Legion of the Undead

by Michael Whitehead

  “If we hide inside the grounds, we may end up caught. We should flee now, before it’s too late.” Eneas crossed toward the northern gate that was on the opposite side of the grounds to the one the demons had attacked. Lucius stood his ground.

  “I will not leave my daughter behind, Eneas. There are women and children in the cellar, I cannot leave them to die.”

  “Sir, if we stay, I am sure those things will find us. Better to retreat, wait a while, then come back. They obviously travel to find food, if the women stay in the cellar, those creatures won’t know they are there. We can watch for the monsters to move on, then come back when it’s safe.”

  All the while he spoke, Eneas was watching the corner of the building. He held his scythe tight, ready for a fight, and the tension showed in his eyes.

  Lucius fought the urge to rush back through the villa. To make his way to the cellar and save Lucia. Then he thought of the mothers, the children, the elderly slaves. If he went back, they would all be lost. They simply couldn’t escape with so many people. The ex-gladiator was right, if they left, they might have the chance to return. He nodded his acceptance of the plan.

  The two men crossed the yard to the gate. As they did, the first of the demons came round the corner. He wore a legionary’s uniform, though the metal plates were tarnished with black blood. At first, he didn’t see them, he scanned the scene before him with blank, dead eyes. Then his gaze lit on Eneas, and he broke into a run.

  “Get the gate open,” Eneas said, stepping away from Lucius and toward the dead legionary. Before he had gone too far Lucius called his name. Eneas turned back and his master handed him his sword. The gladiator took it, weighing it in his hand, before stepping in to fight the creature.

  Lucius moved to where a mechanism allowed the heavy wooden gate to be opened easily. He turned the handle, winding a rope around a shaft, and a gap began to appear.

  As Eneas stepped forward, swinging the blade up in an arc that would have cleaved the undead legionary’s chin, his opponent dropped to all fours. The tip of the blade scored a line in the creatures helmet, making a screeching sound that drove nails into Lucius’ nerves.

  The dead legionary leaped like a pouncing cat, hitting Eneas in the stomach. The slave was bowled backward, landing heavily with the weight of the demon on top of him. Lucius continued turning the mechanism frantically, knowing the best way he could help Eneas was to get the gate open.

  Without his sword he was useless, and while the scythe was deadly, he had neither the skill or the nerve to swing it. He would be equally likely to kill Eneas as the creature that attacked him.

  The demon snapped and snarled, inches from the gladiator’s face. A line of blood dribbled from the corner of the creatures mouth leaving a red streak on Eneas’ cheek. He pushed up against its chin, trying to lift it away and close its mouth at the same time.

  With a cry of desperation he rolled the dead legionary off him, gaining his knees with one swift action. Lucius could see training in the way the gladiator moved. He had a fluidity that came to a man who was used to surviving in a fight.

  The creature landed heavily on its back, and was almost as quick as its opponent to gather itself. If Eneas was a trained fighter, this monster was a natural predator. It wasted no time in trying to protect itself, it simply threw itself back into the fight. This time Eneas was ready for the sudden attack. He stepped sideways, raising Lucius’ sword up in a rising arc, cleaving deeply in to the legionary’s face. The creature dropped to the floor, convulsing in silent spasms of what might be pain.

  “Over here,” Lucius called.

  The gate was open wide enough that they could squeeze through the gap. Eneas looked down at the thrashing creature. Its face was a ruin of destroyed bones and black fluid. Then he turned toward the exit and escape from the villa grounds.

  As he stepped toward Lucius, first one, then more of the creatures rushed around the side of the villa. Whether they had finished with the guards and slaves at the main gate, or had been attracted by the sound of Eneas’ fight, Lucius could not be sure. Either way, they moved with unnatural speed toward the fleeing gladiator.

  “Get out!” he shouted toward his master, wanting clear passage through the gate.

  Lucius slipped between the large wooden doors, stepping away to give Eneas room. The slave stared, wide-eyed at the gap, as if nothing else in the world existed except himself, the creatures that chased him, and his means of escape.

  As he reached the gate, with the dead no more than a few steps behind him, he swung the sword over his head. At first, Lucius was unsure what he was doing, then the gate began to close and he understood the gladiator had cut the rope that held the counterbalance.

  Eneas passed through the gap just in time for the gate to close behind him. Lucius closed his eyes and let out a gasp of breath that he hadn’t realised he was holding. He waited for the thud of the wooden doors meeting, but the sound never came. He looked once more, and saw the arm of one of the creatures caught in the closing gate.

  The monsters that followed began trying to squeeze through the gap. They lacked the wit to pull on the gate, to make the gap bigger, but the sheer weight of their numbers was inching the doors apart.

  Eneas turned, seeing what was happening behind him. Wasting no time, he brought the sword down hard on the protruding arm, severing it above the elbow. There was no scream of pain, the arm simply dropped to the ground, leaking black fluid on to the dirt. He then began stabbing the blade through the gap, pushing the creatures from the gate until it finally closed.

  Both men fell back, gasping for breath and staring at the barrier before them. The undead on the far side hammered against the wood, causing it to shudder on its hinges.

  “We need to get some space between us and them,” Eneas said, pointing a shaking finger toward the villa.

  “We can’t go too far,” Lucius said, “I want to come back for my daughter, for the other women and children, as soon as we can.”

  “Of course, sir,” Eneas agreed. “We can’t stay close enough that if that gate fails we are the first thing those creatures see. I suggest we use the fields as cover. We should be safe enough for a few hours, then we can come back and check if they have gone.”

  Lucius looked out at the golden fields of wheat that stretched for miles in all directions. A man could lay down and an army could march by without knowing he was there. He nodded to the ex-gladiator and got to his feet.

  There was already less signs of fighting than there had been when the gates had fallen. The sounds that remained seemed further away now, but Lucius guess it was mainly because most of the defenders had succumbed to the unnatural enemy.

  They passed from the scrub grass that marked the outside of the wall and into the wheat field. The sun was past mid-afternoon and still carried much of its warmth. Had they not just witnessed the destruction of everything they knew, the day might have been perfect. The gods may look down and see the fate of men, but the earth on which they walked, and the sky above were ambivalent.

  After a couple of minutes, they stopped and lay down, hiding themselves from the world. Eneas laid the sword within easy reach, and propped himself on one elbow. Lucius sat, hugging his knees, feeling the waves of shock wash over him. Silence sat between them, unspoken questions to which there could be no answers. Finally, as the weight of it all became too much, Lucius spoke.

  “Where were you born?” he asked the slave before him.

  “I’m Athenian,” Eneas answered, meeting his master’s eye.

  “How does a Greek become a slave?” The master asked, and was rewarded with a frank look that carried no shame.

  “My father was a gambler. He ran up debts with a man who was close to the local magistrate. When he could not pay, my mother, my sister, and I were sold into slavery. My father was forced to sell everything he had to pay off the balance of the debt.” Eneas said, his voice level and matter of fact.

  “Why didn’t the magistrate ord
er your father to be sold as well?” Lucius asked.

  “He was an old man when I was born. By the time I was sold, I was fifteen and he was too old to work. He would have fetched no more than a few denarius. I was always big, and I was bought by a gladiator school, while my mother and sister were sold as house slaves in Rome. It was the last I ever saw of them.”

  This time Eneas’ face showed some emotion. His face turned down as he spoke of his family and his eyes filled so that he had to look away from his master. Lucius gave him a moment to compose himself before speaking again.

  “You saved my life today,” he began. “When we return to the villa, I will grant you your freedom.” He expected a reaction to his words, maybe even a little gratitude, but he didn’t expect the laughter that came from Eneas’ mouth but did not reach his eyes.

  “You don’t understand do you?” the slave asked.

  “Understand what?” Lucius returned, but a sinking feeling was opening his stomach like a pit.

  “I’m not going back in there,” Eneas answered.

  “But you have to help me rescue the woman, the children...my daughter,” by the time he reached the final two words, Lucius was beginning to understand his folly. He starred at Eneas for a moment, then asked. “Why save me at all?”

  “I saved you, because I knew the guards wouldn’t stop me leaving if I had you with me.” Eneas was shaking his head in wonder, obviously amused by his master’s naivety. “I knew the moment I saw those monsters that the world had changed. I knew I had to get out of the villa, and you were the best way to do it. How else could I have walked away untouched by either the demons, or the guards?”

  Lucius cursed himself for a fool, knowing he had walked straight into this man’s scheme.

  “So, what now? Do you kill me?” he asked the Greek.

  “No, not unless I have to. I was hoping you would come with me. Two men might survive a little longer than one. The world has changed, Lucius, we need to change with it.”

  It was the first time he had ever heard one of the slaves call him by his name, and it shocked him more than he would have understood.

  “You would have me leave all of those women and children to die? You would have me leave my own daughter?” Lucius asked.

  “The creatures will leave after they have fed. You saw them eating the flesh of the dead. If the women stay down in the cellar, they will be fine. If you try to save them, you won’t be.”

  Anger rose in Lucius. The pure rage of impotence. His eyes were drawn to his sword, lying between the two of them, the hilt next to Eneas’ hand.

  “I never intended to kill you. You’ve been one of the better masters I have had. I would simply have left you here in the night.”

  Eneas looked earnest, but the matter of fact way he spoke of betrayal heated the furnace of Lucius’ wrath. He lunged for the sword, but he was never even close to matching the speed of the fighting man. Eneas snatched up the blade and might have spared his master’s life, even then. Except Lucius slipped on the silky stems of wheat on which they lay. He impaled himself on his own sword, held by the man he owned.

  As Lucius bled his last onto the soil of the estate he had built using the muscles and sweat of slaves, Eneas looked down at him with sympathy in his eyes. He shook his head, got to his feet and wiped the blade clean on the shafts of wheat. As his master breathed his final breath, spraying blood into the evening air, Eneas was already walking away.

  CHAPTER TEN

  Lucia woke with a startled cry. She hadn’t even realised she was asleep. She had sat down with her back to a wall, and her mind had begun to drift into dreams before she had the chance to stop it.

  Time had ceased to mean much at all down in the candle lit darkness. No sky showed the passage of time, and no routine meant that minutes and hours were meaningless. Even the sound of the invaders at the door had stopped. The children had settled into a malaise of fitful sleep, broken by periods of gentle sobbing.

  Her dream had been of her father coming back to her. He was a rotten and broken thing with eyes like dark pits. He had drooled dark, viscous liquid from the corners of a mouth full of broken and jagged teeth.

  He had spoken to her and told her how much he loved her. Taking her hand, he had stroked her back and whispered that everything would be fine.

  She had loved him, despite his appearance, he was her father after all. He had leaned in, the way he always had, to kiss her forehead. Only, as he got close, he had opened his mouth and bitten deep into the flesh of her face.

  She had screamed in the dream, and that scream had woken her to the reality of the cellar.

  Gods! How long had they been down here? Should she try the villa above, to see what was happening? Should she send one of the slaves? After all, why should she risk her life?

  She rebuked herself for even thinking such a thing. She looked over at the injured man. He was covered in a soft sheen of sweat as he lay, sleeping fitfully. It seemed Lucia was not the only one suffering from fevered dreams down in the dark. He wasn't long for this world, but there was nothing to do for him except give him water, which he asked for whenever he woke.

  Rosa slept in a corner. A slave child was curled in her arms and the pair looked the most peaceful of everyone down among the dusty shelves of wine. Normally so well presented, Rosa was as dishevelled as Lucia had ever seen her. Her hair, normally scraped into a bun, was loose and wild. A smear of dirt marked her nose and cheek. Lucia wished she had kept the silver plate so that she could tease her matron with her reflection.

  Maria sat apart with her son. He looked like he was sickening himself. A similar sheen to that of the injured man, sat on his forehead. Lucia hoped it was no more than a minor case of whatever was in the injured man's wounds.

  Her father loved to tell her of his travels to Africa. He would scare her with stories of big cats the size of small horses and other exotic animals.

  The stories that scared her the most were about the insects. Beetles that would burrow under a person's skin and lay eggs, or spiders so big that they spun man-sized webs. Worst of all to her, were the flies that spread disease and sickness with one bite. The idea that something so innocuous could cause such suffering or death.

  She watched Maria's son now and wondered about the bite he had suffered. Was he even now falling prey to a sickness spread by those creatures up there? He certainly didn’t look well.

  The third man walked over to Lucia as she sat and asked if he could sit down. He was a young man, maybe ten years older than her. His shoulders were broad and his square jaw gave him a hard but kind look. She nodded, and he sat against the wall a respectful distance from her.

  “Are you alright?” He asked and she nodded again. Sometimes it is easier to say you are fine than to explain why you are not. He looked at her closely. “You saved our lives up there. You know that, right?” She shrugged and managed a faint smile.

  “Thank you.” He said.

  “I’m worried about my father,” she said.

  “I understand,” he replied. “Those things are scary and hard to fight. They look slow at first but they can jump and climb like spiders. They come at you from above and……” He realised that he wasn’t making her feel any better. “Look, I didn’t see what happened to your father. That’s a good thing though. We were the last men I saw standing, but we got separated from most of the others. For all we know, he is somewhere else on the estate waiting for us to rescue him.” He shrugged as he said this.

  “That just means we are all dead though! Doesn't it? If we are waiting for him to rescue us, and he is waiting for us to rescue him. Who will do the rescuing?”

  “That was what I came to speak to you about.” He said looking anxious. “We have enough to food to last a few more days, I think. After that we will start to get desperate. Maybe we should start thinking about going out there again. We don’t have to go far but we need to see what is happening. We might even find they've gone already. I haven’t heard them for hou
rs, have you?”

  “No, I haven't. I was kind of thinking the same thing. We could just start by opening the door and seeing what happens, I suppose. If we can barricade a couple of places, we could give ourselves a safe window to see outside.”

  “Now that’s my kind of thinking. Do we have a plan? Just me and you, so we can move quickly if we have to?”

  Lucia smiled and it was broad and genuine. She had to admit that doing anything was better than sitting and marking down time until the food ran out.

  “As soon as you are ready. I’m sorry, I don’t know your name.” She looked embarrassed.

  “Don’t be sorry, I only arrived with the goods from Rome just before this started. Great timing, huh?” He held his hands up, palms to the heavens, as if blaming his luck on the gods. “My name is Livius, Paulus Marius Livius. I was to be your father's new overseer, and hopefully still will be.” Livius got up onto his knees.

  “Give me a couple of minutes to explain to the other men what is happening, and then we will see what we can do to make our situation better.”

  She nodded and started to gather the nerve for what was to come.

  Rosa had dark streaks down her face from where she had been sobbing. First she had cried, and then she had shouted, trying to forbid Lucia to go, but the headstrong girl wouldn’t listen to her.

  She had tried to get her to see that the last thing her father would want was for her was to put herself in more peril. Now she was going out into untold danger, and with a man she’d never met before, as well! Did she not realise, it was Rosa who was meant to keep her safe? How could she do that if the child wouldn’t listen to her?

  That was the trouble though, the child wasn’t a child anymore. She was a young woman, and a beautiful one at that. If they were in Rome all the men of the important families would be throwing themselves at her feet.