by Scott W Cook
Abe frowned at these strangers. How could they know his name and that he was named for his grandfather? It wasn’t as if he was famous – either of them.
“It’s all right, suh,” Sam said soothingly to Abe, “YOU can trust these men. Reverend Butler know what he talkin’ bout.”
Abe took the flask in his right hand. He still wasn’t sure, but the bite wound was feeling a bit hot. Could it be it was corrupting already?
“Very well,” Abe said resignedly. He tipped the small bottle back and drained it. It tasted like water to him, although with a slight tinge of metal.
“What were those things, really?” Allen asked.
“Zombies,” Louis explained, “Undead fiends that feed on the flesh of the living.”
“But…” Abe said in confusion, “Such things… such things cannot be so, can they? Walking corpses?”
Butler nodded gravely, “Indeed young Lincoln, they can and do exist, as you can attest. We don’t know what causes this… phenomenon. A disease, we think. A rare disease that gets into a living person and kills them… and then somehow… reanimates the body. But that water I gave you will rid you of the sickness. Fear not. Your destiny has yet to begin. We couldn’t afford to lose you, Abraham.”
Allen and Abe exchanged glances. Abe said, “Excuse me?”
Butler smiled enigmatically, “Trust in the good lord, Abraham. I wish I could stay and talk with you, but we must keep moving. The slave masters will be searching this way sooner or later.”
“We’d be glad to help,” Abe offered, “But this is only a flat boat and we’re headed for New Orleans. I doubt that’s where you want to take these folks.”
Butler grinned, “No.”
“We have made arrangements with a steam boat,” Louis said in his deep rich and foreign voice, “We’ll see that they go north.”
Abe had thought on those two strange men throughout his life but had never seen them again…
Strangely, even as he slumped over in his chair, President Lincoln was still partially aware of what was happening. He was aware that someone was struggling with major Rathbone and that shortly after the major cried out in pain, a figure had vaulted over the balcony and onto the stage below.
Mary was screaming… then there were more voices…
“He’s been shot!”
“Call a doctor…”
“…There’s a blood clot, I’ll try to clear it…”
Hands on his head… a probing… an easement of the pressure and then blackness…
Abraham Lincoln awoke in total darkness. A close darkness that pressed in on him. He was trapped inside something…
A casket?
Panic struck him then. Not panic that he had been buried alive, not at first. His first bolt of terror came when he remembered being shot in the head and then… now he was awake? Was he one of those hideous creatures from his youth?
Even at the ripe old age of fifty-six, Abe Lincoln was still a powerful man. Not quite what he’d been in his youth, or so he thought, he could still exercise great physical strength.
So when he thrust his hands upward and bolted upright, he expected the coffin lid to give way, even if it were nailed, screwed or locked shut. He didn’t expect the lid to fly off and what sounded like a heavy lock to sail across the room the coffin had been placed in.
Abe blinked in surprise at how easy that had been. He looked around him. Although the room was dark, it was brilliantly lit compared to the inky blackness of his satin lined casket.
A few candles burned to show him that he’d been placed in one of the unused studies in the White House.
He held his hands out before him to see if he’d injured them by smashing open the box. They seemed fine… in fact, they seemed more than fine. They seemed… stronger. Younger, perhaps. Free of many of the lines that had come with age.
“How long have I been sleeping?” Abe asked the empty room. He didn’t expect an answer, of course.
“Over two days,” A deep an authoritative voice said from somewhere behind him.
Abe clambered out of the box and got shakily to his feet. A man entered followed by two others and a small raven haired woman of extraordinary beauty. The man who’d spoken seemed familiar, as did another slightly taller man. The remaining man had coffee colored skin and a clean shaven head.
“What’s going on?” Abe asked in confusion, “Who are you people? How can I be here… unless the shot wasn’t nearly as bad as it had seemed…?”
The young woman took up one of the candles and lit several lamps in the room, casting the dim chamber into a soft yellow light.
“You mean you don’t remember?” The original man asked with a bemused smile on his handsome features.
Abe narrowed his eyes. Two of the people did seem familiar to him. Although he’d never seen the darker man or the lovely woman before for sure.
“It’s been almost forty years,” The taller man said. He spoke with what Abe recognized as a central European accent, “But we’d have thought that you would have remembered that night.”
Abe did remember all too well. His eyes opened wide, “Butler and Louis… but… that’s not possible. You were both older than I was then, yet you look younger than me by far now…”
The dark man chuckled, “I think you might want to look into a mirror, Mister President.”
There was a mirror built into a sideboard that sat in a corner of the spacious room. Abe went over and looked into the glass and was astonished at the face that looked back at him. It was a strange face… a youthful face upon which his mustache-less beard looked out of place. Gone were the premature lines of age that years of war had etched into his features. Instead, a strong and fresh face topped with a full head of brown hair peered back at him.
The face in the mirror looked as shocked as Abe felt.
“It took over two days for your body to heal, Abraham,” Butler said, “We’ve never seen a head injury heal like that… the bullet must’ve only grazed your brain and traveled just inside the skull.”
Thaddeus Louis grinned and placed something into Abe’s hand. It was a misshapen lead projectile, “Small souvenir, Mister President.”
“How can all this be possible?” Abe asked in confusion, “What’s happened?”
“You’re immortal, Abraham,” The dark skinned man said, “If I may be permitted such intimacy. Like the rest of us.”
“That bite,” Butler explained, “You were afflicted with the zombie disease. That water I gave you is, in effect, the antidote. But it’s more. When you combine the two, a reaction takes place and… well… you become immortal upon your death. Just as we all have.”
Like the walking dead attackers of decades earlier, the evidence of what Butler was saying was difficult to deny. Not only was the man the same youthful man he’d appeared to be all those years ago… Abe too had turned back the clock.
“Who are you people?” He asked in his most authoritative tone.
“Perhaps you should sit down,” The young woman said, speaking for the first time. She held a flask in her hand, “And you need to drink this.”
“I feel fine,” Abe replied, “I’ve been… dead? Dead for two days. And what is that?”
“The final piece of the puzzle,” The woman explained, handing the flask to the president, “We were able to get some of this into you through the wound… but you must drink it down.”
Abe uncorked the bottle and his nostrils were immediately assailed by a familiar coppery odor. His eyes narrowed at the woman, “Is this…”
“Blood,” She said, “I know it’s strange, but your body needs it. Now drink, Abraham.”
Intellectually, Lincoln was repulsed by the idea… and yet… and yet he felt a strange longing inside him. As if he were nearly dead from thirst and handed a canteen. He finally resigned himself and took a sip.
The warm thick fluid was like nectar! Abe gulped down the gore almost against his will and then a thought struck him. A horrid thought.
>
“Are you people…” He said hesitantly, “Are we… vampires?”
The woman chuckled and took the flask back and shook her head.
“No,” The dark man said, “It’s just that when it comes to severe injury, fresh living blood seems to accelerate the healing process.”
“Then I ask again,” Abe said firmly, “Who are you all?”
“This,” Butler said, indicating the dark man, “Is the Egyptian Pharaoh Sneferu.”
Abe’s brows rose in astonishment, “Of the red pyramid and the bent pyramid?”
“The same,” Sneferu said with a smile.
“The young lady,” Butler said, eyeing her with obvious personal affection, “Is the last Pharaoh of Egypt, Queen Cleopatra.”
Abe’s mouth dropped open and she grinned at him, “its true, Mister President.”
“Our tall friend, although perhaps not by your standards, Abraham,” Butler said, indicating the third man that Abe knew as Thad Louis, “Was once known in the wiles of Romania as Prince Vlad Dracula. Unerring holy warrior against the Ottoman Empire.”
The name was remotely familiar to Lincoln. He was a student of military actions and the men who fought them throughout history.
“And you?” Abe asked.
Butler shrugged, “Once upon a time my name meant something… long ago.”
Cleopatra scoffed and Dracula only shook his head.
“I’m Gaius Julius Caesar,” Butler said with a small smile.
Abe sat down, “You… you’re Caesar… the real Julius Caesar?”
Butler / Caesar nodded, “I am. And we want you to join us, Abraham. It’s your destiny now, just as was the one you completed two days ago.”
“You knew?” Lincoln asked, feeling overwhelmed with bewilderment, “Way back then… you knew that I’d be president?”
“Not exactly,” Sneferu clarified, “I sensed something about you. Over the millennia, I’ve been able to see… glimpses of things to come. Not divination, to be sure… more like a feeling. I can home in on these feelings and we traveled to see you when you were a boy. Once I saw you, even from a distance, I caught a much more definitive glimpse of your potential… it was only partly providence that placed Gaius and Vlad in your path on that Mississippi bank so many years ago.”
“There are trials,” Cleopatra explained, “Great evils in the world that we must fight against. And something is coming, Mister President. The next century will bring great change and upheaval and lay the groundwork for an ultimate showdown near or just past its end.”
“The world will need great leaders,” Sneferu said, “Those who know how to guide men to do what’s necessary. This is why I’ve gathered these three. And it’s why we’ve come to you, Abraham Lincoln.”
“You’re already held up even now as one of the greatest leaders of men ever to live,” Vlad said, “Join us.”
“And what of my wife? My family?”
He knew by the looks on their faces.
“The journey we take,” Caesar said, “Only we can take. It’s important that they believe you’re dead and that that casket contains your body. It’s necessary for history’s sake, Abraham. I’m sorry.”
“Hasn’t history gotten enough from me?” Lincoln asked bitterly, “Even my life?”
“It’s not easy to bear the burden sometimes,” Cleopatra said, placing a gentle hand on Abe’s cheek, “But it’s worth it.”
Chapter 30
Zombie War Journal – 12/7/2019
By Lieutenant Andy Summers
I have to say I was pretty impressed by the way that Admiral Banks handled those first three people. His decision seemed just and fair and he even commended them on taking responsibility. Despite some of what we’ve seen and heard so far, it seemed like this place might be okay after all.
Yeah, the thing with buying women and even men seemed pretty fucked up… but then again this was a different world now. I thought Tara was going to shit a gold brick back at the restaurant. Yet if a woman could buy, or maybe hire was a better term, a man… at least it seemed fair.
Nothing was perfect. I mean, we now lived in a world where horror movie monsters literally roamed the land!
“Now then,” Admiral Banks continued from his stage, “We come to the thieves.”
There was some booing and cursing from the crowd. To me they sounded a lot less forgiving this time. Although nobody was calling for blood, thankfully. But they all seemed none too pleased at the idea of people stealing.
Guess I couldn’t blame them for that. In a world like this where things were scarce, it was pretty messed up to steal from people. Especially when it seemed like there was always work to be done and a person would be paid to do it. Hard work was pretty much mandatory in this new world. I can’t say that I had much sympathy for those who wanted to do nothing and benefit from other people’s labor. We’d seen enough of that shit in the past four days.
“We have two cases,” Banks said, “First, this woman was caught stealing a bag of food from The Sunset Grill where she works as a cook.”
More rumbling from the crowd. That didn’t seem to be a huge crime, though.
“Do you have anything to say for yourself, Melissa?” Banks asked the woman, a pretty brunette in her early thirties maybe.
Melissa bowed her head and started to cry, “I know it was wrong… but we’ve had a bad month and my kids haven’t had a decent meal in a week… I just wanted to bring them something good for a change. I know it’s no excuse… I’m sorry.”
Banks considered this for a moment, “Melissa, I’m truly sorry to hear about your troubles. There’s nothing worse than the suffering of children. I can understand how you would be led to do something rash for them.”
Melissa looked at him with what I thought was a hopeful expression. Even from twenty feet away and behind a couple of people, I could tell she was afraid.
“Yet a crime has still been committed,” Banks said firmly, “And punishment must be dealt out. As a parent, I’m sure you can understand.”
Melissa was quaking now, “I… Yes sir…”
“There’s an old Navy tradition,” Banks went on, “Called kissing the gunner’s daughter. We don’t have a gun here, but we can simulate it. Melissa Ward, I sentence you to 6 strokes of the cane. Master at Arms, secure her, please.”
A big man in Navy khakis with bulging biceps led the woman to the edge of the giant cage. He had her bend at the waist and handcuffed her wrists together after threading the cuff chain through the chain link. As long as she didn’t move her feet, the cuffs kept her bent almost at a right angle.
“Proceed, Senior Chief,” Banks told the big man.
The man held a three foot piece of gnarled hickory. He took up a position and swung it hard, connecting with Melissa’s round ass with an audible smack. The woman cried out in pain and jerked, but the cuffs held.
At least the guy was kind about it, or as kind as a guy hitting you with a stick can be. He gave her another five whacks. They were hard but they were quick, too. He uncuffed her and held her arm as she tried to stand upright.
The Master at Arms led her shakily back up to the stage. Admiral Banks put an arm around her waist, “I know it’s painful, Melissa, but it’ll pass. You’ve paid your penance and all is forgiven.”
Melissa wiped her tears away, “Thank you, Admiral.”
“Now Melissa,” Banks said in his daddy tone, “if you are having trouble, please contact your supervisor. Or get in touch with my office. There’s no need to steal and there’s no need for your kids to go hungry. We’re a community and as the old saying goes, it takes a village. Okay?”
She nodded and sniffed. Banks gave her a squeeze and she walked off the stage.
“Pretty tough,” Tony said.
“Pretty fucked up to me,” Tara snapped quietly, “Beating a woman for stealing a couple of cans of food or whatever? Seems like she wouldn’t have had to if she had enough money to buy stuff.”
Sam sighed,
“In many ways… it’s like we’re back in time. Justice is harsh and quick here. And it seems like the admiral likes to make examples of those who defy convention.”
“By beating their asses with a cane?” Tara asked.
“It’s hard but maybe fair,” Mom said, “it’s a hard world now, Tara. Six whacks is pretty light considering this guy can do what he wants. I don’t know….”
“I know that it may seem harsh to some of you,” Banks was preaching again, “To have a pretty young woman beaten with a stick. And you’re right, it is. We live in a hard and dangerous world now. We can’t afford to coddle ourselves anymore. Soft justice is one of the things that led to this cluster fuck in the first place. But I think you’ll all agree that I try to be fair and even lenient. According to the laws that we all agreed upon, Melissa’s crime called for at least a dozen lashes. Yet… yet I felt like she was sincere and I do feel for her situation. I promise to make sure that I do what I can to help her and her family.”
The crowd cheered and clapped. Seemed pretty reasonable in a way.
“He seems very interested in his public image,” Mom commented.
“What do you mean?” Tara asked.
“He likes to give little morality lessons with each punishment,” Mom said.
“And he really wants us to see him as fair, too,” Brenda said.
Sam rubbed his chin thoughtfully but didn’t say anything. Tony was silent, too. I followed their lead and said nothing.
The sun had dropped below the horizon now and it was starting to get dark. There was plenty of light left, but it wouldn’t last. A series of lights along the pier began to glow on along with a set of spotlights that had been set up on the building that used to have the ice cream and clothing shops. These lit up the cage and the stage brightly.
“Now then,” Banks went on in a stern tone, “We come to our next group of thieves. These four men—“He pointed to the three at the left end of the chain “—have committed a crime not so easily forgiven. Or nearly as mild as poor Melissa’s.”
