Modern Pagans Harry Smythe and his wife Karoline came to the old mining town of Pinestone to see an archeological wonder: The first genuine Viking grave ever discovered in North America. They also found a band of new friends, a group of Texans who followed the same Old Gods as they did. When the first strange disappearance occurred in the little town, they all found themselves under suspicion from the local police just because they were followers the Old Ways that are almost unknown in modern America and strangers in that small community.
And then the murders started. Horrible, gruesome crimes of deranged savagery. Soon the killings were followed by the dead walking the streets, guided and controlled by an evil from the dawn of time. A night-black being that had been imprisoned for a thousand years until an archeologist had accidentally uncovered its buried tomb. A gaunt shadow that fed on death, terror and bloodshed. A gnarled silhouette of absolute darkness that used the dead as grisly puppets to spread slaughter and fear throughout the small mountain town. A nightmarish troll of ancient evil that looked upon the followers of the Old Gods as kin to the enemies that had entombed it ten centuries past, that looked on the townsfolk as mere cattle to be harvested in an orgy of blood.
When zombies stalk Pinestone by night, when a hulking shadow from before the age of man gleeful directs horror after horror, when the dead can not be trusted to remain dead, not even the police can stand between the innocent and evil beyond understanding. Modern weapons are useless against the dead who rise to kill. Not even a bullet to the brain will stop the eager, giggling walking corpses from tearing apart warm, living flesh.
Only the handful of outsiders, outcast because of their beliefs, the chosen of their Gods, have a hope of standing against the master puppeteer that pulls the shadowy string of its undead marionettes of laughing murder. From the faded runes of the eldritch Lightning Stone they have gleaned the only chance to defeat the hungry shadow known as the Night Troll.
It is a small hope, the slimmest chance to succeed in a suicide mission that might, might, bring an end to a creature older than humanity. Even armed with the iron blades of another age that will grant the zombies a true death, even after recovering the lost weapons that the Gods had given to the Vikings, even with the advice of the Gods themselves, what real chance does the small band of Pagans have against the ever-growing army of zombies and the evil darkness of the Night Troll? Against a foulness that gains strength and a new recruit for the fearless ranks of the laughing dead with every man or woman that it slays? Or that its puppets murder?
A handful against a tide of horrible death that threatens to engulf first a town, and then a state and perhaps even the world. Courage can be strong where flesh is weak, but the walking dead have no need of courage, for they have no fear. Their strength never falters, for the dead never tire.
At the world’s highest drive-in theater, the fate of Pinestone will be decided. And perhaps the fate of mankind, as well. Once before the Old Gods had sent men against the Night Troll, only to have them fail in their quest. One last chance was left, a lost quest fallen to a handful of average men and women who, while not warriors born, could still hear the call of the Old Gods.
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