Zombies Attack!

by Mark Cheverton

  Images of his friends’ and neighbors’ faces popped into his mind. They showed terror, panic, sadness, despair … every one of them knowing it was the end.

  And I did nothing. The sour taste of cowardice was heavy on his tongue.

  Wiping a stray tear with a stained green sleeve, Watcher searched his room, to see if the monsters had left anything behind that might help. Moving to a mound of dirty clothes, he carefully uncovered the wooden chest that hid beneath. The lid creaked as it opened. He paused, listening for the growl or moan of a monster. Silence, like that of a graveyard, filled the village.

  Reaching into the chest, Watcher found his brown leather armor and a bow and quiver full of arrows. Quickly, he stuffed the items into his inventory, then grabbed the loaves of bread from the wooden box and many pieces of fruit and cooked meat. It was more food than he needed, but it never hurt to have extra. There was an iron sword in the chest as well. Watcher picked up the blade for a moment, the heavy weapon drooping in his grasp. He thought about the moment, just before facing off against Fencer, when he’d held up his pretend sword at the ready. If he ever had to fight, for real, with a heavy blade like this, he wouldn’t stand a chance.

  What was I thinking? … I’m not a soldier.

  Watcher knew he was too weak to wield a blade … ever. If he ever tried to fight with a sword, he’d likely just get himself killed. He was good with a bow, but none of the other soldiers thought a bow and arrow was a real weapon.

  With a sigh, he dropped the sword back into the chest, then closed the lid. It squeaked again.

  “This zombie heard a sound,” a voice grumbled from outside the shattered home.

  The putrid stench of rotting meat drifted through the air, followed by a sorrowful moan. Footsteps scrapped past an open window as a group of zombies shuffled nearby. Fear exploded through Watcher’s nerves. It felt as if he had been hit by a bolt of lightning.

  What do I do … they’ll catch me.

  Something fell to the floor in the outer room, followed the crunching of something, probably a chair being kicked across the room by a zombie foot.

  They’re in the house!

  “Careful, that could have hit someone,” a zombie said.

  Watcher’s nerves felt as if they were aflame as panic ruled his mind.

  The offending zombie grumbled something that was unintelligible.

  Glancing around the room, Watcher looked for a way to escape, but the only door led back into the main house.

  A zombie growled, saying something Watcher couldn’t understand as it trampled more of their belongings with its clawed feet.

  Watcher was trapped and there was no escape!

  “Check all the rooms just in case there’s something useful here that was missed,” the squad leader commanded.

  Watcher slunk down next to the chest, and pulled some of his clothes over his head, covering himself. Just then, the door flew off its hinges as it was kicked into the room. Feet stomped inside, the rancid smell of decaying fleshing filling the air. Watcher wanted to gag and cough, but knew he couldn’t make a sound or he’d be caught. Waves of fear crashed down up on him, making him want to just curl up in a ball and shake, but the young boy knew any movement would mean capture … or worse.

  “This house was searched,” one of the zombies growled. “The whole village was searched. Hardly any gold was found.”

  Why would the zombies want gold? The thought echoed in the back of Watcher’s mind.

  “Tu-Kar, the zombie warlord, commanded that it be searched again,” another monster said in a deep voice. “This zombie, Ka-Vir, was put in charge of the search. If any zombie refuses a command, Ka-Vir will report them to Tu-Kar. Death will certainly be the punishment.”

  Two other zombies moaned, then continued to shove things about in Watcher’s room. The wooden floorboard creaked as a zombie stood right next to his pile of clothes. The monster pushed some aside.

  “Fe-Mar has found a chest,” a zombie said.

  More feet pounded across the floor as the monsters approached, their clawed toes scratching into the wood.

  “Get out of the way, fool. Ka-Vir will inspect this chest.”

  Watcher heard bodies falling to the ground; likely the commander was shoving the other zombies out of the way. The clothes over his head shifted about as the lid to the chest was slowly opened. A space between an old pair of pants and green shirt opened, allowing light to stream into his hiding place. Watcher peered through the gap. A large zombie wearing an iron chest plate gazed down into the chest. He pulled out books and wooden tools and threw them across the room, growling all the while. But then he grew silent as his dark eyes widened in surprise. Slowly, he lifted the iron sword from the chest and held it over his head in triumph.

  “See, Ka-Vir has found an iron sword,” the squad leader moaned.

  “That should belong to Fe-Mar,” a zombie growled that was out of sight.

  Ka-Vir slammed the lid of the chest. The clothes settled across Watcher’s head, sealing the opening and plunging him into darkness again.

  “Is Fe-Mar challenging Ka-Vir?” the squad leader asked.

  A tense silence filled the room. Watcher could imagine the monsters glaring at each other, sizing up their opponent. But the longer the silence, the less likely the challenger would attack.

  “Ka-Vir thought so,” the squad leader said. “It is time to leave. All zombies, head for the next village. The zombie warlord, Tu-Kar, will be attacking it soon. Any gold in that village will be taken, as well as the able-bodied villagers. Everyone out!”

  The other zombies grumbled complaints, but walked out of the room. Their footsteps shuffled through the home, then out into the courtyard, but the stench of the creatures still lingered.

  Was there still a zombie in the room? Watcher thought.

  His sense of smell, as well as his sharp eyesight, was legendary, but sometimes it worked to his disadvantage. Like right then, Watcher couldn’t tell if the odor in his nostrils was just left over from those terrible creatures handling items, or if a monster was waiting for him to move?

  The silence in the room was terrifying. Watcher strained his ears, trying to gather every sound … listening for a raspy breath, or claw scraping against the floor, or … Fear kept Watcher motionless for what felt like ten minutes, his heart pounding in his chest. Taking a nervous breath, he felt confident the terrible, decaying stink of the zombies had finally dissipated … they were gone. With fear still surging through his veins, he carefully and slowly parted the clothes and peeked into the room. It was empty. Quietly, he emerged from beneath the pile of clothes and surveyed his room. Everything was destroyed. Models he’d carved out of wood were shattered, pots he’d made for his mother long before her death lay crushed on the ground, stories he’d written for school ripped to shreds. The zombies had done more than just search his room; they’d viciously destroyed everything and anything he’d ever created.

  Now he had nothing.

  Watcher moved out of his room and back into the shattered remains of their home. Memories of his once-happy childhood seemed to evaporate as he glanced about at the devastation.

  “What are these zombies doing? Why did they attack us and why are they looking for gold?” Questions tumbled around in Watcher’s head as he tried to wrap his brain around what had happened.

  Stepping through the crumbled wall, he moved through the village, looking for survivors. Suddenly, he heard a cough near the village well. Sprinting past burned out homes and destroyed shops, he reached the well and found one of the village elders leaning up against it.

  “Carver, are you okay?” Watcher reached into his inventory and pulled out one of the loaves of bread and handed it to the old man, but the villager refused the offer.

  Carver shook his gray-haired head. “It is too late for bread to help me.”

  The old villager was suddenly raked with dry, hacking coughs. He flashed red as his HP (health points) dropped, then looked up at Watch
er.

  “All this was the doing of the zombie warlord, Tu-Kar.” Carver took a strained breath. He was getting weaker. “They captured the strong and healthy villagers, and left the old and infirm.”

  “I think the zombies took many of the elders behind the stables and …” Watcher didn’t want to finish the statement. “All I did was lay on the ground and listen as the zombies destroyed every last one of them. I was so afraid they’d find me.”

  Carver nodded his head sympathetically. “There was nothing you could have done. You’ve never been a warrior. You aren’t big and strong. If you’d tried to stop them, you’d be dead, too.”

  “At least I could have tried.” Guilt filled every part of Watcher’s soul. He stared down at his feet, afraid to look Carver in the eyes. “I heard one of the monsters say they were looking for gold. Why would zombies want that?”

  Carver coughed again, then reached out and grabbed the boy’s leg. Watcher looked up and met the old man’s eyes.

  “Listen to me. This isn’t your fault.” Carver sucked in a wheezing breath. “We can only do what we are capable of doing, and your gift is not one of strength or fighting skill.”

  “Then what is my strength?” Watcher asked. “I’ve asked myself that question my whole life and haven’t been able to answer it. What am I good for?”

  “Watcher, you are the cleverest child I’ve ever known. It is the task of every person, through their life, to answer that question: ‘What is my role in life?’” He coughed again; his HP was nearly depleted. “Many never find that answer, and they go through life feeling incomplete. I hope you are able to answer that question before the end of your days. Remember, true strength doesn’t come from muscles or a blade, it comes from …”

  Carver coughed violently, then looked up at Watcher, an expression of fear on his wrinkled face. He flashed red one more time, then disappeared, leaving behind three glowing balls of XP (experience points). The multi-colored balls rolled across the ground and flowed into Watcher, adding to his own XP.

  Watcher was stunned. Carver had just died, and he’d been able to do nothing to help him, just like the rest of his friends and neighbors.

  “Dad, Winger … are you still alive?” Watcher’s thoughts went to his father and sister. They were probably terrified, if they were still alive. All he had done to help them—to help anyone—was to lay on the ground and pretend to be dead.

  The bitter taste of cowardice burned in the back of his throat as anger began to bubble up from within his soul. The anger slowly morphed into rage … an unquenchable rage.

  “I’m not gonna just stand here and let everyone I know be captured or destroyed,” Watcher said to the patch of soil where Carver had been moments before. “The next village is in danger, and someone must go warn them.” He looked around, hoping some hero would emerge from the smoke and rubble to lead this quest, but he was alone … all alone. “I have to help those people, and maybe free my friends and family in the process. I’m sure it sounds ridiculous … Watcher, the weakest and most cowardly of villagers trying to stop the zombie warlord. But if I hide from this like a scared silverfish again, then my cowardice will continue to consume me.”

  Watcher drew his bow and held it in his left hand.

  “I’ll try to make your death meaningful, Carver.”

  He raised his right hand with fingers spread wide in the salute for the dead. Clenching his fist, he lowered his hand, then pulled an arrow from his inventory and notched it to his bowstring.

  “Dad, Winger, I’m coming for you. I won’t abandon my family, even though I’m terrified.”

  With a false look of determination on his square face, Watcher walked out of his village, pursuing his friends and family, likely never to return again.

  Tu-Kar, the zombie warlord, glared down at his prisoners in disgust. His enchanted chain mail sparkled in the shade of the large oak tree, casting pinpoints of iridescent light on the surroundings, the spots of purple light shining down upon the terrified prisoners. The warlord laughed a hacking sort of laugh, making many of the NPCs look away in fear.

  “Is this the best that village had to offer?” Tu-Kar glanced up into the clear blue sky and shuddered. He knew zombies in the Overworld would burst into flames under the hateful glare of the sun, but here, in the Far Lands, monsters were immune from its harmful rays. No one really knew why, but many suspected it had something to do with the monster warlocks from the ancient times.

  “Many of the warriors that were drawn into the forest did not survive the combat.” One of the warlord’s subordinates stood before Tu-Kar, his iron armor scratched and gouged from numerous battles.

  “Tu-Kar’s orders were to spare the warriors and capture them,” the warlord growled, his good eye narrowing in anger, while the scarred, milky-white eye remained unresponsive.

  “This zombie, Mi-Lar, personally led the battle,” the armored creature replied. “The villagers were given the chance to surrender. Even though they were outnumbered, the idiotic NPCs chose to fight, rather than give up. Only three surrendered after they were wounded. The rest of the warriors were destroyed.” Mi-Lar stood a little taller. “Only five zombies were lost in the battle.”

  “Mi-Lar did well.” Tu-Kar nodded, showing his approval. “A promotion is earned. From this day forward, Mi-Lar will be known as Os-Lar.”

  “Many thanks, Warlord,” the newly promoted Os-Lar replied.

  “Assign guards to the prisoners.” Tu-Kar’s armor flashed, giving off a burst of purple light. “If any cannot keep up with our march to the next village, then take all their food and leave them to starve.”

  “It will be a pleasure.” Os-Lar gave his commander a toothy grin.

  “Zombies!” Tu-Kar stepped up onto a leafy bush. His deep voice boomed through the forest, aided by the enchantments in his sparkling chain mail. “Another village filled with NPCs stands in this army’s path. More prisoners will be taken, and their hidden supplies of gold must be found and taken.”

  The zombies began to growl and grumble as they drew near, magically drawn to their commander.

  “The last village offered too little gold,” the warlord continued. “Kaza will not be pleased. And if Kaza is not pleased, then Tu-Kar is not pleased.” A frightened expression flashed across his scarred face. Putting aside thoughts of the terrible monster Kaza, he continued. “The zombie race has made a bargain with Kaza, the Wither King, and it will be upheld. Gold will be delivered to the Capitol in exchange for more iron tools of war. When the zombies have enough swords and armor, then it will be time to turn the tables on Kaza and show that monster who is really in charge!”

  The zombies growled their excitement, some of them banging swords against chest plates. Those without weapons pounded their clawed fists against their green, rotting chests.

  “For now, the zombies will do Kaza’s bidding. But soon, this army will rise up and take what is due to us … everything!”

  The monsters moaned excitedly, some of them scratching their long claws against the trunks of the trees, thirsty for violence.

  “The army must hurry to the next village while they are still unprepared.” Tu-Kar looked down at Os-Lar. “Remove one of the prisoners and have them destroyed in front of the others. That will motivate the villagers’ obedience. Once that doomed villager is gone, then a small group of zombies will escort these prisoners to the rendezvous point. Tu-Kar’s group will bring those captured in the next village, as well as whatever gold is found.”

  “Yes, Warlord.” Os-Lar bowed his head, then turned and glared at the prisoners. Many of the villagers began to weep.

  “Be warned, Os-Lar,” the zombie commander said.

  Os-Lar turned and looked up at his commander.

  “It is likely that Kaza will also be at the rendezvous point.” Tu-Kar glared at the zombie. “Say nothing of our plans, under pain of death.”

  “Of course, Warlord,” Os-Lar replied.

  “Then go.” Tu-Kar stepped off the bush
and held his iron sword high in the air. “Zombies assigned to the next village, follow Tu-Kar to victory!”

  His enchanted chain mail glowed bright for just a moment, sending out a rippling wave of magical energy, then grew dim again. The rest of the zombie army, mesmerized by his command, followed him without question or fear, unable to refuse the order.

  Tu-Kar walked along the grass and brick path, strutting as if he owned the entire forest. A wounded zombie limped along in front of him, partially blocking the path. The zombie warlord reached out and shoved the monster aside, causing him to fall to the ground with a thud. The creature cringed as if he expected to be hit again, but the commander ignored the wounded monster and continued his arrogant gait.

  “Foolish zombie,” Tu-Kar growled. “If any monster cannot keep up, they are to be destroyed.”

  His enchanted chain mail grew bright for just an instant, then faded, just as two other monsters fell on the wounded zombie, tearing into the creature’s HP until he was eliminated. The zombie warlord laughed as he continued down the path, the screams of other wounded monsters filling the air.

  “Soon, enough gold and prisoners will be supplied to Kaza,” the warlord growled. “When all the weapons and armor are given to Tu-Kar’s army, we will turn on Kaza and destroy him. Then, the zombies will take over all of the Far Lands.”

  The monster laughed a maniacal laugh as he strode toward the next village and the victims that would soon be his.

  Watcher followed the ancient path that led deeper into the Far Lands. He glanced nervously at the thick oak forest that hugged the trail with its leafy embrace. At any instant, the young boy expected monsters to come charging out of the woods and attack; his ability to daydream and imagine things that weren’t actually there was legendary in his village.