Land of the Dead

by Robert Swartwood

  They stayed that way for just a few moments, holding each other, before Conrad remembered they had to keep moving. He stood up, motioned for his son to leave the room. He bent and picked up the rifle, picked up his broadsword, then approached Gabriel, who still lay on the ground, his face covered in blood.

  Gabriel’s eyes moved to look at him, and he said, “I ... can’t,” in a voice that sounded nothing like his own.

  “Yes you can,” Conrad said. “You can and you will.”

  He held out his hand. He kept it there. Gabriel just stared back at it, not moving, until finally Conrad had to lean down and grip his arm, pull the zombie to his feet. He ushered both Gabriel and his son out into the corridor, then paused when he noticed a flashlight on the ground. He picked that up too, stuck it beneath his arm, and then he was out in the corridor again, moving, Kyle behind him, Gabriel limping as he brought up the rear.

  Around another corner, at the end of the corridor, was the metal door. The entrance into the Labyrinth.

  Conrad turned toward Gabriel. He meant to hand the rifle to him so he could try opening the door himself, when the zombie slumped to the floor. The light here was poor, so he turned on the flashlight and aimed the beam at Gabriel’s face. It had taken on a preternatural paleness. Conrad lowered the beam. Every place the zombie had been wounded tonight—both arms, his leg, his shoulder—was dark with blood.

  Gabriel once more said, “I ... can’t.”

  Conrad looked down at Kyle, who looked back at him. His son thankfully had not yet been hurt. Conrad planned to see to it that he never was. But first he had to open this door.

  He handed his son the flashlight. He set the rifle and the broadsword aside on the ground. He then forced another smile, patted Kyle’s head, and turned to the metal door. He grabbed the wheel. He tried turning it. He tried again. He went to try it a third time when Kyle stepped up beside him, placed his own living hands on the wheel.

  Conrad looked down at him, nodded, and they tried turning it once more. Nothing for a few seconds, then, slowly, it began to move. They worked at it, pulling and pulling, and soon the wheel was loose enough to spin. Then, moments later, the door was open.

  Inside was a world of darkness.

  Conrad turned back to his son. He grabbed the rifle from off the ground, handed it to him. “Do you think if you had to do it again, you could handle this?”

  Kyle nodded.

  “Then take it. Don’t let it go.”

  He turned back to Gabriel, the zombie’s eyes barely open, his hand held over his chest. Conrad crouched next to him and said, “I need you to do me a favor.”

  “My heart ... isn’t beating as fast ... as normal.”

  “I need you to take my son through the Labyrinth.”

  Gabriel’s eyes opened just a little bit more, stared straight back at Conrad.

  “I need you to take him to safety.”

  Gabriel stared past him, his mouth slightly agape. “You’re not coming ... with us?”

  “I can’t.”

  “But—” Gabriel stopped himself, for the first time noticing the slight bulge in Conrad’s pocket. “I know ... what you’re thinking. But ... it might not ... even work.”

  “If I don’t stop Philip now, he’ll never stop. He’ll keep coming for Kyle, and Denise, and anyone else I care about.”

  Gabriel opened his mouth, started to say something, when Kyle said, “Dad? Dad, what’s wrong?”

  Conrad turned, bent down, and placed his hands on his son’s shoulders. “I promised nothing’s going to hurt you, and I mean it.” He took his hands away briefly, long enough to extract his wedding band from his finger. He held it out to Kyle, who just stood there, his body shaking even harder, fully sobbing. “When you see your mom again, give this to her. Tell her I’m sorry. Tell her ... I wish things could have been different. And tell her that I love her. Tell her that all I ever wanted was for her to be happy.”

  “No, Dad,” Kyle sobbed, “no, please.”

  “Yes. You can do this, Kyle. I believe you can. I know you can.”

  Kyle took the ring with a shaking hand. He stepped forward and wrapped his arms around his father. Into his ear he kept saying, “No, Daddy, please, no,” and Conrad closed his eyes and held his son’s living body tight, not wanting to let go. But he had to let go; he had no choice. So he opened his eyes again, said, “I love you, buddy,” and pushed his son away.

  Gabriel had risen and moved behind Kyle, and the moment Conrad pushed his son away, Gabriel grabbed him. The zombie started to walk Kyle back into the dark, Kyle yelling and crying and saying no, please, no, daddy, no. Then they were in the dark and Conrad grabbed the door, pushed it shut, spun the wheel to lock it in place.

  It was that simple: the door was closed and the wheel was turned and once more there was something separating the living from the dead.

  56

  “You know, Denise, I just don’t get it. I’ve been sitting here for a while, just waiting for you to show, and I’m looking around at this house and I’m thinking: your husband, one of the best Hunters in the world, son of the greatest Hunter of all time, has lived most of his existence in this dumpy little place. And I have to ask myself, Why?”

  The man stood by the kitchen table, maybe fifteen feet away from her.

  “I mean, no offense to you, Denise, but this house, it’s just so ordinary. And Conrad, well, yeah he is a coward, yeah he is a traitor, but he comes from greatness. And this house here, this stupid little dump, it’s like a slap in his old man’s expired face.”

  Denise had her back against the counter, trapped. If she went left or right, the man would only have to take a few steps to intercept her.

  “Come on, Denise, say something. I don’t want to stand here all night and listen to myself talk. The truth is I want to get back to the Herculean. Philip said he’d hold off on expiring Conrad as long as possible, but knowing Philip, he won’t wait long.”

  She made a noise, a soft sort of whimper, and the man smiled.

  “That’s right, Denise. General Hager has your husband. He has your son too. In fact, your son was used for bait tonight. You see, Conrad tried to break him out of Psyche and ... well, he didn’t get very far. Now for all I know Conrad’s already expired, him and your boy, so really, when you think about it, there’s not much you have to exist for anymore, is there?”

  Keeping the flashlight aimed at the man’s face, she looked around for some kind of weapon.

  “By the way, I don’t think we’ve been properly introduced. My name’s Michael. I worked with your husband before he became a complete coward. Do you know anything about that? About him, you know, afraid to kill that adult zombie?”

  He took a step forward. She pressed herself back into the counter, still looking at the floor, at the counter, at the sink.

  “What are you doing, Denise?”

  It was too dark to see the clutter surrounding her, so she used the flashlight, sweeping it here and there.

  Taking another step, he said, “Looking for a weapon?”

  That toaster on the floor, scattered plates and dishes on the counter, and in the sink—

  “Why, you wouldn’t want to hurt me, would you?”

  —in the sink she spotted a steak knife among forks and spoons.

  “Denise,” he said, halfway to her now, taking his time, “I asked you a question. It’s rude for you not to answer me.”

  Inching toward the sink, she swung the flashlight back to the man. He was very close now, just feet away, smiling and shaking his head.

  “But do you know how you can make it up to me?”

  The man now less than five feet away, she reached into the sink, cutting her hand on the broken plates and dishes, grasped the handle of the steak knife, just as he lunged forward and placed his strong hands on her shoulders, turned her around so she was looking directly into his black eyes.

  “Just a kiss, Denise, and we’ll call it even. How does that sound to you?”

/>   57

  Conrad realized at once he’d made a terrible mistake. He shouldn’t have sent his son and Gabriel into the dark by themselves like that. He should have gone with them, taken them to safety himself, then came back. But that wouldn’t have worked either, and he knew it. Time was running out, Philip was probably already on his way, and Conrad had to hurry.

  So he turned away from the metal door. He bent and picked up the broadsword, picked up the rifle. He slung the rifle over his shoulder, held the broadsword in his right hand, and started back down the corridor.

  His body was coming apart, but he ran as fast as he could. He ran down the corridor, turned the corner, and there was Eugene Moss. Just like the first time Conrad had encountered him, they walked into each other—only Conrad realized a second too late that that wasn’t the case, that Eugene Moss hadn’t so much as walked into him this time as he had purposely pushed him away. Forced backward, Conrad tripped over his feet. He fell to the ground and managed to look up just in time to see the pistol in Eugene’s hand.

  “Hey there, stranger,” Eugene said. “Miss me?”

  Before Conrad could respond, Eugene shot him in the ankle. Next he stepped close, crouched down, shot the other ankle.

  “I got to the party a little late, I know. I came around the corner right after you’d sent your boy away. What’s wrong—don’t want Hunters torturing your child to death?”

  He put the pistol to Conrad’s left knee, pulled the trigger.

  “Speaking from experience, it’s not something you want to see.”

  The pistol moved to the right knee, shot him there too.

  “I mean, seeing that kind of thing really fucks you up. And if you survive it, like I did, all you can think about is revenge.”

  Eugene stepped back and stood there, looking down at Conrad.

  “This entire time I knew getting back at Philip wasn’t going to happen. Not that psychotic piece of shit. But you—I went for you three times already, and I almost expired you back in the Labyrinth. So, so close. And since then you’re all I’ve thought about. I keep remembering how you just stood there in my existing room and didn’t do anything while my son was tortured. You want to know how I remember that? Because while he was being tortured, I was watching you. I couldn’t watch him. How could I? So I watched you, and I thought about how you were doing nothing, not even watching, and it made me hate you even more.”

  Conrad now had no strength left in his legs. The dead muscles and bones had been obliterated by Eugene’s carefully placed bullets. He would never walk again—a fact that hung loosely in the back of his dead mind—but he also knew that wouldn’t stop him from moving. He still had other options. And so lying there on the ground, he rolled around and used his arms to start crawling up the corridor.

  “Where do you think you’re going?” Eugene said. He placed his foot down on Conrad’s left leg, held it in place.

  Conrad closed his eyes. He told himself there was no pain, no pain at all, and gritted his teeth as he pulled himself even harder. But Eugene would not budge. He stood there, putting all his weight on Conrad’s leg, and Conrad kept pulling, pulling, pulling, until all the dead muscle and tissue and bone tore apart and he continued on, leaving his leg behind.

  Eugene said, “You really are in a hurry, aren’t you?” He bent down and picked up Conrad’s broadsword, moved directly in front of Conrad, walking backward.

  “I’m going to use this on your boy. I’m going to tear him apart just like Philip did to Kent.”

  His eyes closed, his teeth still gritted, Conrad pulled himself along. He could hear and feel the constant and rhythmic beating up ahead, growing stronger and stronger with every inch. Without even looking Conrad knew he was less than twenty yards away from the room.

  “And then when I’m done with your son, I’m going to find your wife.”

  Closer now, the beating growing even louder.

  “I’ll be straight with you, Conrad. I’m going to have my way with her. I feel it’s proper retribution. I’m going to have my way with her and then I’m going to expire her just like I’m going to expire you, with your own sword.”

  Conrad paused. He opened his eyes. He stared up at Eugene and the man stared back at him, grinning now, holding the broadsword up in front of him. It was the wrong way to hold the sword, obviously done by an amateur, what somebody would pick up from watching too many bad television programs and movies.

  Eugene looked like he was about to say something else—he even opened his mouth—when footsteps sounded out up the corridor. He stepped back, turned, and there was Philip, a handful of Hunters trailing him, coming their way. Eugene raised the gun, fired off a couple rounds—Conrad saw some of the bullets hit Philip’s already ravaged chest—but the Hunter General kept coming, unsheathing his broadsword, holding it up and then making an expert swing.

  Eugene Moss’s head hit the floor moments before his body collapsed. Kicking the head and body aside, Philip glared down at Conrad and said, “I should have saved myself the time and energy and expired him with the rest of his family. Now”—holding the broadsword up in front of him—“where were we?”

  Conrad closed his eyes. He knew that would give him some time. After all, Philip was all about the show, having others see his greatness. So Conrad closed his eyes and continued crawling, putting one arm in front of the other, pulling himself along.

  “You really are pathetic, Conrad. Look at yourself. You’re a disgrace.”

  Even closer now, less than ten yards away.

  “What do you think your old man would say about this? Just how disappointed would he be? The son of the world’s greatest Hunter resorted to ... this.”

  Less than five yards, the beating even more palpable, echoing inside his head—until suddenly he was stabbed in the back, Philip’s broadsword cutting into his dead flesh and keeping him in place.

  “Answer me!”

  Conrad opened his eyes. He was right there now, right at the door. He couldn’t move, though, and that would be a problem, one he couldn’t afford.

  “Can I at least sit up?”

  The broadsword withdrew. Conrad moved forward a little more. He rolled over onto his back, nudged himself to the wall, and used his elbow to rise from the ground. Moments later he was in a sitting position, leaning against the wall, the door to the room right beside him. Even with the poor lighting he could see what had become of his legs, or rather what was left of his legs. He could see Philip standing in front of him, holding his broadsword in the proper way, the only way a Hunter could hold it. The other Hunters crowded around behind the Hunter General, watching silently.

  “What do you want me to say?” he asked. “That you’re a better Hunter than I am? Okay, fine. I said it before and I’ll say it again. You’re better than me. You’re the best.”

  He had positioned himself against the wall so his left side was showing more than his right. He had positioned himself so he had to lean on his right hand, which he now used to reach into his pocket.

  “But the truth? The truth is you’re afraid. And being the best means you’re more afraid than anyone else, maybe even my old man.”

  Philip said, “What the fuck are you talking about?”

  “Why did you choose to become a Hunter?” he asked, pulling the Pandora—his Pandora—from his pocket.

  Philip lowered the broadsword. “Because zombies disgust me. Because they need to be destroyed. All this is obvious, common sense. Why did you choose to become a Hunter?”

  “I didn’t. I was forced into it.” Settling the Pandora in his open palm. “I never had a choice.”

  “Then you were never afraid?”

  “Oh no, I was. That was at least until I started to understand the living. Until I was able to accept them for what they are.”

  Philip rolled his eyes, raised the broadsword again. “And what are they, Conrad? Enlighten us.”

  “They’re just like you and me, but they’re different.”

&
nbsp; Philip chuckled, glancing back at his men. “Very intelligent, Conrad. Thank you for that insight.”

  “They’re different because all our existence we’ve been told they’re different. We’ve never been given the chance to see otherwise.” Feeling the energy pulsing inside the cube, thinking about that dead rabbit, thinking about his son. “That’s why we hunt them. Because we don’t understand them. We refuse to understand them. And that scares us.”

  Philip chuckled again, shaking his head, and then he stepped forward suddenly, his face now hard, placed his broadsword so the tip was pointing right at Conrad’s throat.

  “I,” he growled, “am not afraid of anything.”

  “No?” And here Conrad smiled as he brought his Pandora out from behind his back, lifted the glowing cube up for Philip to see. “Even this?”

  58

  Conrad squeezed the cube, turned his hand over, and smashed it down on the ground beside him—and like that, strange things began to happen.

  The first thing that happened was the constant and rhythmic beating coming from inside the room suddenly stopped. The light within grew brighter, almost blinding. And it was with this brightness that the Ripple began, spreading out, looking for a way to escape.

  It came out into the corridor and simultaneously went left and right, not splitting up but stretching out. Part of it rounded the corner, came to the closed metal door, and slipped through the minuscule cracks into the Labyrinth. The other part continued down the other end of the corridor, passing the handful of Hunters, instantly turning them from dead to living. They fell to the ground at once, their blood growing warm, moving now through their veins, their muscles having never worked like this. Their minds, while now living, were still filled with all the knowledge they’d learned over the years, and seeing one another now as zombies—as well as themselves—they went insane. They screamed and yelled and while some placed the barrels of their assault rifles in their mouths and killed themselves, others aimed at their fellow Hunters and began firing. Some who had been shot already began to bleed out, their now living blood oozing from wounds which never would have slowed them down before.