From Oblivion's Ashes

by Nyman, Michael E. A.

  “It’s the boy,” Eric said, studying the screen with concern. “How close are we?”

  Marshal’s glanced at the screen, scowled, and shook his head.

  On the screen, Randy could be seen crouched down and crying behind a toppled, black filing cabinet. While the flimsy garbage suit did provide some camouflage, he was shaking so badly that it was of little use.

  Approaching him, not ten feet away, was the zombie. Its attention was fixed on the shuddering ball of trash. There was no confusion in its posture, no indication of doubt or uncertainty, and all three waited for the inevitable spring to occur.

  “We’re too late,” Scratchard murmured.

  The zombie took a lurching step forward.

  Vestigial spectrum detectors have isolated primary target. Spectrum still incomplete match. Vibratory sensations consistent with prey manufacture. Chemical trace a complete match. Prey item identified.

  Shifting to strike mode to assimilate prey tissues.

  Randy felt the tears running down his cheeks and wished that he could do it all over again. He was caught, and he knew it and soon the teeth would be slicing him up and eating him alive. He wanted to run but his legs wouldn’t respond.

  So he remained where he was and waited for the end.

  A hand on his shoulder caused him to whimper, and he tried to pull away, but the grip held firm.

  “Quiet,” said a voice. “Don’t make another sound. Now, as quietly as you can, get behind me, son. Come on, now. Everything is going to be all right.”

  Randy looked up into the face of God.

  The three men in the Camoucart stared at the screen in disbelief.

  “Sir?” the Captain breathed. “Sir, I think you’d better keep driving.”

  “I… uh,” Marshal stammered as he realized that he’d allowed the vehicle to slow out of surprise. With shaking hands, he put the vehicle into gear.

  “Son of a bitch,” Scratchard said. “That old fart is going to get himself killed in exchange for the boy. Now that is a God I can believe in.”

  “Whatever happens,” Marshal said, “we’re not going to waste the opportunity.”

  “It’s not attacking,” Vandermeer said.

  Silence greeted this declaration as the Camoucart kept moving. All three heads stared at the screen, until an accidental collision with a newspaper box told Marshal that he’d better pay at least a little more attention to the road.

  “It’s not attacking him,” Scratchard repeated in amazement, as all three men watched the creature reach out to place and inquisitive hand on God’s head.

  Another long silence.

  “Why isn’t it attacking him?” Scratchard shouted angrily.

  The creature was agitated, and on the verge of calling for the Swarm.

  Vibratory stimulus of prey was confirmed. Vestigial spectrum detectors confirmation of prey matrix. Strong chemical stimulus traces in the air confirmed the close proximity of prey. Prey was present! And yet kinetic contact effecting micro-cellular material exchange verified no prey. The prey was not prey.

  Contingency, prey-detection strategies activated. Search parameters broadened.

  “Stay behind me, son,” God repeated, as the zombie pushed him to one side. “This is going to be tricky, so no quick moves, all right?”

  He raised his voice.

  “Yes, I am. I’m talking. You’re keying in on my talking, but you don’t see me, do you?”

  The zombie seemed to be aware of him and even seized him again, holding him up like he was a child. White-faced, Randy kept behind him.

  “Okay, Randy?” God said, as he looked straight into the zombie’s eyes. “While he’s busy with me, I want you to start edging backwards so that you’re keeping my body between you and our friend here. Don’t answer out loud. Just do it.”

  Randy scurried backwards, more quickly than he intended, knocking aside some papers and a briefcase. The zombie reacted immediately and tried to crane its neck to look around God.

  “Whoa! I’m right here, friend. Don’t take this personally, but…”

  Slap!

  God’s open right hand connected with the zombie’s cheek, causing the undead once again to direct its attention towards the elderly man it was holding.

  “That’s right,” God said, gazing into the eyes of a creature that could rend him limb from limb. “It’s just me. You’ve been making a mistake this whole time.”

  Ten feet, fifteen feet… the space between Randy and the undead monster grew as the boy continued to scramble backwards. Twenty feet. Twenty-five.

  A rumbling crunching sound announced the arrival of a Camoucart, which briefly drew the zombie’s confused attention, though it took no action. The vehicle pulled up, driving directly between the zombie and the terrified boy, obscuring him from view.

  “That’ll be your prey escaping now,” God said apologetically to the agitated and baffled zombie still clutching him. “Your need to be here is over I’m afraid. I think it’s about time that you should go.”

  “Hey! Zombie!”

  The undead head flinched, then focused on the source of the noise, rising up from behind God and speaking with a human voice.

  “Here I am!” the drone’s speakers called out. “Why don’t you chase me?”

  Extended examination of prey stimulus phenomena concluded. Not-prey item matches configured indicators of prey in vibratory and vestigial spectrum detector faculties, but contact chemical testing confirms non-prey item.

  Unexplained anomaly. Presence of chemical trace prey stimulus confirmed conflicts with anomalous testing. Continue hunt. Summoning horde.

  Alert! Newly discovered option for explanation of chemical trace stimulus. Quick moving phenomena. Match for vibratory stimulus. Chemical traces detected. Reactivating predator mode for confirmation.

  Pursuit status.

  The zombie tossed God aside like a rag doll and took off in pursuit. Out the vacant window frame and into the streets it ran, following the fleeing drone.

  “Ow,” God said, staggering to his feet from the refuse pile that had partly cushioned his fall. “My goodness, that hurts. Twisted my knee.”

  Limping, he made his way around to the back of the Camoucart and entered.

  “Well done, Randy,” he said to the four, wide-eyed faces that greeted him as he entered. “You showed a great deal of courage out-”

  He was cut off as Scratchard bowled him over, seizing his shirt in a two-fisted grip and pushing him onto the cargo bed.

  “Give me your blood, old man,” he shouted, even as an alert Vandermeer pulled him off. “How could you not tell us that you had this immunity?”

  “What?” God asked, looking hurt and surprised. “Why, Nicholas… I did. I told you who I was, didn’t I? I’m God. It’s not my fault if you didn’t believe me.”

  “Settle down, Nick,” Marshal said.

  Scratchard turned on Marshal. “Settle down? Are you insane? We stand in the ashes of a bloody, zombie apocalypse and this… this old fool has been walking around with the cure in his veins the whole time. It’s obvious he’s got some kind of outrageous immunity to the disease, unless you’re starting to believe in his ‘I-am-God’ nonsense. You aren’t, are you?”

  “That’s not the point,” Marshal said diplomatically.

  “Not the point? Not the point? It’s every point!” Scratchard whirled back on the confused old man. “We have a highly-trained, subject-specific team of scientific researchers at our disposal! The absolute highest order of answer-finders in the human experience, and this… this insane moron is walking around with the bloody philosopher’s stone in his veins! Do you realize what this could mean? I need his blood! I will have his blood! Don’t you see-”

  “What I see,” Marshal interrupted harshly, “is a man who, regardless of any natural immunity he may have, just risked his life to save a ten-year old boy. I couldn’t have saved him. You couldn’t. That creature could just as easily have ripped God to shreds with the sa
me kind of indifference that they smash through walls, but he-”

  “Sorry, Marshal,” God broke in. “I’m sorry to interrupt, especially when you’re saying all these nice things about me, but I was never in any danger. I’m God. Remember? I can’t be killed by anything as silly as a zombie. This… this immunity - or however you want to describe my condition - is, in part, how I came to realize my true identity.”

  “Wonderful,” Scratchard said, throwing up his hands. “We’ve just reinforced his delusion. He was insufferable before. Just how much worse he can be?”

  “And of course you may have a sample of my blood, Nicholas,” God said, smiling as he regained his feet. “It’s always been available to you. In fact, I was a little surprised when you never asked. You’d think that a researcher would at least be curious about the physiology of God, and I’ve always said that I’d be glad to help in any way I can.”

  The rage seemed to explode in Scratchard once again, so much so that Vandermeer stepped between to two men once more. But the scientist merely uttered a number of choking sounds that never actually developed into words, and finally, he turned away.

  “He’s crazy,” he said, seemingly to himself. “A sinking ship, and if I’m not careful, the aeration of nonsense he spouts will pull me down with him like a bottle cap on the Titanic. Just let it drop.”

  “Thank you, God,” Randy said, his cheeks still wet with tears. “Thank you for coming to save my life.”

  “My pleasure, Randy,” God said, going down on one knee. “But let’s have no more attempts at running off, shall we?” He winked at him. “No matter who is wearing shorts. I want to see you turn into our community’s next incarnation of Marshal, with electrical skills that border on the magical. Can you promise me that, Randy?”

  “I’ll do my best, God.”

  “That’s my boy.”

  The Camoucart rumbled into action, trundling off towards its docking station. Vandermeer came to sit next to Marshal, while Scratchard sulked in the corner.

  “It’s been an interesting day,” Marshal said.

  “That it has, Marshal.” Vandermeer replied.

  It had taken them twenty minutes of intensive searching to reveal that the house was empty.

  “What the fuck?” Luca kicked over a living room chair. “We fucking know they’re here! Their fucking ride is right outside! So where the fuck are they?”

  “There’s got to be a hidden door or something,” Krissy said, coming in from the kitchen. “Or… or maybe a trapdoor? Or something in the garden shed?”

  “Nah. I checked that. Concrete floors.”

  “Or could it be disguised to look like concrete floors.”

  “This is fucking hopeless,” Luca muttered. “You figure he had a hidden room that kept him safe from the zombies, it had to also be sneaky enough to keep him hidden in case the cops came searching. So it could be fucking anywhere.”

  “Let’s try a different approach,” Krissy said. “You’re a criminal. Where would you hide your secret room if you were trying to keep the police from getting suspicious.”

  Luca scratched his head. “Well… if you build it upstairs, you gotta worry about some sneaky cop measuring floors and walls to see if the space allotment lines up. Plus, you wouldn’t have a lot of space if you tried building it above ground, so…”

  “Right,” Krissy agreed. “We check the basement again.”

  They went downstairs and started rechecking the walls for anything unusual but found nothing. There were no hollow knocking sounds, no telltale buttons to push, nothing to indicate that they were standing in anything other than a normal basement.

  “Maybe we should check the backyard again,” Luca hazarded.

  “Wait a minute,” Krissy said. She sniffed the air. “Do you smell that?”

  Luca sniffed. “What? I don’t smell nothing.”

  But Krissy didn’t answer. She sniffed again, drifting over to the basement’s workbench. Picking up a child’s stuffed toy, she sniffed it, then tossed it aside.

  “Hey!” Luca said, annoyed. “Hey Gollum! We’re kind of on the clock over here!”

  Krissy stopped right in front of the floor to ceiling bookshelf that stood right next to the workbench, knelt down and sniffed the concrete floor. Then she touched the floor with her fingertips, rubbed them together, and held them up to her nose.

  “Fresh urine,” she announced.

  “Holy crap!” Luca blinked in surprise. “And look! It’s got an imprint to it! If it was just a regular piss, or if it was an animal, it’d be in a pool. Somebody was lying down on this spot when they pissed!”

  Krissy jumped up and started feeling around the shelf frantically.

  “You think they were leaving a clue to where the door is? Fuck. T-Bone’s smarter than I gave him credit for.”

  “There’s only one reason someone would be lying on the floor right at this spot,” she was muttering. “God damn it, where the switch?”

  “Hold up, Kris,” Luca said. “Just step back for a second.”

  “What?” She turned angrily, and then stopped. “Oh.”

  Luca stepped up with a twenty-pound sledgehammer taken from the tools on the wall.

  “Time for me to show you,” he grunted, hauling back for a swing, “why four-hundred pound gorillas never fell out of fashion in the Mafia.”

  CRUNCH!!

  The thick metal head snapped two shelves in half and spilled their contents all across the floor as it sank two inches into the wall behind it.

  “Some things never get obsolete,” he grinned, taking another swing.

  Inside Paul’s room, the red light began to flash on and off.

  “Visitors? Damn it, boy! I thought you said things were handled!”

  Paul came around the display shelves; his arms and shirt smeared with blood, wiping his hands with a rag. He ignored the wriggling sack on the floor. Stepping over it, he adjusted his glasses to peer at the monitors.

  “There’s no one at the front door,” he said, frowning.

  Thump!

  The muffled sound snapped his head around to look at the entrance.

  “Someone is trying to break in,” he said in amazement. He tapped at some buttons, and a grainy camera view, peering between something that looked like bars, showed him two people busy in his basement.”

  “Oh no,” he said. “It’s Krissy and Luca.”

  Thump!

  “Not as handled as you thought, eh boy? Shit. Did you bring them here on purpose? How’d they find the hidden door?”

  “I don’t know,” Paul said frantically. He felt frazzled and unsure. For a few seconds, he turned towards his ladies for comfort and support and saw them all still smiling down at him lovingly.

  “Get yer head out of yer pants, boy! There’ll be time for that later. What are you gonna do about the company?”

  Thump!

  “I’ve got it handled, old man!” Paul shouted, his mind racing. “They must have figured it all out. They know I’m connected to Denise and Patti’s disappearance. There’s no way they would have come to my own house otherwise. And even if I could change their minds, how could I explain all of this?”

  “So what are you gonna do?”

  Thump!

  “I’m going to have to run,” Paul said. “I’ve learned enough about solar panels that I should be able to set up a base somewhere else. I’ve got a Camoucart and a few drones to help me get across hostile territory. It’ll be slow-moving, but I’ve learned how to survive in the new, undead world.”

  Thump!

  He crouched down and opened a steamer trunk that was tucked in under the cutting table. He reached inside and removed an assault rifle and three hand grenades.

  “As for these two,” Paul said regretfully, “I’ll have to kill them. It’s too bad. I liked both of them. Even Kristina turned out to be a pretty good person.”

  “Water under the bridge, boy. You ever rig a hair trigger grenade?”

  “I think I
have the idea.”

  Thump! Crunch!

  The hammer broke through the wall.

  “Then do it! They’ll be coming in soon. Rig two of the grenades, and place them by the door. When they come through, throw the third. Even if they duck away, they’ll still be caught by the blast. Whatever’s left won’t be in any condition to hold off you and your automatic weapon.”

  “I said I know what to do!” Paul snapped.

  He set the gun down on the cutting table and-

  ... howled with surprise as a sharp, blinding pain took him in the calf.

  The grenades hit the ground and rolled off in separate directions as Paul staggered from the deep cut in his leg.

  Thump! Crunch!

  A part of the wall entrance fell away.

  Flinging the sack aside, Angie jumped to her feet and stabbed Paul again, this time in the stomach. The big man reeled as blood sprayed from his leg and abdomen.

  “You’re not blowing anyone up,” Angie shrieked, terror and rage lending strength to her arm as she raised her hand for another blow.

  “Angie?” Luca’s voice through the hole in the wall sounded dumbfounded. “Jesus Christ, Angie, is that you?”

  The knife descended, but quick as lightning, Paul’s big hand flashed out and slapped it away, sending it spinning from Angie’s hand and across the room. Undeterred, Angie punched the big man in the wound she’d cut into his stomach.

  Paul howled, swinging at the much smaller girl and missing as she ducked down.

  Thump! Thump! Thump!

  The sounds of desperate hammering filled the air as more and more parts of the wall were torn away.

  Another slap from Paul connected this time, knocking Angie to the floor. She shrieked in pain, but before Paul could do anything else, she spun around and sent a wild kick that connected with the wound in his leg.

  The leg gave way, and Paul staggered backwards. Fighting for balance, he slammed into his display shelf with thunderous clash.

  The shelf shuddered from contact. Three jars toppled off their placements and crashed to the floor in explosions of glass and fluid.