Suddenly, Watcher stopped speaking. He snatched his bow and arrows from the ground and stood, notching an arrow to the string and drawing it back.
“What are you doing?” Cutter asked.
“Shhhh,” Watcher commanded.
He stepped around the edge of the dirt barricade and peered into the dark forest.
“Watcher, what are you doing?” Planter asked.
Watcher turned to look at his friend. Behind her, Blaster stood and put on his black leather armor, then drew his two knives and disappeared around the other edge of the dirt wall, melting into the darkness. Watcher faced the dark forest and drew his arrow back a little farther.
“I know you’re out there,” the archer said. “Come out and show yourself, and we won’t hurt you.”
He moved away from the wall and stood between two stout oaks. The sound of clanking metal filled the air as Cutter quickly put on his armor. Something moved up ahead. A shape passed through the moonlight, darting from one tree to the next.
Was that Blaster? he thought.
Moving deeper into the forest, Watcher scanned the darkness, looking for movement. Suddenly, there was the sound of a struggle up ahead, followed by a surprised growling shout.
“If you move, it’s over for you,” a voice said in the darkness.
It was Blaster.
Watcher sprinted toward the sound, keeping his arrow pulled back and ready to fire. Branches whipped him in the face as he charged through the forest, his keen eyes only able to make out the trunks of the trees in the darkness. As he ran, the familiar stench of zombies wafted through the trees. Following the odor, Watcher used his nose more than his eyes to navigate toward the creature. When he neared, he could hear Blaster’s angry voice.
“What are you doing here, zombie?”
The monster only moaned.
“Blaster … over here,” Watcher said.
And then he found them. Blaster was standing close behind the monster with both knives out, held at the ready. The zombie wore no armor, and carried no weapon, but Watcher knew it had a razor-sharp claw at the end of every finger.
A clatter of metal resonated through the woods as Cutter caught up.
“What is it? What’s going on?” Cutter looked confused.
“We caught a zombie,” Watcher said. “I sort of sensed it or smelled it or heard it moving through the woods and—”
“Good job catching that monster, Blaster,” Cutter said.
“I was able to sneak up on him because of this armor,” the boy said as he removed his black leather cap. “My dad always said, ‘Stealth and silence are powerful weapons.’ When I saw it was only one, I decided to capture him; maybe we could get some information.”
“Good thinking,” Cutter replied. “This monster is gonna tell us everything he knows.”
“Maybe we should look around for more monsters.” Watcher turned and peered into the darkness, probing the shadows with his keen eyesight. “There could be more.”
“No, we’ll question this one … now!” Cutter snapped. The tone of his voice made it clear there would be no more discussion.
“But there could be others out there in the forest, and we’re not ready for them,” Watcher said, but he was ignored.
We should be thinking first and acting second, he thought. This is reckless.
“Let’s go, zombie.” Blaster poked the monster in the back.
The creature grimaced as the sharp tip of the NPC’s knife found vulnerable flesh. He shuffled forward with a sigh, an expression of resignation on his scarred face.
They led the monster back to the campsite. Planter was there, watching over the camp, her enchanted sword, Needle, drawn. When they emerged from the darkness, and stepped into the flickering circle of light cast by the fire, she smiled. Watcher felt the smile was meant for him and his heart soared.
“Cutter, you found them … good,” she said.
His heart sank.
“Yep.” The warrior’s voice was deep, like rumbling thunder. “And we found a little friend as well.”
Cutter shoved the zombie into the light, then grabbed the monster by the collar and guided him to an oak tree. Reaching into his inventory, he pulled out a length of rope and tossed it to Blaster.
“Tie this … thing … to the tree,” Cutter said. “Make sure it’s tight.”
Blaster wrapped the cord around the monster, pinning the zombie’s arms to his side. He pulled the line taut and tied it at the back of the trunk, then moved back into the light. Glancing up at Cutter, the young boy nodded, then began removing his dark, leather armor.
“What are you gonna do with this zombie?” Watcher asked.
Cutter glared at the archer, clearly annoyed by the sound of concern in Watcher’s voice, then drew his huge diamond sword. The zombie’s eyes grew wide with excitement at seeing the blade, then grew fearful when Cutter brought the razor-sharp tip right up next to the monster’s throat.
“What are you doing?” Watcher complained.
Cutter ignored him. Instead, he moved closer to the zombie, the tip of the shining blade scratching the monster’s skin.
“Now, zombie, you and I are gonna talk.” Cutter smiled at the monster. “And you better have something interesting to tell me if you want to survive till sunrise.”
The monster glanced at Watcher, then brought his terrified eyes to Planter. The creature was in fear for his life.
This is wrong, Watcher thought. We don’t torture. But he knew there was nothing he could do to stop this … at least for now.
“This zombie means no harm, means no harm,” the monster moaned. “The rope is tight … it hurts.”
“Stop your complaining!” Cutter barked.
“What are you gonna do with him?” Watcher asked. “We can’t torture this creature.”
“We can’t?” Cutter asked. “And why is that?”
“Because we aren’t monsters,” Watcher replied. “We’re better than that.”
“Oh really?” Cutter glared at the young boy. “And how do you think these zombies treated your friends and neighbors when they attacked your village? Do you think the zombies felt bad when they destroyed our soldiers, or when they murdered my friend, Fisher? No.” He paused for a moment, then lowered his voice. “I’m gonna find out where they’re taking our friends, and this zombie is gonna tell me.” He lowered his voice to a whisper … it made it seem more threatening. “If you get in my way, then you must be on their side instead of our side.”
“Maybe you should just let Cutter ask his questions,” Planter suggested. “He’s right. We need information.”
“But he’s …” Watcher started to say, but stopped when Blaster stepped forward and put a hand on his shoulder.
“Planter’s right, we need to know where they’ve taken our friends and family,” Blaster’s voice was calm and reassuring. “I’ll make sure things don’t get out of control. Since you have the best eyes here, why don’t you get up on the dirt wall there and keep watch for more monsters.”
“I guess you’re right,” Watcher said.
It was a mistake, but he knew nothing could be done to stop Cutter. The warrior’s rage was evident on his square face and nothing was going to deter the villager from questioning this zombie. This situation reminded Watcher of something his father Cleric was fond of saying: ‘You can’t put the milk back into the cow, but maybe you can make some excellent butter.’ He couldn’t un-capture this zombie or avoid turning the monster over to Cutter, but maybe they would learn something useful. Watcher just hoped the zombie wouldn’t suffer.
With a nod, the boy set his bow on the ground, then pulled some blocks of dirt from his inventory. Building a set of steps, Watcher retrieved his weapons and climbed to the top, scanning the forest for motion, glancing down occasionally at their captive.
“Now talk, zombie. What are you doing out here?” The warrior moved closer to the monster, his diamond sword still pointed to the creature’s neck.
&
nbsp; The zombie’s eyes stayed glued to the weapon. There was a look of fear in the creature’s eyes, but there was something else there as well, like excitement or anticipation … Watcher wasn’t sure. But it was clear there was something else going on here.
“This zombie has been exiled from the others,” the monster said. “Er-Lan has no place to go, no home, no people.”
“That’s a sad story.” Cutter smiled. “Tell that to all the NPCs your zombie friends destroyed in the last village.”
“Er-Lan was not part of that raid,” the zombie moaned. “Violence is a bad thing. Er-Lan only wants peace.”
“That’s easy to say when you’re captured,” Blaster said. “Everyone in our village wanted peace, and the zombies destroyed it all.”
“That is sad, but Er-Lan is innocent. This zombie is not a fighter, and is too small and weak to be of any danger.”
“Is that your name, Er-Lan?” Planter asked.
The zombie nodded.
“What are you doing out in the forest all by yourself?” Planter moved closer, her voice soothing some of his fears.
“Exiled. Er-Lan has been exiled.” The monster’s voice was sorrowful and sad. “This zombie has no place to be and no place to go. Er-Lan will never see family or friends ever again.”
“That’s so sad,” Planter said. “It’s just like us.”
“Don’t feel any sympathy for this creature,” Cutter snapped. “It’s a zombie and cannot be trusted.”
Er-Lan looked up at Planter, a sad and lonely expression on his scarred face.
“Where are the villagers that were captured?” Blaster pointed one of his curved knives at the monster, then took a step closer.
“No knives … no knives,” the monster said. “Er-Lan saw a large group of zombies moving along the trail. They were heading to the old church that lies along the path to the west.”
“Our families are nearby?” Planter glanced up at Watcher as a tear trickled out of her eyes. “My mom and dad …”
“Where is this church?” Watcher asked from overhead. “Tell us everything you know.”
“Er-Lan knows little … very little.”
“Tell us!” Cutter growled into the monster’s face. He stepped back, then dragged the tip of his diamond sword across the monster’s chest. The razor-sharp point sliced through the monster’s shirt and drew a faint scratch on the monster’s decaying green skin.
“Er-Lan is scared. Er-Lan knows nothing. Er-Lan just wants to go home.”
The monster made a moaning, growling sound as his gaze lowered to the ground. Watcher realized the zombie was so afraid that he was weeping.
“TELL US!” Cutter yelled, his face turning red with anger.
“Don’t hurt … don’t hurt. Er-Lan will tell; just keep the big villager away.”
Planter stepped forward and grabbed Cutter by the back of his armor and pulled him back. The big warrior spun around quickly and glared at her. Watcher instinctively notched an arrow and drew it back, aiming at Cutter. The soldier look down at Planter, then glared up at Watcher. Slowly, he moved away from the zombie and sat on a block of wool.
The monster took a nervous swallow, then spoke. “They would be held in the large room beneath the church, but Er-Lan does not know if the villagers are still there. It is very dangerous. Many zombies, many zombies.”
“Here’s the deal, filthy zombie—” Cutter stood, his whole body tensed.
“His name is Er-Lan,” Planter interrupted.
“It doesn’t matter what his name is,” Cutter growled, turning to face Planter again.
His rage was bubbling close to the surface. Watcher wasn’t sure if this was just an act, or if Cutter was about to lose control.
“He’s a zombie, he’s the enemy, he’s nothing,” Cutter said. “Don’t feel sorry for him. He took your families and friends.”
“Not Er-Lan, not Er-Lan. This zombie is innocent, tiny and weak, yes, very tiny and very weak.”
“Be quiet, monster,” Cutter snapped. He moved closer to the creature and stared with his unblinking, steel-gray eyes into the monster’s green face. “I’ll allow you to live as long as you are useful to us. You’re gonna to show us the way to this church, and then you’re gonna show us this underground room. If you mislead us, my sword will take care of you.” He raised the diamond blade and brought the keen edge close to Er-Lan’s face. “If you try to warn any of the other zombies of our presence, or lie to us, or try any kind of deception, you will be destroyed … instantly. Do you understand?”
The zombie nodded his head.
“Good,” Cutter said, his voice now calm. “We leave at dawn. All of you get some rest. I’ll stay up and guard our guest.”
“You can’t just leave Er-Lan tied to that tree all night,” Watcher said as he descended from the top of the wall. “He needs to sleep, too.”
“The zombie stays there,” Cutter replied without even looking in Watcher’s direction. “It’s been decided.”
Watcher took a step toward Cutter, but Planter grabbed his sleeve and pulled him back.
“You need to get some sleep,” she said, her blond hair reflecting the flickering light of the campfire, giving her a soft, golden halo. “Lay down close to the fire to stay warm.”
She moved to the opposite side of the burning wood and lay down. Blaster removed his black, leather armor, then moved close to the fire and curled up on a soft patch of grass. He was quickly asleep.
Watcher glanced at Cutter, but the warrior was facing off into the dark tree line, lost in thought. He saw the big warrior clench a fist, his body tensing as if he were reliving some painful memory. He gave the zombie a quick look. There was an expression of fear in the monster’s dark eyes, but also something else … like he had some kind of secret. The zombie relaxed, letting the ropes support his weight, his bald green head lolling to one side, dark eyes closed. In a minute, he was moaning in his sleep; it was likely the zombie equivalent to snoring.
Finally, Watcher laid on the ground as well, positioning himself so he could see Planter and keep her safe. As he relaxed, the relentless fingers of fatigue kneaded away at his body, causing one muscle after another to relax, his eyes growing heavier and heavier. But just before he fell asleep, he though he heard the zombie say something.
“Diamond sword, yes … diamond sword …”
And then finally, Watcher was asleep.
Watcher was sure this was going to be the best day of his life.
The sun was high in the cloudless blue sky, shining down upon the young villagers that had assembled in the practice yard. Watcher glanced at his friends and gave them a smile, though many just laughed at him or sneered. He knew they resented his presence here, but he would not be deterred. Watcher wanted, more than anything, to be a soldier and protect the village. He’d finally reached the ripe age of twelve, and was now eligible to try out to be a cadet.
The drill instructor, a curmudgeonly old warrior by the name of Saddler, walked past the line of youths, his unibrow perpetually furled in an angry scowl. In his hands, he held a bundle of long, wooden sticks that were meant to be their practice swords. The warrior dropped one in front of each young NPC, then moved back to the center of the courtyard.
“Which of you pathetic recruits wishes to have the honor of facing me in combat?” Saddler drew a stick from his inventory and flourished it around his body as if he were blocking a dozen attacks, all at once.
Just then, Watcher remembered something his father had told him just before heading to the practice yard. Cleric had said, “Bravery does not come from strength of arm or skill with blade. Instead, it comes from an unwavering willingness to try, regardless of the odds.” These words buoyed his spirit. Watcher knew he had no chance of defeating Saddler, but what he’d come here to do today was not to win a battle but to show the warriors the quality of his character and his ability to persevere, even when it seemed hopeless. He was sure the soldiers would see this and want him in their ranks.
“You?” Saddler asked.
Watcher nodded and took a huge step forward, but he forgot about the stick lying on the ground.
It all happened in excruciating slow motion.
His foot landed on the stick, causing it to roll out from under him. Losing balance, Watcher flung his arms out in the air, flapping them about to regain his balance; it looked as if he were trying to take flight.
None of the kids around him bothered to reach out and help. They just stood there and watched … and laughed.
Finally, the stick shot out from under his shoe, sending his foot into the air. Slowly, he fell backward, his feet flying upward. He screamed something as he fell, but was never really sure what he said. When he hit the ground, the air rushed out of his lungs; it felt as if a giant was stepping on his chest. Then the back of his head hit the ground with a thud, landing on a stone block. Pain erupted through his skull, as darkness started to wrap around him like a deadly fog. Watcher could hear the laughter of the other kids, their howl and jeers magnifying his shame until the darkness finally, mercifully, took him into unconsciousness.
It was the worst day of his life.
A voice pierced the darkness. It was a sweet voice, almost lyrical as it called his name. He thought it was probably the most beautiful thing he’d ever heard.
“Come on … Watcher, it’s time to wake up.”
He slowly opened his eyes, expecting to see the practice yard in their village, but instead, he was in a dark forest, stars shining down upon him overhead.
“Watcher … you need to get up.”
Planter was gently shaking him, her hand pushing on his shoulder. Her touch felt magical, as if some kind of ancient enchantment was flowing from her soft hand and into Watcher. It was wonderful.
Slowly, he realized: he wasn’t living through that terrible day again … it had just been a dream … no, a nightmare.
Zombies Attack! Page 9
