by A.R. Wise
* * *
“Wake up.”
The Scholar knelt among the dead and dying, his hands held out over the victims his army had brought. What had once been the Central Market of New Carrington was now a graveyard, with row after row of corpses laid out shoulder to shoulder. Women and children lay beside the men, because there was no benevolence afforded the living in war.
Cerrus, Ferragut, Madeline, and the rest of The Scholar’s trusted few were waiting beside the field of the dead. The zombies that had demolished the town had been herded to the north side, where they were tormenting the wealthy residents and aristocrats hiding in the mansions, behind their thick walls, desperate to survive. They wouldn’t.
The Scholar laid his hands upon the face of a panting, pale young woman. She’d been stabbed, and would succumb to the wound soon. He placed his hands on her face and whispered, “I forgive you.”
She coughed up blood, but he didn’t flinch as fluid struck his cheek. He said again, “I forgive you. Now get up.” He guided her to a seated position, and tears flowed across her cheeks as she looked at him. “That’s right, my dear. Stand with me. There you go. That’s it.” He stood with her, and then held her close, his lips near her left ear. “I’m your God now. Go, fight for me.”
Ferragut stepped forward to take the girl’s hand, and pointed her northward, towards where the rest of the horde was tearing at the walls of the aristocrat’s mansions. She staggered off, limping but determined to do as her master commanded.
The Scholar moved to the next body, a child who was certainly already dead. He knelt, placed his hands on the boy’s face.
“Wake up.”
To Be Continued
