World of Corpses (Book 1): World of Corpses

by Cook, Scott W.

  I felt a chill run up my spine. Caesar nodded.

  “Haven’t we already past it?” Andy asked, “This plague of the undead has destroyed our world.”

  “Nearly,” Caesar added, “It’s certainly destroyed civilization, but the world remains, and there’s enough of it left to rebound… unless we fail to act.”

  “You mean react, right?” Tony said, “If you’re all immortal and possessed of millennia of wisdom, surely you saw this coming. Surely you could have stopped it.”

  Caesar sighed, “We did see it coming but it happened too quickly and the people who needed to listen wouldn’t. I’m sure you aren’t surprised.”

  I shook my head, “Ignorance is the greatest weapon of evil.”

  “And fear its greatest ally,” Dracula added.

  “The zombie apocalypse,” Sneferu stated, “Was no accident. It was carefully engineered. And now, those who engineered it stand ready to claim the world they destroyed.”

  The room fell silent for a long moment. No one moved, spoke or even lifted a fork full of food to their mouths.

  Finally, I drew a shuddering breath, “So… what are you saying?”

  Caesar met my eyes and I could feel the full force of his personality aimed right at me, “There are other immortals in the world, Captain, and they want it for themselves. If we don’t’ act now, then their evil shall blanket the earth in death and slavery.”

  “The question, Samuel,” Lincoln said as he too met my eyes, “Is are you and your crew willing to fight with us. To grapple with the enemy responsible for all of this death… Are you willing to join us in the most important war humanity has ever fought?”

  Despite the insanity of who these people claimed to be and what they were saying, I wanted to believe. I wanted desperately to believe… to have President Lincoln consider me one of his greatest friends and allies…. To have Julius Caesar consider me a confidant and most valuable general. This desire was almost overwhelming in its power. I was faced with a choice. And at that moment and in that place, only one answer would do.

  Since this all started, I’ve been itching with a desire to fight back. To reclaim what was stolen from us. Now I was faced with that very opportunity. I wanted to believe in these five people and who they claimed to be. In spite of the insanity of it, the past six months had radically changed our perceptions. I was far along the road to being convinced that Gaius Julius Caesar and his friends were truly who they said they were.

  Part of me resisted, of course, yet at the time, I didn’t think that was very important. Their goal was the right one and they were offering me exactly what I’d been asking for. Could I decline now just because of the overwhelming confusion in my mind?

  “On behalf of my crew,” I said standing, “We accept.”

  Epilogue

  Commander Uri Polenion was, as far as he knew, the most senior surviving officer of the Russian navy. He had been in command of Imperator Aleksander, the newest Borei-class ballistic missile submarine. The boat was literally on its first sea trial when the zombie apocalypse exploded across the globe. It was only the fact of his boat’s silent isolation that had spared himself and his crew.

  Even now, more than six months later, Polenion was astonished at how quickly and how completely ruin had come to his beloved Rodina. Civilian casualties were estimated at ninety percent or higher in Russia. Military casualties were estimated to be even greater. Partly from the devastation of the zombie disease and partly due to in fighting among the survivors. On the sea, the land and in the air, the battered scraps of the Russian military had all but wiped each other out.

  Thankfully, though, fighting was limited to conventional warfare only. No one had been fool enough to deploy nuclear weapons. Not even against the dead. The motherland and the world in general, at least so far, had been spared that horror.

  So all of this and more made Uri Polenion one of the most valuable men in the world. One of the only qualified submarine commanders left, a man who had kept his boat and crew safe and operational and who was both intelligent and capable. All that and more should have given him unbreakable confidence in his value as well as removing any fear that he might face the wrath of his superiors.

  And yet…. And yet…

  Polenion strode down the echoing corridor with outward calm and poise, the soles of his boots rhythmically clacking on the marble beneath them. A man striding with outward purpose and inward trepidation bordering on terror.

  He didn’t like bad news. Not at all.

  None of them did, no one of those three cared much for bad news. And although they called themselves the New Triumvirate, they weren’t quite equal. There definitely was a leader, and that leader was the least understanding of defeat.

  Uri Polenion was thirty seven years old. He stood six foot two with broad shoulders and a well-muscled athletic frame. His sandy blonde hair was cropped short and his ice blue eyes looked out of a handsome face with a lantern jaw and high cheekbones. He was an impressive man. Other men admired his good looks, his ready smile and his above average mental acuity. Women admired his build, his stature and those intense eyes.

  In every way, Uri was a man who commanded respect and whom others would fear. He’d never known gut wrenching fear in his life until the New Triumvirate.

  And there was the door. The simple, unadorned wooden door that led into their office. An office that had once belonged to such great historical figures as Admiral John Jervis, known to the world as Lord Saint Vincent. One of the most famous first lords of the British Admiralty during King George III’s reign during the Napoleonic wars.

  And now, this office in White Hall was the meeting place of the Triumvirate. It was from here that they schemed, plotted and set their terrible plans into motion. And it was here, whether he liked it or not, that Polenion had been beckoned. He’d thrown his lot in with these three men, and as the Americans said, he’d made his bed and would now have to lie in it.

  Uri steeled himself and rapped three times on the door.

  “Enter,” Came a muffled voice from within.

  Uri turned the knob and pulled the door open. His guts were twittering in a most annoying way, yet he wasn’t a man to delay the inevitable. If a situation needed to be faced, then he’d face it without prevaricating.

  There they sat, the three. Dressed in business suits and sitting around St. Vincent’s desk, carefully preserved for over two hundred years. Atop the oaken desk were several stacks of papers and a laptop.

  Uri thought that most incongruous, considering the history of this office and the identity of the three men who shared it.

  Of course, the fact that they had appropriated White Hall as their base of operations in the first place was more than a novelty in and of itself.

  “Ah, Uri,” one of the men said with a smile. He was taller than the other, with a thin mustache and shaved head. He was a countryman of Polenion’s as well, but that gave the submarine commander little comfort.

  “You have a report?” Said the other man seated in front of the desk. This man had a distinct German accent and never failed to provoke a wave of revulsion whenever Uri was in his presence. It was hard to believe in any of these three, but this one was the hardest to accept.

  On the other side of the desk, seated in a high backed leather chair was the final of the three young men. All of them looked to be several years junior to Polenion, but he knew better. This man’s black hair was close cropped and styled in a military fashion as was Uri’s.

  Of all three, he admired this one the most. For he was, unlike the other two, a man with extensive military experience. Uri respected him, but he also feared him more than the other two combined.

  In his more introspective moments, Uri found this odd. Because the head of the Triumvirate was the least evil, if he could be said to be evil, of the three. He was intense, driven like no one Polenion had ever met and he could be ruthless. Yet his actions and decisions were always tactical. This man never reacted on pure
emotion.

  The other two, on the other hand, were notorious for exactly that. They were politicians, and they were brutally ambitious.

  “I have news,” Polenion said with no preamble. Best to just get it out of the way.

  The man behind the desk simply lifted an eyebrow in expectation.

  “Our enemies have rendezvoused with the American submarine,” Uri blurted, “Satellite photos confirmed this only an hour ago. It was also verified by the communications monitoring between the American submarine, the U.S.S. Connecticut and Banks’ communications officer.”

  Uri waited. He’d dropped his bomb and now would have to deal with the fallout, whatever it was and in whatever form it took.

  By the looks on the two men nearest him, the submarine commander knew he was in for a storm. They both displayed dark angry looks and their eyes bored into him.

  “Excellent,” The leader said with only the barest hint of a French accent. He then smiled at Uri, “Relax, Commander. This is neither unexpected nor bad news.”

  Polenion was confused as were the other two men. The shorter of the two, his eyes blazing and his stocky body tense, rose to his feet.

  “Our enemies grow stronger and this is a good thing?” he fumed.

  “It is the opening move,” the leader said calmly, “our other esteemed friend, being Russian himself, should understand. The game cannot begin until the first piece is played.”

  “You take this lightly, my friend,” The Russian man said, “These five are not to be trifled with. And now they have this Decker with them. According to Banks, he’s a very capable… and deadly… man.”

  “And they have two submarines,” The German raged, “Almost impossible to track.”

  “And we have nothing?” The Frenchman asked, still not in the least flustered, “We don’t have Banks and his squadron in the United States? He doesn’t command a growing force of local lords, as it were? We don’t have our own assets, not the least of which is our own experienced submarine commander with a ballistic submarine under his command? Do you gentleman suggest that we’re helpless?”

  The German seemed to calm slightly, “No. I just don’t like the idea of giving the opponent any advantage. Believe me, I know the results that can bring.”

  The Frenchman laughed, “As do I, my friend, as do I. However, we appear to hold most of the cards, including the Ace.”

  The Russian smiled then, “Which is that we know of them, and they’re ignorant of us.”

  The Frenchman chuckled, “Don’t assume, Vladimir, don’t assume. As stated, these five are not to be underestimated. Hell, three of them have been my inspiration for centuries. Dracula’s ferocity against the Turk wherein the odds were stacked against him and yet he still prevailed… Lincoln, who almost single handedly brought his nation back together through the sheer force of his will, determination and grit? A man who was a giant among men literally and figuratively. A man who’s incredible physical strength was surpassed only by his intellect? And then there’s Caesar… A very personal hero of mine. If there’s anyone you should fear, it’s him. No matter how great the odds, he prevailed… even I was defeated. They know something of us, perhaps not details, but I guarantee they know that we are and who we are.”

  Uri listened to this in silent amazement. Caesar? Abraham Lincoln? Vladaslaus Dracula? Could this be true? And who were the other two? Did they matter?

  Of course, considering who these three were, it wasn’t so farfetched that Uri couldn’t believe the names he’d heard.

  Yet his fear only grew. Not personal fear any longer. The leader had quelled that. But now, a larger fear. Fear of the opposition.

  “What do you think, Uri?” The Frenchman asked.

  “I…” Uri stumbled, “I don’t know what to think. Who are the other two?”

  “A moldy old Egyptian pharaoh,” The German scoffed, “and Marc Antony’s whore. They mean nothing to us.”

  The Frenchman eyed the German and then considered Uri, “You’re a bit overwhelmed, Commander?”

  “I am, sir,” Uri said, “It’s just so… extraordinary. Are they truly that dangerous to us?”

  The Russian chuckled mockingly, “They’re grasping at straws and they would have to sprint just to begin to play catchup.”

  “Don’t underestimate them,” The Frenchman said matter of factly, “They’re dangerous. The most dangerous people on Earth. Never forget that, Uri. Never underestimate your opponent. It’s ironic, when you think about the fact that our esteemed German friend and myself both made that very mistake in your home country.”

  “But it wasn’t the Russian army that beat us back,” The German scoffed, eyeing the third Russian member, “But the Russian winters.”

  The bald Russian laughed, “History has taught us all a great deal. I’ve seen the results of underestimating one’s enemy as well. Although my first real taste of it was from the other side of the sword, if you will.”

  “At any rate,” The leader said, “They’ve ventured out a pawn. We must counter move. But you see, young Uri, what our opponent’s fail to appreciate is that it was we who set up the board in the first place.”

  Uri knew that, too. He knew all too well.

  Month’s earlier, he’d lost contact with his wife Marlena and their two children. The last time they’d spoken, Marlena was terrified. The outbreak had already occurred and Saint Petersburg where the Polenion family called home was in chaos. Riots, fires and hordes of the living dead chewing their way through the city toward his family.

  And then nothing.

  Uri didn’t know if they were dead… or worse…

  He was vividly aware of who had set up the board. It wasn’t something he was likely to forget.

  “Thank you, Commander,” The leader said, “We’ll have need of you very soon. Please make sure your ship is ready to depart.”

  “Sir… sirs,” Uri ventured almost against his will, “I must point something out.”

  The leader smiled and nodded, “please do, Commander. You’re here because of your expertise.”

  Uri sighed, “The Akula two isn’t that dangerous to me. Being Russian built, we’ve got all the sonar data possible on that ship and she isn’t a major threat… but the Connecticut… That class of ship is the quietest and most deadly ever built.”

  The German scoffed, “That’s why we have you, Polenion.”

  The Russian member only shrugged.

  The leader nodded, “I know, Commander. And I appreciate your tactical analysis. Yet your foreknowledge should prove an adequate defense. Please see to your ship now. We’ll have need of her very soon.”

  Commander Uri Polenion opened the door and cast a quick glance back over his shoulder at the men he served.

  Men? Was that even the right word for them? These figures whom history had declared dead and thankfully so.

  It was nearly impossible to believe. At a large oak desk that had been the place of so many famous British Admirals sat three of history’s most notorious figures.

  Vladimir Lenin and Adolph Hitler sat in front of the desk eyeing him, and behind it, leaning back in the chair with a hand resting against his breastbone sat Napoleon Bonaparte.

  The Triumvirate of evil and Uri was their servant.

  No… he was their slave. No point in lying to himself.

  Hard to imagine let alone believe, indeed.

  Until one walked out of the venerable Admiralty and into the streets of London or out onto the White Hall steps and gazed over the Thames.

  And saw the devastation of burned buildings, rotting corpses and a river choked with the dead.

  London wasn’t gone, but definitely wounded. And very little life remained. The only activity came from the moans of the undead who still wandered the streets, forever in search of that which they couldn’t comprehend.

  Uri believed. He had no choice.

  And now that the board was set and the opposition had made its first move, what would black do? What more could
they do after orchestrating the destruction of humanity? What other horrors would they unleash on what was left of mankind?

  And what would his part be?

  Uri hated playing black… but he’d made his choice and now the game was in motion.

  Uri was a survivor, but there were times, such as now when he stared out at the wide river that had once been the heart of the British Empire’s trade and naval might, that he wished that he’d be the first pawn to fall.

  There were still ships in the river, but there were also floating bodies. Zombies in ones and twos and sometimes clumps of dozens that slowly moved down toward the channel with the tide.

  Were they the lucky ones? The people they’d once been had moved on, taking their souls with them. Only their shells remained, still animate despite all logic to the contrary.

  Uri Polenion sighed and turned toward Deptford where his launch waited. He was a survivor and he had his ship.

  Imperator Aleksander was all he had now and the young commander hoped she’d be enough.