33

  Chapter 34

  Chapter 35

  Chapter 36

  Chapter 37

  Chapter 38

  Chapter 39

  Chapter 40

  Chapter 41

  Chapter 42

  Chapter 43

  Chapter 44

  Chapter 45

  Chapter 46

  Chapter 47

  Chapter 48

  Chapter 49

  Chapter 50

  Chapter 51

  Chapter 52

  Chapter 53

  Chapter 54

  Chapter 55

  Acknowledgments

  CONNECT WITH ME!

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  Prologue

  Henry sank into the familiar seat of his ancient, rusted-out Honda Accord. A hint of stale cigarette smoke, mildew, and exhaust hung in the air. A large crack stretched across the center of the faded dash. The years of sitting in the Louisiana sun had been unkind.

  The engine hesitated, whirring and shuddering as Henry pushed his boot down on the accelerator. Shaking his head, he forced his foot to the ground and the engine lurched forward. Piece of shit.

  Events from the last five years had led him to this moment. To this old wooden rail bridge he’d visited so many times before, to dream, to escape. Escape. That wasn’t as easy to do lately. Three more days until his eighteenth birthday. It didn’t matter; he’d be tried as an adult anyway.

  A train horn blared, preceding a flash of light from behind the thick cypress trees ahead. It approached slowly, like a giant comet arcing its way through the night sky, growing brighter as it lazily trudged its way along the tracks.

  Henry maneuvered the car off the worn gravel road, onto the tracks, and up to the edge of the old bridge. The ground rumbled under the weight of the approaching train as the rhythmic whir drew closer. He shifted his car into neutral and let it idle as he waited.

  He had always loved trains. Maybe it was their character. Trains never veered. They had a straight path, remaining undeterred, regardless of the obstacle. Life would be so much easier as a train.

  Henry tightened his grip on the steering wheel as his eyes landed on his brother’s baseball bat lying in the passenger seat. Bringing it along had been impulsive, but he’d figured it would show his motivations more clearly than any note could. Another whistle blared, pulling him from his thoughts. Henry inhaled the smoky, dank air, letting it hang in his lungs for a moment while rubbing his forehead. Sighing, he ran his fingers through his short brown hair.

  He hurriedly reached down and wrapped a large, rough hand around the worn shifter, struggling to position it into gear. The damn thing always stuck. Henry grunted in frustration as he smashed his fist on the dash. His breaths quickened as he tightened his grip. He pushed down on the clutch and forced the gear shift into first gear, almost ripping the top off and shuddering at the sound of the cogs grinding.

  Holding the clutch down with one foot and the accelerator with the other, he winced as the four-cylinder engine screamed like a tea kettle. Time for this nightmare to end.

  Henry pulled his worn size thirteen boot off the clutch. The tires screeched as the Honda struggled to respond. With a jolt, they gripped solid ground at the last second and shot the car forward. Henry held the steering wheel tightly as the car rumbled along the track. The train’s whistle was deafening as it screamed its warning.

  The light from the train blinded him as he plowed forward along the bridge. He closed his eyes and took in one last exhaust-filled breath, resigned to his fate. I’m sorry, Dad. Goodbye.

  The piercing squeal of the train’s brakes was the last thing he heard before everything went dark. Memories flew through his head. His brother, his mom, his dad. Growing up, high school, football games, all of the hospital visits, funerals, the pain. They flashed faster and faster, until his head felt like it was about to explode. Then, it stopped. The images were gone. The pain of the past had disappeared, and all was silent.

  1

  Henry slowly opened his eyes, the sound of his heartbeat reverberating in his head. Blood rushed to his temples like mini explosions. The pain was excruciating, every nerve screaming as though his body had been stretched past its limits and all his joints had been separated. In all four of his years playing varsity football as a tight end, he’d never felt pain like this. Yet it all paled in comparison to the dawning horror that he couldn’t move.

  His mouth was dry and his skin taut despite the damp night air. He couldn’t turn his head.

  Oh my God, I’m paralyzed. The back of his arms and legs felt cool and...wet?

  No, not paralyzed. If I’m paralyzed, I shouldn’t be able to feel my legs. Why can’t I move? His breaths came quickly as he struggled to stir his immobile body. He released a scream that escaped his throat as a hoarse whisper. His tongue felt odd, misplaced, and as he ran it across the top of his mouth, he abruptly stopped, eyes wide with panic.

  What the hell is wrong with my mouth?

  The previously smooth roof of his mouth had been overtaken by rows of small, rigid teeth. Henry fought the urge to vomit, afraid to let his tongue explore his mouth again. His labored breaths continued to increase as panic washed over him. He sputtered, jaw hanging agape while the air in his lungs escaped in short bursts. Chest heaving, he stared helplessly into the night sky.

  Two loud splashes drew his attention. He snapped his mouth closed, holding his breath and forcing down the bile in his throat as he felt the rows of teeth on his tongue. Someone or something was watching him. Gator. I bet it’s a freaking gator. Of course he couldn’t have just died, that would’ve been too easy.

  A few seconds in silence gave way to something trudging through the shallow water. A hint of black licorice scented the air.

  Feeling helpless, Henry’s frustrat
ion mounted.

  The sound stopped.

  Adrenaline blended with fear heightened his senses. He coughed to clear his throat, trying to muster anything more than a whisper. “Who’s there?” His chest tightened in anticipation of a response. “What do you want from me?!”

  The water fell still and silent, followed by a man clearing his throat. “Ahem.”

  Henry’s heart leapt and his body stiffened. With his mouth still dry and sticky, it was hard to form words. “H…Hello?”

  “Are you planning on staying there all night? Disappointing. I thought you were more of a fighter. Maybe I was wrong,” the voice commented flatly. “Move your arms.”

  Henry’s momentary fear shifted to anger. Move your arms. Don’t you think I would’ve done that if I could? He struggled against his uncooperative body. “I…. can’t.”

  The silence stretched while he waited for a response.

  “Try.”

  All right, asshole. Henry pursed his lips tightly, closed his eyes, and focused his thoughts on his left arm. Straining, he tried to turn his head, releasing a sigh of relief as it rotated a few degrees to the left. Yes! He gasped and coughed as he caught sight of an arm, his arm, the brief moment of joy instantly shifting to revulsion. It was muscular but thin, with smooth, taut, dark forest green skin. He followed his transformed arm to his outstretched palm. Four elongated fingers lay motionless in the mud. Four. What the…

  Henry stopped struggling. Shock transitioned from horror to disbelief, and finally to acceptance. I must be dead.

  A subtle breeze drifted across his face as he lay on his back. Almost calmly, he focused on one finger, willing it to move. Come on. Move. A small twitch shot through his hand, lifting his abnormal finger slightly. There we go, come on. The twitching increased until finally, he could tell he was moving it. Bending the appendage slowly, he watched as it curved toward him and touched his palm, the sticky pad of his new fingertip in clear view. Relaxing his hand, he let the finger unfurl and drift slowly back to the ground. He repeated the process, gradually bringing each finger to life like a zombie rising from the dead. He squeezed his eyes shut. What the hell is going on? Wake up. Wake up!

  He opened his eyes, hope fading as his smooth green arm came back into view.

  Narrowing in on his left arm, he flipped it over with a grunt, turning his palm down. What happened to my scar? His arm was muddy, but the burn mark that had marred his skin for the past several years had been replaced by a patch of bright, almost neon red skin. However, that was currently the least of his worries.

  The stranger spoke up again. “Move. Your arms. Henry.” The frosty annoyance in his tone halted Henry’s efforts in their tracks.

  “Who are you?” Henry wasn’t expecting an answer, but it still irritated him that he was greeted by the sound of actual crickets. With a frustrated sigh, he returned his focus to his arm. Grunting like he was squatting a new max, he lifted his right arm into the air, his fingers trembling as they stretched to the sky.

  The voice rang out in the cold night air, so close that Henry could hear the exhale of his breath. “Good. Try harder.”

  Henry’s head was pounding. He felt his pulse quicken, emotion breaking through and taking over. He battled against his unresponsive body to locate the stranger. “Who are you?! I’m not doing shit until you answer me! If you’re here to kill me, just get it over with. Finish what I started.”

  Henry waited for a response. Again, nothing. He screamed into the air. “What do you want from me?!

  “Sit up.”

  As if the words carried power of their own, Henry turned his head to face his right arm. It had the same pads as the left. Movement became easier, and within moments, he was able to bring himself to a sitting position. He rubbed his eyes with the backs of his hands, quickly pulling them away again in shock. He cautiously brought them back up to feel the rest of his features. His head was…wrong. What the fuck is wrong with my head?!

  Henry struggled to breathe. “What? What did you do to me?!”

  “Take your time. This is much to process. When you are calm and ready to listen, I will explain.”

  Henry was far from calm, and wanted nothing more than to beat the shit out of this guy. He was supposed to be dead, not some deformed freak. Looking down at his legs to see the thick muscles twitching and bulging through the dark green skin, he said the only words that would come to him.

  “I…am a…frog…”

  The words hung in the air as the world around them went still. It felt as if everyone, everything, was waiting for a response.

  One word cut through the silence. “Yes.” The stranger’s footsteps moved closer. “Henry? Are you ready?”

  That voice. Cold, but not unkind. Henry glared into the moonlit weeds and released a sigh. “I don’t know who you are, or what’s going on, but yes, I’m listening.”

  “You should consider yourself fortunate. You have earned a second chance,” the voice admonished coolly.

  Henry steeled his resolve and pushed up off the ground, exhaling as he stood. His legs felt springy but weak. His head whipped around toward the source of the voice, only catching the shadowy outlines of a few fallen logs but everything else remained shrouded in darkness. The strong smell of black licorice mixed with the earthy dampness of the swamp made his stomach churn. “Second chance for what?”

  “You have had a tough life, tougher than most. You had an important choice, and you chose poorly. I am offering you a new beginning.”

  Henry lifted his head weakly, searching in vain for the source of the voice. The stranger sounded disinterested and monotone, as if he had gone through this conversation before. His webbed frog hand made a splash as he slammed it down in the shallow algae-covered water in frustration. “And what happens if I don’t want it?”

  “You finish what you started.”

  Henry clenched his strange new hands into fists. “And if I agree? A new beginning? Sorry to ruin your game of ‘let’s fuck with the guy who just tried to kill himself, bashed his damn head on a boulder, and thinks he’s a frog,’ but my life wasn’t exactly one I want to relive.”

  “No? If you say so.” The stranger’s voice trailed off into the darkness.

  “Okay. Enough with the cryptic shit. Say I do accept. What does that mean? I’m back from the dead and can return to my shit show of a life?”

  “I have others that are more worthy of this chance. I will move on to the next one. I thought you would want a chance to be with your family, but I see now I was mistaken.”

  My family? Henry relaxed his clenched fists. “Wait, are you saying there’s a way I can see my family again? How?” He cleared his throat, calming his voice. “What do I have to do?”

  “I will take that as a yes. Very well. Everything from this moment will determine your future in and out of this world. You will need to learn how to accept change. By the way, this is your body now.”

  “My body now?! I’m a frog. You can’t be serious.”

  “Completely. As you can probably tell, you are not a typical frog. You will find many other things here that are…well, not what you’re used to. The form you assumed when you arrived here is based on a number of factors from your other life.”

  “So you’re saying all of those “factors” are why my body now looks like a frog?! What the hell is wrong with…”

  A blast of intense light interrupted him, flashing in his eyes. It reminded him of times he had accidentally shined his cell phone flashlight into his own face. The dancing gray spots in his vision gradually disappeared, and a thin man with straight, slicked black hair, a chest-length ratty beard, and clouded eyes stood in front of him. The smell of black licorice overpowered Henry’s senses.

  The man raised his eyebrows and rubbed his hands together as he studied Henry. Before Henry could speak, a resounding crack shattered the silence, followed by a massive gust of swampy wind that threw him high into the air.

  2

  Henry’s arms pinwh
eeled as he crashed down face-first into the thick mud. Grunting, he pushed himself to his knees and up onto his webbed feet, blinking as he tried to focus on the stranger.

  The thin man approached Henry, stopping just out of reach. “My name is Verlos.” He paused expectantly, as if this declaration should mean something to Henry. Pursing his lips and narrowing his eyes at Henry’s blank expression, the man continued. “I normally avoid those who are careless with their own lives, but I’ve made an exception for you.”

  Wiping the mud off his chest and flinging it to the ground, Henry grimaced at his four-fingered hands and swallowed hard before responding. “An exception? Why?”

  “You’ve gone through much in your short life.”

  “No shit,” Henry muttered under his breath. He fought to keep his anger under control. This guy might be an enormous pain in the ass, but he also was the only one with any answers, and Henry needed to figure out what the hell was going on, so he could get out of… wherever this was.

  Verlos furrowed his brow. “That being said, you are also self-absorbed, self-seeking, resentful, and incredibly selfish.”