On the other hand, he thought, had there ever been any power to lose? Had he simply imagined it all? Was it all the fancy of a delusional old man?
No, it couldn’t be. He’d seen too much, and proven to himself over and over that he could control the undead. He’d sent herds into his enemies. Protected familial villages. Aided the Red Mouths. He hadn’t imagined it. It was real. The herd was a living organism, and those with the power could commune with the organism, control it.
The fact it was real made it all the more painful that he’d lost it, though. Now he was nothing. Worthless.
He looked at the dark water swirling around him. He saw the faint, bloated figures beneath the water. Tears welled up in his eyes. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d cried. He waited for one of the pale hands to reach above the surface. He grabbed it and let it pull him below.
◆◆◆
“You weaselly, slimy, cowardly little WORM!”
Sara had found out about Obevens. She was nearly apoplectic. Her guards, who had brought Dalbec to her, had shrunk into the corners of the room after throwing him on the ground. He hadn’t bothered to get up yet. “WHAT WERE YOU THINKING?!”
“Sara, I -”
“Never mind! I don’t care what you were thinking! There’s no justification for this!”
Dalbec finally exploded. He jumped to his feet. “Sara! He’s dangerous! He’s dangerous for you! You would never kill him no matter what he did!”
“I am a slave to no man, Dalbec. Remember that.” She grabbed his face. “I don’t get attached. You of all people should know that.”
She was talking about Jack, her husband-now-turned-zombie. Dalbec misunderstood, though, and thought it was about himself. She knew how he felt about her? Dalbec had no idea. He withered inside.
As Dalbec stood there silently, General Page hurriedly entered. Two soldiers followed him, dragging along a man in chains. He was gagged, bloody, and dirtied from the world beyond Sara’s headquarters. The soldiers threw the chained man to the ground.
“Who is this?” she asked, disgusted.
“A leader in the riots. He won’t tell us his name. We managed to smoke him out of a skyscraper used as a rebel staging area,” Page replied. He pulled the man’s gag out. He began screaming and laughing, hysterical, shouting at all of them and pointing with his chin to the south. He went on and on in Spanish, totally incomprehensible to his audience. Sara didn’t flinch. You don’t become a cartel leader by concerning yourself with every outrage against your actions.
“Hmm,” was all Sara responded to the outburst.
“’Hmm,’” the man mimicked. He gave her a look that communicated how absurd he found her. He began laughing again and explaining her faults aloud to the room that understood none of his words.
“Shut him up,” she said. A soldier replaced the gag in his mouth. “What is the progress out there?”
“We are slowly regaining the city, block by block. The rebels stop fighting once they encounter our guns. Our native forces have been helpful. They know who feeds them.”
“Yes. Yes they do,” Sara said.
“Also, an informant identified a rebel sympathizer among the religious leaders. He’s being tortured for information.”
“Good, good. And the new programs for capturing people to be turned? Have they been disrupted by the riots?” It seemed like every time the riots looked like they would abate, they flared up again with a vengeance.
“No. They continue to deliver steady numbers. Small numbers, but I think that is okay. There still seems to be doubt among the locals as to our true purpose here. By keeping our capture-and-turn efforts somewhat subdued we can ride that out.”
“Are we that vulnerable? Do we have to be ‘subdued’?” Sara squinted at the captive rebel in front of her. She could tell he understood some English and was following the conversation.
“Miss Academy…” Page began cautiously.
“Careful, Page. Every time you call me that I don’t like the news that follows.”
“Ma’am, if I may respectfully point something out…”
“Is there any other way but respectfully?” She waved her hand tiredly. Her head was suddenly pounding.
“We have made advances in stopping the riots, but we know in the long run they will be only temporary. In my opinion, ma’am, we need to lay out an exit strategy. Holding this city is not sustainable,” Page said. He could sense the guards shift their attention to him. Every soldier had already thought it, murmured about it. Now the number one soldier was bringing it up to Sara. Page wanted the guards to hear it – word would travel fast. The soldiers needed to know that Page respected their concerns. Had the guts to confront the issues.
“It doesn’t have to be! It has never been our goal to hold Tenochtitlan,” she snapped back. Page bit his tongue at this revisionist history. Sara wondered at his bringing this up in front of others, a bold move. Was he making a show of strength in front of his men? Preparing a coup? “Don’t worry, General. I have things under control. This little agitation was a setback, but not unexpected. Besides, what poor zombie stock these people would make if they had no fight in them!”
“The temperament of the human has no impact on the zombie,” Dalbec interjected, correcting her poetic license.
“Indeed. You might actually turn into a real man if you got bit,” she sneered. Dalbec stiffened.
“One of the old priests has confided in me,” Sara went on. “He finds me daughterly. I think he smells... Anyway, he told me of a place that sounds exactly like what we need. It’s on the coast, temperate, protected by mountains, and has plenty of good land already being farmed. I know that last point particularly concerns you, Page.”
“Yes ma’am, it does. This sounds promising…I sense a catch, though,” he said.
“He said it is inhabited by disobedient people. He laments their lack of respect for the religious order and the undead. He visited them on many occasions to try to convince them of their ignorant ways, but they won’t listen. They threw pig feces at him, in fact.”
“That means pigs.” Page said, extracting that piece of information. “So the catch is these people?”
“Yes, which is why I have Dalbec here working to draft up ‘Executive Order 1,’ or for short. EO-1 provides the framework to allow these people to relocate, so we can move in,” she explained.
“Allow them to relocate?”
“Yes. We won’t force anyone to relocate. That would cause more problems like the ones we’re dealing with here. They will be given a timeframe and a choice of where they would like to relocate to.”
“And what justification are we giving for moving them? We want their land?”
“They are preventing other people from experiencing their lifestyle,” Sara smiled.
General Page was shocked. This was completely ludicrous! No one would stand for that, certainly not voluntarily leave home and land to comply with such an utterly absurd order. He struggled to maintain his composure.
Sara took his silence in stride, amused by him trying to hide his true feelings. “It’s ridiculous, I know, but guns and armies make lots of unreasonable things seem reasonable, don’t you think? Besides, what are they going to do? They obey the order and live, or they disobey and die. Either way, we get the beach. I’m giving them five days to pack up and leave. Dalbec, how long until it’s finished?”
“I should have it done in the next two or three days.”
“Fine. About a week. It will give us time to bulk up the zombie numbers. Are you satisfied, Page?”
More like relieved you’re not as insane as you sound, he thought. But he nodded his affirmation silently.
Chapter 6
WINNEPEG: IMMUNITY IS ABOUT CONFIDENCE. THAT IS THE KEY. SUBJECTS NEED ABSOLUTE BELIEF THEY WON’T BE HARMED
Cable from Canadian Forces Base Winnipeg to Cheyenne Mountain - 5 A.Z.
“You will never have any friends, family, or loved ones. You cannot. This is t
he end of your life as you know it. You are a part of the undead now.”
“No!” John startled awake, the voice from his dream still ringing in his ears.
It felt like he hadn’t slept at all, although he knew it was many hours later.
John was back in the hut. It seemed no matter where he tried to go he always ended up back at that hut. It was as if something inside his mind kept derailing his plan to attack Tenochtitlan.
The voice from his dream spoke again, this time from outside the hut.
“You are awake. Good. Come speak with me,” the voice said. It was a gentle, lilting voice, but it made John feel uneasy. He rose and rubbed his head. It hurt from hunger. Despite the pain, though, his mind wasn’t as foggy. The virus seemed to be calming down inside him. He wasn’t “hot” anymore.
John rose and pulled aside the door covering of his hut. He peered outside and saw a small figure squatting in the faint light of a sliver moon, ten feet from his door. It was night and John couldn’t make out his features. He heard a low laugh, followed by some Spanish he didn’t understand.
“You are bigger than I expected,” the figure gurgled.
“Sorry,” John grunted lamely.
“Don’t be sorry. I didn’t choose you.” The figure stood and John heard the sound of rocks clacking in his hands. “You remember these red rocks?”
John nodded, breathing heavy.
“But do you remember them in the hotel? When you were reenacting the Martyrs of the Flood, or whatever they called that perverse display?”
“That was you?” John snapped alert.
“Yes. I am the last necromancer. The others have all killed themselves. Ashamed of you. Angry that you are from the north. They thought a Mexican would be king, maybe even one of them. They thought the king would destroy the northerners forever. All their hope was in this king, and you disappointed them. I am not deterred by you, though. I don’t care where you’re from,” he assured John, although his voice seemed to have a slight hiss, now.
“Thanks. I don’t care where you’re from either….Argggg!” John crumpled to the ground, grabbing his stomach in agony.
“Yes, you feel it. I remember feeling it myself. You are different though. You’ve been given a more potent dose. We had to spread it out over the years. How did you get it?”
“Get what?” John said through gritted teeth.
“The gift.”
“You call this a gift?” John struggled to stand up, but buckled over again.
“You will see. Watch.”
The man crept to the nearest walker of John’s and whistled at it. It turned and looked at the man, moving to attack, but then looked at John. It didn’t attack. It let out a low groan. The man chuckled.
“I do not control him, but I could still see his thoughts,” the man said. “That herd is causing trouble out there. He showed me.”
John wasn’t listening, he was too focused on the pain.
“You must call the herd in. You must call in your people,” the man said. “You will learn. We will start small. I will teach you the little thing. Then you can do the big thing. They have a task for you, but they won’t tell me what it is.”
The pain was subsiding. John unfolded and stood up completely, his hands shaking and veins bulging from his temples.
“There you are, John. My name is Peer. Join me, I will teach you.”
“I don’t want anything from you,” John turned around to walk away.
“Do you want the pain to go away?” Peer asked.
John stopped. He turned around.
“Take this rock.” Peer extended his hand to give him a small red rock. John hesitated, but Peer nodded for him to comply. Finally, John held out his hand out and Peer dropped the rock into it.
The relief was immediate. It washed over him like cold water on a hot day, quenching the ever-present burning sensation inside of him.
“Nice, eh? Heh heh.”
“Wh-what are these rocks? How do they…” John didn’t finish the sentence. He suddenly felt exhausted again, but this time like he could actually rest.
“They are ‘Blood Rocks’ taken from up north. Our people have harvested them since learning about their healing powers. They are only useful to people with the gift, the necromancers. Like you.”
“I’m not one of those!” John objected.
“Yes, you are! But different. Stronger. You are the true king of the undead,” Peer said gravely, looking deep into John’s eyes. The sliver of moonlight illuminated his face.
John laughed, but then abruptly stopped. The sound of his own voice almost frightened him. It was meant to be a laugh of disbelief, but there was a sinister ring to it. It sounded like he relished the statement. Like he knew it was true.
“It’s been you all along. Through the dead I have seen you since your parents took the antidote from inside that death mountain. They hid in the mountains with it. They only had one dose and they gave it to you. A full dose! They didn’t know how potent it was. No one at that time did. There is only one other who received such a dose, but he will never lead…he is cowed by that woman.”
John stared at Peer in disbelief, unable to determine whether he was lying. His parents had never told him any of this.
“We received an antidote, as well, from that death mountain, years later. A single dose. We were careful though, unlike your parents. Our people split it into fifty small pieces and spread it between ten prominent families. Some immediately used the antidote. Others saved it, like my family. They gave it to the oldest boy, who was to give it to his first son. They passed it on that way. I was the last in my family to receive it. Maybe the last in the world to receive it. No one received as large a dose as you, though.”
“I don’t believe you,” John said.
Peer chuckled and sniffed, rolling his eyes eerily, as if some unseen force were moving over him.
“They said you wouldn’t.”
“Who said I wouldn’t?”
“The dead, John.”
“Who, them?!” John pointed out to the undead surrounding them.
“Not just them. All of them. There are some who thought you knew, but they soon joined the herd’s opinion. No zombie has stray thoughts for long before they are brought in line with the group. These undead, they know more than people think. Only our kind can understand them. You will understand them, too.”
John studied Peer and felt the wonderful rock in his hand.
“Try this, John.” Peer walked to a nearby walker swaying next to a tree. He gently grabbed it by the arm and brought it over to them. It was a male zombie, youngish; from its condition looked like it was turned at least ten years ago. “This is how I was taught. I will teach you.” Peer instructed John to put his forehead to its. He recoiled at first, but Peer urged him on. “You’ve already seen you won’t die from a bite. The curse came into you when you were bit, but the antidote kept you from turning.”
John gingerly placed his forehead on the walker’s.
“Now take a deep breath. Relax. Don’t think about anything.”
John did just that. He was thinking about the hunger, but managed to push it aside. He only heard the sound of his heartbeat.
Then he felt it. The deep sadness. He jerked away, looking back and forth from Peer to the zombie in front of him.
“He…He was a farmer! I saw him! I saw his farm, his home! I…I saw his family destroyed! H-h-how!”
“Heh heh heh!” Peer chuckled in an unnerving, knowing way. “You have heard from him. He told you who he was.”
“He’s dead!”
“Not really. Who he is still remains.”
“In all of them?!”
“Some more than others. But yes. You’ve seen how the undead can heal minor wounds on their bodies – that is why they last so long. Even organs can be rejuvenated, to a certain extent. They cannot heal the memories, though, and they can’t escape what the unbitten humans are doing to them. ”
“No!”
John stood up and walked from Peer to gather his thoughts. It was impossible that the person before the infection remained. It went against everything he knew. Everything humanity knew about these monsters.
“They remember, John. They still see, hear, communicate. They tell me everything. I know what is happening hundreds of kilometers from here because they communicate amongst themselves. News spreads across valleys, mountains, deserts, wherever. It reaches the furthest corners of the continent. I even hear stories of what is happening overseas. There is a whole world out there, and now you can tap into it, lead it. Knowledge will be yours! Warning of attacks, locations of food sources, you name it, John.”
John stared at Peer, confounded. It was the most insane thing he’d ever heard, but he couldn’t altogether dismiss it. Something inside of him believed it was true, but a lifetime of believing otherwise was hard to shake.
“Prove it,” John challenged.
“You will prove it to yourself.”
John squinted at Peer.
“You have already seen where that man was from, who he was as a human. Now, there must be someone you want to know about?”
“Well, my son.”
“Good, good. He is far away?”
“Yes.”
“Take our friend here,” Peer motioned to the walker from the previous display. “Tell him what you want to know.”
“Want to know?”
“Yes, what do you want to know about your son?”
“If he’s still alive, is he all right, does he think I’m dead?”
“We’ll stick with just one. ‘Is he alive’. Now ask. Picture where you last saw him. Picture what he looks like.”
John flared his nostrils but complied. “Is Aaron alive?” He felt incredibly foolish talking to a walker in this way. Walkers were good for some work, but this was delusion.
100 A.Z. (Book 3): The Mountain Page 5
