Way of the Barefoot Zombie

by Jasper Bark

  "Will it work? Will I gain what I seek? Will you help me find the Gateway of the Souls?"

  "So many questions, like an eager hatchling you are, grabbing for worms at his mother's beak."

  Erzulie Zandor eyed him for a long while without talking. She was weighing something up. Doc Papa felt the sweat trickle down the back of his neck. Finally she spoke. "Will I help you find it? Will I? Will I? Will I? Why yes I think I will. It amuses me greatly. I think there is a beautiful irony about it. So many souls harnessed to the tyranny of one mind. No-one has achieved that before. It will be a lesson to many. I will lead you to the Gateway of the Souls, but it won't be where you expect. This is your very last chance to step away from this path. If you have any doubts, heed them now."

  "I have no doubts. I am committed to this."

  "Good, that's what I was hoping you would say."

  This was more than he could have hoped. He maintained his calm demeanour, but inside his spirit leapt with elation. He was quite sure Erzulie Zandor could see this. She cackled indulgently.

  "This is not a simple matter though," she said. "The Gateway is tied up in a blood feud. And a curse that, after all these centuries, remains unresolved. It emanates from the same source as the Gateway."

  "I have dealt with that already."

  "Have you? Have you really? There are ancestors present who say otherwise. Dead who are unfed and hungry for revenge. Who cry out for retribution to any Loa who will listen."

  "They petition against a crime I had no part in," said Doc Papa.

  Erzulie Zandor threw back Vincenzo's head and laughed from inside him. "That is not the way it works little shit smear. You have inherited this blood debt and the dead say it is due for payment."

  "I thank you for the warning then. I will take steps to ensure it's dealt with."

  "Be sure that you do little man. Be sure that you do."

  Erzulie Zandor threw Vincenzo back and left his body before it hit the ground. From the vicious thump it made, Doc Papa imagined Vincenzo would be lucky to escape with just heavy bruising.

  The female followers ran to help Vincenzo and their sister who had been had beaten. Doc Papa turned away as they bent and attended to the two of them on the ground.

  He was on the verge of controlling more wealth and power than any human being had ever had. Of Fashioning a future for humanity like nothing it had ever seen.

  Yet deeds from the past had been put around his neck like millstones. Events that took place centuries before he was born threatened to jeopardise it all.

  There was nothing he wouldn't do to prevent that from happening.

  Chapter Sixteen

  Nine Months Ago

  Tatyana was petrified.

  The day had started out so well. Everything had been so perfect. It could only go hideously wrong from now on.

  She was riding with her mother in the back of the Rolls. Her mother had promised to let her ride back alone, but she wanted to savour this moment with her daughter. Tatyana could hardly begrudge her that.

  When she was Tatyana's age, her mother could only dream about going to a ball thrown by the Daughters of the American Revolution. Nothing like it ever took place in Stalingrad. She would read about these events in the glossy magazines she found at her uncle's dacha. He was a diplomat and the Party gave him a nice house in the country for his services to the Soviet state.

  He brought the magazines back for his wife, but Tatyana's mother was allowed to flick through them when her family came to visit. She was studying English at school and it was thought to be good practise for her to read them. What she recalled most when she told Tatyana about it were the pictures.

  They were so full of colour and excitement. The men looked so dashing in their tuxedos, and the women so glamorous and fashionable in their gowns. The colour and the opulence of the society events in the magazines seemed so thrilling and forbidden compared to Stalingrad with it's drab clothes and Soviet architecture.

  Tatyana's mother would fantasise about attending one of the balls she'd read about as she stood in line for hours to buy bread or potatoes. Now here she was, riding through Manhattan with her only daughter in the back of a Rolls Royce, on the way to the Waldorf-Astoria.

  Her mother had chosen the Vera Wang gown she was wearing. Tatyana had to admit she looked good in it. Much better than she ever thought she would. She'd been surprised when she saw herself in her bedroom mirror.

  Her mother had cried when she saw Tatyana. Her father came in to see what all the fuss was about and even he smiled when he laid eyes on her. He put his hands on her shoulders, kissed her and told her she looked beautiful.

  Getting an invitation to the DAR Debutantes Ball for his daughter was a big deal for him too. It meant that all the money he was spreading about to gain acceptance in the Fortune 500 circles was working. Tatyana was going to be presented to the cream of New York society.

  For that moment, at least, things felt right for them. Her father wasn't brooding or flying into dark rages. He was proud of his wife and daughter. They didn't have to tiptoe round him for fear of his temper. He loved them both and wanted to let them know it. He even waved goodbye to them as they drove off.

  That's why Tatyana was so terrified now. Surely things couldn't remain this good for long?

  They didn't. Cross town traffic was appalling and they arrived late. Tatyana was met by Ingrid Hedberg, the chair of the ball committee, as she arrived in the lobby and was whisked away to take her place by the stage.

  Tatyana had to run the gauntlet of the whole committee on her way. Elderly women with expensive jewellery and puckered up faces who tutted their disapproval as she walked past.

  As her father wasn't permitted to present her, a special chaperone had been found for just that purpose.

  "This is Frank Tufts," said Ingrid, introducing Tatyana to a tall portly guy in his late fifties. "He's a stockbroker now but he used to play baseball for the San Francisco Giants."

  "Well now that was a good few years ago," said Frank with a genial smile. "It's a pleasure to meet you young lady."

  "Thanks. You too."

  The formal presentation had already begun by the time she was positioned at the end of the receiving line on the main stage in the ballroom. She was hidden in the wings for most of the ceremony, which suited her fine.

  Frank took her arm when it came time for her to be presented. The announcer mispronounced her name, calling her Tatania Bulgakov.

  Frank walked her around the stage and stopped in the centre. "This is the part where you curtsey dear," he whispered.

  Tatyana hadn't curtsied since her childhood ballet class. She could just about remember how to do it. She put one foot behind the other and bent her knees. The heel on her left shoe skidded out from under her as she did and she nearly fell.

  "That's okay, I've got you," said Frank helping her back up.

  A bunch of the other debs giggled at this, until Ingrid silenced them with a stern stare. Tatyana was blushing so much she could have heated the whole ballroom. Her escort joined them on stage. He was a short frat boy who was rather full of himself called Thomas Miller the Third. He escorted her off the stage, tried to feel her up as they approached the dance floor, then promptly dumped her to join his friends at the bar.

  Tatyana wandered around, feeling a little aimless. She didn't know a soul there and wasn't a part of any of the cliques. She spotted the girl she'd stood next to in the receiving line. She was over by the punch bowl.

  Tatyana walked over to join her.

  "Hi," she said.

  "Hi," said the girl, then turned back to the two girls she'd been chatting to.

  "We're like best friends at the ball," said one of the other girls.

  "Yeah," said the other. "We, like, met at Bergdorf Goodman's. I was, like, about to buy this one dress and I looked over and saw Patricia."

  "And I was, like, trying on exactly the same dress as Abigail."

  "And we were both, like, 'Oh My G
od!'"

  "So neither of us, like, bought it."

  "But then the weird thing is, when we arrived we saw this other girl wearing the same dress."

  "And she looked, like, really fat in it."

  "Yeah, and we were, like, 'hasn't she ever heard of the South Beach Diet?'"

  "So you had a lucky escape then," said Tatyana. The three girls turned to look at her. Their expressions weren't friendly. "I mean, not buying the dress."

  "I'm sorry," said Patricia. "Did you, like, want something?"

  "Yeah," said Abigail. "Cos you're, like, blocking the punch bowl."

  "Oh, I'm sorry," said Tatyana and sloped away.

  She didn't feel much like dancing and no-one had asked her anyway so she snuck outside and stood on the balcony. She was gazing out at the Manhattan skyline, wondering if she could spend the whole ball out there and not supposing she'd be missed, when a young man joined her.

  "Nice to see someone else who loves these events as much as I do," he said.

  "I'm sorry. It's just rather hot in there and..."

  "Stuffy?"

  "Stuffy doesn't begin to cover it."

  He smiled at her remark. He had a really cute smile. She felt a little nervous flutter in her stomach. He looked kind of out of place though. He was wearing an expensive tuxedo but it was covered in soil and the sleeves were torn. His face was white with make-up and he had lots of fake blood on him.

  "Are you a Goth or something?"

  "A Goth?" he snorted with derision. "A Goth, gimme a break, that's so like last millennium. I'm a Deathwalker."

  "A Deathwalker, is that some sort of emo thing?"

  "An emo thing." He said with a look of amused horror. "You really don't get out much do you?"

  "Probably more than you do. You look like you've just dug your way out of a grave."

  "Exactly. That's totally what I want to look like. Deathwalking, it's not a Goth or an emo thing, it's way more punk than that. Deathwalkers revere the living dead, corpses who've risen from the grave."

  "You mean like Zombies?"

  "Yeah, only we like to call them the Noble Monster or the Graveyard Rebel. They're the ultimate passive aggressive icon of rebellion against society. There's no hypocrisy or phoniness with a noble monster, like there is with all those jerk offs in there."

  "I'd certainly love to see a load of Zombies go apeshit on them."

  "Now you're talking. Wouldn't that be awesome. I'm Benjamin by the way."

  "Tatyana. Did they let you on stage like that?"

  "No, and the debutante I was supposed to escort was pissed I can tell you."

  "I bet she was. I'm surprised they even let you in the building."

  "Oh they didn't want to, believe me, but my step-dad made the second highest contribution to the ball so they had to."

  "Second highest?"

  "Yeah it would have been the highest but, at the last minute, some Russian gangster spunked like half a mil so his little daughter could play at being a debutante.

  "That would be my father."

  "Oops," he said and smiled bashfully. "I'm sorry, I thought you were French or something."

  "French?" now she pretended to be outraged.

  "Well I heard your accent was European and I knew it wasn't English so I just assumed you were French or something."

  "That's so typically American."

  "You must think I'm such a dick."

  She didn't actually. She thought he was rather cute. She was also fairly sure he was checking her out. She didn't really get checked out by many cute guys. Except for those who came on to her just to see if she would put out on the first night. When they found out she didn't they lost interest.

  It wasn't that she was bad looking. She didn't have the classical waspish good looks, but she wasn't unattractive, at least she didn't think so. It was more that she was a bit socially awkward. They could tell she didn't fit in easily. They usually wanted some cheerleader type so they could show their friends they were 'The Man' when it came to macking and all that.

  "Hey," Benjamin said. "Do you wanna get out of here and go somewhere really cool?"

  "Okay."

  "Great, let's bounce."

  "This is somewhere really cool is it?" she said as they got out of the taxi at Church Street between Fulton and Vesey.

  "What do you mean? This is awesome."

  Benjamin jumped the rails and helped her over. Tatyana looked around at the sycamore trees and the ancient marble tombstones.

  "This your home away from home is it?" she said.

  "This is the oldest graveyard in Manhattan," he said and pointed at the chapel up ahead. "Do you know how many Presidents have worshipped at that chapel?"

  "Do you?"

  "Erm, it's four or five I think. I wasn't paying that much attention. But I know George Washington did something here on Inauguration Day and even ol' Dubya's shown his face."

  "Should I be impressed?"

  "By Bush or my knowledge?"

  "By your idea of how to show a gal a good time."

  "Hey, you ain't seen nothing yet. Come with me."

  He took her hand and led her over to the chapel. She got another flutter of excitement as his fingers closed about hers. They stopped at a back door.

  "Wait here," he said.

  He disappeared and left Tatyana standing in the cold air wondering why she'd left the ball with a complete stranger. Was she really that reckless? After about five minutes there was a faint click and the door opened.

  "How did you get in?" she said.

  "You don't want to know."

  They walked through a porch in total darkness. Then they passed through a storage room and into a larger room.

  "This is the vestry," Benjamin said. He lit a zippo and held it up to get a better look at the place. There was a coffin over in the corner, propped up on a table. He went and took a look inside.

  "Is it?" Tatyana said.

  Benjamin shook his head. "There's no-one in there."

  They left the vestry and went through what looked like a hand-carved door into the main building. It was a bit too gloomy to see the interior of the church properly. The streetlights spilled in through the stained glass windows and lit up different details of the brownstone architecture and the woodwork.

  "Shouldn't there be benches or something for people to sit on?" she said.

  "You mean pews? They had them all taken out a little while ago. To cope with all the visitors. This place has been kind of popular recently."

  She couldn't believe she was standing here with some guy she'd only just met. Being here gave her a double kick. Not only was she breaking and entering, she was inside a religious building.

  As a former officer of the KGB, Tatyana's father was a devout atheist. He had always taken a Marxist approach to the evils of religion. Even after he became a capitalist. He swapped 'scientific rationalism' for 'dialectical materialism' but his basic opinion remained the same.

  It was a "superstitious throw back to a less enlightened time". Now they lived in the west he claimed to see "that it had certain uses for controlling the stupider sections of society". But it wasn't for him and his family.

  Churches were forbidden, even exotic, spaces to Tatyana. Somewhere that people from different countries and cultures went. She'd never been to a wedding or a funeral in a church. That was something other people did on the TV and in the movies. Her grandfather had been buried in a municipal cemetery and her cousins had been married in state offices.

  For as long as Tatyana could remember she'd had a strange fascination with religion. It was like her mother's fascination with western high society, or the fascination she, and the other girls at her private school, used to have with sex.

  It was the pomp and ceremony of it. All those rituals churchgoers use to mark the different stages of their lives. The way it brought families together to celebrate the most diverse things like rejoicing in marriages and mourning the death of those they loved.


  She still wondered what it felt like to believe in something that sounded so impossible, and to be filled by so much hope because it was impossible yet you knew it was true. She couldn't think of a single thing she believed in that much. She wasn't sure she even wanted to.

  "So, what do you think?" said Benjamin.

  "Actually you're right," Tatyana said. "This is really cool."

  "Come with me," he took her hand again, much to her delight. He guided her over to a window that was right by a street lamp. The light struck the stained glass and hit the floor in a mosaic of colours.

  Benjamin stepped into the multi coloured rays and his white, pallid face became a harlequin's mask. Tatyana did the same and the colours lit up her perfect white ball gown like it was a patchwork quilt. She laughed and twirled round, sending her dress spinning out to catch the different colours.

  Tatyana stopped and looked up at the window. It showed the Virgin Mary in a classic pose with the young Christ Child on her lap. She was surrounded by angels singing her praises. The light coming from the halo around her head was the brightest. Its rays fell on Tatyana and seemed to fill her with the same light.

  Is this what it feels like to believe?

  "Who's there?" said a voice from the nave. "Don't move, I've got a gun."

  "Shit," said Benjamin. "It must be a security guard. Come with me."

  He grabbed her arm and dragged her towards the vestry. They ran past the pulpit on the way. He charged up to the altar and lifted a bottle of wine. "What are you doing wasting time?" she hissed.

  "It's okay. I've got a plan."

  They stumbled into the vestry but couldn't see a thing. Their eyes hadn't adjusted to the dark. They ran to where they thought the door was and hit the coffin. The footsteps behind them sounded like they were catching up.

  "Quick, hide in there" Benjamin said and directed her into a broom closet as he clambered into the coffin.

  Tatyana watched through a crack in the door as the security guard burst into the vestry and shone his torch around the room. He was a large guy, who could stand to lose a few pounds. Not to mention the ridiculous walrus moustache on his top lip.