The Dishonored Dead: A Zombie Novel

by Swartwood, Robert

  Conrad’s footsteps hurried down the stairs. They paused. Then they started up again, now headed toward the kitchen.

  “Hey, Dad,” Kyle said, but Conrad didn’t answer. He went straight to the basement door, opened it, hurried down the steps. Moments later he was back, holding a case at his side, staring across the kitchen at Denise. She knew this because she could faintly see his reflection in the window.

  “I need to go away for a while,” he said. This was directed at her but it was Kyle who replied, asking where Conrad was going. “I can’t tell you, kiddo.”

  “Will you tell me when you get back?”

  “Sure thing.”

  She was still holding the glass of juice in her hand. She didn’t realize until this moment just how tight she was holding it, that if she wasn’t careful she might shatter it.

  “I’ll be back as soon as I can,” Conrad said. “I love you both.”

  “I love you too, Dad.”

  In the window, Conrad’s faint reflection waited in the doorway, staring straight at her. He just stood there, staring, until he turned and disappeared. The heavy sound of his footsteps, the front door opening and closing, and then it was Kyle’s voice that broke the heavy silence, asking, “Mom, are you mad at Dad about something?”

  And what was she supposed to say to this? How was she supposed to explain not just what happened last night, but the past twelve years?

  “Mom?”

  She released her grasp on the glass. She poured the remaining juice into the sink. She watched as it swirled around the drain, listened as it was sucked into the pipe.

  Then she turned, smiled at her son, told him that of course she wasn’t mad at his father, why would she be?

  “You didn’t say goodbye to him.”

  “I didn’t?” She held a hand to her head, closed her eyes. “It must be this headache. I think I need to lie down.”

  This answer seemed good enough for Kyle. He finished his cereal, took his bowl to the sink, rinsed it out. He hurried through the kitchen and grabbed his lunch, his backpack, and gave Denise a quick hug.

  “See you later,” he said.

  Denise stayed where she was in the kitchen. She couldn’t seem to move. Her hands, as if working of their own volition, wrapped themselves around her belly. Her twins were in there now, becoming more and more animated by the day, and she wondered not for the first time if bringing them into the world was a good idea. Conrad played a major factor in this decision. Not just because his job kept him away almost all the time—and having him back these past couple of days had been nice in a way, while at the same time they had been unnerving—but because there was no saying how much longer he would be around. The news the doctor gave him wasn’t good. He said a year, maybe two, and that was if Conrad continued to apply his prescribed lotion regularly, which she knew he didn’t.

  She stood another couple of moments in the kitchen, wondering what she should do next. Her legs moved automatically, taking her to the existing room, where she sat down on the couch.

  She didn’t want to think about Conrad. Not about what he did last night, or where he went today. Not about how furious she was at her sister and her sister’s new boyfriend. Anthony had later apologized to her and said that while he should, he wasn’t going to press charges, and it had taken everything Denise had not to punch him herself.

  But no, she didn’t want to think about it.

  She didn’t want to think about anything.

  So she lay back on the couch, propped her feet up, put a pillow beneath her head. She closed her eyes. Even though she tried not to, in the darkness that stared back at her she wondered where Conrad went. Nothing greeted her but even more darkness. Eventually she fell asleep.

  And wasn’t awoken until 11:30 that afternoon, when the TV and radio automatically kicked on, telling her exactly where her husband had gone.

  It was a feature that had been installed in all the electronics across the world. That in a time of crisis—such as the threat of another Zombie War—word could be spread as quickly as possible to every dead citizen.

  Channel 1, the only news channel there was, took over all airwaves. At this very moment, every single medium across the globe—TVs, computers, radios, mobile phones—was instantly signaled in to broadcast the Leader’s speech.

  And there he was, the Leader of the Dead World, standing up behind his podium, wearing a dark gray suit. He stared straight into the camera with his large, black eyes. When he spoke, his voice was calm and steady.

  “Over the past thousand years our kind has existed in fear of the living. We have existed in fear of the evil of their imagination. We have existed in fear of the flesh-eating parasites they carry. But today, citizens, we will no longer have anything to fear. The living stronghold, what is known as Heaven, has been found.”

  All across the world every dead citizen had paused in the activities of his or her daily existence.

  “It has been confirmed that Heaven is located in the middle of the Tartarus Desert, just outside Tartarus City. In the next several hours Hunters from all across the globe will be coming together to destroy this stronghold of the living.”

  At 58 Orchid Lane, sitting on the couch in the existing room, Denise placed her hands to her mouth.

  “It is time for those living extremists who bombed the Hunter Headquarters in Olympus to pay for their crimes against humanity.”

  In every office building, men and women stared at their computer monitors. In every mall, store, mini-market, fuel station, shoppers and employees stood motionless before television screens.

  “These extremists do not care whom they destroy. They believe that the living have the right to rule this world with us, but they are wrong.”

  In every school, children were silent as they stared at the Leader’s image.

  “The living are cursed with imagination. They use it plan attacks on our Government, our economy, our families. Only when the living are killed will this sickness be eradicated.”

  In every Living Intelligence facility across the globe, Trackers, scientists, and zombies watched and listened in silence. In the facility just outside of Olympus, a quarter mile below the earth, Albert sat behind his desk and held his head in his hands. Sitting alone in his room, Gabriel closed his eyes.

  “This is a warning to every living extremist. To every citizen who believes there is nothing wrong with imagination. Heaven has been found. The living will soon perish. And if you do not accept this action, if you do not see that only the dead should exist, and if you do not believe that imagination should be obsolete, then you will be next.”

  After the Leader’s speech, all of the electronics shut off. This was even the case in a private jet flying three thousand feet in the air over the Tartarus Desert, about fifty miles from Tartarus City. Conrad and Norman sat in the back.

  Conrad, who had been told his true purpose for coming along on this mission, said, “Every citizen is probably now dancing in the streets.”

  “Probably.”

  “I don’t want to go through with this, sir.”

  “You don’t have a choice.”

  “It was a waste for me to bring my broadsword.”

  “No it wasn’t. If you want, you can still partake in the killing, just as long as you accomplish your other task.”

  Conrad looked away from the captain, out his window at the desolate land below. He could almost make out the Kerouac Highway, a faint strip of macadam running between the east and west coasts.

  “It doesn’t make sense,” he said.

  “What doesn’t?”

  “The attack isn’t for another two hours. All the living in Heaven no doubt heard and watched the Leader’s speech. Why give them warning?”

  “Don’t you get it yet? The purpose of the speech was to give them warning. It was to inspire in the living what they’ve inspired in all of us—fear.”

  Chapter 24

  The Tartarus Desert had always been considered a “dead�
�� desert. Like the major cities of Olympus, Troy, and Athens, the Tartarus was something that had not been part of the world when the living ruled it. During the Zombie Wars, this part of the world had been bombarded by a number of what Albert had called weapons of mass destruction. Everything was obliterated. The terrain became a wasteland, a place nobody had any need or desire to be.

  Until one day some entrepreneurs decided to expand their chain of hotels and restaurants and amusement parks. They chose the Tartarus Desert for this location. In less than a year Tartarus City was born. It became a year-round vacation destination, offering those weary travelers driving down the Kerouac a number of hotels and motels, a wide array of restaurants, and an impressive selection of games and rides and shows.

  Conrad, whose own father had never taken him on a vacation, brought Denise and Kyle here a few years ago. Even though they could have flown, Conrad had wanted to spend as much time as he could with his family, so they had packed the car and started out on the cross-country trek. They had left the east coast behind, entering into a barren landscape almost one thousand miles wide. Nothing at all except sand and rocks and distant mountains, an occasional fuel station dotting the sides of the highway, until out of nowhere, growing on the horizon, was Tartarus City.

  He never thought he’d be back. Driving through the Tartarus Desert and spending some time in Tartarus City was something you only did once, maybe twice, in an existence. But here he was again, along with over two thousand Hunters, in a plane hanger by Icarus Airport.

  They all wore their black Hunter uniforms, complete with masks and sheathed broadswords. General William P. Thaddeus stood on a platform in front of them. He raised his hands and spoke, his gnarled and withered voice emitting loudly from the speakers surrounding them.

  “Fellow Hunters, I welcome you all!”

  A roaring cheer exploded from the crowd, almost every man clapping and stomping his feet, causing the ground to tremble.

  “It is not my intention here to bore you with details. You all know why you are here. You have all seen and heard the Leader’s speech. Yes, Heaven has been found, and yes, you will all enter it soon.”

  Again, another roaring cheer, more clapping and stomping.

  “At this moment Special Police are watching what we believe is the only entrance into Heaven. They have it surrounded. They are waiting for my order. And when we get into position and I give that order, they will go in with every gun blazing. They will clear the way. Hunters, it is my honor to lead you into this battle.”

  This time the cheering was even louder. The slight quake which Conrad had felt beneath his feet increased even more.

  The mask he wore was a size too small. When he glanced at Norman beside him, Conrad had to squint to get a good look at the captain. They stood on the fringes of the crowd of Hunters, near the back. In the rafters above them a few birds fluttered about, spooked by all the noise and commotion.

  The cheering had gone on now for nearly a minute, and it was clear none of the men were ready to stop. General Thaddeus had to raise his arms to silence them.

  “Now,” the general said, “we have helicopters waiting—”

  A Hunter close to the front raised his hand. “Excuse me, sir!”

  General Thaddeus paused.

  “Hunter,” he said, displeased, “now is not the time—”

  “Permission to speak, sir!”

  “Denied.”

  General Thaddeus looked to the left and right of the stage, motioning to his men to do something about this interloper. But before any of them could move, the Hunter near the front took off his mask.

  “Sir,” he shouted, “I am First Lieutenant Philip Hager of Olympus City!”

  And like that, a hush fell over the thousand plus men standing in the hanger. The men that had been moving toward Philip paused. Of course everyone knew of Philip Hager and what he had accomplished.

  “Lieutenant Hager,” the general said, and there was a thoughtful tone in his gnarled and withered voice. “What would you like to say?”

  “I wish to be the first one inside, sir. I wish to lead the first wave.”

  Standing about two hundred yards away, Conrad could just make out the general nodding.

  “Very well, Lieutenant. But let me ask you. Why aren’t you wearing your mask?”

  “I feel it is time we stop hiding our identities, sir. We are Hunters. Everyone—both the living and the dead—should be aware of who we are.”

  “But Lieutenant, the Hunter Code clearly states …”

  But here General Thaddeus stopped speaking, for already other Hunters up front began taking off their masks.

  It was just like the Ripple Effect in a way, and Philip was that tiny pebble. In the matter of only seconds Hunters both young and old, who either agreed with tradition or thought it archaic, ripped off their masks. It started at the front and quickly spread to the back until it had reached the fringes, where Conrad stood with Norman—and to Conrad’s surprise the captain took off his mask as well. Everything had happened so fast, in less than a minute, that Conrad wasn’t aware he was the only one who hadn’t taken his mask off until he noticed others nearby looking at him.

  And it was then he realized what Philip had started was not the Ripple Effect so much as the Domino Effect, and that Conrad was the very last domino. But unlike the last domino in any other line he had the option of not being knocked over, of standing tall. Yet those men nearby watching him didn’t understand this, and even if they did they didn’t care, and without any conscious thought Conrad found himself taking off his mask too and dropping it to the ground.

  All twelve runways of the Icarus Airport had been cleared, leaving room for over two hundred helicopters. As the unmasked Hunters emerged from the plane hanger, the pilots started up the engines, those massive rotor blades beginning to spin.

  Norman was staying behind. He had explained to Conrad the reason why on the flight over. Just as he’d explained Conrad’s true purpose for coming here today. How Gabriel had requested him to accompany the rest of the Hunters into Heaven, and how it was Conrad’s job to witness the slaughter firsthand and report back everything he saw.

  Now Conrad left Norman behind. He hurried into the harsh desert sun. Already the helicopters were gearing up, their rotor blades sending up swirls of loose sand. Special Police were stationed near each helicopter, directing Hunters either to load up or continue on to the next chopper. Conrad was doing just that when a hand gripped his arm and stopped him.

  “Oh shit, look who it is.”

  Both Kevin and Michael were standing there behind him, Kevin with his hand on Conrad’s arm.

  “See?” Kevin said to Michael. “I told you it was Conrad. I said, Look, there’s Conrad, and what did you say? You said no way, no how, Conrad wouldn’t be here. But here he is. Say, Conrad, how’s it going?”

  Conrad turned away, pulling his arm out of Kevin’s grip, hoping to be swallowed up in the moving stream of Hunters. But both men hurried forward and placed themselves in front of him.

  Michael said, “How about you ride with us?”

  “Yeah,” Kevin said, “that’s a great idea.”

  Conrad started to protest but both of them each grabbed an arm and steered him toward the very last helicopter.

  A Special Policeman was positioned there. He saw the three of them coming and shook his head. When he spoke, he had to yell over the whine of the rotor blades.

  “Sorry, guys, but this bird’s already full.”

  “No it isn’t.”

  Philip appeared at the open door of the helicopter. His head ducked, he jumped out of the chopper and shouted that three men inside needed to get out right now. Almost immediately three unmasked Hunters appeared, jumping out and scrambling to catch up with the thinning stream of men racing to the remaining helicopters. Then it was just the four of them—Philip, Michael, Kevin and Conrad, the policeman apparently nonexistent—and Philip was giving Conrad a very large smile as he said, “
Just the man I wanted to see.”

  They were airborne, all two hundred helicopters, racing over the gray barren landscape that was the Tartarus Desert. Below them the countless shadows of the aircrafts flickered over the sand. Conrad was in the lead helicopter, the one Philip had procured for his very own, and he was listening to Philip as the man shouted above the wind and roar of the rotors.

  “I have to admit, Conrad, I’m actually happy to see you. You’re the real reason we’re here right now. Like I told you back in Olympus, if it wasn’t for you we wouldn’t have gotten Moss, we wouldn’t have gotten his kid, and we wouldn’t have gotten the information that brought us here today.”

  The helicopter banked to the right, its shadow below them lengthening along the sand.

  “Is everyone aware of that? You men, do you know just how special this man here is? He’s the one we should be thanking. He’s the one that has brought us all the way to this point.”

  Besides Michael and Kevin, Conrad didn’t recognize any of the other Hunters. They were all young and he had to assume they were rookies fresh from Artemis, their faces stolid, their eyes dark and dead.

  “I do want to apologize, Conrad. I’ll admit I always resented you. But what Hunter hasn’t? I mean, really, your old man being the world’s greatest Hunter, and then having to fill in those shoes and managing to do a pretty good job … well, I just don’t see why we can’t be friends again.”

  The helicopter streaked across the desert, one hundred and ninety-nine other choppers trailing behind. They were approaching a large ridge of scraggly gray rock, and the co-pilot shouted back to them that they would arrive in one minute.

  “What do you say?” Philip said, sitting right beside him, and like they were already buddies he placed an arm around Conrad’s shoulders. “Do you want to be friends again?”

  “I didn’t know we were friends before.”

  The co-pilot shouted, “Forty-five seconds!”