Generation Z (Book 4): The Queen Unthroned

by Meredith, Peter

  “Sure, whatever you say, junior.”

  “I say follow me and keep quiet. Come on. I need to find the Commander. Does anyone know where he is?”

  One of the men hissed: “He and Duckwall just went to the church a few minutes ago. Is there really a zombie army coming our way? That’s what Bob said.”

  “A small one,” Troy told the Knight. “We’ll overcome it, don’t worry.”

  Leney laughed again. “A small army? I thought you Jesus-freaks weren’t supposed to lie? We have enough zombies to swallow this place whole.”

  A long silence hung over that section of the moat until Troy said, “It’s no matter to us how many zombies you have fighting for you. We have the Lord God on our side and our cause is just and righteous.”

  “We have the Queen,” Leney countered. “And here on Earth, I don’t think there’s anyone who can beat her. I’ve seen her tear apart the Black Captain’s fleets. I’ve seen her grind his armies beneath the heel of her boot, and she crushed the Santas without even trying. They say she can think five steps ahead and has a plan for…”

  “That’s enough!” Troy barked. “I don’t have time to listen to this garbage.” He took a smirking Leney by the arm and hurried to the church. With fighting going on inside Highton, his adrenaline was pumping, and he barely felt the pain in his ankle. When the two reached the building, they saw nothing of Bob Duckwall except muddy prints that were mixed with black zombie blood.

  The prints led up the steps and inside. The two followed them just past the foyer to where Bishop Gary Wojdan and Commander Walker stood together wearing matching looks of surprise at seeing the Knights Sergeant alive. Troy went to them, but before he knelt, he kicked Leney in the back of the legs and pulled him down to his knees.

  Leney growled and was about to fill the silent church with curses, but then saw the stern look on the Commander’s face and how his hands were clenched into fists. Some battles were not worth fighting and Leney figured this was one of them.

  Wojdan held out his ringed hand to be kissed by Troy, saying, “This must be some story, Troy. Back from the dead, and look at this creature. Have you brought the prodigal son with you?”

  “I heard about that one,” Leney said. “One son takes off with all the money and then comes back when he spends it and is all broke, right? Only I never knew which one was the ‘prodigal’ son. Was he the good one or the bad?”

  “Prodigal from the Greek,” the Bishop explained, “meaning recklessly or extravagantly wasteful; utterly and shamelessly immoral.”

  Leney grinned and elbowed Troy. “Ha! That’s me to a ’T.’ They made a Bible story about me. So, where’s my fatted calf or pork tenderloin, or whatever you guys got?”

  Having kissed the Bishop’s ring, Troy stood. Leney started to stand as well, but Troy put a heavy hand on his shoulder, holding him down. With the other hand he saluted his commander and gave a very brief report concerning what had happened to him. He finished by adding, “I also believe our current dispositions are incorrect. The area around where the wall stood is a barrier in itself. That should be our initial defensive line.”

  Walker frowned. Since becoming the Knights Commander, no one had ever second-guessed his tactical positioning. Still, he trusted Troy. “Have Treadwell move everyone up.” Troy left at a run.

  The Bishop watched him until the door snicked shut; he then turned a cold eye on the Corsair. “What are we to make of you? You’re certainly not here in any diplomatic sense. Are you a hostage? An unwanted threat to the Queen’s power? Or are you exactly what the Queen claims, an escort for a wounded man?”

  “Holt seemed fine to me. Perhaps he’s a spy?” Walker suggested.

  “Hmm, I don’t think the Queen would be so obvious.”

  Leney rolled his eyes and got to his feet. “Unlike you Catholics, my knees can’t handle the kneeling. And no, I’m not a spy. What’s there to spy on, anyway? With your wall down, it’s just a matter of time. The zombies will get you, and they’ll eat your kids and your women. It’s not too late to stop all this. All you gotta do is kneel to the right person.”

  The Bishop felt a twinge deep inside. Whether it was guilt or doubt, he couldn’t tell. “Maybe I was wrong about your diplomacy. You seem to speak with some authority, Captain Leney. Are you sanctioned by your Queen to treat with us?”

  “Treat? Like in treaty? Well, I am her…” Leney was about to say that he was the Queen’s second in command, however, he wondered if he really was. He spoke for most of the Corsairs, but not all of them. She still looked to McCartt when dealing with the Magnum Killers, and Steinmeyer with the Coos Bay Clan. She had Donna as her go-to when she spoke to the Bay people, and an oddly young girl named Lexi May for when she wanted to address the Santas.

  Still, he was close enough to being her second in command. “I can accept your surrender and the sooner the better if you ask me.”

  Walker shook his head. “No. There will be no surrender. Every man among us has fought their share of zombies. This time will not be any different, so go back to your mistress and tell her exactly that.”

  Leney grimaced, his embarrassment coming out as anger. “I can’t exactly. I was told I’d be picked up in the morning.”

  “That’s just precious,” Walker said, laughing. “You want all of us to think we’re going to die but your queen forces you to stay? If you ask me, I think your queen wants you dead, which is one thing we have in common.” The Bishop tut-tutted him, making the Knights Commander sigh. “Sorry about the joke; it was uncalled for. Still, I should warn you that I don’t have the manpower to babysit you, so if you stay, it will be under lock and key.”

  This put Leney in a pickle. What if the Queen was trying to kill him in a way that no one would question? If he went back, she could demean his courage and ruin his reputation among the Corsairs even more. He’d be out of the inner circle and since he didn’t have a ship anymore, he’d be just another flunky digging ditches or fighting her battles. If he stayed, he could end up someone’s main course with no way to defend himself.

  He had to find a middle ground. “Actually, my orders were to keep that Troy guy safe until morning. I can’t very well do that chained to a wall.”

  Walker started laughing again, but sobered as he saw the Bishop considering the notion. “Excuse me, your Excellency, Knights Sergeant Troy Holt is our best fighter. He doesn’t need a babysitter, especially one who might stab him in the back.”

  “I’m going to allow it,” the Bishop answered. “I don’t know much about warfare but the Queen seems to want to fight with some sort of honor. I don’t think we can always assume the moral high ground, sometimes we have to earn it. Let Captain Leney fight.”

  Commander Walker bowed to the leader of their community. “He will fight, but he will fight as we fight.” He held out his hand for Leney’s weapons.

  Leney felt like a child being asked to give up his favorite toys and squeezed the strap of his rifle to his chest with both hands. “No way. You want me to fight with a spear. Like, like some sort of savage?”

  “No,” Walker said, with a gleam in his eye. “We want you to fight like a man.”

  Chapter 32

  “Run!” Stu cried in muted panic as the gargantuan zombie surged out of the water with a frightful roar. When it reached out to pull itself up the hill, it uprooted young pines with its bare hands. That didn’t slow it down at all. It looked as though it would tear down the entire hill to get to them.

  Mike ran. He just didn’t know where he was running to exactly. Nowhere seemed safe. They couldn’t go back up the hill; it would put them in the orchard, which was filled with more of the titanic battleship-sized zombies. They couldn’t go to the right; that was where the Corsair had been hiding and when there was one Corsair, there were always more.

  His only real choice was to the left, where the forest grew gradually thicker until it was as dark and overgrown as a jungle. He charged toward this, dodging trees and pushing through th
e vines. Quickly, he found himself blundering blindly through the dense woods; he had to practically swim through it all. Twigs and branches tore the homemade ghillie suit off his back, while twisted roots and hairy, brambly vines tripped him with every other step.

  Behind him, he could hear Jenn making high frightened noises and begging him to hurry. Lagging behind her was Stu, grunting as he limped along as fast as he could.

  Despite nature doing everything it could to stop him, Mike thrust on, moving along the slope of the hill, hoping to come across a path or a road or anything that would allow them to move faster.

  The beast chasing them plowed through the growth, leaving a wide path of destruction behind it. Nothing seemed to slow it. And yet, after a few minutes, the sound of breaking branches and tree trunks snapping in half diminished. With a surge of hope, Mike chanced a look back and saw that the zombie had caught up with Stu.

  The Hillman was desperately trying to keep one of the thicker trees between him and the monster. He was going round and round it, just managing to keep out of reach of the thing’s long arms. Mike knew his friend would not last much longer and he did the only thing that he could think of. With a shout, he scooped up a broken branch, rushed at the zombie from behind and slammed the branch down on its head with all the strength in his arms.

  The branch, which was as thick as his forearm, broke square in two as it split the beast’s scalp. The inch of rock-hard bone beneath remained completely intact.

  “Oh crap,” Mike whispered as the zombie turned on him. Stu was behind the only tree big enough to slow the creature, so Mike couldn’t play the same ring-around-the-rosy game. He had to find a new way to escape a creature that was faster than he was on the open ground, one that would never tire, and one that could bash its way through the forest with ease.

  He couldn’t fight it and he couldn’t logically hope to get away by running, which left only illogically fleeing without any thought as to direction or outcome. The animal in him instinctively turned downhill where he would gain speed with the help of gravity.

  The zombie gained that same bump in speed. What was more, it didn’t care if it ran a stick into its eye or if it tripped and snapped an ankle. It came on, full steam and halfway down the hill, its claws fastened on the hood of Mike’s coat and yanked him back. At that point, the two were barreling along, both basically out of control. The yank on Mike’s hood bent back his upper body, while his frantic feet kept up their pace.

  Something tore and he fell. The zombie was so close that it fell over the top of him. The two rolled in a strange mash of dead and nearly dead. Mike was crushed in foul-smelling darkness, then splashed with light and then crushed again. Pain shot through his chest as the air burst out of him in a whoosh. Light again, then his face was slapped by old wet leaves and then came the crushing sensation once more. Everything spun and spun until there was a long moment of free fall. It ended with a thunderous explosion of white, foaming water.

  Jenn screamed his name, but the high, frightened sound was muffled and far away as he sank deep with a thousand pounds of thrashing zombie meat above him. Mike was so disoriented that at first, he didn’t realize they were in the pond; he thought they had somehow made it back to the ocean. He tried to swim as he normally would have however a ripping pain in his left side kept him from extending his arms fully. His legs worked well enough and he began to kick toward the surface, with the zombie well within arm’s reach.

  Thankfully, it was partially turned away when they both broke the surface, which gave him a ten-second head start. That should have been enough. Zombies were terrible swimmers, while Mike was an excellent swimmer, normally that is. Just then he was limited to swimming with only half his body. It felt as though he had broken a rib or three. It was hard to tell; he just knew it hurt to move or to take a full breath, and he needed to do both.

  When the beast finally saw him, it went crazy, thrashing at the water, clawing at it, doing anything it could to get to Mike and tear his head off. Slowly it ate into that head start. Mike’s head began to spin, and he sank lower and lower in the water. He found it too difficult to propel himself both forward and upward.

  Even without the zombie after him he might have drowned if the pond had been any bigger.

  At the halfway point, he began to wonder why he was still going. Once he got out, he’d be in an even worse position. He’d be even slower compared to the zombie and any lead would evaporate in seconds. Supposedly drowning was an easy death—it sure would be easy enough to accomplish since he was halfway there.

  He risked slowing even more to take the largest breath he could manage. He was about to yell over to Jenn and Stu to go on, when he saw Stu hurl a rock right at him! It missed, landing with a splash a few feet away. Now Jenn threw one and this came closer to hitting him. It was when Stu threw his next, again missing behind him that Mike realized they were throwing at the zombie.

  It was a feeble attempt to save him that would never work. The rocks were so small that when they missed, it didn’t notice and when one bounced off its huge dome of a head, it only made the thing more furious, which in turn made it faster. Jenn noticed the problem first and hissed for Stu to stop. She needed some way to slow the beast down. Uselessly, her mind turned to Jillybean and pictured the wild-haired girl making a zombie-proof net out of the vines around them. That would take more time than they had and the vines…

  “Come on,” Stu whispered, grabbing her hand and hurrying around the pond. The pond had started out as a deep fishing hole, which had been widened and turned into a retention pond designed to limit flooding in wet times and to act as a reservoir in dry ones. Mike was swimming in the general direction of an outflow pipe that looked big enough for a man to squeeze into, but not a monster like this one was.

  When Jenn saw the pipe and realized where Stu was leading her, she hissed across the water. “There! Over there!”

  Mike made a last-ditch attempt to get to the pipe before the zombie got to him. He did everything he could, but his head began to spin and his arms grew so heavy they felt like they were shackled with anchors attached to them—he wasn’t going to make it. After the brief spurt, the zombie again gained on him in their torturously slow race and it looked like Mike was going to be caught just short of the pipe.

  Stu wasn’t going to let him die, even if he had to jump on top of the zombie and attack it with his knife in a poor imitation of Gunner. As much as he distrusted the gnarled and stunted man, Stu secretly hoped he would show up just then and save them all again. He stared around as he ran without seeing him. His eyes did fall on something that gave him an idea and some hope.

  A long limb had broken from a tree and was hanging in the vines in a manner which made Stu feel as though it was being presented to him. He grabbed it and then scooped up the next longest one he could find as they ran. “Get in the water,” he ordered Jenn when they got to the pipe.

  “Huh?” She couldn’t see what he was planning. The branches weren’t very thick; they wouldn’t do much to hurt the zombie. And getting in the water was crazy. It would only doom her along with Mike; she wasn’t a good swimmer.

  Stu didn’t have time to explain things. He shoved her in and then waded in himself. Right away, the icy water had his injured leg cramping and his heart fluttering. “T-Take a b-branch in each hand. W-We’ll form a chain,” he stuttered. “You’ll be in the middle.”

  Anger turned to excitement now that she saw what his plan was. He held onto the edge of the pipe with one hand and reached out as far as he could with the first branch. She swam out and took the end of his stick and then extended her own as far as she could toward Mike.

  Mike was flagging badly. His body was squeezing in on itself, gradually forcing him into a fetal position. It wasn’t a matter of pain or will power, he simply couldn’t extend his torso, to allow him to do more than the doggy paddle or a mangled, abortive version of the side stroke. Neither was any better than the other and it wasn’t long before he felt
the zombie’s fingers brushing against his feet. All it would take was one to hook him.

  Jenn reached as far as she could, but it wasn’t far enough. She let go of Stu’s branch and swam out to meet Mike. She didn’t know the first thing about being a lifeguard and her swimming skills were best described as adequate. But she had a branch and a fierce determination not to let Mike die.

  She swam until he was close enough to grab it. When he did, she pulled with all her might and scissor kicked with her legs. She was too strong and yanked the branch out of his hands. There was no give up in her and she tried again. This time he held on but because of the weight difference between them she found herself going hand over hand closer to him and the zombie!

  Somehow, she had made things worse. The branch was now in the way and they were too close to each other to really swim properly. “Go,” he whispered, breathlessly. “Leave! Hurry. I’ll get to…” The hood of his coat was suddenly yanked back. His head came along with it.

  The zombie had finally got a hold of him.

  Jenn did the only thing she could, she took the branch and jabbed it like a spear into the creature’s face, running it up into its right eye socket and bursting the dark orb like a swollen grape. The zombie didn’t seem to notice the grey pus-like substance dripping down its cheek. It was trying to pull Mike into its open mouth and bite his head off, but Mike grabbed the branch and pushed back. The zipper of his coat bit cruelly into his throat, cutting off his circulation, and in seconds the day began to dim, and he was suddenly disconnected as if he were falling asleep.