From Oblivion's Ashes

by Nyman, Michael E. A.

  “NO!!” Paul shouted in horror as the heads of three of his princesses rolled onto the floor amid the broken glass and blood.

  Angie scrambled to her feet, a huge red welt visible over her cheek where Paul had hit her, backpedaling away from the murderer and towards the steadily, disintegrating entry wall.

  Still on his feet, Paul turned a glare of pure hate and rage on her.

  “You little bitch!” he bellowed, taking a menacing step forward. “Do you realize what you’ve done? I’ll make you suffer for that! I’ll make you…”

  He stopped suddenly, nearly falling over as his injured leg refused to move. Riding a wave of fury, he tried to pull it through sheer force of rage, but again the leg seemed hobbled, and dragged forward only a couple of inches.

  He looked down in irritation.

  The head of Bethany had somehow latched onto his bloody foot. The open mouth gripped it firmly just above the toes.

  “Honey,” he said, his eyes warm and loving. “Honey, you’re okay!”

  The mouth bit down with the moist sound of yielding flesh and splintering bone.

  Again, Paul howled with pain, only this time he fell over, thrashing and writhing as the head of Bethany chewed its meal and swallowed. He kicked at the head with his free leg, but the mouth held fast, the lips gripping his foot like prehensile cables. From the stump of Bethany’s neck, a thin, translucent membrane bubble formed, filling up to bulging with the ground up meat, blood, and bone of Paul’s foot.

  Then, like a snake, the severed head of Bethany inhaled and gulped in the rest of Paul’s foot up to the ankle, crunching down with relish on the fresh meat of the serial killer.

  Again, Paul screamed and thrashed, but he suddenly found that his right forearm was held fast. The severed head of Amber had fastened onto it hungrily. In a panic, he raised his arm up off the ground, lifting up Amber’s head as he did, and tried to shake her off of him.

  Snap!

  Paul’s scream shook the room as Amber bit down, snapping his arm in half, even as Bethany’s mouth stretched wide to engulf him up past the ankle. His severed hand dangled by a loose piece of flesh from Amber’s mouth as she chewed, until she slurped it up like a wet strip of spaghetti. Like Bethany, a translucent membrane started to grow at the base of her neck, growing larger and larger with every bit of Paul that went down her throat.

  “Angie!” Luca shouted, bursting through the remnants of the wall. “Angie! Are you… oh… marone..”

  “Oh, dear God,” Krissy said, lowering her gun as she stepped over the threshold.

  The two of them stood frozen, helpless witnesses to the monstrous act before them. Luca hardly noticed as Angie ran up to him and buried her face in his chest.

  Paul continued to thrash as the two heads slowly ate him alive, his face wet with sweat, tears, and a strange expression of horrified bliss. He gazed into the loving eyes of his beloved Bethany, who had devoured him up past his knee, and wondered why her passion was causing him so much agony.

  “They’re…” Luca stammered, unable to believe his eyes. “They’re…”

  “They’re regenerating,” Krissy murmured, looking like she was going to be sick.

  Angie said nothing, unwilling even to look anymore.

  Paul stopped thrashing. A tiny hand reached out to caress his cheek, and he turned to gaze into the dark, sensual eyes of Amber as she swallowed what was left of his right bicep. Her mouth rippled it’s way up his shoulder, and he could see that the bulge at the bottom of her neck had turned into a small body, complete with tiny arms and legs. The newly formed abdomen undulated, growing fat with his meat and bone, then flat again as it redistributed it all to the newly grown extremities, then fat, then thin, over and over again. Flesh flowed and re-knitted, filling out undead curves, breasts, round arms, legs, and feminine hips.

  “Amber… Bethany…” he burbled, the blood pouring from his mouth. “You’re looking so…”

  He cried out as parts of his shoulder and thigh were chopped off, chewed, and consumed. Again, the growing bodies rippled and grew.

  “… so beautiful,” he finished in a euphoric daze.

  “We’d better get out of here,” Krissy murmured as the two feeding zombies grew. Though neither possessed adult proportions, they had grown to the size of children and weighed around thirty or forty pounds. “In a couple of minutes, they’ll have finished him off and we’ll have two, full-grown, fully-functioning zombies on our hands.”

  “No!” Angie cried out. “You have to go get T-Bone. Paul was torturing him in the back room. I’m alive thanks to him. We all are.”

  “T-Bone?” Luca demanded incredulously.

  “There’s no time, Angie,” Krissy said. “We have to go.”

  “We can’t leave him,” Angie insisted.

  “I’ll get him,” Luca said, looking at Krissy. “I’m probably the only one who can carry him anyway. If I don’t make it back…”

  “Just make it back,” the two women said at the same time.

  Releasing Angie, he darted around the horrible repast on the floor and made his way into the back.

  “Watch out for fallen heads!” Angie cried out, remembering that a third head had fallen. “Don’t let them touch you!”

  It didn’t take more than a minute before Luca came dancing back, the bloody and unconscious body of T-Bone hanging over his shoulder. He almost stumbled into a third head that rolled out into his path, but stopped just in time. Then, with a quick move, he kicked the head out of his way like a soccer ball.

  “Goal!” he shouted as he returned. “I’ll be telling my grandchildren about that one.”

  Then he took a quick glance back at Paul, who now looked to be dead. Amber was crunching her way through his ribcage while Bethany, having finished off his pelvis, was swallowing a huge chunk of his other leg. Though they were crouching, they seemed to be about four feet tall and looked like purplish supermodels sculpted from hamburger.

  “Or maybe not,” Luca amended, looking sick. “Let’s get the fuck out of here.”

  “I knew you’d come for me,” Angie said. “You always do.”

  “Yeah?” Luca glanced at her as he trudged across Paul’s basement. “Seems to me it was just my turn. The piss on the floor. Was that you?”

  “Like I said,” Angie answered smugly, “I knew you’d be coming for me.”

  “I knew T-Bone wasn’t smart enough to think of something like that,” Luca said, shaking his head. “I only fucking hope I’m as smart as you when I grow up.”

  “Very creative use of pee,” Krissy agreed. “Now, can we move faster?”

  Christmas Eve festivities started at two in the afternoon the next day. Cakes, biscuits, cookies, candies, chocolates, and drinks adorned the tables leading up to the big dinner at five o’clock. Numerous Christmas trees lined the floors, all painstakingly decorated by the children. Strings of colored lights, streamers, beads, baubles, wreaths, and other decorations of all types and sizes, purloined from the downtown department stores, adorned every wall and pillar. There were chairs, games, and cultural events from every background represented in New Toronto.

  “It all looks spectacular, Mr. Phillips,” Marshal said, standing next to Martin. “I have to say it: you’re an excellent administrator and have worked wonders here. And in such a short amount of time.”

  “Thank you, sir,” Martin replied, looking pleased. “I must admit, I’m rather happy with how it all came together. It helped to think of the Christmas party as an application for the position of hotel manager you dangled in front of me. Hopefully, this will confirm my appointment.”

  Marshal raised an eyebrow. “You had doubts? Well, consider them gone. This is amazing, Martin. Seriously. If I didn’t know better, I’d never be able to guess that we’re in the middle of an apocalypse. And right now, I think that’s a gift we could all use very badly. Thank you.”

  “Thank you, sir. It is certainly my pleasure, given that I wouldn’t even be here if not for
your efforts.”

  Marshal brushed this off. “We’ve all worked hard. Any problems?”

  Martin shook his head.

  “Not as such. We averted any hard feelings from other faiths and cultures by agreeing to let everyone decorate the trees with symbols and toys from every background. You’ll find dradles and minarets and buddhas and so forth being used as baubles, and there are corners devoted to Hannukah and Rammadan and such. Not that we received any complaints, mind you. Seems everybody is happy with Christmas as a sort of neutral zone of holidays.”

  “That’s good to know,” Marshal said, as they walked. “My hope is that we’ll make Christmas our own over the years, and nobody will ever feel left out.”

  “That’s the idea. Then there’s our Santa.”

  Marshal smiled. “Luca? Yeah, how’s he doing?”

  “A slow start,” Martin said carefully. “Ah. Here we are now. Let’s listen in and see if he’s getting the hang of it.”

  Resplendent in his red suit, thick white beard, and red hat, Santa glared at his audience suspiciously. At his side was a huge bag stuffed with presents which he clutched in one hand with big, hairy knuckles. To either side, looking less then thrilled in their skin tight green outfits with pointy green boots and hats, were his two elves, Jerome and Cesar.

  “All right, ya little rugrats,” Santa growled. “It’s Christmas, but let me warn you! The first of you little rabbits that calls Santa a funny name will get his halls decked. Capeesh? Santa’s got a whip he uses when flying his sleigh, and he ain’t above hauling it out to keep a bunch of kids in line.”

  Forty-two faces stared back at Santa in terror.

  “What Santa means,” Ms. Wyatt said hastily, stepping forward, “is that he drove his sleigh all night in order to be here, and he used his whip to fend off vicious zombies, so that he could bring you your presents. Isn’t that right, Santa?”

  “Yeah. Right. And you little ankle-biters better be grateful, or else...”

  He trailed off as a little girl of seven, sitting near the front, started to cry.

  Luca deflated like a balloon.

  “What… what are you crying for? I’m just trying to lay down the law up here. Come on, kid-”

  But the little girl was lost in her own world of tears, and a few of the other young children, who’d pushed aside the older, more jaded children in order to sit up front, looked close to starting up also.

  “Way to go, tough guy,” one of the two elves muttered.

  “I said I was sorry,” Luca protested. Then, realizing that he hadn’t, he added, “Santa is sorry! Santa is sorry!”

  And then, Angie was there, moving in to sit cross-legged in the front row beside the crying girl. Leaning down, she whispered into the crying girl’s ear.

  Abruptly, the girl stopped crying and looked up at Luca hopefully.

  “That’s right! No more cryin’,” Luca said. “Geez, Ang! That’s another one I owe you. What did you say to her?”

  “I told Marcie,” Angie said, “that I wanted to sit in the front row, because Santa was about to start giving out the first presents, and that I was hoping for a doll.”

  “You are a doll, Ang,” Luca said, quickly rummaging through the big red bag beside him and pulling out a long, rectangular present. “You! Marcie! Uh… Santa’s gone and… uh, checked his list, and uh… well, here! Have a present. And Merry Christmas!”

  The little girl’s eyes lit up with excitement.

  “I think,” Sophie Wyatt said, stepping forward again, “that if we all ask really nicely, Santa will give us one of his famous ‘HO, HO, HOs”, and make his tummy jiggle like a bowl full of jelly.”

  Luca’s head snapped around, and he glared up at her rebelliously.

  “Come on, kids,” Jerome the elf said excitedly, waving his hands. “Let’s all ask him.”

  “Yeah,” Cesar the elf added, his eyes twinkling. “Santa acts all tough, on account that he’s been whupping zombies all year. But underneath that mean and tough exterior, he’s still the same, lovable Santa he’s always been.”

  “How can Santa beat up zombies?” a boy of eight asked.

  “Yeah. Mr. Fisher told me that zombies couldn’t be killed.”

  “That’s right,” Cesar the elf agreed, holding up one finger, “except by Santa, on account that he uses magic. Right? So all you kids, repeat after me… ‘he had a broad face and a little round belly’… Everyone!”

  “HE HAD A BROAD FACE AND A LITTLE ROUND BELLY…” the children all repeated.

  “I’ll get you for this, Cesar,” Luca whispered.

  “… ‘that shook when he laughed like a bowl full of jelly.’ Come on! Everyone!”

  “THAT SHOOK WHEN HE LAUGHED LIKE A BOWL FULL OF JELLY!”

  A tense, expectant silence followed.

  “HO, HO, HO!!” Luca boomed, jiggling his stomach.

  The children cheered, and the little girl Marcie looked up at him shyly.

  “HO, HO, HO!!” Luca repeated, meeting the girl’s smile and getting into the spirit. He reached into his big, red bag for more presents and passed them to the children in the front row. “And there’s more presents to come, kids! Crap loads and crap loads more! I got chocolates! I got candies! And all kinds of toys! Whatever you need, Santa’s got crap loads of it and will hook you up!”

  The children cheered again, catching presents as he tossed them out and starting up a chant of ‘crap loads, crap loads, crap loads…’

  “Santa, the mob boss,” Marshal said, moving on. “Baddest Santa that ever punched out a reindeer.”

  “At least he seems to have won them over,” Martin said charitably. His eyes lit up as he noticed a problem across the floor. “If you’ll excuse me, Marshal. I see that there may be some issues with the wine service. I hope to see you later.”

  And he ran off.

  “There you are,” said a voice, and suddenly he felt a hand seize him by the right sleeve. “Quick! We may only have a few moments!”

  He turned to look and saw that it was Valerie pulling him along. His heart skipped a beat at the sight of her, stunning in her low-backed, red dress that hugged her curves. He shook his head in amazement, even as she tugged him across the floor. Her hair, her make-up, her… her sense of style. She looked like a starlet stepping onto the red carpet at the Oscars.

  She stopped pulling him, apparently satisfied with where they had ended up, and then turned back towards him. He couldn’t speak as her smile struck him like a physical blow, and for a moment, he couldn’t believe how stunning she was.

  “Oh, my god, Valerie,” he said, before he could stop himself. “You’re beautiful.”

  Her smile grew in wattage, though it seemed suddenly that there was a hint of shyness to it. “Oh, well said, my handsome prince,” she replied. “You are, of course, one hundred percent correct. I already know I’m beautiful, but it’s nice to hear you say so.”

  She sniffed. “You, on the other hand, could use a shower.”

  “Uh… yeah. Sorry. They needed help routing power from the new bank of solar panels we just installed. I came here directly from the job.”

  She sighed, then reached around and placed his right hand in the small of her back, while taking his left hand in hers, and suddenly, they were dancing.

  “Oh!” he exclaimed, swaying to the music that wasn’t there.

  “Don’t say it,” she said before he could speak, and then laid her head on his shoulder. “We may not have time to dance later, and I didn’t want to miss it. Do you realize everything I’ve had to do in order to make this party of yours happen? I had to organize rotating shifts on perimeter watch, draft Camoucart drivers to get everyone here, assemble the gifts you wanted handed out, coordinate with both Peter and Martin on making sure everyone got their sleeping arrangements sorted out, not to mention the supply invoices. And all I want in exchange is this five minute dance with you.”

  “We have been busy,” Marshal said, holding her close. “I’m sorry.�
��

  “Shh. Just dance.”

  “All right.”

  He closed his eyes and went with the moment, feeling her softness pressed against him. In the distance, he could hear the merriment of other partygoers.

  “Hey, T-Bone!” He recognized the faint voice of Brock. “I’d say ‘looking good,’ buddy, but you look like shit! Damn! They got you in a wheelchair?”

  “Trust me, Brock,” T-Bone answered, “it could have been a lot worse. At least I’ll be able to walk again, according to Dr. Burke.”

  Marshal opened his eyes and saw a heavily-bandaged T-Bone across the room. He was being wheeled into a curious circle of the Winter Bastards by Captain Vandermeer.

  “Any… you know… permanent damage?” Vito asked.

  “He cut me up pretty bad,” T-Bone admitted. “I may lose my right eye, and he cut open my… well, anyway. The doc says I got a fifty-fifty chance of getting the use of it back again. He says I should have died.”

  “None of that, soldier,” Captain Vandermeer said. “None of you are authorized to die until I give the order. And as for that other thing, the doctor told me that it was better than even odds. Not that you’d have to worry, T-Bone, since you have testicles big enough to be used in an Indiana Jones movie.”

  “Thanks, Cap. You’re so sentimental, it hurts.”

  “Watch your mouth, son. And don’t think that just because you’re in a wheelchair, I’m letting you skip tomorrow’s morning stairwell run.”

  T-Bone looked startled.

  “Don’t worry, T,” Brock said, winking. “I’m drugging the Captain’s drinks tonight. He’ll be so wasted, he’ll wake up tomorrow with a zombie in his bed.”

  “Yeah,” Vito added. “And when it does, the zombie’s gonna say, ‘Oh shit! What have I done?’”

  “I heard that T-Bone earned a full pardon,” Ramirez said. “That true, Captain?”

  Marshal found himself tensing up as he listened.

  “I fucking hope so,” Brock growled. “Way I heard it, he saved Angie. That’s gotta count for something.”

  “Is it true, Cap?”