by Thom Erb
Warren said again, “Dex?”
“I'm here, man. Arnie, dude?” Dex called out.
“Sam, you there?” Warren asked.
“Right here,” Sam said from close by. Her voice startled him, and he jumped.
“Jesus Marimba!” Warren shouted.
Sam put a hand on his shoulder. “Sorry.”
“Arnie!” Dex shouted louder.
“I don't like this, lads,” Elton said. Warren heard the sound of Elton scrambling with some papers or something.
“Arnie?” Dex and Warren called out and were met with a cold echo of the cinderblock walls of the Armory.
Then, someone began singing. It was far off but drawing closer.
Warren knew the lyrics to the song. What was it? He fought to recall.
The voice stepped closer, now coming from the door at the end of the assembly room.
Maico let out a loud growl and ran between his legs.
“Arnie, come on, man. Quit fucking around. This shit ain't funny!” Dex said.
Capt. Al snored in the darkness.
The song came again...
“Son of a bitch,” Warren said.
“What?” Sam asked.
“That's Judas Priest,” Warren answered.
“No shit. It is!” Dex agreed.
Elton and Sam asked, “Judas who?”
The metal door flew open and Arnie ran out screaming,
The gravelly voice continued singing Judas Priest and grew louder.
“Damn,” Warren said.
89.
Some Heads are Gonna Roll
The United States Armory,
Main Street.
Rochester, New York
The mocking verses of a Judas Priest song echoed in the room, promising heads were going to roll. The shadows began to sing. The words came in a jagged and garbled sounding chorus. Maico sniffed the air again but this time didn’t sneeze. This time, his black nose crinkled, and he let loose a low growl.
More haunting, taunting singing echoed through the room.
A form appeared from the darkened hallway from the left of the gym. Its raven black well shined, boots glistened in the sporadic moonlight. The lights above offered nothing. All was dark, save the upper windows. The green and dark brown of camouflage filled the pant legs as the rest of the figure stepped into view.
“Umm....What...is...that?” Warren asked.
“You got to be shittin’ me?” Dex affirmed as the form of a United States Army soldier entered the room
“How’s it hanging boys?” the form asked. “And girl. Sorry.” The figure stopped about five feet short of Warren and the group. The voice kept on its hollow words, but the source was not what they were used to.
“Sorry about my tardiness, but with all this crazy shit going on, I seem to have lost my head.” Before them, stood a soldier adorned in his government issue BDUs and only missing one thing: his head. He began singing again.
As the ghastly song continued, it didn’t take long for them to locate his missing head. It was nestled comfortably in the crook of the undead soldier’s armpit, like a seasoned football player would covet his helmet.
“Th-this can't be,” Sam said.
“Oh, trust me, toots, it can!” the disembodied head taunted.
They all recoiled and lost their breath as Maico rushed forward barking and baring his teeth.
Loose flesh hung from the corporal’s neck. His eyes were sunken and bulging. His veins and arteries hung like unwanted limbs from a Christmas tree that should be trimmed. His mouth hung open in mid-verse, and the purplish veins pulsed with each line.
“What’s wrong? Can’t accept the fact that your god has had his ass kicked?” The head’s gravelly ripped vocal chords made the sound bloody and garbled, like an underwater AM radio station broadcasting from Hell.
“Maico, get back here!” Warren reached for the growling dog’s collar. He barely reached it as the grotesque corpse continued forward.
Capt. Al coughed awake, and rubbed his eyes. “What’s going on?”
Sam helped Capt. Al into the chair.
Warren stared at the soldier. Elton shoved his way forward and pushed them apart. They didn’t even notice. The wild hair of the Keeper swayed on its own in the stifling air as he took place in front of Dex and Warren.
“Who the hell are you?” the isolated head taunted with a chilly laugh. “Tom Baker called, and he wants his haircut back, douche bag!” The vile mouth spoke and followed it with a blood-curdling round of laughter that filled the concrete confines of the Armory.
Warren stepped forward and motioned for Sam to grab Maico's collar.
She reluctantly took it and fought to hold the angry dog back, pulling him back behind Capt. Al’s chair. Al shot her a wink and pet the pooch.
Warren heard the cocking of an M-16.
“Down!” he shouted, grabbing Dex's arm
Elton stepped into his line of sight. Capt. Al was pissed.
“Motherhucker!” Al bitched.
“Oh, come on, is that it?” The pale, clotted head spat with disgust and belted out a laugh. “An old dog, an even older hippie, a young bitch, who at least knows her role when a man tells her what to do? This will be easy peasy.”
“Keep silent, vile hell spawn of Orcus!” Elton shouted in a voice that didn’t seem to be coming from his diminutive frame.
“Whhooooa, did you feel that? I sure did. Brrrrr. Scary. Give it up, Keeper. The rest of your kind are all dead, or at least in the stomach of the lesser creatures rotting in their zombified stomachs,” the voice from the decapitated head mocked.
“Uh, Elton, what the hell is going on?” Warren asked as he slowly knelt to grab his shotgun.
“The Master has all the brats. Well, most of them, Of course, you two will be coming with us once the Knights drop in. And you, freaky-haired weakling, will have lost and this realm will be ours. So, just drop your bag of tricks and join all the rest of the flesh-walkers and prepare for the Breaching Ceremony
“Or, should I say, The Children of Light and the Eternal Flame will soon belong to the Dark One and snuffed out, and Lord Orcus will drink from the Aether, and the pigs of the Great Creator will lay at the feet of the Master!” It laughed as coagulated blood dripped from its detached mouth and neck. Its crimson pigment dropped onto the concrete floor with a slapping thud. The dark laughter filled the room and mingled with the intensifying flow of blood.
“Ego scisco valde sator ut expello vestri malum presentia quod sent vos tergum ut novem abyssus ex quod vos venit,” Elton shouted above the din of laughter emanating from Corp. Moreno’s severed head.
A bright white light rose above them, and a low rumble shook the walls and floor of the stone Armory. The entire room was filled with a bright flash, and a loud crash that sounded like thunder.
All looked to the undead soldier and to Elton, who stood erect with his small arms extended in a somatic pose.
Laughter filled the room once again. The light was gone and all sense that the spell had worked vanished with it.
A loud metallic click caught Warren’s attention and he spun to see Captain Al aiming the M-16 at the soldier and then the DJ fought with the side of the rifle and let out a slew of curses.
“Fuckin’ jammed. Goddamn piece of government issued, made by Mattel piece of shit!” Capt Al. shouted.
Warren turned to Elton hoping for an answer. But the diminutive man stood frozen, a look of shock upon his thin face.
“Ha, what happened, bitch boy of the Keepers? You’re not all drunk as usual, are ya?” the heinous voice garbled through the tense-filled silence. “No octopus’s garden for your sorry ass!” The bloodied head chuckled. The body of the dead corporal shook with convulsions as the head continued its bellowing laughter.
The light all but faded, and the stench of rotting flesh and feasting maggots filled the entire Armory. All the living looked to each other for answers.
Warren fumbled for his shotgun, and he
caught the rest rushing for their weapons.
Elton stood point. His thin hands shook and sweat poured from his frizzy brow. A cold shiver rushed through his thin body as he violently tossed his canvas bag about him, never letting it loose from his body proper. The baying of Maico only made things worse as it bounced about the walls.
“So, what’s next for you flesh walking shitbags is, as I see it, a feast for the beast!” The head spoke with a mix of complacency and arrogance. A short chortle followed its grizzly statement. “Are you all sufficiently distracted now? I surely do hope so because my throat is really beginning to kill me.” The severed head laughed and shot Warren a wink. “Hey, fat boy, got a lozenge?”
Maico barked savagely, then rushed past Warren and charged the laughing zombie.
“How’s about you feast on this!” Warren screamed. Stepping forward, he shoved Elton out of the way and brought the shotgun up and fired. One slug proceeded to obliterate the smiling face of Corp. Ben Moreno of the Rochester National Guard. His head exploded in a red miasma of gray matter and bone. The concussive thunder blasted through the Armory.
90.
Evil Walks
The United States Armory,
Main Street.
Rochester, New York
Sam turned away, not wanting to witness the gore that lay before her. She'd seen enough carnage, and didn’t wish to add any more. A calloused hand grabbed hers, and Sam turned to see Capt. Al smiling at her. He gave her a wink and squeezed her hand gently, gentler than she imagined his big tattooed hands could.
“It’s gonna be okay, kid. I promise. Get yourself behind my little war-wagon here. I got you,” he whispered in his gravelly tone and offered her another wink of assurance.
She shuffled behind Al and never looked back at the bloody scene. She closed her eyes and offered a silent prayer.
Sam prayed for all the lost souls and hoped for an end to the constant loss of life. The tears filled her eyes as her mind filled with the ghastly thought of the senseless slaughtering of God’s children and she drew closer to breaking her resolve. The death toll seemed to be growing exponentially by the second. All this talk of the Children of Light, demons, Great Creator, all made her head swim.
If this truly was Armageddon, did any of this, them, truly matter? If God or the Great Creator were gone, or weak, and the walking dead, Orcus and his minions now ruled, what purpose would it serve to become friendly with these five strangers? Had she wasted her youth on a faith, on a false future? It felt as though as she was the one who took the shotgun blast and not the poor Corporal, lying headless and lifeless on the floor.
A foul stench of rotten eggs filled her nose. She turned around. “Oh, wa—” The last thing she saw were several sets of red eyes appearing out of the shadows.
* * *
An all-too-familiar sensation ran through Elton, like a spiritual alarm system cranked to eleven. Electricity, powered by the Aether, coursed through his wiry frame; warning him that agents of the Lord of the Dead were gathering close.
Elton took the violent distraction of Warren dispatching the undead solider to prepare a spell. Two spells in one, truth be told. One-part protection, one part illusion. The Keeper was well aware that if the vile creatures drew closed enough, they most certainly would be able to detect the Children of Light and he could not allow that. At all costs.
Slipping back into the center of the group, using the kids as a shield, Elton brought forth the proper components for the spell; a small, smooth rock from the North Sea, a piece of white silk and a tiny dagger. Glancing about the circle, making certain the enemy hadn’t broken the ranks yet, Elton laid the rock on the cold floor, the patch of silk upon it and quickly sliced a small cut in his thickly scarred palm, then squeezed seven droplets of blood onto the silk.
A tremor of pain shook him, nearly knocking him over.
They were getting closer, Elton sensed. Why are they waiting so long to make their move? He thought and closed his eyes Elton began the somatic portion of the spell.
Once the holy words were spoken, he opened his eyes and smiled as two sets of images welcomed him. One was the real visage of his companions, the false illusion. His heart grew warmer once the young lad Warren and Lady Samantha’s real forms were surrounded by a faint white glow, indicating the Children were safe from physical harm.
The servants of Orcus would see the images they wanted to see, not the real ones. And although the teens would feel whatever pain was inflicted upon them, it would be all an illusion to them as well, and would quickly fade. It was a cruel trick, but the only way to convince the vile denizens of Hell of the illusion they were witnessing. Elton was grateful to the Great Creator for such a desperate blessing.
Then all things went dark.
PART THREE
“I do not believe in a fate that falls on men however they act; but I do believe in a fate that falls on them unless they act.”
-The Buddha
91.
Night of the Long Knives
The United States Armory,
Main Street.
Rochester, New York
“Now, my Mortem Eques!” the Master ordered.
The Knights struck quickly and with impeccable timing. They knew the prey in which they were entrusted with taking.
The Master Knight knew the Keeper would tell the flesh puppets more than they needed to know and because of that, the time had come to act.
Human ingenuity was ever difficult to foil. Acting quickly, one of the Knights short-circuited the large generator and sparks flew. It was of no import to the dead. Darkness was king.
What to do with the rest of the flesh-puppets was up to their discretion. They could slay them, beat them into unconscious, or leave them to perish at the foul, ignoble flesh-eating zombies. It was up to them, their Master had told them. But they must not harm the young ones. They must be returned to their great Master unscathed and pristine.
Once inside the comforting blackness and their quarry sufficiently distracted by the headless animated decoy, the stealthy Knights moved with savage grace among the panicked humans. High-pitched screams and gravel-filled voices barked orders to remain calm and gather in the center of the room. The dead Knights encircled the flesh walkers, and all smiled at the energizing aroma of fear. It was far more satisfying than feasting on their flesh. That was too easy, and an act these dark warriors refused to partake in. Their deadly circle cinched closer.
They crept from the shadows as one, and then the weakling in the chair, swiveled toward one of the Knights and locked eyes. The human showed no fear and brought up his weapon.
The Knights paused, astonished at the human’s bold glare. He then swung his sword and the human twisted aside as the flat of the blade connected with the human’s head, sending him crashing to the floor.
The dark Knight stared down at the motionless weakling in the wheelchair, then slipped away with the young girl.
“I am most certain they will try and save the child bitch. They will come to us.” With that, the leader gripped the crimson-colored gem on his chest, spoke his ancient, abyssal words and a bright red flash washed through the room. The summoned Knights all bayed with laughter as the humans screamed in pain. The gym lit up with a reddish white light, and then it was gone. Only the metallic clunk of Sam's pistol hitting the floor, and the slight stench of sulfur offered any indication of their departure.
92.
A Flick of the Switch
The United States Armory,
Main Street.
Rochester, New York
The room fell silent, save the ringing from the unexpected gun blast. The smell of gunpowder and blood hung heavy like swamp fog on the air of the Armory. The body of Corp. Moreno staggered and collapsed against the wall behind him. A smear of bloody pus slid behind his body as it slumped to the concrete floor with a thwack. Chunks of gray and red flesh stuck to the wall behind it, as it slowly slid down like a meat slinky. Maico tore at its bloody BD
Us and sniffed it, then decided better and ran back to Warren.
Warren stood shaking, the barrel of the shotgun still aimed at the spot where the soldier once stood. The only target there now was a bloody, pus-filled stain and chunks of jagged flesh and shattered skull fragments. Maico licked at Warren’s sweat-soaked hand. He smiled at his loyal friend.
Dex stared at the slumped dead soldier on the floor, and covered his mouth and closed his eyes. A loud rumble could be heard coming from his stomach.
“Holy crow, man. That's some seriously crazy shit there.” Dex said.
“Everybody okay?” Warren asked, still lost in the gory remains of Corp. Moreno's twitching corpse.
“I'm good,” Dex said.
Arnie staggered to his feet and joined them. “I'm okay.”
“Were you playing possum the whole time?” Dex asked.
Arnie blushed, hiding his face. “Yeah.”
“Well played, man,” Dex commended.
“Sam? Capt. Al?” Warren asked.
Only the whipping wind outside answered Warren's questioned. “Shit!” he shouted and turned around. He froze seeing Capt. Al sitting up on the floor, his chair knocked clear across the room. There was no sign of Sam.
“Oh, man. Sam!” Warren called.
“It was a diversion, wasn't it?” Dex came to stand next to Warren.
“Yeah,” Warren felt all air and energy leave his body and he wanted to collapse in a heap.
“Shit!” Warren and Dex said looking into the cool shadows of the assembly room.
The Armory was lost in darkness and silence. The next thing Warren and the rest felt was searing pain and heavy shadows overtook them.
Darkness surrounded them on all sides. Sam's distant shriek echoed off the concrete walls.
“Chill out, gang, come to me. Follow my voice,” Capt. Al grumbled.
“Coming,” Warren said and stepped carefully toward the spot where Al and his wheelchair sat.
“Do not fear, everyone,” Elton said in a calm, steady voice.
“I thought you guys checked it out,” Warren asked Dex.
“We tried to. Couldn’t find the damn thing. This place is huge,” Dex said.
