Land of the Dead

by Robert Swartwood

  Philip sat up and looked at the clock on the stand beside his bed. It was almost four o’clock in the morning.

  He got out of bed and went to the door and opened it just slightly, enough to hear his parents’ cracked and guttural voices. They were definitely arguing, though even with the door open he couldn’t quite hear what they were talking about.

  Had they found Amy? Had she come home, or—worse—had something terrible happened to her? Her tenth animation day was less than a week away, and she had already invited all of her friends from school. Philip didn’t really want to go, but there was going to be cake, and he loved cake.

  He opened the door a bit more, poked his head out, but the words were still muffled. He stepped out into the hallway and began to make his way toward the stairs. He had to be careful, he knew, because the floorboards sometimes creaked, and if he put too much pressure in the wrong place—

  Rrrreeeakk!

  Philip closed his eyes just as, downstairs, the voices stopped.

  He stood motionless, his eyes closed, hoping his parents would start their argument again. Only they didn’t. They began speaking again, their voices muffled, though Philip did manage to catch his father saying, “Let me just talk to him,” and his mother saying, “No,” and his father saying, “Trust me, it’ll be okay,” and then there were footsteps downstairs, headed toward the steps, and Philip turned to hurry back into his bedroom but stopped when he realized there was no point. His parents already knew he was awake, so he decided to just wait here for his father.

  His father came up the steps moments later and then stood down at the other end of the hallway looking at Philip.

  “What’s wrong?” Philip asked.

  His father cleared his throat. “Your sister—”

  “Is she okay?”

  His father hesitated. “Yes, she’s fine.”

  “What happened to her?”

  His father hesitated again. “I need to tell you something.”

  “What happened to her?”

  “Philip,” his father growled, that familiar anger returning to his voice, and Philip knew better than to interrupt again. After a long silence, his father approached Philip and placed his hands on Philip’s shoulders and looked him straight in the face. “Your sister is okay. She’s ... different.”

  “Different how?”

  His father’s right hand jerked up in the air, a motion Philip had seen much too often, and Philip closed his eyes ready for the blow. He waited, and when nothing happened, he opened his eyes. His father’s hand was frozen in the air and stayed that way for another second before he lowered it to his side.

  With a sigh, his father asked, “You know the zombies in your video games?”

  Philip nodded slowly.

  “What would you do if you encountered one of those zombies face to face?”

  Philip said nothing.

  “They’re not ... they’re not as dangerous as everyone says they are. At least, she’s not.”

  Philip frowned. “She?”

  His father stared back at him with his deep black eyes and nodded slowly. “Yes, Philip. Your sister ... when she returned home just an hour ago, she ... she was changed.”

  “Changed,” Philip echoed quietly.

  “Yes, Philip. Your sister ... she’s changed, but she’s not dangerous. She’s just scared right now, believe it or not. But your mother and me, we think we can make this work. We think ... we think we can still be a family. What do you think about that? Do you think you can keep a secret? Do you think you can help keep us being a whole family?”

  Philip stared back at his father for the longest time, aware now that the entire house had fallen completely silent. Finally he nodded and whispered the one word he knew his father needed to hear: “Yes.”

  • • •

  He followed his father down the steps, then through the existing room into the kitchen. The lights over the sink were on. His mother sat alone at the table.

  “Where is she?” his father asked his mother.

  “Hiding.”

  “Why?”

  “She’s scared.”

  “Of what?”

  “Him,” his mother said, pointing limply at Philip.

  “Him?” his father said. “He’s not going to do anything to her.”

  “She knows that. She’s scared that she’ll scare him.”

  Philip said, “I won’t be scared.”

  “Do you promise?”

  The voice came from behind him, and it was a voice he had never heard before. It wasn’t cracked and toneless like every other dead person’s voice in the world. It was ... smooth. Completely unnatural.

  Philip went to turn around but his father placed a hand on his shoulder, holding him in place.

  “Promise your sister.”

  “I promise.”

  His father stared at him hard for a moment, then nodded and released his grip. Philip turned around.

  It was his sister but it wasn’t his sister. She stood only feet away, and she was recognizable as Amy, but the dry and withered skin was somehow gone. Her skin appeared smooth just like her voice had sounded, and her eyes ... they weren’t entirely black like they had been this morning, just the middle of her eyes with white around them.

  “Amy?”

  She nodded. “Hi, Philip.”

  “What ... what happened?”

  “I’m not completely sure. I’ve ... I’ve been hearing this sound for the past couple of weeks. And I ... aren’t you scared?”

  He shook his head.

  “You look scared.”

  “I’m not.”

  His sister smiled. “I guess you all just look scared to me. It’s so strange. I remember ... I remember being dead and only seeing the world in black, white, and gray. But now”—she smiled—“there are actual colors.”

  “Colors,” Philip echoed softly, taking a step forward.

  “Yes! Colors, Philip, they’re amazing. Everything ... there are just so many colors! And there are smells, too. I mean, I always knew we had noses for a reason, but I always thought they were to just take air in through our dead lungs. But now I can actually smell things!”

  “Smell things,” Philip echoed softly again, taking another step forward.

  “Earlier, Mom gave me one of the apples that hadn’t completely spoiled. It tasted so good! Philip, I can’t even describe how it tasted. It made my heart start beating so much faster.”

  “Your heart,” Philip said, still walking forward slowly, almost to his sister now. “Your heart ... is beating?”

  “Why yes,” Amy said. She placed a hand on her chest. “Right here. Do you want to feel it?”

  Philip nodded and raised a hand and allowed his sister to touch his hand and navigate it to her chest. Philip closed his eyes as he touched her smooth living skin. He felt the beating of her living heart, the continuous thump thump thump, and in his dead mind he knew exactly what he had to do next.

  “Amy.”

  “Yes, Philip?”

  “I’m sorry.”

  “About what?”

  “That you became a zombie,” he said, and he opened his eyes and stepped even closer and grabbed her head with both hands and instantly jerked it to the side. The sound of her neck breaking was the loudest sound in the world at that moment and was an echo of the sound from his video game when he sometimes forwent the use of his broadsword to kill the zombies with his digital bare hands.

  He knew at once he had killed Amy, that whatever awful and evil life had invaded his sister was now gone, and he laid her on the floor just as his mother screamed, “What did you do? What did you do?” and his father shouted, “Philip, no!” and he stood up straight and turned back to glare at his parents.

  “Whose idea was it?”

  “You stupid little shit,” his father growled. He started toward Philip, anger in his black eyes, and grabbed at his son just as Philip tried to dodge around him. “You stupid little shit!” he repeated, shouting this
time as his mother screamed again, holding Philip by the arm with one hand as he pulled back his fist with the other.

  Philip kicked him in the shin, then kneed him in the balls, his father releasing his grip on him instantly, doubling over as his fell to the ground. Philip hopped over him and charged toward his mother who screamed once again.

  “Was it you?” he shouted. “Was it your idea to hide her?”

  She pointed at his father on the ground, shaking her head, a hand to her mouth now as she rocked back and forth in her chair.

  Philip turned back around, his hands balled into fists. He started back toward his father but paused when the dish strainer caught his eye. He hurried over, selected the long knife his mother had washed earlier tonight, and approached his father.

  “You’re a traitor,” Philip said, raising the knife. “You’re a living sympathizer and need to be put out of your misery.”

  His father was on his knees now and saw him coming and managed to raise his arm when Philip jabbed the knife. The blade slid right into the dead flesh and his father cried out and his mother screamed again and Philip went to the pull the knife back out when the front door burst open and policemen stormed in, their weapons aimed, shouting at him to drop his weapon or else they’d expire him.

  • • •

  Despite his age and small size, Philip was handcuffed and placed in the back of the police car and driven to the closest police station. There he waited in a room by himself for nearly an hour before the door opened and two Hunters walked in.

  Philip was immediately in awe. He had seen pictures of Hunters before, of course, but never in person like this. They were tall and strong and wore black uniforms. On their belts were broadswords. Philip found himself staring at the broadswords with envy.

  “This is him?” one of the Hunters asked a policeman standing just outside the door.

  “Yes, sir.”

  “This little kid is the one you called us about.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “This little kid killed his zombie sister and then attacked his old man.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “How did you guys even manage to break it up in the first place?”

  “We had gotten a call about some suspicious activity in the area. Our men were out patrolling when they happened to hear the boy’s mother scream.”

  The Hunter who hadn’t spoken yet and who had been staring at Philip this entire time said, “Very good. Thank you for calling us. We’ll take it from here.”

  The policeman opened his mouth to say something else, thought better of it, then nodded and hurried away.

  “All right, kid,” the second Hunter said, “time to come with us.”

  • • •

  They drove him into the city of Olympus and took him to the Hunter Headquarters. Here there were even more Hunters dressed in black uniforms with broadswords at their sides. Philip was taken to the top floor. He followed the Hunters down a corridor to a closed door. It was here that the two Hunters left him.

  “Go ahead inside,” one of them said.

  Philip pushed the door open. A man was sitting in a chair against the wall, and once Philip stepped inside and closed the door, he stood up. He had a drink in his hand, the ice tinkling against the sides of the glass.

  “Do you know who I am?” the man asked in a dark and meaty voice.

  Philip, even more awestruck than before, simply nodded.

  “I understand you did a very brave thing tonight. Tell me, how old are you?”

  Philip had never been more nervous in his existence. He whispered, “Eight.”

  “Eight!” the man boomed. “Eight years old and you already killed your first zombie. I must admit, that’s a very impressive feat. I wish I could say the same, but I didn’t make my first kill until I was just thirteen.”

  Philip said nothing.

  The man smiled down at him. “So what’s your name?”

  “Philip.”

  “Philip,” the man repeated. “Eight-year-old Philip. Tell me, Philip, what do you want to be when you grow up?”

  “I ...”

  “Yes?”

  “I want to be a Hunter.”

  The man’s smile broadened even more. “That was the answer I was hoping to hear. Tell me, were you afraid tonight of your sister?”

  Philip shook his head.

  “If you weren’t afraid, then how did you feel?”

  “Angry.”

  “How so?”

  “I was ... I was angry that she was a zombie.”

  “Again, how so?”

  “Because zombies are monstrosities that don’t deserve to live. They carry parasites that threaten the safety of our world. They have imagination which perverts their minds.”

  The man smiled again. “You know the Hunter Code?”

  Philip nodded.

  “An eight-year-old boy who not only killed his first zombie tonight, but also knows the Hunter Code. Well, you do want to become a Hunter someday. And, honestly, I think you’ll make a fine Hunter.”

  It took everything Philip had at that moment to suppress a smile. “Thank you, sir.”

  The man’s smile all at once faltered, and he looked away. “I have a son, you know. He just recently turned ten. And he ... well, I don’t think he’s going exist up to his full potential, not after everything I’ve tried to teach him. Which is a shame, because he’s my only son. Now, however ...”

  The man focused his black eyes back on Philip.

  “Your mother and father have been expired for their crimes against our people. How does that make you feel?”

  “I don’t feel anything, sir.”

  “And why not?”

  “They were living sympathizers. They were traitors.”

  The man said, “I would like to adopt you, Philip. What do you think about that idea?”

  Again, Philip was speechless.

  “Obviously, you would not officially be my son. The only contact we would ever have would be when we trained, and I’ll be honest, even then we wouldn’t see each other much. But I’ll make sure you are taken care of and that you are well trained and that you will, eventually, attend Artemis University and become a Hunter. How does that sound?”

  Philip was still speechless, but he managed to nod slowly.

  Smiling again, the man said, “My own son has become a disappointment to me, and he will always be a disappointment, even if he does eventually become a Hunter. But you, Philip, you will make me proud. Won’t you?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Call me father.”

  “Yes, father.”

  “You want to know a secret?”

  Philip nodded.

  “Sometimes when I encounter a pack of zombies, I don’t kill all of them. I have some taken away and stored for when I get bored and want my broadsword to taste blood. Would you like to accompany me?”

  “Yes, father, I would love to.”

  Henry the Hunter, the greatest zombie Hunter to ever exist, smiled again as he placed his hand on Philip’s head.

  “Son,” he said, “I know for a fact that one day you are going to make me proud.”

  Copyright © 2015 Robert Swartwood

  “In the Land of the Blind” copyright © 2004 Robert Swartwood

  “The Hunter” copyright © 2011 Robert Swartwood

  Cover design copyright © 2015 M. S. Corley

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either products of the author’s imagination or used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental. All rights reserved. No part of this publication can be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, without permission in writing from Robert Swartwood.

  www.robertswartwood.com

 

 

  you for reading books on Archive.