by D.S. Black
Chapter Six: Tommy “Duras” Morrow
1
He pulled the trigger of his Springfield and watched another dead bum drop to the ground. Look at them, eating my sheeple, like that is their right, like that is something they are allowed to do.
How will he ever secure this damn town now? And where the hell is Barney with the 50 caliber?
“Do you see Barney yet?” Duras asked.
“Nope. The son of a bitch is taking his sweet time.” Vice said.
How am I going to win this damn city back? Must be over two thousand walkers. That bald fuck's gonna pay for this.
The sound of Barney’s fifty caliber let loose into the crowd below.
“Barney is finally showing his worth, don’t you think Vice?” Vice stood on the edge of the roof, peering out and down at the stench ridden crowd as Barney laid the demonic scum to rest. Duras thought it looked like a video game. Or like that scene from Predator, when they mow down an entire section of forest, but this time it was flesh that went flying, and heads, and arms, and guts, followed by a stream of blood running through his clean, well-manicured cobble streets.
The air was humid and hot. The sky was a dark gray. The stench of death floated up from the streets. He aimed his rifle out, and saw what once was pretty young thing, all bloody with death, skin peeling, and a big USC on her cheerleader outfit, and her damn, god forsaken dead tittles jiggled like loose coconuts hanging from a tree. He took the shot, and she fell for the final time, with a split skull, but he doubts she ever had much brain anyway. And how did she ever make it here? USC? Columbia? These dead bums can walk, walk, and then walk some more. Screams of death echoed all around. Dying kids. Dying adults. Just a shit load of dying. The wonderful sounds of the New World. The hymn they lived to now.
He continued firing into the crowd. Vice slapped him on the shoulder. “Say Duras! We can trick em by shooting some fire arrows into those trash cans with gas?” Vice was such a good man, with such great ideas. Now, that is why he always kept him close by, especially when death mulled around every corner. “Send Rhino and the Ice Man down with some gas. Tell them not to get too close to those dead things moving around down there. Or else I’ll take their heads off from my wonderfully comfortable position here on this god awfully beautiful roof top, underneath this magically, hypnotically, burning fire of a sun.” He kept firing, killing one dead bum after another, till he finally saw Rhino, with his blackened skin, mouthing something off in his barely legible geisha slang to his good buddy and compatriot, The Ice Man. Barry. He thinks that’s what Ice Man’s real name is, but the moment Duras saw him, looking so much like Vail Kilmer, he told him from that minute forward, his new name is The Ice Man. He remembered he smiled, with bright white teeth and his dirty blonde hair flickered in the hot breeze.
Now, He watched him, through his Springfield’s site, pushing, and filling trash cans with gasoline. Duras made sure to kill any dead thing that wondered to close. And the hot gun Barney fired off was still dropping them in crumbled fleshy rows, all piled on top of each other, while the heavens poured their rays down, cooking the filth, which Barney and company would have to later burn.
Over to my right, Vice had strapped on his quiver, all full of arrows tipped with sparkler shavings wrapped in cheese cloth, and all held together with trusty Elmors glue and thin gauge wire. He had taken the liberty of taping a few full lendge sparklers around the tip. “Over kill Vice. And a damn waste of some damn good sparklers.”
“We have plenty.” Vice said.
Vice sat a glass of kerosene on the roof’s ledge and dipped the tip of the arrow, and left it there marinating for a few minutes. Duras focused his attention back down to Ice Man and Rhino, and they’d successfully placed the cans exactly where they needed them, and did it all without getting bit.
Duras peered around with his scope, taking off a few more dead heads, and then noticed a particular zombie milling about all by himself, continually crashing into the fence line, stumbling back, then crashing again. He wore a sweater vest, ripped and torn, but none the less; it certainly was a fucking sweater vest, with a red bow tie, a bloodstained bright blue stripped dress shirt; and on his face was large, gaudy glasses like something a librarian, or better yet, a professor would wear. Indeed. Duras figured he must have been a professor at some school somewhere, may be from USC up in Columbia; where he enjoyed porking the young cheerleader whom he decided to follow down here in a death induced delirium; and now that Duras had taken his love’s head clean from her shoulders; the poor dead professor lost his mind, and his bearings and now can could only crash against the cold steel of the perimeter’s fence line.
“Ready to go!” Vice shouted. He moved the arrow from the kerosene, struck a match, and lit it. Duras stood back as Vice placed it in his bow, and pull back, and let it launch. It flew through the air like a burning, sparkling bird, and landed with a fiery explosion in the one of the cans.
“Damn good shot! Damn good sir!” Duras said and removed a hand wrapped joint from his pocket, along with a Bic lighter (compliments of numerous raids on gas stations). He lit it and breathed in the sweet bud’s smoke, a purple haze blend he'd grown in the garden area, and blew out of the smoke and coughed, coughed, coughed.
“Let me have a hit.” He handed it to Vice, who took a few tokes, before passing it back to Duras. The fires were burning brightly down below, and Ice Man and Rhino had made their way behind Barney; and Barney was still busy mowing down zombies, who had become easy targets. Some of the dead mulled around the newly lit fires; and Duras and Vice, stoned now, feeling quite nice, took easy aim, Duras with his Springfield, Vice with his scoped AR. Duras always enjoyed the spring and jiggle of his Springfield after each and every shot. It felt like a reward for being such a great killer of the already deceased.
The sun was coming up, and the smell of death drafted high into the air. The streets were filled with the dead, and now what was left of his men, led by Rhino and Ice Man, began gathering them up, tossing them in the red pickup trucks and hauling them off to the fire pits. They'd made those fire pits some time ago, just for the occasional need for burning of bodies.
Then from behind Duras came the voice of Mary Jane, “We made it into the shelters. About 100 of us made it. We lost nearly 200 people.” Duras turned and saw her face. It was covered in black smoot, and dried blood; but her bright blue eyes still glimmered through the darkness. Her thin, firm frame, covered in a tight fitting black shirt, her blue jeans, torn in all the right spots, clung firmly against her legs. “What’s that?” He asked.
“I thought you might be hungry. Give me a hit of that.” Duras took a bowl of hot soup from her, and handed her a finely wrapped joint. She lit it; and he sat down against the hard ledge, his Springfield resting beside him, and fed his hungry belly with the spicy soup she made so well; she sat silently beside him, worn out from both fear and anxiety, and blew the sweet smelling scent of marijuana high into the air. “I needed that.” She said.
“I can tell.” He said.
Vice had disappeared, and Duras assumed he went to oversee the disposal of the bodies; or more than likely to check on his version of Mary Jane, her little sister Sarah Ann.
“How's Sarah?” He asked.
“Yes. She made it. Too ornery to die, that one. Think I saw Vice running her way on my way up.” She said.
“Oh yes. He'll do that. And, of course she made. Of course you both made it. That’s what I love about you to. Ornery, godless, and horny. Just the type of women I need to run a post-apocalyptic religion.”
She said nothing, and blew pot smoke out in different sized smoke rings. He finished off the soup; and stared at her. “What are the people saying?” he asked.
“They're scared.”
“I'll talk with them soon. Give them the hope they need.”
“What will we do now?”
“Rebuild the walls. Go after the people that did this.”
“The tree folk?”
“I wish I could come. Help you kill them. You've never really told me about what all the beef is about.”
He motioned for her to come to him. She came, sat beside him, and handed him the joint. He breathed in the hot smoke, and she laid her head on his chest. Her hair smelled like a fire pit; and he wrapped his arm around her, and brought the joint to her lips. She smoked it, and he smoked it; and then they just stared at the sun rising.
“I think I told you.”
“Nope. Just that you knew him and hated him.”
“He was a cocky asshole. He bought the comic store across from mine right after I'd beaten the store into the ground. He's a bit younger even with that bald head and he enjoyed using his endless amount of cash to take me on.”
“He owned other comic stores?”
“Nope.” He took another drag of weed, blew it out, and continued. “He did stupid stunts and filmed them for YouTube. A real sensation and must of made a lot of cash via the ad revenue.”
“He ran you out of buness didn't he?” She said as she took the joint from his fingers.
“Nope. But he would have, if the shit hadn't of hit the fans. In the end, the dead put us and everyone else out of business.”
Tommy “Duras” Morrow remembered the Old Days, sitting in his Comic Haven, just off highway 17. Before the bald bastard came and shook up everything and before the world went to shit. The smell of new comics drafting, his wife's ass as she stocked shelves, and the sound of the kids coming in after school. He especially remembers his little girl, a sweet face blonde with locks and blue ribbons. The nick name “Duras” came from his love of Star Trek. He flew his wife and daughter to the Comic Cons and Trek conventions, always dressed as Klingons, most specifically the leader of the Klingon Empire (you guessed it, the klingon's name was Duras. He even had a bat’leth custom made, and after the shit hit the fans, he sharpened the edges and put it to damn good use. Duras was always a no nonsense kind of guy, never taking shit from anybody. His body big and strong, just over two thirty and right at six foot five; Tommy “Duras” Morrow was a nerd nobody chose to pick on. Comic Haven had been his dream and a dream he refused to lose, even in the face of the competition across the street. The competition, or Comic Land, was formerly owned by a donut eating black man by the name of Andre and is brother Chris. That was, of course, before the arrival of Okona. Tyler Okona. What a cocky little shit. If there had ever been a neck that needed breaking, Tommy thought, Okona was the guy that needed it the most. When Duras opened Comic Haven he knew Comic Land was already on its last leg. It didn't take him long to lure what few customers they had over to his new and much larger and flashier store. This all made possible by the added extra of having a coffee shop inside the store, which also, much to the dislike of big black Andre, sold donuts. Duras believed he'd won and certainly there was plenty of evidence to back this up. After all, he'd turned a profit within the first year and was now looking to not only put Comic Land out of commission, but also to lease the store front and start his comic empire. Then came Okona. That filthy, bald fuck. With his boat loads of cash and ever so arrogant attitude, not too mention a blistering hot wife that made Debbie Morrow look like a two dollar bimbo. Well, may be not that bad, but she certainly had an hour glass figure and a booty to go with it, and a pair of perfect tits every man dreams about. And ever since society took a nose dive, the dead walked, and ghosts started showing up (or so he's told, he's yet to meet one), Duras has still had nothing but trouble from Okona. A reckless bandit that one. An apocalyptic robin hood if there ever was such a thing. Hit and runs.
The possibility that he and Okona would soon depend on each other for survival, never crossed his mind.
2
“You OK?” Mary Jane was staring at Duras as he came back to the world around him. He still sat with her on the blazing roof. A few moments had past, may be a few minutes, may be over an hour, he didn't know.
Had it not been for her... for Mary Jane...surely he would have lost what was left of his mind. The guilt over loving someone other than his dead wife caused him great pain. Just lust, that's all. I could never really love another woman, especially not in this hell.
But he could and he did. He remembered the first night he realized how much he did love her and couldn’t live without her. They'd taken a mattress and sheets out to the burning pits to watch the dead burn in the night.
“I always hated religious scum. But, when the shit flies, Christianity is an excellent tool. Control and power, that's the ticket.”
“I know babe. You've told me a million zillion times.”
“Never gets old.”
“Speak for yourself.”
Her hand had slipped under the sheets and gave a solid squeeze. She unzipped him. “Does Tommy need a blow job?”
“I'm the leader of the empire, of course I do. Life is stress.”
She unbuckled his pants and brought him out into the hot night air. Death blurred in his eyes as the fires burnt the night. The ashy ruin of the Old World. The Before World. But in that moment, he felt alive and powerful. He felt he understood his destiny, as though somehow all this made sense. The rising cloud of smoke rose as Mary Jane felt the gush of joy running down her throat.
As Duras came he watched the bodies burn, not moaning, forcing the pleasure to stay inside him, sending his eyes to the back of his head. Dear Jesus, thank you for the world. The world where I reign supreme. I am the giver of dreams, the maker of death. Me and my band of anti heroes. Together, we...that is to say I, Control and Own this rabble of survivors.
He fell over with relief and Mary Jane had laid her head on his broad chest. She listened to his heart beat. She felt the warm breeze coming from the pile of burning bodies and smelled death's sweetness, burning hot in her lungs and filling her soul with power to march on. She could remember the days before, but made a special effort to ignore them. Recalling her dead husband and son always made for a bad day. The memory of her sweet blue eyed boy. That was always the worst. His birthday. His smiling teeth. A little boy's dream.
A tear had ran down her face.
“I hear a tear fall.” Duras had said. “Tell me what's on your mind.”
“My son. I'm alright. I'm just remembering a time. Me and my husband took him to Charleston for the weekend. He loves Folly Beach.”
“Loved.”
“Yes, loved.
Duras and Mary Jane loved each other. A love forged in a apocalyptic furnace. A love that would soon be tested by the Militia; a group Duras had no idea even existed. He would know soon enough.
3
As his men cleaned the mess up down below, he rested his chin on the top of her head, and stared out at the blazing sun, and the blue sky.
“Mr. Poet, would you please quote me something you dreamt of once.” she said.
“In the darkest days, there stood a man, without a plan.
Lost in pain, lost of all hope, ready to die
Then came an angel, from somewhere in the dark,
dark brown hair glimmering, blue eyes shining
a cold and warm glare meant to wake my heart
shake my soul, and loosen my pain”
She stared up at him, and kissed the bottom of his chin. “You mad devil, you. What do you think will be here in 100 years?”
“A lot of walking dead people.”
“Maybe a good scientist will find a cure.”
“You're the only good scientist left.”
“We really need to go out and get some solar panels” she said.
“I know. We need to find some. Then find a blue ray player, a big screen T.V., and all the Star Trek collectors’ editions with all the extras.”
“And we will watch for hours. Tell me, what is your favorite episode?”
“I’m not sure I have a favorite. But, if I am forced to choose; I would say, under the circumstances, that the episode in Enterprise…” She interrupted him with a question.
“Yes that’s the one starring Scott Bakula; and the episode I’m referring to is during the third season. Archer and his crew find a ship of Vulcans. But, the Vulcans have all lost their minds; and act very much like our dead friends out there rotting in the sun.”
“It’s good to be alive isn’t it?”
“It’s better to be in charge.”
“No doubt.”
They held each other, and the day warmed. Down below the sound of the bodies being shoveled made its way up over the roof tops, and into his ears. Then, quite drunk, Vice stumbled through the roof’s gray entry door, holding an even drunker Mary Ann around her thin waist.
“You rascals!” Vice started. “The sheep below are hungry for your words of wisdom.” His words came out in a drunken ramble.
Duras stood up and stretched. “Join me dear?”
“Of course, Sire.”
Him and Mary Jane made their way to the stair case.
4
He hummed an old war tune his father once sang; but he didn’t know the words, or the name. So he just humed, and the sound echoed off the walls of the zigg zag stair case. The metal stair handles were cold to the touch, like a dead man’s hand. Vice and Mary Ann had stayed up top, because he claimed it was his turn to do nothing and bask in the great glory of the sun and enjoy watching the ants work below. So down, and down some more he went, down the stairs until he reached the bottom where two metal doors, both with silver knobs, stood waiting his arrival. Then he noticed it. How had he missed it before now? Had they just built it? My god! What glory! In the corner of the door, right at the top right edge was a nest of blue jays.
“Oh! How marvelous!” his dear Mary Jane proclaimed in one very excited voice. “I shall bring them worms and anything else they need!” she said.
“I'll have the men dig you up as many as you need.”
He stood, holding her close, there in the dark at the end of that long stair way, and watched the light flickering in that small corner where the birds lived peacefully, chirping away. “I will make a decree. This right side door shall never be opened!” he said.
She jumped into his arms and kissed him firmly. “You doll! You wonderful, courageous doll!”
Eventually he stopped staring at the chirping birds, and pushed open the left side door. The hot sun beamed down onto his face, followed the foul stench of a thousand rotting corpses. In front of him was the town court yard, covered in blood drenched cobble stone. The feet of his men plodding against the stone, and he watched as they heaved the bodies on the backs of pickups that then carried them away in a sputter. He suggested it was time to deal with the sheep; so with his dear lady on his arm, he marched with his chest held out, trying to enjoy the smell of death.
The flock had moved to the main cafeteria, and a set of guards protected the entry doors. Inside, hungry faces devoured soup and bread; and Ron John the chef gave Duras a wiggly wave with his skinny black arm when he saw him enter. Then the people all waved, and forced smiles on their faces; but the fear, confusion, and anxiety leaked through their worn expressions.
Duras kissed Mary Jane on the cheek and launched himself onto a table, causing it to rattle. He held both hands high in the air, palms out, “Listen up! I know you are all scared. But, this is nothing more than a test. A test of our faith. There are faithless men and women in those trees out there, and occasionally God has to let them hurt us to make sure we are still his servants. But, those that die in the name of God, receive a bountiful award in heaven.” Their eyes watched him intensely, and they had little choice but to want to believe enough that they forced themselves to accept his words. Fear is a powerful motivator, never forget that. Fear has helped war lords and great national leaders control their populations since the dawn of civilization.
“We have come a long way.” He continued, looking down for a moment, and contemplating his words. “When we first came together we were all famished. But, I gave you a promise then, and I give it to you again now. Stand with God, and a place in his holy cathedral will be set aside for you in the next life. This is the Tribulation. There was no rapture and there never was going to be. That was nothing more than the hopeful ramblings of men that thought they knew God, but did not. Look at your plates, and thank God for the food we have.” The sheeple were taking his speech well. “Rest assured. We will march on the godless heathens that live in those woods. They are vermin. They are retched animals! And, it is our duty as God’s chosen few to march into those dark trees, and burn every last one them!”
“Do it for Bobby!” One sheep shouted
“And Sandra!” Another tossed in.
And soon the one hundred strong group were in high spirits encouraging him to go with God’s speed and destroy the barbarians hiding in the murky forest. And, for days after that, their spirits rose. The bodies were finally disappearing, and the streets were getting cleaned. He helped pull the metal fencing from the storage buildings, and helped rebuild the fence. A few dead people strolled by, but nothing a few bullets couldn’t handle. Then after two weeks went by, the City of God was getting back to normal.
5
Then, like a reminder that life is never safe, a massive hoard came down and pushed hard against the northern side of the perimeter. The New World as a never ending supply of zombies. Where do they all come from? It never ends. At least one thousand of the dead bastards groaned their way against the metal links. He didn’t sleep very much for days. Killing, killing, and killing some more. Is it really killing when they were already dead? Who cares.
The fence held. And, he began assisting his men. One rotting corpse after another was loaded onto the pickups and driven to the fire pits. At the pits, the fire burned high, bellowing blackened gray smoke high into the air. When night fall came, the hot black smoke became visible against the backdrop of a full moon. He sat Indian style on cooling grass, his hands resting in his lap, and stared motionless at the rising plumes. There was no escaping the smell of scolded and melted flesh. Some of the men sat on the backs of the pickups, smoking cigarettes and drinking moonshine. Others continued to dump the few remaining bodies on the smoldering pile. The night sky was clear, and stars shined. He laid flat on his back, and listened to the bones crackle in the flames. It felt surreal. He could not help but think, for just a moment, that none it was real. And, then he thought, as his eyes met the big dipper above, that somewhere out there might be life. Maybe they could see them. Maybe they watched them, and laughed at their situation. Or maybe they did not notice them at all. It wasn’t that long ago that those stars gave him goose bumps, made him dream of a marvelous future—commercial space flight, trips to the moon, and one day, surely, even if long after he had died, his species would populate even the farthest of star systems.
He let out a long sigh.
That future is now dead. Dead as them. Dead as all of them will be. Dead. Dead. Dead. No life. No hope. No joy left. No promises to keep. Nothing. An endless wandering. A joyless march into the abyss. That’s all. All that’s left. No stars. No ships. No greatness. No glories. No humanity. A dead species. Gone. Gone forever. Never more. Never was. Never will be. A forgotten memory. Where are they? Dead. Forever dead. Don’t think. Need to sleep. Need darkness, nothingness, a place to rest.
Walking away from the fence line, back into the city streets, feeling the cobblestones and hearing the click of his boots; he saw Mary Jane walking towards him, with hopeful glee shining in her eyes.
He did not look her in the eyes, and brushed by her. She ran behind him, and grabbed him by his shoulder. “Don’t do this again…” She said.
He pulled his shoulder away, and ignored her. He walked back to his castle home, and stared up the length of the Gothic architecture. The door clanked open and he walked down the long hallway, up some winding stairs, and stepped into a dark hallway. The clicks of his footsteps echoed off the marble walls. Along the walls, torches burned. His shadow flickered in the flame light, and the dark magonay door of his room came int
o view down the broad hallway.
His chamber door clanged shut behind me. The room was dark as night, save for a dash of moon light beaming through a window and streaking over his bed.
He sat on his bed’s edge, and that was when he stared. He stared at that picture bathed in moon light. There she was. There they all were. Smiling and happy, because that was the day when he'd taken them to that tropical paradise, down in the heat of Miami, where the sand was so white, and their skin all got burned. Where he laughed with his boy, and sang stupid songs with his girl, and put them to bed, made love to his wife, that wonderful woman, so bright and so sweet, like a flower in bloom, or sweet honey suckle on a spring’s eve, and they'd loved all that night, and drank cold red wine, and felt the warm ocean’s breeze, smelled the salty sea, and danced on the balcony, under the moon and the stars, with the low rumble of the waves crashing not far; and he will never forget those cool white sheets, and the morning after when that brilliant boy, and that beautiful girl, came running in, waking them up, and begging to play; and down they all went to the ocean and—
And that was then. And now was now.
He reached out and held that picture. He laid in his bed, pulled it close to his chest, closed his eyes, and for a split moment he thought he might beam back to that time, when smiles were the norm, and bed crumbs were the worst of his problems; but now he had to fight the dead, keep the flock in line, and face the dreary world around him; he held his picture, and kept his eyes shut, ignored the stinging tears; and at some point, he went to sleep, and dreamt of that moment in time.
6
He awoke to clanging and banging against his chamber door. Mary Jane's voice was wild and excited. “Open the fucking door! She’s going to kill him!” His dreamy flash back of yesteryear’s remembrances was all but faded and gone. He shoved himself out of bed and marched to the door. She certainly would not be up in such a fuss and a tizzy for no reason. The door creaked loudly as a opened up and the sweaty face of his end of the world girlfriend screamed at him. “You go in here and leave me to deal with that rabble! Every fucking goddamn night! Now that fool friend of yours has felt up one of the younger girls and my sister has him held at gun point and is bat shit out of her mind.”
“The younger girls? Who?”
“I think she is only 13!”
“Jesus fucking Christ!”
“You told him not again! You told him not—”
He held his finger to her mouth, “And I meant it.”
He marched through the dark corridor. Some sunlight beamed through windows near the top of the hall. Again? Again! He rushed through the double exit doors and moved over the cobble streets. He could hear the crowd gathered and the people fuming. Mary Jane, with her long, strong atheltic legs, darted in front of him. “Here he comes Sarah!”
He walked up and pushed his way through a crowd of sweaty excited spectators. And then, in the middle of the town’s courtyard was Vice on his knees with Sarah Ann standing a few feet from him aiming a sawed off shot gun directly at his head. “Did she tell you what he did Duras? The son of bitch go drunker than drunk last night. And guess what? He walked off and said he had to take a piss but instead followed little Margie home and felt her up!” Sarah Ann said.
“Don’t fucking listen to that shit Duras! The bitch is out of her mind. Too much drink and smoke if you ask me. Say, do your pal a favor and shoot the fucking whore!”
“Whore?! You sick fuck!” Sarah Anna was fuming.
“Everybody just shut up for a moment! Where is Ice Man?”
The Ice Man came out of the crowd as if waiting for me to call for him. His golden blonde hair looking pert as ever. “Yes sir, ready and willing.”
“Take him to lock up till I can figure out what to do.”
“Lock up? What the hell Duras? How long have I been your right hand man? How fucking long?”
“And how many times have I warned you to stay away from the younger girls? Now shut up and pray! Because God is the only hope you have if this turns out to be true.”
Ice Man along with Rhino held him down and tied his arms then yanked him up and forced him through the streets. Mary Jane and Sarah Ann came up to Duras.
“So what are you going to do with the cheating perverted snake?” asked Sarah Ann.
He rubbed his eyes and felt the heat of the early morning southern sun force its hot rays into his brain. “God only knows! Hell, I guess we can let the victim decide.”
“No trial?” Mary Jane asked.
“Trial for what? We know he did it. The only reason he got away with the last girl was because the poor little lassie along with her whole family got eaten by zombies.” Sarah Ann said.
“And I told you to deal with it then didn’t I?” Mary Jane said.
“It’s too early for this.” Duras said.
Mary Jane glared at Duras. “You leave me to deal with this rabble every night. You go off into that dungeon of yours and feel sorry for yourself. You don’t think I know what you do? You think you are the only person that lost your family? Fuck you!” She slapped his face hard then turned and walked away.
“Go with her will you?” he said to Sarah Ann. “When she calms down go find the girl Vice felt up and bring her to the court house. I will have the boys bring Vice down and we will deal with this once and for all.”
7
A few hours later Duras sat in the judge’s chair staring out at the seats. The seats were filling up fast by the many people that wanted to know the fate of Vice. Word had spread quickly that the young girl had already made her decision but refused to tell anybody what it was.
“What say you young woman? What will the fate of Vice be?”
A hush fell over the entire room. She looked up at Duras with glowing blue eyes. Then she turned and faced Vice. “The Pitts! Take him to the Pitts!” Duras grabbed the gavel and slammed it hard. “You heard the girl! She wants the Lord to choose this man’s fate.” He pointed the gavel at Vice. “Your fate will be decided by the Trail of the Damned!”
He left the court house with mixed feelings. Vice was a loyal friend and solider. But he was also a pervert. He walked over to what used to be a pub. It was still a pub of course. A post-apocalyptic drinking hole where his men drank and blew off steam.
The smell of home grown tobacco and whiskey hit him as he walked through the double glass doors. He sat down at the bar, “Whiskey.” Rhino filled a shot glass and handed it to him.
“Come on Duras! What the fuck!” Ice Man said behind him.
Duras turned and stared at him, took a drink of whiskey, and slammed the shot glass onto the table and stared at him.
Ice Man continued. “Vice has done more for this community than that little girl. Maybe he did wrong, but he is still a loyal soldier and we need him.”
“What we need is harmony. Without harmony, this community will perish. If I let him keep getting away with this, I risk losing the trust of the people. If I lose the trust of the people, this town will fall.”
“Hell, I ain’t never liked his ass anyway. Let him die.” Said Swirly. Swirly was a wild eyed African American girl with frizzy hair. Her pupils were always larger than the white part of her eye.
“Shut up you damn whore!” Said Rhino.
Swirly rose and charged him. He grabbed her and pushed her against the wall and forced a kiss onto her lips. “Now get your ass back over there!”
“Fuck you! Fuck all of you!” Swirly left the building.
Duras took another shot of whiskey. Then one more. “Gentleman!” He started. “The Vice issue is a second hand compared to the Tree Folk. Listen to me!”
All his men were there, except Vice of course. He was locked away in the court house holding cell till the hour of his judgment. Without Vice, his men turned to Rhino and Ice Man for their guidance. It’s a group of men with unknown or well-known back grounds. Some maybe were military. Others may be convicts.
Someone handed Duras a joint and he gladly took a lon
g drag, blew out the smoke, and coughed hard for a moment.
One of the men was smiling, “they call that the Blue Moon boss.” He said.
Another solider said, “What about Vice? We can’t do this to him. No matter what he did. I say kick the girl out! Hell, its Vice that keeps em all safe!”
Duras looked at his slather of filthy soldiers with arms crossed. “Soon we are going to battle!” He threw back another shot of whiskey. “We are going to burn Okona out.”
“Yeah but it sure would be nice to have Vice!” Rhino said.
He knew they were right. Vice was an invaluable asset. “He will survive the Trail.” he said.
He sat there for a moment. No one spoke. “Well… the Seekers should be ready by now.” He said.
“Dirty rats! I hate those bastards!” Screamed Ice Man.
“They are necessary.” He said.
“It’s not normal.” Said Rhino.
“They do enjoy their job. But sacrifices are necessary in this world. In this environment, only the wicked survive. It is deathly important to show both cruelty and justice during these darkest of days.”
“I caught one of em eating the flesh right off the fucking bones. The guy's strapped to a table. He was screaming while that blonde headed Seeker carved him up like a roast.” He stopped for a second. “Then you will never believe what the asshole did next. He fucking hissed at me! Literally fucking hissssssssed.” Ice Man said.
A nervous laughter filled the room.
“I just don’t get it boss. Why?” Another solider asked.
“Evil wins the day. It is that simple.” Duras said.
“Why not just bring those folks into the community? Why hack em up and use em like that?” Ice Man asked.
“You know what Vice would say?” Duras asked.
“What he always says. ‘People need entertainment. People need religion. People need justice and punishment. The Trail gives them both and the Seekers make the trial possible.”
“That’s why he is my right hand man. When the Seekers find people wandering out there—those people are lost, starving, and going to die anyway.” He took another drag from the joint. Smoke filled the air.
“Why don’t we just use the ones that are already dead?”
“The Trial is a spiritual experience. It must have a certain level of depth and mystic appeal. Sacrifices help create that. Hell, sacrifices have been part of humanity’s existence for millenniums. Plus, we can’t take in any more than we have. We don’t have the food or resources. Speaking of the Seekers. Time for me to pay them a visit.”
8
He stood and made his way out of the building. He crossed the peddled roads and heard the sounds of his men behind him. He walked around to a side entry door on the east wing of his churchly castle. The Catholics that built this place went out of their way to create a majestic and medieval building.
He banged on the large mahogany door. Foots steps were heard. Then the peep slot unlocked and opened.
A man with long blonde hair and a scar ridden face stared out. His eyes were hollow and black, “Welcome Duras. We are almost ready. Would you like to come to the séance?”
“Sure, what the hell.”
“Hell has no fury like the power of God.” The door unlocked and opened. He entered a long hallway lit by torches mounted on either wall. Paintings of dead saints and apostles hung between each torch. The blonde Seeker wore a brown robe with a black hood. He carried a small lantern as he led the way. Duras's boots clicked against the gray stone floor. As he got closer to the end another door way came into view. Beyond the door, growls were heard.
The Seeker opened the door, “This way Duras.”
“After you, Rusty Ray.” he said. He put up with the Seekers. But he didn't trust them. He walked through the door and followed Rusty Ray, never taking his eyes off of him. Rusty Ray was the leader of the Seekers. He gave Duras the utter creeps.
The smell of death hit Duras hard. He was in a large circular room filled with chained dead men. They growled, howled, and reached out for flesh. Their eyes burned a hot white and their skin hung loosely from their faces. The Seekers had adorned their body with Kevlar.
“Today’s Trial must be different. It calls for a level of difficulty due to who is to enter the pit. Duras, why the face? He broke our community’s laws. Laws given by God. He has shown himself to be without faith.”
“Just get on with it.”
Rusty Ray looked back at Duras with a smile. But underneath that smile, Duras was quite sure he sensed hatred.
More Seekers entered form another door. They were all wearing the same brown and black cloaks. They began sprinkling water on each dead man’s head and chanting something he could not understand. Their chant echoed off the stone walls along with the moans of the dead. They then began hording the dead out of two separate doors that led to the gates that connected to the pit.
Duras motioned for the Rusty Ray to get on with it and to lead the way out.
9
The bells were ringing. People were gathering quickly.
Inside Duras made his way to his balcony. Mary Jane waited along with her sister. Her sister had tears streaming down her face. “I love him. I still love him!” She held a bottle of wine in her hand. Her hair was disheveled. Mary Jane held her like a child.
Down below the crowd roared, “Duras! Duras! Duras!”
Duras stood and picked up the megaphone, “Today God brings us together for a very special Trial Vice has been a loyal soldier and friend to many of us. But no one is above the laws of our community. Our children are special. They are gifts from God. They must be protected.”
“Let him die! Let him die! Let him die!” they screamed.
“That is for God to decide, not us! This is why God gave us the Trial. If he survives his sins are forgiven. If he dies, then may God have mercy on his soul.”
The crowd roared. The balcony shook under his feet from their bellowing. He saw the door to the pit open and Vice was pushed down into the bowl. His face looked mean and ready. Duras had seen that look before while engaging in battle with the dead and the living—maybe he would survive this ordeal after all.
The sword lowered and Vice removed it from the chain. The doors creaked open. The dead men stumbled out. Their armor was fitted tightly against their skin dripping bodies. Their eyes burned hot white. Their hungry moans were barely audible over the raging crowd.
The first group charged Vice. He swung the sword. It barely cut into the hard Kevlar. The Seeker’s had taken the liberty of wrapping it around their necks and put helmets on their heads. Vice shoved them off of him and circled fast around. He jumped onto one of their back and jerked backwards on the helmet. It came off along with half the skin. Vice stepped back, swung, and cleaved its head.
“He’s going to make it.” Mary Jane said to her sister.
“God. I still love him so much.” Her sister said with thick and drunken sobs.
And he did survive, much to the blood thirsty crowd's disspointment. Vice killed each one with precision. He then stood proudly. He mocked the crowd. They jeered back at him. He laughed.
Then the next gate creaked open. Ten heavily armored dead men marched out.
In the same fashion, Vice ended each one. As he reached the final dead man, he gave the crowd the middle finger and swung with a victorious scream.
10
Later on, Vice celebrated with the rest of the men. Sarah Ann sat on his knee and held onto his neck. A long and fat blunt dangled from his lips and a shot of whiskey sat in front of him.
Duras stepped into the old run down bar and was greeted with thunderous drunken applause. “Here! Here! Duras has joined us!”
The men danced around him and shouted a song of triumph.
“We fight and we dance at the end of the world! Nothing can kill us now! We dance, we prance, and we chop off their fucking heads!”
Mary Jane followed behind him and wrapped her hands around his w
aist. He turned to her. She stared into his eyes. A warm breeze blew through the open doors. She looked up at him, “Never forget this moment. This is a great moment.” she said.
“A glorious moment.” he said.
She kissed him. He kissed her back. And they danced, drank, and smoked till the sun came up.
11
A few hours after dawn, Duras woke with a jump. Screams and then a loud siren shot through his ears. “Jesus! Can’t I have one day! Just one fucking day!”
Vice stood above him, “A few of the people made off with a large stash of food and slit the throats of five men!”
“Fucking bastards!” he rose fast. Sun light glistened through the bar’s windows and burned into his eyes. He rubbed them. Rhino came charging in with his Springfield, gave it to Duras, and out the door they all went.
“Gas up the jeeps! We’ve got some thieves to kill!” He charged through the streets and joined a group of his men at the front gates. He loaded into a Jeep Wrangler. The previous owners, now long dead, had been kind enough to install a lift kit and massive wheels. Rhino drove, Vice sat in front, and Duras and Ice Man took up the back seat.
“The fucking fools! I’ll gut them before this day is over! I want them alive gents! I want to make them suffer!”
They charged forward in the Jeep. The air was hot as it blew through the open windows. The seat fabric was warm. Duras stared out into the world. The sky was blue with a few clouds.
He saw them. Sure enough their they were. In the wide open, hauling the food on their backs. “You would think they’d have a better escape plan!” Rhino said while he laid on the accelerator.
They saw them and turned. They dropped the food and whipped out pistols. Rhino slammed on the breaks and brought the Jeep to a skidding halt. Duras jumped out and aimed his rifle. A gun shot pelted the side of the Jeep. He saw one of their knee caps in his site and pulled the trigger. The guy went down with a scream.
Rhino blew the brains out of one of the others. “Fuck! I didn’t mean to kill him!”
“Can’t win em all!” Duras said. Vice took out the legs of two others and Duras finished off the final one with a well-placed shot in his lower torso.
“Tie em to the top!” Duras said.
The sun burned hot against his back as he boot knocked one of them unconscious. The guy fell to the ground with a lifeless thud. Blood oozed out of his hip. He wore handmade pants. It reminded Duras of what the outfits Star Trek characters wore when visiting prewarp societies—medieval, but not anything that anyone wore during the medieval ages…just something the costume crew was told to come up with in order to avoid looking like anything anyone had seen before. The guy's hair was long and dirty. His chin sharp and his face underfed. Dirt and blood smeared across his cheeks.
One of the other ones looked like he used to be fat. He had stretch marks down his neck. Duras was surprised he made it this far. Most of the fat and out of shape people died early on. His eyes were closed from where Rhino had knocked him cold. He wore the same homemade clothing as the other guy. His hair was chopped short, probably with a knife.
Vice punched out a third. He was skinny as a rail. His hair was black and filthy. His pants did not fit well enough around his waist, so a handmade rope was used as belt. It looked like a poor excuse for clown pants. A long, nasty scar ran down his face. His chin had a dimple.
“We’ve got company.” Vice said.
Duras looked up and a herd of zombies moved their way. He took his rifle and aimed. He saw what looked like an old business suit. A bloody money clip clung to a black leather belt. He blew his head off.
The next one wore a blood stained yellow sun dress. She had blond hair. He saw her earrings. The diamonds hadn’t lost their sparkle. Maybe she was the manager’s wife. He put a bullet through her skull. Her head exploded and she tumbled to the ground.
He saw a black man with a blood stained Rastafarian haircut. His eyes burned white hot and his face had went from black to a pale gray. His cheeks sunk in like pot holes and half his chin was missing. Duras pulled the trigger.
He saw a young boy. His shirt said SKATER FOR LIFE. His face was a grayish green and his eyes burned hot white. He still wore a black helmet with stickers stuck to it. Duras aimed for the middle of his face and fired. He went down.
A fat dead man with a Grateful Dead shirt on came into view. Duras fired into his stomach for the hell of it. Blood and guts poured out but he kept moving forward. The next shot removed half his head.
He saw a little girl. Maybe she was five when she turned. Her dress was torn and bloody. Her blond locks dangled from a loosened scalp. He'd shot many kids since this world turned dead. But every time hurt. Every time it was like watching humanity die all over again. Who would she of been had this not happened? She would be in school right now. She’d be saying the pledge of allegiance. She’d be studying basic geometry. He pulled the trigger.
“You OK boss?” Rhino asked.
He let the tear drop down his chin and fall to the earth. He raised his rifle and put the final dead man down, “Let’s get them loaded and get back.”
They did not put up much of a fight as they loaded their bleeding bodies on the roof. Rhino and Ice Man tied them down real good with thick nylon rope. As the Jeep drove down the road, Vice pushed his head out of the window, “The worst is yet to come boys!” He shouted up to the people strapped to the roof.
This was all that was left of humanity. The four of them in this Jeep. The people back at the compound. The people in wilderness. Who else was out there? What was left? Anything? Did any other country do better? Where were they headed? What did all this mean? Questions with no answers. That was all that was left. A world of decaying corpses walking around eating what was left of the living. How long did they have before all that roamed was the dead? Months? Years? Days?
The hot wind whipped through the windows and he stared out. Nothing. Nothing at all. No wonder. No joy. Only death. Sweet deathly misery.
“Don’t think so hard.” Said Vice as he reached back and slapped Duras's knee. Duras forced a slight grin and turned away.
12
Back at the compound, a large gathering of people waited at the front entrance. It was a personal D Day welcoming party. Shouts of victory roared.
It was nearing mid-day. The sun was hot and the sky was clear. The humidity dripped down Duras's neck. His head hurt. He forced himself to ignore it.
He helped unstrap the bleeding fools from the top and hauled them down.
“Crucifix! Crucifix! Crucifix!” the crowd shouted.
Hatred, pain, and sadness covered their faces. Bankers, lawyers, and school teachers screamed for the death of these men. Did they ever believe they would come this far down the evolutionary ladder? It happened so quickly.
Barney drove up in the Gator with crucifixes tied to the back. The faces of the prisoners were sullen and drained. Blood oozed out of their gunshot wounds. The crowd pelted them with pebbles.
Holes were dug for the crucifixes. Duras took some large nails from the back of the Gator and a hammer. The first one screamed bloody hell while Rhino and Ice Man held him down and Duras hammered the first nail through his wrists. The next two begged for mercy and forgiveness as the hammer nailed them. The final one looked Duras in the eye. “You're not Christian. God's gonna treat you to some serious hell fire!”
“May be. Too bad He can't save you though, uh?” He said while he drove the nails into him.
They rose up into the sun. Their bodies dripped with blood. The cries lasted throughout the day, but began smoldering out as night came. The entire town was out to see the spectacle. Lawn chairs were brought out. Food was being cooked. It was a celebration for the lives lost and the redemption brought in their names.
Duras sat staring at their dying bodies. They would turn soon and he would finish them off. A warm hand touched my shoulder then rubbed the back of my neck. “Hard day at work hun?” Mary Ann said.
�
�Just another day at the office.”
“The office of the dead.”
“At least I get to work outside now.”
“Comic book store owners didn’t get to work outside?”
“Not so much.”
“What’s for dinner?”
“I think Barney is cooking some pork.”
“The white meat.”
“That’s whats for dinner.”
“We buried them while you guys were out.”
“I heard.”
“Sarah Ann sang a song.”
“Was it good?”
“Dreadfully appealing. Some Celtic tune she learned while studying in Ireland.”
“History. Is she still keeping that journal?”
“Everyday.”
“I’m sure she has painted me as tyrant.”
“Would you have it any other way?”
“Who the hell does she think is going to be around to read it?”
“I guess it helps her from losing her mind.”
“That and the wine. I can’t count the amount of dead men and living I have had to kill in order to keep enough wine for her to drink.”
“Everyone has their sins.”
“What’s yours.”
“You of course. You and your dungeon hideaway I have to keep up with.”
“Listen.”
“Don’t. I understand.”
“That’s why I love you.”
“Love. Is that a new word?”
“I just made it up. Do you like it?”
“I’ll let you know tomorrow.”
She reached down and kissed the top of my head. “You would use a bath.”
“Me? I can smell you from here.”
“Hush you. I smell like roses.”
“Dead roses.”
“Everyone is dead.”
“We are all dead, yes.”
“Dead and dying.”
“Cold and alone.”
“Hollow as stone.”
“Is stone hollow?”
“Why not?”
“Sure, why not.”
“Rhyme, meter, and meaning do not matter in the day of the dead.”
“Fried chicken. I used to love it.”
“Here comes the pork.”
They ate the pork side by side and said nothing as the night grew older. The stars shined bright and the world was at ease for a few hours. The prisoners had turned and were growling for flesh.
Mary Ann grabbed his arm, “Not yet. I want to watch and listen to them for a while.”
“Getting sentimental are you?”
“The moans of the dead will do that to a woman.”
“So I hear.”
“I hear God’s hell in their moans. It’s what awaits us.”
“You know better.”
“Yeah. This is hell. This is hell and heaven combined.”
“Maybe it will snow this winter.”
“Winter? Aren’t you becoming the optimist?”
“A man has to dream sometimes.”
“Be realistic. May be fall will come.”
“The dying of the leaves, the turning of the season, nature’s symbolism at work.”
The night moved along and a few clouds blotted out the stars from time to time. The dead men growled from their crosses as the moon cast their shadows along the pebbled streets. The streets were empty now. Everyone was gone. Only him and Mary Ann now. She held his arm, “Not yet. A little longer. Do you think they dream?”
“I don’t think they sleep.”
“You don’t have to sleep to dream.”
“Just about flesh.”
“May be more. When there is no flesh around.”
“Then they just moan and groan in large groups.”
“What will be here in ten years?”
“Just a lot them.”
“The dead inherit the earth.”
“That’s a fact.”
The night continued to dwindle until the early sun started to rise.
“I wonder what’s happening in China.”
“A lot of little dead people.”
“Don’t be racist.”
“All the PC squads are dead.”
“I’m still here.”
“I’m sorry. I love you little Asians.”
“And we love you.” She kissed his cheek. “Now come on, I will help you finish them off.”
Together, we gave them the final death and carried the bodies to the burning pits. As the sun continued to rise, the gasoline caught fire with the match I threw in. “What do you say we go up to my chamber.”
She looked at him, “You know I love it when you talk medieval”
“It’s time we let the dead rest.”
