She was crying openly.
A ghost of a smile appeared on Graham’s lips, but it quickly disappeared.
You sick bastard. You’re enjoying this.
“Go on,” Michael called from where he stood on the balcony. “No need to draw it out.”
The cleaver descended as Graham brought it down with a shout. It slammed into Massan’s wrist and blood went flying from the blow. When he raised the blood splattered cleaver, Ellen gasped.
The cleaver had not severed the hand.
The men who held the bandages jumped forward, but stopped, unsure of what to do. Massan’s blood poured out of his wound, but he did not shout in pain. His face held that same calm expression. Kara was the only thing he was looking at.
“Quickly Graham!” Martin shouted.
Graham raised the cleaver and struck again. And when that wasn’t enough, again.
Finally the hand came off, and the hunters rushed forward to stop the bleeding. Massan had yet to cry out. Ellen rushed to his side, Rick right behind her. Kara was screaming.
“Are you okay?” Ellen asked Massan.
“No, Ellen. I am not. But I am home. I am with Kara. That is all that matters.”
And there was Graham, looming above them. The man was grinning.
I hate you. I hate you, and some day you and all the people like you are going to suffer.
“Quit whistling, Johnny,” Avery’s voice was harsh.
Arturus looked back at the hunter. The man made noise as he moved, certainly, but that was coming from the odd splint that Galen had placed on his leg. The wood came down farther than Johnny’s foot, so that the weight of his body was actually on his knee. The pain should have been unbearable, nonetheless, but perhaps it was hard to feel that kind of pain this close to death. There was, Arturus knew, another more pressing agony closer at hand. It was the feeling of rotting from the inside out. It was the slow push of coagulated blood that dribbled like sludge through Arturus’ veins. It was the unreal universes that his mind created and tried to map onto the real one.
“Jesus, Johnny, quiet,” Avery’s voice was louder this time.
“He’s not making noise,” Aaron said.
“What? Are you deaf?”
“Focus, Avery,” Galen said. “Is it like hellsong? Will the notes follow where you will them to?”
“Yes.”
“Then it is not Johnny.”
“Well whoever it is had better shut up.”
Avery quieted as the dead began to thicken again. The mist was heavier here. It obscured the ground just a few feet away. Branches pierced it in places, attached to trees that Arturus could not see. The dead came out of the haze, as well. Walking, stumbling, crawling.
Kelly’s wrist was so small. He feared that he might break it. He felt his fingers squishing into her skin. It must be hurting her. Arturus looked up to her, but she did not appear to be in distress.
Maybe she cannot feel it.
His fingers touched each other. He looked down and watched in horror as her hand fell to the ground.
Or maybe it’s not real.
He was still holding on. Her hand was still there.
“Is that wind?” Aaron asked.
Of course it’s not wind. You’re losing your mind.
But it was wind. It was a cool breeze which brushed across his face. It set the mists swirling about through the trees. He heard the branches creaking and their leaves rustling. Over the next hill he saw the asphodel flowers waving back and forth.
They continued walking.
Ahead was another tree, larger than the rest. The dead became more tightly packed together as they drew closer to it. Nooses dangled down between the leaves. Some were empty, others had broken off so all that was left were frayed ropes attached to the branches. Still others suspended the bodies of the dead. Arturus could tell from their dark uniforms and robes that they were priestesses and soldiers from Maab’s army. Their heads were swollen. Their bodies still kicked. Their hands clutched at the air.
Who would do this? Why? Is it even real?
There was no way for him to know.
They had to fight to pass through the dead again. Cold bodies bumped up against his. The sleeve of his black shirt was coming off. Then the corpses started moving as one—like a herd—dragging Arturus and his line along with them. To keep following Galen, he had to push against the crowd. None of the dead were strong individually, but as a mass, their power was formidable.
Or maybe I’m just weak.
It was hard to stay together. He had the hallucination where Kelly’s hand dropped off again, but he dared not let go. Suddenly he was hit from the side by a corpse wearing some sort of metal armor. He lost hold of Johnny’s hand, but only for a second. He gripped it harder. Johnny was slowing, but Arturus couldn’t let him stay behind. He tugged and he tugged. Finally the press of corpses started to thin.
“Everyone okay?” Galen asked.
No one answered.
The copse of trees in front of them swayed back and forth in the wind. These ones had no leaves.
Arturus looked back. The face behind him was unfamiliar. Long white wisps of hair hung back from a thick jawed dead man. It’s eyes were milky white. It did not look like it was going to attack him, but it was very close.
Wait, I’m holding its hand!
He was holding the hand of a stranger.
It was a random corpse he was dragging along with him.
Johnny! I must have lost him.
He looked back into the field of the dead, and there the hunter was, struggling forward with his limping gait.
“Wait!” Arturus said.
The noise brought the attention of the dead all around them. They looked. They pondered. Then they came closer, standing next to the wispy haired man.
Arturus remained perfectly quiet and did his best to breathe shallowly. He waited, and after a few moments the corpses began to wander again.
Arturus felt something grab his hand. He almost shouted.
It was Johnny.
Arturus met his father’s eyes.
They began marching again.
The wind died down. Soon after, the mists began to lift. The fields and hills passed by under his feet. Arturus could not say how long it had been since they’d started walking. He just knew that, as far as he could see in any direction, there were more of the asphodel fields. More of the hills and the trees and the dead.
Another crowd was ahead. It was a looser group than the last, and Galen was able to thread their line through its members. Only this one was much larger. They walked and they walked and they walked, and they were still in the midst of the pack. Arturus looked back, and was happy to see that Johnny was still behind him.
We’re going to make it.
Ahead of them, standing alone amidst a sea of moving corpses, one of the dead was still. It seemed peculiarly rotten, its skin a jaundiced yellow hue. Perhaps it was so old that it could no longer move. Its head was bowed, as if it might be in prayer, or contemplating some great mystery. It looked familiar somehow.
The other dead parted around it, moving like a river around a rock.
The thing raised its hand, and all of the dead stopped.
Galen stopped too, and so they all halted. Arturus was aware that he and his friends were facing in a different direction than the dead. The wind blew a little, a soft breeze. The branches creaked and the leaves rustled and the last of the mist curled in the air.
It, or something near it, gave a short series of whistles. The tone was not random, but seemed to be part of a melody. The melody seemed familiar somehow. Arturus didn’t think it was something that Rick or Galen had ever sung, though. This was something different.
This must be a dream.
No one moved.
The whistle came again.
Arturus looked at all the dead around him. They were as still as statues.
Then the raised hand of the corpse ahead lowered slightly. The other han
d, the left hand, came up to cover its heart. It began snapping, slowly and rhythmically.
Then it sang, “Ezekiel cried, ‘Dem dry bones!’ Ezekiel cried, ‘Dem dry bones!’”
The corpses all around them raised their hands and began snapping along with the rhythm. The one closest to him had no right hand, but its stub joint waved in the air as if there was a phantom appendage keeping time with the rest.
“Ezekiel cried, ‘Dem dry bones!’”
“The fuck is happening?” Avery’s half dead eyes looked wild.
Kelly looked back at Arturus. “Galen’s gone, hun. I’m sorry. Your father, he’s gone.”
But Galen was right there, ahead of them.
What was she talking about? She must be hallucinating.
But then he saw that his father’s right hand was snapping to the rhythm of the dead around them. The noise grew in volume as the corpses, all over the nearby field and perhaps all over the entirety of the Deadlands, began to join in. For as far as Arturus could see in any direction, the dead stood still, snapping.
“Oh, hear the word of the Lord.”
The yellow corpse ahead of them raised its head from its prayer and opened its eyes—its black obsidian eyes. Now Arturus knew why it looked familiar. This was the wight One Horn had sent into the Deadlands after them.
“The foot bone connected to the leg bone.”
Its right foot began to tap against the ground. The motion began to spread amongst the corpses across the fields. The thumping grew louder and louder until it drowned out the breathing of the dead and the creaking of the branches and the rustling of the leaves. The asphodels trembled from the vibrations.
“The leg bone connected to the knee bone.” Its voice was growing louder and deeper as if it was drawing strength from the masses around it. The tone was resonant. It shook Arturus’ heart along with the vibrations of the stomping feet.
And then the dead changed their movements again. Before, their stomping had been a small, quick motion. Now it became exaggerated. The feet of the dead were rising higher into the air before dropping back to the ground. One of the corpses, unable to stand, lay on the grass, its half leg rising and falling in unison with the rest.
“The knee bone connected to the thigh bone.”
And the stomping grew even higher now, each corpse raising their knee up almost to their abdomen before sending their foot crashing down. Galen remained in step with the rest.
“The thigh bone connected to the back bone,” the wight sang, its dead voice echoing off the distant hills in the cavern.
It began moving its body from side to side, as if it were mimicking some sort of stiff dance. The pounding of its foot continued, and its swaying motion spread throughout the fields of the dead.
“The back bone connected to the neck bone.”
The corpses stopped snapping as one and started slamming their hands together in the same rhythm as the stomp. The dry skin of the undead crashed together, the pop echoing along with the last musical refrain of the thing’s voice.
“The neck bone connected to the head bone.”
The corpses continued rocking side to side as they clapped and stomped. The one without a right hand acted the same as all the others, perfect in its limbless mimicry. Galen’s face was as empty and as blank as all the rest. Somehow Arturus hadn’t thought it would come to this. He couldn’t imagine that it would have been Galen that succumbed. Then he turned to look at Johnny.
The man was shifting, ever so slightly, from side to side. His hands were twitching as if he wanted to clap.
“No, Johnny. Don’t.”
“Oh, heeeeeeeeeeear . . .” it sang, its voice louder than Arturus thought was possible, it’s tone sending shivers through his body as the stamping rhythm echoed in the hollow of his chest, “the woooooooooooooooooooooooooooord . . . of the Loooooooooooooooooooooooooooord!”
Its black eyes were opened wide as it started dancing, hopping back and forth from one foot to the other. “THEM BONES THEM BONES GONNA WALK AROUND!”
And the dead surrounding them turned and struck. Avery screamed in pain as Aaron fought back with his fists. Arturus drew his sword and started hacking about him. He tried to pull Kelly back, but she tore her wrist free from his grasp, brandishing her shotgun as a club.
Johnny was right behind him. The hunter stumbled into him.
“Damn it, Johnny,” Arturus cried, “you’re still alive.”
“THEM BONES THEM BONES GONNA WALK AROUND!”
Arturus’ sword caught on the collar bone of one corpse. Another ran into him, its arms circling around him. Arturus struggled to pull his sword free. There was a loud crack and the one grabbing him fell beneath the walnut stock of Kelly’s shotgun. Arturus put his foot against the chest of the corpse before him, jerking his sword free. The collar bone came out with it, but it broke away during Arturus’ next stab.
“THEM BONES THEM BONES GONNA WALK AROUND!”
The wight was approaching them, its arms held wide.
Galen was wrestling with Aaron, his body moving in jerks.
It’s over.
Aaron pushed Galen’s form away with a tremendous heave and then turned to face the wight. Suddenly Galen recovered, spinning on his heel. Galen’s forearm snaked across the dead thing’s face, turning its head to the side. Galen stepped back, the momentum pulling the wight against him. The hold his father was using on it kept its neck locked to one side, held still against his chest.
Arturus knew that when the human head was turned as far as it could, it could not bend forward. But Galen made it do that anyway, pulling the wight back faster than its legs could allow and then dropping his weight downward. The thing folded under him, sending a giant pop up across the caverns of the Deadlands as its neck broke. Its head now facing the wrong direction, its body crumpled, the wight reached up, trying to grab Galen. Galen ignored it, rolling it to one side, shrugging off the undead that harried him from behind. Arturus rushed to his father’s aid, slashing and stabbing to keep Galen safe, unable to take his eyes away. Galen shoved his thumb down into one obsidian eye. Then he pulled the eyeball out.
“Try it, Turi,” Arturus’ mother said, “use your sword on the wight.”
But Galen said old world weapons can’t harm it.
“Did you not see the mark of the Infidel on the pommel, young man? Your father taught you better than that. The Roman weapons, they are almost always hellforged.”
Arturus touched his father on the shoulder. Galen pulled back, making room. He heard Kelly grunt as she fought to keep a corpse off of him. Arturus stabbed downward. The sword cut through the wight’s throat.
I thought you didn’t love me? Why would you tell me this?
“Because I’m you, Turi.”
The dead kept attacking after the wight stopped moving, but now their assault was uncoordinated. They attacked corpse and human alike, overtaken by some murderous fugue. Johnny had finally regained some of his senses and was trying to stay behind Kelly and Avery. Aaron was using the handle of his pistol to club the corpse that was missing its right hand.
Galen never left me, he was just tricking our enemy!
“Run!” Galen shouted. “Fight and run!”
Arturus looked back to make sure Johnny was okay. The hunter’s splint had come off, so he was moving as fast as he could, limping on his ruined foot.
Arturus found that he could not run in this condition. His body didn’t have the coordination for it. He walked desperately forward, slashing any corpse he could reach. Galen had produced a pick from his pack and was brandishing it about. Aaron and Kelly moved in step a few paces back, flanking Johnny and attacking any corpse that came close.
Undead came at Arturus from all sides. Their disfigured, pale faces blurred together into a nightmare of black blood and sunken eyes. Some were missing jaws, others ears, others parts of their skull. There was something about their visages that began to bother him. The tiny pieces of fear they caused started building up
in the back of his mind. It was as if the terror was touching him on some preternatural level which he’d never been aware of before.
As often as they attacked him, those corpses attacked each other. They grappled with one another, trampling grass and asphodels.
And then it stopped. It was as if there was some invisible line beyond which the corpses were no longer afflicted with madness.
I’m safe.
Arturus cleaned his blade on the grass and sheathed it. His shirt was gone. It had rotted off of his back. His pants hung in tatters around his legs. His belt seemed okay, but his boots were marked with dry rot. They probably would not last much longer. He realized he couldn’t feel his feet—the death inside him had robbed him of that ability.
Galen had been scratched at some point in the fight. The wound had torn off the dry skin around his cheek. Grey, dead muscle showed from beneath the broad cut. There was also a spot of pink, the evidence that he was still alive.
“Hand in hand,” Galen said.
“I can’t,” Avery said, “can’t go on.”
Johnny was strangely silent.
He must be too tired to even complain.
“Look there.” Galen pointed ahead. “Do you see that wall?”
Avery shook his head.
“Well it’s there, Avery. Just ahead. The exits are raised so that the dead can’t get out, but I’ll help you up. Then we’ll be free. We’ll be able to descend into the mines of the Carrion. Remember when we were showing Tamara where the rustrock was?”
“Yes.”
“It’s right there. Then we’ll rest. Remember how close it was to Calimay’s?”
“Yes.”
“That’s why we have to keep going.”
Avery stumbled and fell to his knees. His pants had rotted away completely, and Arturus saw the horrid black stitches that had been sewn into his manhood. Corpseblood was seeping out of the wound.
Kelly bent down to Avery’s ear. “I’m going on, Avery. I’m going to keep on walking. You hate me. If you ever want the chance to get revenge on me for what I did to you, you have got to keep going.”
He struggled to stand. Kelly got her shoulder under his armpit and pushed up. Avery came staggering to his feet. They moved together, passing Galen.
March till Death (Hellsong Book 3) Page 19
