by Thom Erb
Warren picked up his rifle and ran down after his friends. He knew this was suicide, but didn’t know what he had to live for if he lost all the rest of his new family. The rain became torrential and dead leaves filled the night sky. Bright overwhelming bolts of lightning crashed to the ground all around the valley. It seemed God was angry, and someone was going to answer to His fury this cold wet night.
Warren and Dex both fired several shots and they all found their targets. The black figures staggered backward but regained their balance and took up their places on the defensive line. No blood exited their wounds. They smiled through their waterlogged veils as they raised their swords in a defensive posture. Red eyes greeted them as their sanguine blades let bloody flames lick upwards from the points toward the night sky.
Arnie had all he could handle to catch up to and get control of Al’s wheelchair as they swiftly descended the slippery hill. Al held on for dear life and yelled all the way.
“Yee-fuckin’-haw, motherhuckers! Capt. Al is comin’ for ya bastards, and he is bringin’ a whole shitload of hell with him!” Al’s gruff voice flew out onto the storming night air and echoed through the small valley. He adjusted the tanks of the flamethrower and smiled.
The wheelchair struck deep mud as he approached the once ornate water fountain. The sudden stop sent him flying forward. He hit the waterlogged ground about ten feet from the fountain. The gun portion of the flamethrower skidded into the mud and buried its muzzle deep into the dark brown earth. The rain kept up its torrential pace and created a puddle where Capt. Al now rested sunk in the muck of the cemetery.
112.
C.O.D.
Mount Hope Avenue,
Mt. Hope Cemetery
Rochester, New York
The dark Knights embraced the delicious scent of fear-filled flesh wafting on the cold air and all laughed with a gravely empty tone that met the living in a glorious, fear-inspiring response. They continued to wave their abyssal swords about as the living approached. The black blades were inscribed with fire-red runes inlaid on the magic weapons. They knew their bidding, and that was to deliver the Children of Light to their Master, and if that lowly Keeper hadn’t cast some form of protection upon the fleshlings, they would have made quick work of them and dined on their succulent meat. Their delectable souls would serve to fill the coffers of the soul bank in Hell. Cracking flashes of lightning threw the entire area into a bright glare. The harsh light illuminated the entire acre of dead yard that lay before them.
A fountain once filled with life-giving water now laid stagnant and dead. A thick, yellow colored layer of algae-like substance floated on top of bits and pieces of skin sloshing about in the stagnant water. The low grunts and moans from distant undead filled the night air.
A small sliver of sickly sallow moonlight breached the pitch-black sky, draping the ebony figures in a pale ghostly luminescence. Their red eyes escaped through the darkness and their long swords emitted a pale reddish glow all their own. They left blood red trails behind them as their wielders cut through the brisk rain-filled night. The tall, lanky figures took up defensive positions in a semi-circle around the hillside crypt. And they waited.
113.
Balls to the Wall
Mount Hope Avenue,
Mt. Hope Cemetery
Rochester, New York
The white light of Elton’s location spell provided the path for them to take. Warren and Dex ran hell bent for leather past Arnie and the thrashing DJ and continued across the expanse of the dead courtyard. Warren didn’t notice the black shadows slowly encroaching from the hill to his left and the line of pine trees to his right. He could hear their hunger-filled growls follow him as they ran past. He paid them no heed. Maico was almost to the circle of tombstones as the black Knights just waited, still and silent.
Elton spoke the celestial words. His voice could be heard on the wind over the tempest of the storm. His scrawny arms raised to the heavens, inviting in the limited power of the Aether.
“Oh sanctio valde unus, tribuo mihi principatus super creatura abyssus spawned. Inficio lemma per inability moveo vel factum. Tribuo mihi divinus providentia super silenti etc quod habitum lemma velox. In vestri vox quod palma quod diligo ego iacio thee.” He finished his somatic command and looked to the sky for guidance.
His hands began to glow with yellowish white light. It expanded and reached the treetops, and he thrust his arms forward. The yellow beam turned to orange as it struck each individual Knight, then passed onto the next one in the line of defense.
114.
Everything's Better with a Genny
Intersection of Elmwood and Mount Hope Avenues,
Rochester, New York
The intersection of Elmwood Avenue and Mt. Hope was a welcomed sight to Barry Lee and his undead followers. It had been a long march from Arcadia Falls. Not that the dead can grow tired or need rest. It was a long trek because of his hatred for his fuckhead of a brother, who needed to be taught a lesson, and Barry was never known for his patience. The little peckerhead’s gonna be taught a lesson, that’s for sure.
Barry was sure his skinny ass would taste great with a Genesee Cream Ale. The thought of the tasty morsel made him drool more than normal. He looked to the black beam that led them this far, and it careened right onto Mt. Hope Avenue. He knew where they were headed. He saw the newly wrecked truck with white plumes of smoke rising from it into the night sky, and knew he was close. With a sneer, he waved his undead family onward toward the cemetery.
115.
Long After Midnight
Mount Hope Avenue,
Mt. Hope Cemetery
Rochester, New York
The Master Knight, Hunter of the Flame, felt it before he saw it. Lord Vorkhal was imbued by his Master with Celestial Sensitivity, and a spell was being cast from the hill across the valley and he knew he must act quickly. He knew he should have killed the Keeper back at the Armory, but the human had cast some form of protection upon them. Damn him. Curse the Keeper! He cursed to himself as he walked to the unconscious body lying chained to the stone pillar
“Stand fast and do not let any of the flesh walkers near me. Do you understand?” the Master ordered the four hulking warriors that formed the second rank of protection. They nodded in understanding and took up closer ranks before their master.
“Well, my sweet little fleshling, soon you will be the guest of the Lord of the Undead. He will be so glad to see you.” The ancient Knight knelt and grabbed Sam by her hair and yanked her unconscious form to him, laying her back down at his feet. He closed his animated eyes and began to mutter the magic words in the ancient language this realm hadn't heard in millennia as the storm increased its fury and the wind began to swirl about the alcove of dead trees and tombs of the hillside crypt.
116.
Heavy Duty
Mount Hope Avenue,
Mt. Hope Cemetery
Rochester, New York
Warren ran as fast as he could, but keeping up with Dex was impossible. He kept lagging behind but wouldn't stop. His lungs burned and his shins filled with spasms and long bursts of pain. He had no time for pain or anything to stand in his way. As if possessed, he ran and kept running. He spotted Capt. Al struggling in the mud but knew he couldn’t stop. He forced himself to focus and keep going. It felt wrong to leave the man behind, but he knew Sam was there. Besides, she needed him more. That was why he was here. Nothing else mattered. His legs muscles burned and felt like concrete, but he forced them to keep moving, following the white light that lit the way to his friend.
“Dude!” Arnie cried as he pulled up on the leather vest, crusted with thick mud and dead grass. Al fought to get up out of the mud and find his rifle. His hand found purchase on the grip of the flamethrower as Arnie pulled him up out of the deep rut in the mud hole he had made for himself. They exchanged weary smiles as Al righted himself and pointed Arnie toward the mired wheelchair. He gave Arnie a wink as he reignited the flamethrower.
117.
Falling Off the Edge of the World
Mount Hope Avenue,
Mt. Hope Cemetery
Rochester, New York
The poised, abyssal knights saw the thin form of a fleshling coming from far across the field and just waited patiently for the flesh walkers to arrive. The small one in the lead didn't offer the tell-tale glow of a Child of the Great Creator and the accursed Eternal Flame. They anxiously gripped their long swords and waited for their prey to come close enough to slay they could feed on its soul.
* * *
Dex slowed his pace once he saw they weren’t charging and opened fired at the entire area of the crypt. The pocking sounds echoed off the small valley’s walls. Maico was at the tree line and almost on top of the Knights’ circle when a bright flash of white light blinded all around and then quickly faded into nothing.
A loud gasp echoed off the hundreds of gravestones.
“Elton.” Dex realized and a knot tightened in his stomach.
* * *
The abyssal Knights stared in sudden shock and collectively growled as they sensed the Child of Light's life essence and they began to drool. They pulled their razor-sharp weapons back and anticipated the killing blow. It was never to come. As Dex breached the first line that surrounded the dead pines, the glow from Elton’s spell surrounded the dead Knights and froze them before they could strike. Dex let loose a fury of rounds that burrowed deep into the first Knight that stood between him and the girl chained to the stone. The rounds dug deep into the mummified flesh of the undead Knight and exited out the other side. And he was temporally relieved to see not one Knight moving to challenge him along the tree line.
“Holy crow! I’m really starting to like this guy.” Dex admitted and half-smiled at the realization. His amazement was cut short as he heard heavy footsteps racing up from behind him. He swung the gun and found Warren approaching, winded and looking like he just finished a marathon.
“Is...sh...she..Okay?” Warren huffed and fought for breath as he reached the tree line and grabbed a hold of Dex’s shoulder to steady himself. Dex smiled at him and looked deeper into the shade of the hillside grave site. They could make out the red eyes of the cloaked Knights, the glint of white stone from the hillside crypt and the two rows of gravestones that lined the Criscione family resting place.
“Yup. She’s right there!” Dex pointed.
* * *
The flurry of gunshots startled Lord Vorkhal, and he turned his attention back to the tree line where his first rank of Mortem Eques had taken up positions. They were static, ebony figures, not moving. They must have failed, those incompetent fools. Must I do everything myself? He thought, fully aware of the answer. He let the girl go, and she slumped to the muddy ground with a thud and turned toward the trees, beginning to cast a spell. The blood red and ebony tendrils continued to spout and slither from his fingertips and shot straight up into the raining night sky. He jerked his arms down, cutting the spell short, as the ferocious, yellow lab bit deep into the master Knight’s calf, causing the spell to fizzle. The violent canine growled and shook his head back and forth, trying to rip the Knight’s flesh from bone. It was to no avail. Its flesh had been long preserved and turned to stone by magics of the dead. The Knight shot a look down at the frenzied canine and grew even angrier.
Through the mist and rain Warren saw his dog latched onto the monster with the sword and every part of his body tensed and his heart pounded. “Maico, no!” he shouted as he saw the large Knight grab the lab by the scruff of its neck and lift him high into the air.
Warren needed to get those...things away from his dog. He heard himself screaming and began firing shots into the large black figure. The bullets sunk deep into the black fabric of his robes and disappeared into the ebony mist. The Knight looked at the flailing dog and back at his own chest as the bullets vanished. He then turned his gaze to Warren, who was still firing at him.
He felt a deathly chill as he thought he saw a crooked smile underneath the black mask. The Master Knight stared at Warren while drawing a long dagger from its sheath on his belt and bore it into Maico's underbelly, violently yanking the blade up into the writhing dog’s neck.
Maico let out a yelp that could be heard over the continuous barrage of thunder. His body twitched violently as his intestines and other vital organs spilled out in a sickly heap, landing in the soaked grass, washing down onto the rain soaked ground. The mud turned crimson as buckets of the dying canine’s blood mixed into the earth.
“No!” Warren screamed, and time seemed to freeze as Maico landed with a lifeless thump as the looming figure tossed him aside. Without a pause, he returned to casting his spell. Warren stood immobile as waves of shock and pain filled him.
Next to Warren, Dex filled the Knight with bullets. As before, they had no effect.
The waves of loss turned to anger as Warren’s tears flowed down his face. He took a deep breath, reloaded the gun, raised it back up and matched Dex, shot for shot, into the dark murderer of his lifelong friend. The loud barrage of gunfire couldn’t overpower Warren’s throat-wrenching screams and cries of rage. He bellowed with every round that left the smoking Deerslayer.
The large Knight ignored the pest-like bullets and completed his spell. It shot a look at the futile fleshlings and went back to Sam, lying unaware of the chaos surrounding her or the dark future of what was in store at the hands of the dark master. It laughed.
The ebony and crimson wafts of darkness flew out into the cemetery in ghastly black tendrils, twisting and taunting the living, and the response to the spell was almost automatic. The groans and howls of the undead came immediately and in number. All with a pulse within the valley stopped and looked about. They knew what was ahead and cried. Warren and Dex turned and searched for the source of the howls. They knew they had little time to waste, and ran through the trees following the white light.
118.
Bring Out Your Dead
Mount Hope Avenue,
Mt. Hope Cemetery
Rochester, New York
Elton knew his spell was successful but wasn’t sure for how long. Time was of the essence, and he shivered when he heard the ancient language uttered on the cold wind. He sensed this would cut the time for action even shorter. Taking a deep breath, he limped as swiftly as he could down the hill toward the fountain, hoping all his prayers would be answered. The fate of all the souls of this world depended on it.
The Keeper felt confident until he reached the bottom of the hill. The din of the undead reached a crescendo, filling his ears with a sadness and terror that forced him to stop. He looked out over the valley on all sides and saw something that turned his blood to ice.
The spell the Knight of Orcus had cast was a Calling spell. It compelled all the undead within the area to come. And come they did. All around the large courtyard approached hundreds, if not thousands of undead, both fresh and old. The cemetery was hundreds of years old. How many servants would that add to the ranks of the army of undead? Too many, Elton thought. Full-fledged zombies, skeletons and everything in between answered the necromantic call. There was little time to act. His heart sunk as he ran toward the tree line.
* * *
“I have you, dude. Can you sit up?” Arnie pulled Capt. Al up and propped him up against his legs and looked about at the oncoming zombie horde. While Arnie considered himself a Christian, he wasn’t too sure the good Lord was available with all the end-of the world-stuff going on. He made the sign of the cross anyway and pulled the crucifix from his shirt, kissed it, then let it hang. Arnie unslung his rifle from his shoulder, swiveled back and forth trying hard to find an escape route. He knew if he stayed with Capt. Al, he was a dead man. He swallowed hard and took a deep breath, resolved in his actions, and raised the rifle to his eye.
“No worries, bro, let’s stall these dead motherhuckers and give your buddies at least a fighting chance.” Capt. Al looked up at Arnie, giving a wink, and he raised his w
eapon at the oncoming horde of moaning undead. Their steely red eyes peered at the two through the thick mist.
The dark, carrion call of the animated zombies and misshapen skeletons made their way closer, thumping across the muddy cemetery grounds. Arnie's gut churned and rolled. It was as if the sickening things could sense food was near, and it had been a long time since they’d fed. Their hungry eyes transfixed on them, and the monsters smiled a brownish yellow grin, and they slowly crawled toward their meal. They weren’t alone. They would soon be joined by more chanting zombies. The initial plan sounded good, but the old soldier wasn’t anticipating the massive number of red-eyes spilling out of every shadow like undead cockroaches. Capt. Al punched Arnie in the shoulder.
“Bro, I know we’re supposed to hold our ground but, man, there’s a time to be a hero, and there’s a time to run assholes and elbows. We're just sitting ducks here, man. I’m going with elbows. Let’s get to a higher ground or something. Those chompin’ up things are trying to cut us off from your buds. We need to find a more defensible position.” He looked about and hastily pointed to a small concrete shed on the other side of the fountain. “If we can get our asses there, or at least put our backs to it, we might have a chance.”
“What do ya think, bro.? Can you carry me?” Al let loose a long, wide, arcing burst of flame at the encroaching zombies. The night lit up as the first rank of undead caught fire.
“Uh, hell yes” Arnie didn’t look at DJ, he just fired round after round into the mass of swaying bodies to his right flank.
“See that small building behind the fountain?” Al asked.
“Yup,”
“Get my sorry ass into the doorway; there we can defend ourselves from these nasty biters.” Al let loose another fan-shaped blast of fire into the moaning crowd. Arnie emptied his magazine into the throng of undead and slung the rifle over his shoulder. Snatching up the stout DJ, he ran toward the fountain. The horde followed.
