Thomas Apocalypse Costume Novels & Stories

​They rounded a corner and skidded to a halt. ​The corridor was filled with a violet haze. Standing at the end of the hall, near the massive, rotating drive-shaft, was a group of "Apostles"—the remnants of Thorne’s cult, now serving the Reclamation. They weren't wearing iron. They were wearing robes of woven fiber-optics, their eyes glowing with a cold, synthetic light. ​"The blood of the First Mother," one of the Apostles said, his voice overlapping in a haunting chorus. "The Key has come to the Lock."

“Maya…” The girl turned away from the window when she heard her name being called. She kept looking at the door, her hands hanging nervously at her sides. Since she called him that night a week ago; she found herself in another place. “There you are. Why didn’t you answer?” Thomas stepped into the lavish living room. He was dressed in a very expensive suit and a blood red shirt. He was a completely different man then the one whom she discovered in the Cemetery.

My hair was tucked under a dark, feathered headpiece, giving me a shadowy, mysterious look. Thomas went for something equally subtle but effective – a dark suit with a blood-red vest and a matching mask, a sleek cane adding to the illusion of a character from some dark, fantastical carnival. As we headed to the venue, I could feel the nervous tension winding tighter and tighter inside me. My hands were fidgeting in my lap, my thoughts racing too fast to catch. I kept glancing over at Thomas, and though his face was calm, I knew he could sense my nerves.

But it felt gentler now. Outside, the rain had stopped. The clouds slowly parted. Streetlights reflected off the wet roads. Thomas looked outside. "I think..." He paused. "I should go." Maxine looked at him. And unexpectedly... She felt sad. She nodded anyway. "Okay." Thomas walked toward the closet to change. A few minutes later, he emerged wearing his own clothes. Back to being Thomas Ledger. Not the man wearing her father's clothes. Not Noah's playmate. Not the lonely man who told stories.

“I’m Thomas. Sebastian’s assistant.” Jasper’s eyes widened. Of course, he remembered him now. He hadn't been close to the guy but he had seen Thomas before. Thomas had always been in a sharp suit, always standing a few places behind Sebastian. Seeing him dressed in tactical gear, armed to the teeth was indeed a strange shit. Jasper shook his hand, still in shock. “What the hell is going on?” He rasped. Thomas helped him into a sitting position and handed him a water bottle. “Drink first. Then talk.”

"Hit me." "You know I would if I could. I'm in a damn closet nearly naked with zombies outside, but I just don't have the energy to do anything." I leaned my head against the wall, pulling a new blanket around me. "Put your arms up." Thomas faced me, removing his shirt. "You can wear my shirt." Raising my arms, Thomas pulled his tee shirt over my head. God. It smelled just like him. So frigging good. "Thank you." I tugged up the collar and sniffed.

"They're already waiting for you." The research center's lab was even more advanced than I imagined. One of the elderly men, wearing a white lab coat, was introduced to me as Professor Uriah Emerson. Before the apocalypse, he was the country‘s top virus researcher. He was holding my blood test report with trembling hands.

From the velvety, warmth of his deeply tanned skin to the nearly perfect symmetry of his sculpted features, Noah Thomas looked as if he’d been created rather than born. Just like before, he was dressed head-to-toe in black – this time in a suede sports coat, slim-legged trousers, a V-neck t-shirt, and leather Chelsea boots. He made quite the contrast to her much brighter visage, as if she encapsulated the last few rays of summer, while he embodied the captivating crispness of fall.

“Mum wants to know when dinner’s ready?” Beatrice sighed. “Note to self: when you think things can’t get any worse, remember you have a younger brother.” Thomas Beecham entered the kitchen. He had a camouflage bandana wrapped around his head. A black vest top hung from his scarecrow frame, the combat fatigues he wore were two sizes too big, the material ballooning as though filled with water. Lucas watched as Thomas entered the kitchen. “Why are you crawling on the floor there, chief?” he said as the younger boy inched forwards across the shining tiles on his stomach.

They all shouted 'Happy birthday' Ashley found herself covered in glitters and gathered by smiley faced which were all familiar. Thomas, dressed as "Bratz Boyz Koby," waved from across the room, his grin wider than the Mississippi. His hair was gelled into spikes, and his outfit was a mix of edgy street wear and rockstar flair. He had gone all out for this surprise, and the joy on his face was worth every second of secrecy. Ashley felt a mix of shock and elation, her cheeks flushing with excitement. She stood in the middle of her own surprise birthday party which Thomas had arranged.