From Oblivion's Ashes

by Michael E. A. Nyman

  Jerome recoiled, stepping back with his hands out.

  “Naw, man,” he said. “It’s cool. You’re in charge. It’s just that, you got me and the other brothers watching the streets, right? While you white people been partying here in Freddie Kruegar land, shit’s been happening.”

  “What are you talking about?” Stan demanded, returning his rag to its pocket.

  Jerome shook his head, wide-eyed. “I don’t know. It’s weird, man, but we could hear something that sounded like voices, right? Only we couldn’t tell where they were coming from. But then, like magic, every zombie in the street was chasing off after whatever it was, and I mean every zombie. The streets outside are empty, man.”

  “Empty?” Stan frowned with thought.

  The guy who looked like a Viking-biker stirred.

  “Think it’s some kind of attack?” he rumbled in a deep, menacing voice. “We took their people. Maybe they’ve come to try to take them back.”

  “It might explain how they’re able to enter and exit that garbage-pile thing they drive around in,” T-bone suggested. “Somehow, they’re able to lure the undead away, clear the area.”

  “They have to know about us,” Leonard said from his place near Crapmobile. “Everything I’ve seen in here suggests that they had eyes on us when we captured this thing. Shit. If I hadn’t disconnected the circuit, they could have had eyes on us now. This thing has at least a dozen exterior cameras, all capable of operating remotely. Whoever these people are, Stan, they have some pretty tech-savvy specialists on their side. We need to be careful.”

  A sound that was part wheeze, part shriek, and part snort interrupted their debate. It was so unpleasant that, for a moment, all conversation stopped as people looked for the source of the noise.

  It was Albert, spraying blood and saliva from his effort.

  And it seemed he was trying to laugh.

  “Ooo ‘uyss are iii O ‘uch rruble!” he seethed, like a blood demon on a party high. “Ey are ‘onna ‘ehh oou!”

  “Jerome!” The shout came from the doorway.

  Another, taller, more slender black man, in a muscle-shirt with bulging arms and a shaved head was leaning in the doorway. His eyes flickered back and forth through the audience until they came to settle on Jerome, standing next to Albert’s bloody chair.

  “We got guests, man,” the newcomer said. “They’re coming in through the smashed-up front lobby, two of them, both of them packing and dressed in body armor. They’re asking to speak to whoever’s in charge.”

  “I told you, Stan,” Jerome said, glaring. “Something’s going down, and you’d better come deal with it.”

  “Fuck.” Stan hesitated, absently examining Albert as he considered strategy. He exhaled deeply, turning to look at Leonard. “Leonard. I need you and T-bone to grab our little buddy here and bring him with us. Danny. Amber. Go fetch the woman and the girl we captured. If these people are here to talk, then we should oblige them by bringing some talking points. Don’t injure them any more, but feel free to hold weapons to their heads while we have our little chat with their envoys. It’ll help keep them off balance.”

  Danny nodded, turned, and headed for the door, pushing his way past the second black man who partly blocked it.

  Amber remained for another few seconds. With her knife still lying on the floor, she was staring at the beaten and bloodied Albert with a mixture of astonishment and even the slightest hint of respect.

  “Amber?” Stan said, annoyed by her distraction.

  The ‘knife girl’ blinked once, then knelt down and retrieved her weapon. She began to follow after Danny, but paused when she reached the door.

  “Who are these people?” she said, with a hint of concern. “Stan, you’d better make sure you-”

  “I’m on it, Amber,” Stan said, exchanging a glance with T-bone who smirked back at him. “Just get that sweet, little girl. It’s obvious she’s important to them.”

  Amber nodded hesitantly, and left.

  “Jerome.”

  “Yeah, Stan,” said Jerome, still standing beside Albert.

  “You and your people get the job of watching our back doors. Just in case they try anything sneaky, I want you guys to give us plenty of warning.”

  “Me and my people,” Jerome repeated, still smiling, though there was a hard glint in his eye. “My people. Oh, you mean the Negros! You got it, boss. We goin’ do a good job, massah!”

  “Just fucking do it,” Stan snapped. “And tell Ramirez, Tyler, Daoust, and Broadhurst that I want them armed. Give Chugger a machete. He’s impressive enough just holding one of those. After they’re loaded up, have them move into range around our guests, quietly and without any talking.”

  Jerome hesitated. “That’s all of the original crew, boss.”

  “I don’t trust the newbies well enough yet,” Stan replied. “Get them locked up with the rest of the animals until this is over. Understood?”

  Jerome saluted, and dashed off.

  The stocky Italian man and the biker exchanged glances.

  “What about us?” Brock rumbled.

  Stan smiled. “Those assholes came packing, and they had the courtesy of scaring or luring away any god damn super-zombies that might come running at the sound of gunfire. How nice of them. So I want you two to get those two assault rifles we nabbed from the prison van. I need an ace up my sleeve, and that’s going to be the two of you. I want you off to the side, hidden, ready to come out on my signal. Got it?”

  They nodded and left the room.

  “Joan.”

  The beefy woman jumped to her feet.

  “Go and meet our guests,” he said, smiling. “Make them feel welcome. Show a little cleavage. Offer them some roast chicken, if they want some, and then bring them into the reception area in about five minutes.”

  Joan glowered back at him resentfully. She had a powerfully large bosom, but was otherwise fat, asexual, and unattractive, with short ugly hair and slug-white skin. Everything about her screamed butch, prison, and lesbian. And yet, with a hint of uncertainty, she started unbuttoning the top clasp of her shirt.

  “Jesus Christ, I’m kidding, Joan,” Stan said with a laugh to the other gathered men. “What the fuck makes you think any man would want to catch a glimpse of that?”

  T-bone laughed, while Leonard smiled indulgently. Joan glared at them, and buttoned her top clasp up again, then hurried from the room.

  Stan’s hand came down on top of Albert’s head.

  “Hear that, Albert? Your friends are here. What say we go meet them?”

  “Ooo ‘uck!”

  “Hah! I gotta hand it to you, Albert. You’ve got balls. Vito and Brock. Before you get armed, help me to roll this garbage car out onto the floor. I want them to see it when they get here. Maybe we can learn something from how they react.”

  “Jesus fucking Christ, it stinks in here,” Luca said under his breath. “No wonder the fucking zombies leave this place alone. How do these people breathe?”

  “It’s strategically perfect,” Marshal said, “and something we should try to take advantage of in the future.”

  Luca’s eyes went wide with horror.

  “You can’t be serious! You want to give up air conditioning and clean living for pig shit and cow farts? ‘Cause I can’t think of anyone in Happy Acres that would willingly give up the apartment for this place.”

  “No,” Marshal said, looking around at the crumbling masonry and fixtures of the slaughterhouse lobby. “This place is unsanitary, disease-ridden, and architecturally unsound. The noise and the stink may have messed up the zombies’ hunting skills, but it’s pretty clear they’re suspicious of the place. There are enough holes to show that they’ve tackled it several times, which means that the people here are on borrowed time. Even if this place could survive the winter, I doubt it would make it through to summer. And that’s if the people in here don’t die of dysentery or E coli or bird flu or god knows what else.”

  “Th
en what are you talking about?”

  “Luca, these animals are a treasure trove. Whatever happens, if we take ownership of the livestock, we have a continuous supply of eggs, milk, and other dairy products, not to mention insulin. But the excrement and the animals are huge advantages all by themselves.”

  He waved an arm behind him in such a way as to encompass the city.

  “Soon, this whole city is going back to nature,” he said. “Those finely-cut, downtown grasses that make up TD square, or those little parks or concrete gardens… they’ll all be overflowing with food for these animals. Now, as our community grows to inhabit what used to be the downtown core, we let these animals roam free, breed, and crap all over the area we’re trying to protect.”

  “What’s to keep them from wandering away?”

  “We build fences,” Marshal said. “Multiple fences, between the various buildings so that we can control their grazing patterns. We’ll have to raid the feed stores, to build up enough food to get them through the winter, but if we grow the herds-”

  “Whoa, whoa, whoa,” Luca said, waving his hands. “Hold on just a second, cowboy. Let’s get this fucking situation under control before we go all Howdy fucking Doody, okay?”

  Marshal slumped. “It’s still a good idea.”

  Luca rolled his eyes. “Yes, Marshal, it’s a good idea. You’re full of good ideas. You’re a fucking good idea factory, in good idea fairyland, and best friends with the good idea Fairy King, all right? Now, can we stick to the matter at hand?”

  Marshal, a bit sulkily, touched a button near his ear.

  “Kumar? What’s our status?”

  “We’ve dropped off Eric’s group. They’re making their way into the building now. Krissy’s crew is just about to disembark. It should be safe to use guns now. We’ve got a small horde of undead clambering after drones down by the waterfront, and we’ve got a tight leash on our perimeter. Not that you need to worry, of course, since you got the silencer, but...”

  Across from them, at the entry hallway to the depths of the slaughterhouse, an overweight, short-haired woman appeared.

  “Yeah, I get it, Kumar,” Marshal said. “We’ll have to get back to you. Keep me updated and listen in. We’re going radio silent on our end so as not to give anything away. Keep Eric and Krissy updated on our progress. Marshal and Luca out.”

  “Roger that,” Kumar replied. “Good luck, Marshal. Come back alive, both of you. We need you guys.”

  The woman stopped just outside the hallway, examining them curiously.

  “If you two will follow me,” she mumbled, turning to lead them into the depths.

  Marshal and Luca exchanged glances, and then followed.

  The main hallway from reception was a wide, flat concrete path, designed to allow the passage of skids and forklifts. Branching hallways varied in style, some of concrete, leading to now-defunct cold rooms and storage areas, and others well-furnished, carpeted hallways, leading to abandoned offices and conference rooms. The undead had done their usual routine of smashing in all the windows and doors, breaking through the odd wall, and general acts of destruction. It didn’t look like anyone had bothered even investigating these branch hallways since.

  Instead, the silent woman led them deeper into the building proper, towards the sounds of braying cattle and shrieking pigs. To their dismay, the thickness and stench of the air grew worse and worse as they continued inwards.

  “Definitely not keeping this place,” Marshal muttered. “We’ll convert some of lower floors of the downtown office towers to cow and pig barns, maybe even First Canadian Place. Just someplace where they can be warm for the winter, and where we can keep an eye on them.”

  “Why First Canadian?” Luca demanded. “That’s where we live. You want to wake up to this fucking smell every morning?”

  “Our people live on the top floors,” Marshal corrected him, “well above the smell and waste. The animals live on the ground floor, which means that any zombie enterprising enough to get through our security net comes into contact with our animals first. They’d have to work their way through the same haze that protects these people just to get a chance to scale up the walls, past our early warning system, only to find us hidden above. You see? It’s a contingency on top of a contingency on top of a contingency. Plus, we get milk and eggs and fresh meat and fertilizer and all the other perks close to everything.”

  Luca considered this as they entered one of the animal transfer areas. His eyes lit up.

  “Look,” he pointed. “It’s Crapmobile.”

  Marshal nodded. “It’s obvious they’ve been fiddling with-”

  “That’s far enough, gentlemen,” called out a voice from above. “Joan! Get your fat ass out of the way. We don’t want our guests getting any ideas about taking hostages.”

  They looked up and saw three men looking down at them from a metal catwalk above them. All three were unpleasant-looking, rough-hewn and dangerous. The one on the left-hand side, standing with hairy forearms folded across a broad chest and grinning welcome down at them, exuded an air of being the one in charge. But it was the other two, standing on either side of a fourth person that commanded Marshal and Luca’s instant attention.

  The fourth person was Albert, his face smashed-up, bleeding, and barely recognizable. He was tied securely to a chair that was being balanced up on the catwalk railing, held on this precarious perch only by the strength of the two other men, who grasped the chair on either side.

  Around Albert’s neck was a noose. It reached upwards, looping over a ceiling girder and down again to a tight knot on the catwalk.

  Both Marshal and Luca drew their guns in near precision.

  “Now then,” the leader boomed, still grinning. “Take a few seconds, gentlemen. Get a full sense of your situation before you make a decision you’re likely to regret. I’ll point out that, for starters, if either of my men lets go of your boy, it’s four feet of rope and a broken neck that’s your reward.”

  With guns half-raised, both Marshal and Luca became aware of a half dozen other men all around them, who stepped out from cover holding nail guns, but also armed with an array of other weapons including machetes, cleavers, and metal hook spears. Whether or not the guns would work was impossible to tell, but Marshal guessed that they wouldn’t have brought them if they didn’t.

  There was one man, larger than the rest, standing less than ten feet away, who was so big he made even Luca look small. Maybe two inches taller and fifty to a hundred pounds heavier, he leered at them both with a machete in each hand.

  “I don’t know who you fuckers think you are,” the man in charge shouted down at them, “walking into my castle like you ain’t got a care in the world. But this is my place! You’re surrounded, assholes, and outnumbered. Put your guns down on the floor slowly, or else your little friend gets to see if he can dance on air.”

  He pulled out a cigarette, lighting it up in a puff of smoke as the men on the ground started closing in.

  “As for the two of you,” he added, “you might get one or two of us, but you won’t get all of us before we get you. So put down your guns and enjoy our hospitality. Otherwise, if you make this difficult…”

  He blew out a long puff of smoke.

  “... I promise I’ll turn you into lunch meat and feed you to the pigs.”

  Chapter Twenty-One: Day 34: Force Majeure

  Weapons raised, the circle of men closed in.

  Marshal and Luca exchanged a glance. Luca nodded, pulled a second handgun from his waistband, and aimed one each at the two closest ground threats. Faced with the barrel of a gun, they shrank back, allowing Luca to aim at others, backing them off, and keeping the immediate danger at bay.

  Guarded from attack on the ground, Marshal leveled his gun with cold precision, aiming directly at the speaking man’s forehead.

  “I think, stranger,” he called up to the catwalk, “that your hospitality leaves a lot to be desired. Make no mistake. I can kill you fro
m here.”

  “Really?” A knife appeared in the man’s hand with a flourish. “And what if I start cutting up your young friend-”

  Phewt. CLANG!

  The knife went spinning from the astonished man’s hand.

  “The only reason you’re still alive right now,” Marshal explained in a calm voice, “is that I’m trying to make a point. The next bullet will split your head in two. Now. You have my friend in a precarious position. I would like to see that changed. Remove the noose from his neck and place the chair back on the catwalk. Do it now and do it carefully.”

  “And let’s have a little fucking space down here,” Luca bellowed, shifting his aim from target to target. “I’m getting a little nervous from all this attention. Back the fuck off, or I start killing people just for the exercise.”

  Two guns swiveled at once on the big man with the machete.

  “You think I don’t see you bunching up for a jump, fatboy?” he shouted. “You think I won’t blow you full of so many holes you’ll piss in ten different directions at once? You got to the fucking count of three. One. Two…”

  The big man grinned, but took a step back and lowered his machete.

  “That’s better,” Luca said. “Let this be your final fucking warning. The next asshole that so much as farts in our direction gets his head blown off. Do I make myself clear?”

  “You’re funny,” the big man said in a deep voice, chuckling.

  “Just take another step backwards, asshole,” Luca growled, gesturing with the gun.

  “Give ‘em some room, boys,” the man up on the catwalk called down, rubbing his wrist. He looked aggravated. “It looks like we got us a negotiation here. But don’t go too far. And Albert here stays right where he is. Keep in mind, Butch and Sundance… we got two of your women captive as well. If I don’t start seeing some cooperation here, things could get ugly.” He smirked. “Or should I say, uglier.”

  The men lowered their weapons and stepped back to give Marshal and Luca more room. The big one leered at Luca one last time, then also stepped back.