‘Hins A-Akila saw his entire army die at the hands of the Berbers and the Turks, and could do nothing about it. Though, even in the face of utter impotence, he still felt like a king. He wept for his army, then the Templars revealed to him a secret.’ Sebastián’s voice was barely audible in the room, but he continued anyway, to the astonishment of Diego, Juan, Javier, Álvaro, and those who listened carefully with their mouths in an O. ‘They revealed to him the secret to the serum of life, which came from the Holy Grail, or otherwise known as the blood of Christ.’
Diego began to feel a bit of drool coming from his mouth. He ran his hand over his lips and continued to listen, but Javier burst out with lasciviousness.
‘The Holy Grail? That’s something very strong to confirm, is it not?’
Though no one paid him attention.
‘Go on Sebastián,’ Juan said, emerging from his lethargy.
Sebastián raised the parchment that was on the table.
‘This parchment contains part of the formula to the serum of life. The rest is safeguarded in a book bound in human skin, from some Turkish soldiers…’
‘Gross!’ Javier snapped, with Susana nudging him to keep it down.
‘Sebastián then continued in his warm voice, looking at the group with one eye.
‘This serum of life was administered directly by Hin A-Akila to all of his soldiers, who then sprang back to life. However, their eyes were different, and they could not speak. They only moaned and followed their king. In this case, Hin A-Akila. His soldiers had risen, even though some of them had no heart, and Hins injected himself with a larger dose of the serum. His eyes also changed, though he could still speak. He had all the same bodily functions, except that his body technically stopped. His heart also stopped beating, and all of his soldiers, the undead, followed and obeyed him as the king he was, and from here began a long and hard battle against the Berbers and the Turks, who shrank from fear when they saw them on their feet again. Some of them with swords still sticking from their chests.’
‘Wow!’ exclaimed the young Asian tourist, who was so surpised that his oriental features had disappeared momentarily.
Sebastián left the parchment on the table.
‘There are two types of reactions to the serum of life, and it depends on the time administered; if one is dead or alive when injected.
‘The living maintain their rationality and the dead no, is that not so?’ Diego said, with a touch of fascination in his voice.
‘Correct!’ Sebastián said, before adding, ‘Now, if you don’t mind, I am tired and I do not feel like discussing anymore, though there is much to tell. You all will be safe here, I know the way to the shelter.’
‘But why were you so surprised at the mention of the priest?’ Javier asked in a loud voice.
‘Because I had suspected that something like this had happened. Do you happen to know what this priest’s name is?’
Javier shook his head.
‘I think that his name is Martín,’ Juan replied back, his eyes sparkling.
‘Yes, that is right! Now I remember!’
Sebastián frowned a bit, showing off more wrinkles on his face.
‘Just as I had feared, then.’
And they all remained silent, fascinated both by his story and the unbelievable priest.
XCII
Father Martín still held his Bible in his left hand, which could very well have been the book with the rest of the formula to the serum of life, but it was well guarded. He arrived at the meeting point at Blasco Ibañéz Street and De La Democracia Avenue, where they all joined under the incipient sun and their cassocks waved in the wind. Even the white robes of the nurses did so as well. The new undead would obey them in any case.
‘Now we are all together. I do believe that we have just enough serum of life left to give life to those resting in their damp, dark tombs. Very good work.’
It was clear that the new king was Father Martín, as they continued their march towards the cemetery, all their hearts having been stopped like an old, forgotten bomb.
The zombies began to take new paths, taking the streets and advancing towards the city centre, towards the Hornillo district and the Parra Pass, where hundreds of people were preparing for the carnival parade that would begin at sunset.
Father Martín was euphoric, and continued to guide his subjects. However, he did not predict dissention amongst the ranks.
A possibility when one injects the serum of life into too many living subjects.
Anything could happen, after all.
Rumours hinted that Hins A-Akila was still alive somewhere.
But now it was time for him to go up.
Prelude
Part Four
Father Martín, with his subjects, raised a hammer and broke a tombstone, which cracked under the force of the tool such as when the ground opens up during a fatal earthquake. His hand rose and fell once more, and the silence of the graveyard was broken by the blows of that hammer against the gravestone. Pieces of it shattered to the floor like broken glass, but there was no shine. It was late, but the sun still gave them some respite to unearth the dead. It was then that Father Martín, Father Guillermo, Father Isidoro, the two acolytes, and the nurses saw the dusty coffin, hideous, and with the lid swollen by the post-mortem gases. When they had opened the coffin, they saw the deceased resting with his eyes closed, his skin now violet, and on his face his lips had shrivelled. Several worms twitched inside the deceased’s eye sockets, beneath the movement of their consumed eyelids. Then, Father Martín raised his hand again, but this time with a syringe. The needle penetrated the stretched skin of the deceased's neck and the violet liquid flowed through its dry, clogged veins.
Then they all waited for a moment, without taking their eyes off the corpse. Then, it happened. The dead man's eyelids opened and the worms fell down the side of his face, and his mouth opened horribly in a guttural grunt containing rage. His fingers began to move and to take strange forms, like the claws of a wild animal, and then began to get up from his own coffin. He looked at them with his empty, unseeing eyes. He knew they were there, though, looking at him with enthusiasm and joy.
‘I have given you life!’ Father Martín shouted, extending his hand.
The deceased responded with a grunt. His entrails had already dried, leaving a large hole in his belly. But in any case, he still got up and was the first to leave the cemetery, looking for human flesh and blood.
That night the people of Águilas would be celebrating the carnival.
And they all smiled with their stupid grins and watery yet furious eyes.
Part Four
The ascension to the sky
XCIII
The gypsies ran back home, weeping, scared, and shouting. Ángel stayed where he was with his three children, not knowing exactly what to do at the moment.
The unjust sun licked their sweaty bodies, burning them, while Santiago, with furious eyes, began to shamble closer to them. His brother, Kickass, was already beginning to foam at the mouth while looking directly at the sun.
‘What do we do now?’ Antonio asked his brother, José, who only responded with a shoulder shrug.
‘They’re our neighbours!’ Their father said. ‘We must let them go!’
Though, the two zombies, far from retreating and heading down the street, smelled blood and walked slowly towards them. The second hand of the clocked passed by faster and their footsteps could be heard coming from the side. Though they didn’t have the heart to do it, they knew what they had to do, even if they had been neighbours all their lives.
‘Santiago?’ Antonio said, his voice going in one ear and out the other. Santiago, with his arms hanging inertly to his hips, dragging his bloody feet while a bloody trail fell behind them.
Santiago, however, did not respond. This was no longer Santiago.
‘Kickass?’ José asked, with a fluctuating voice that received no res
ponse either. Only a dry noise that rose from the young men’s’ throats. They were drooling profusely onto their chests, slipping from their chins.
Their knives were also inertly lying on the ground, shining in the sun.
Women shouted and cursed but they fell on deaf ears. The father, Juan, walked off quickly with his cane, his eyes filled with tears, while his face reddened and contracted into a wince.
The two brothers, now irrational zombies, where infected now, and only followed the smell of blood. Ángel and his three sons were now being persecuted, though their hands were no longer empty. They had heavy bricks in their hands, each of them. They raised their arms into the sun at three in the afternoon. Ángel turned away to avert his gaze.
XCIV
The zombies had now completely taken over the Northern Health Centre, wandering around the car park and all of the medical centre’s surroundings. People with their cars were still waiting to park near the ER entrance, but then the shouting and screaming began. Later, nothing. After that, there were only grunts. Although they followed him, the zombies took to the streets of the Majadas district in various locations, while many neighbours looked through their windows with little, frightened eyes, like rats in a sewer. No one knew what was really happening, but even if things were clearer, there were no police nor security guards anywhere to be found.
Where had they all gone?
In the Majadas district, the events of the past four days were still a mystery. Firecrackers and fireworks were pretty typical for a week prior to the carnival, so everyone was confused by the gunshots and helicopters circling overhead.
The zombies, for the most part, had already taken over Murcia Street, which laid on the outskirts of the city, near the supermarket, and the various streets with the weekly market. At the end of this street was Virgen de la Piedad Mortuary, which led to the older, more centric streets of the city. This of course led them to Parra Pass, where the carnival parade was to be celebrated, when the sun had finally set like the flames of a chimney simmering off.
That day, the weekly market had already taken place, and it was the perfect time for tourists to quickly buy souvenirs and other memorabilia. The zombies, eager to sate their thirst blood, perceived its intensely sweet scent in the air. Shambling, the largest majority of the zombies made their way to the market. They were only about five minutes away, and in the market where would be about two thousand people.
XCV
The plump man, that’s to say, Tomás, took his nephew in his arms and sank is chin into his stomach, causing him to scream with laughter.
The Moroccan woman put a finger to her lips, calling for silence while adjusting her hijab with her other hand.
‘No worries, they will not hear us from here,’ Tomás assured them, leaving his nephew on the floor. ‘This is pretty much the closest thing that we have to a bunker.’
The blonde woman nodded, her eyes brighter, livelier, and more hopeful.
‘Just thought that they could probably hear us,’ the Moroccan woman responded back, sitting on the floor in one of the rooms, which they considered the safest floor, for the fact that it was on the other side of the entrance and it had an escape door.
‘They shouldn’t. This is a huge block of flats under construction, closed off to everyone.’ The blonde woman paused for a moment in silence. ‘Moreover, from what I have observed, they don’t seem particularly skilful.’
Then the woman lifted her arms and moaned, narrowing her eyes, making the boy laugh.
‘We will be safe here for a time locked up,’ Tomás added. ‘The only problem will be food and water to survive. I’ll take a walk around the building a bit later to see what I can find.’
‘True, the construction workers always leave their beers around everywhere,’ the blonde woman responded, also sitting on the floor, but somewhat more withdrawn from the Moroccan woman. The little girl was at her side, watching the adults carefully.
‘Perhaps even a sandwich, but we’ll be lucky if the rats hadn’t finished them off first,’ Tomás added.
The room was large and freshly plastered, making it as white as day. There was also a door and a window installed, and on one side of the roof there was a large rectangular gap that could later serve as air conditioning for them, Tomás thought to himself. The air smelt of paint and new wood.
They were on the fifth floor, and the Moroccan woman complained from needing to climb so many stairs. The lift was still empty, as empty as a zombie’s eye. The floor was marble with brown stains on the stairs, simulating the wooden colour on the other floors.
‘Tomás opened the window shade to let in some light and air. Heat burst into the room, but it was better to sweat a little than inhaling the toxic fresh paint.
‘Now that we are a bit safer, why not introduce ourselves?’ The blonde woman suggested, rising from the floor as if launched by a spring.
‘Well, my name is Tomás,’ the plump man with a greyish beard responded.
‘That we already know!’ The blonde woman responded, winking at him. ‘And what is your nephew’s name?’
‘His name is Daniel, he is seven years old,’ Tomás said, hurriedly.
‘Yes, I am Daniel!’ The child exclaimed.
‘I am Rosa!’ The little girl interjected with her sharp yet sweet voice. Her blueish eyes shined in the light of the window.
‘Is she your daughter?’ Tomás asked.
‘No, she is my neighbour’s daughter. I took her when her mother became one of those things.’
‘What thing?’ Rosa asked, making her nervous from the question.
‘It’s a fever!’ Tomás responded, tossing his nephew’s hair back.
‘And will they get better?’
‘I think so.’
‘But then why were they drooling like that?’ The girl asked with an unsettling voice.
‘It’s part of their fever!’
The little girl gave a sigh of relief.
‘Not so! It’s the rage!’ Daniel interrupted, furrowing his brow. ‘They’re all dead!’
Tomás gave him a tiny slap on the back, the child fell silent.
‘What did he mean by that?’ Rosa asked.
‘Nothing, certainly!’ The blonde woman said, cutting her off. ‘My name is Sara,’ she said, changing the subject rapidly.
By now, almost half of the city knew what a zombie was, except for little Rosa, who continued seeing life through rose-coloured glasses. This is how most children see the world, and Tomás wished to be her same age again, so escape from reality.
‘My name is Fátima,’ the Moroccan woman said, still seated on the floor.
XCVI
Sebastián, moaning while getting up from the wooden stool, moved the scrolls aside with his bony hand.
‘You will all be safe here,’ the old man assured them all wearily. ‘But those who are out there are in danger. The creatures will multiply and infect all living things.’
Diego stepped aside so that Sebastián could pass uncrowded into the narrow corridor. Sebastián led them to one of the shorter corridors, barely three metres away, which led to another closed room that had no hole in the wall. However, such a hole was unnecessary, as things could still be seen. It was like a relief looming over the carved wall of massive rock. Diego looked at the detail, and he was sure that something else was supposed to be there.
Sebastián, already inside the mepty room, put one of his hands on the wall, which proceeded to spit dust into the air. Both Diego and Juan could perceive the small vibration. It was momentary, and very weak, but it was there, under their feet.
‘I don’t have the strength to push this door open,’ Sebastián explained, facing them with his bad eye and prominent beard.
‘There’s a door?’ The veins in Diego’s face shown like a map without points of reference.
‘Yes, there is a door hidden in here that lead to the deepest part of the castle. From there it takes o
ne to the sewers and connects to the tube. It has been here for centuries.’ He paused for a moment to take a deep breath and added, ‘Hins A-Akila ordered it to be built.’
Juan’s eyes widened, he was fully entranced by all of this, with Javier making a face with his red lips.
The young men had retired to the other corridor. It was crowded, but still cool. In these corridors, although the air did not flow, it was still humid and cool. The waves continued breaking against the wall of the castle, though the thick walls muted those rhythmic beats.
The young Asian tourist, named O Jo, was giving off flashes of light with his camera.
Up from above, on the surface where the towers of the castle connected, there were already hundreds of zombies that could not find the entrance to the lower levels of the castle. It was impossible to find that small corridor, next to the cistern. At least, it was impossible for the moment, but things would soon change, because the taste of blood was still suspended in the air and the zombies gaped their ferociously drooling mouths.
‘Help me to push!’ Sebastián asked, now with both hands against the wall.
Diego, Juan, and Álvaro offered their help, and among the three they pushed against the wall that gave way to a burst of stone and dust. They have to run their fingertips against the all to find the door.
Much cooler hair hit their sweating faces, and the smell of salt water increased. In addition, they could now hear the rhythmic waves crashing against the wall like an echo. Clearly this was the door that would lead them to the sewers.
‘Thank you very much, boys.’ Sebastián said, entering through first into the narrow opening and down the dank corridor, which ran downhill. Sebastián was dressed like a medieval monk, and Diego had wondered if this were some sort of carnival costume.
From there, they began to follow him down the steps, listening more intensely to the waves, as Sebastián continued speaking.
Infected, Zombi The City of the Zol Page 16
