Wake Up Dead - an Undead Anthology

by Suzanne Robb

  'But you must,' Nkechi said, leading her back to the camp with a hand on her shoulder. 'No harm must come to you, or the child. You know how important it is.'

  She did, but she couldn't help thinking too much was being made of her fertilization. Her husband was the reason, or had been before he had been executed. If Aloozo had been normal, there would have been no such fuss made; Adisa would have been seen as nothing more than another pregnant girl in a world full of them.

  'I will be grateful when she is born,' Adisa said, accepting Nkechi's help crossing a particularly rickety bridge.

  'She?' Nkechi said, confused. 'You didn't ask the Goddess of the sex?'

  Adisa did laugh, now, but it hurt too much and she cut it off. 'Of course not,' she said. 'It is forbidden, and I will find out soon enough. I just know, Nkechi. It is a girl.'

  'How can you know?' Nkechi asked. 'Aloozo came from a long line of men; he only had brothers. The chances of you birthing a girl are little.'

  'That might be true,' she said. 'But I can feel her, and I can hear her thoughts inside of me. That is enough, Nkechi, for me to know.'

  He shook his head, not accepting her ridiculous theory. 'It will be a boy,' he said. 'Like Aloozo, only hopefully not like Aloozo.'

  She shuddered at the thought. Things had not been right with her husband, right up until his beheading at the centre of the camp. It had not always been like that, of course. When she married him, he had been relatively normal, one of the best warriors in the tribe, but something happened, something that made him lose his senses.

  He had tried to kill her in the dark of the night, like some maniacal assassin. Yet, as he snapped for her with those fierce teeth and glassy eyes, she had seen that he was not well, that something had afflicted him.

  Stricken.

  With a plague.

  'My daughter will be nothing like Alooza,' Adisa finally said, forcing herself from the nightmarish reverie that had momentarily returned to taunt her. 'She will be strong, stronger than even Alooza had been before...before...'

  She couldn't finish; she had no idea how to.

  He had been a good man, and yet he had raped her, taken her like a savage beast, and then tried to bite her. His anger was such that the mere thought of it made hackles rise on the nape of Adisa's neck.

  Nkechi shook his head. 'The only good thing that man ever did was give you this child,' he said. 'He paid for his betrayal with death, and now you must forget about him and focus only on tonight.'

  They reached the camp and Nkechi escorted her to the tent in which she was to give birth. Small, cramped with people who were to assist, she felt claustrophobic almost as soon as she lay down.

  'How are the pains?' the midwife asked. Juralem was beautiful, without actually having notable features. Her nondescript face possessed something that couldn't be explained, something preternatural.

  Adesi pushed herself up onto her elbows; the makeshift bed creaked beneath her bloated frame. 'I feel like she will be here soon,' she said. 'I am suffering every twenty minutes, now.'

  To her, that meant that the baby was imminent. To Juralem, who sighed, that meant nothing.

  'Just try to relax,' the midwife said. 'Think of something nice to take your mind off the pain.'

  Adesi closed her eyes and tried to conjure up pleasant memories, a time before the madness had infected Aloozo, a time when she had been truly happy. It was difficult, too difficult, and she found herself instead thinking of the future, a bright future with her daughter. It was a utopian vision, one that she looked forward to with every inch of her soul.

  As a new contraction racked her body, she clenched the bedclothes, gasping, practically begging Juralem to somehow magic the pain away. The midwife simply smiled, as was her wont, and tried to settle her down onto the bed. She hadn't realised but she had been arching her back to an extent that only her head and feet were making contact with the sweaty sheets.

  'Is she close,' a voice asked. Adesi didn't need to open her eyes to recognise her father's voice.

  'Not long, now,' Juralem replied. 'Try to relax; she will be fine.'

  She opened her eyes just in time to see her father shaking his head and looking on with a concerned expression. The contraction had passed, and she could finally speak once again.

  'I am fine, Father,' she said, unsure of how much truth she spoke. 'She will be with us soon, and she will be the most beautiful child ever to grace the world.'

  Her father smiled, yet there was still an element of apprehension upon his face. 'I know that you speak the truth,' he said, trying to fight back tears. 'I just need to make sure.'

  Adesi didn't know how to respond to that. Make sure of what? What were her father's concerns?

  Before she had time to push further, he turned and headed off out of the tent, leaving Juralem staring down at her with that beautiful smile of hers.

  'He is just worried about his daughter,' the midwife said in a feeble attempt to comfort Adesi. 'You will find, one day, when your own daughter is lying on this bed that you will feel exactly the same.'

  She nodded, relaxed a little and awaited the next contraction.

  When it arrived, Adesi could only think of her father and what he had said. The pain coursed through her, curling her toes so violently that she was almost certain to have broken them. I just need to make sure...

  Somebody – one of the assistants, she guessed – placed a wooden stick between her lips and instructed her to bite down. She duly obeyed, and broke one of her back teeth in the process, but it did help, a little, and as the agony faded she lowered herself back down onto the bed once again, the boiling-hot sweat puddling beneath her suddenly very uncomfortable.

  Adesi didn't dare to open here eyes, but she could feel Juralem trying to work the baby free using as many fingers as she had on both hands. Once the midwife was certain of the cessation of the contraction, she stopped and whispered something to one of her aides.

  'What?' Adesi asked, suddenly panicked by the silence that had fallen over the tent. 'What is the problem?'

  'There is nothing wrong,' Juralem said, wiping sweat away from Adesi's brow using her own sleeve. 'We are almost done here. I just need you to really push with the next one; don't stop until I tell you to. Do you understand.'

  Adesi nodded. She understood just fine, though she didn't like what she was hearing very much. When Acua'ba had told her that she would pray for death, she had taken it with a pinch of salt, for wasn't that what all post-natal women say. The Goddess had spoken the truth, though, and the last three contractions had caused her to welcome death with open arms, though it never arrived.

  'I can feel it,' Adesi gasped. A tear rolled down her cheek. 'Oh, please, I can feel it coming...'

  'Puuuuush!' Juralem cried. 'Don't stop, remember. Keep going until I tell you to stop.'

  Adesi pushed, gave it everything that she had, and prayed for death at the same time. She could feel blood trickling out of her, oozing down her legs. How much blood was she losing?

  How much more?

  She panted, screamed, and pushed, and Juralem shouted at her. She bit down so hard on the wooden stick that it splintered her tongue before snapping into three. She pushed. And then she heard the crying, though it wasn't the screech of a baby that she heard.

  It was something else.

  She opened her eyes, and wished that she hadn't. Juralem was staring down at the thing lying between her legs, her expression was one of utter revulsion, and then she ran out of the tent, screaming at the top of her lungs. It all happened so fast that Adesi didn't have time to comprehend. She could feel it squirming around between her bloodied thighs, could feel it scratching at the inside of her legs, and as the tent emptied, she knew that Acua'ba had meant it literally: You will pray for death.

  She hadn't meant during the birth.

  She had meant after.

  Her father appeared in the opening; just behind him was Nkechi, who was holding something in his hand, something that ter
rified Adesi.

  'My poor, poor girl,' her father sobbed as he stepped into the tent. 'This is what I had prepared for. This is what I had prayed against for nine months.'

  Adesi still couldn't see the thing between her open legs, but she felt every move as it began to tear away at her flesh. She was certain that it bit her, too, and that was when she prayed for death, for if it had teeth then it was not of this world, nor should it be.

  'Nkechi,' he father said, beckoning him into the room. 'We have no choice.'

  Adesi pushed herself up onto her elbows. The sweaty bedclothes clung to her like a second skin. 'What is it Father?' she cried. 'Please, tell me what it is?'

  Her father stepped aside and glanced down into Adesi's swollen eyes. Already they were turning – she was turning – and he knew that there was nothing more to be done for either of them.

  'Please,' she begged. 'Please, tell me what's happening.' Her eyes glazed over, yellowed as if she had all of a sudden become jaundiced. She threw herself back down onto the bed as the pain enveloped her.

  'I love you,' her father said, taking a cautious step backwards. He turned to Nkechi. 'The baby first,' he said, jabbing a finger towards the monstrosity between her thighs.

  Nkechi stepped up and, wielding the machete like a pro-baseball player, sliced the air. There was an audible whoosh, a hellish scream, and then only Adesi's sobs.

  'Pleeeeease!' she cried, the agony making the cords on her neck stand out. 'Pleeeeease, what have you done?!'

  Nkechi handed the machete to his father and apologised. 'I will see her forever in my nightmares,' he said, a solitary tear making its way down his cheek. 'I can't do it.'

  Her father pointed him towards the tent exit. 'You will be thought no less of in this camp,' he said. 'Now go. I have to do this now, before she is completely taken.'

  Nkechi left the tent sobbing.

  Adesi's screams lasted but a second longer.

  SUICIDE SOLUTION

  R.D.Teun

  Quinn walked slowly past the houses that sat quietly beneath the shelter of night. Not one curtain flickered; there was no news to be heard just yet. However, come tomorrow, those curtains would flicker. The neighbours that had been strangers for years would greet each other to discuss the mystery of the night before. It would be the tale that lovers used as justification to cling together, when the cold was of no available excuse. Cold-hearted murderers would lay awake at night, clutching their sheets and left to watch the windows for strange faces. Lost in the deep pool of his own thought as he entered the field just beyond the houses, Quinn wondered why this place was chosen: Why here? Where it was open and wide. Why not somewhere quiet and secluded? The grass crunched softly beneath his feet as he walked to the edge of the lake. Despite his reservations of chosen location, he could barely contain his excitement; here he was taking what could be his last breaths as a mortal. It was tonight, soon he would be inducted…No. He was to transcend into

  the upper echelons of a new existence. To live forever, to live a thousand lifetimes. Never knowing the cruel grace of old age, never knowing sickness. He felt the last feelings of regret slowly ebb away. His family would never know of him again. A once in a lifetime chance. If confronted with the moral dilemma that he was given, he was sure they would have made the same choice. Not that it mattered anymore; they had refused him their loving embrace for some time now. He was fathered by a man who never wanted him in the first place. All Quinn was ever told was that he was a product of a one-night stand; he was never part of that particular deal, as he was constantly reminded during his adolescence. He had spent his entire life not belonging. Now he was old enough to be responsible for himself, he was shown the door never to darken it again with his shadow. All that was left was the world to be explored. Around him the crickets sang. The animals of the night made their quiet way through the surrounding trees as they swayed as lightly as feathers caught in a breeze, and the night welcomed the end of the day. Quinn hoped this would be the last of his suffering. Life had not been kind to him; it had seemed to be against him at every corner. Maybe in his death and rebirth the pain would falter, perhaps fade away completely. Maybe, for the first time in his life he would finally be a piece of a puzzle that fitted.

  ‘There have been men who have lost countless years watching their own reflection.’

  The voice caused Quinn to nearly leap from the very skin he inhabited. Quinn turned around to face the owner of the familiar voice.

  ‘Is this gonna be the last night?’ said Quinn with a nervous smile. He had every right to be nervous. All the knowledge he had was from what he had seen from every vampire film. The little time he had spent with a real vampire was very different from what he had seen on the silver screen. Maybe it was the Hollywood appeal to the masses, in which the monsters had to have that certain approachability, White males, who were always athletic and always with or ahead of fashion. The silver-screen vampires had a feminine handsomeness. Lastly, they were always perfect boyfriend material, complete and utter gentlemen. Quinn only had one of these qualities. He was not particularly handsome nor was he unfortunate. How new vampires were chosen was a concept beyond him. Whatever qualities he had… they had caught the attention of the eternal.

  Quinn repeated ‘Will it be my last?’

  ‘The last night as a human? Yes it will be. In fact the only thing left for you, is to die.’

  The nervous smile upon Quinn’s face turned like sour milk.

  ‘Don’t look so worried; dying is all part of the process of the turning.’

  Vampire. The word still lacked reality, despite all tangible proof in the world right in front of him. If it all were indeed to be a dream, he would gladly fall into it completely. Quinn looked down at his distorted reflection in the lake as it rippled away, never again to find a pleasing form within this life, as he knew it. He wished he had more time, maybe a little more time to get his figure the way he wanted. A little more time to get some money together. Still this was it, now and forever, no turning back. Looking into his maker's eyes, he felt lost within them. His worries faded as if a distant and worn memory. The last remnants of his existence lost to the memory of the lake. He felt the excitement build slowly like a good orgasm. For Quinn, he felt as though he was on the cusp of becoming a celebrity. To be immortal, to go anywhere, be anyone. To travel from one destination to the next without responsibility or time to dictate how long he spent in places. Some of the most wonderful views in the world were viewed by moonlight and her loving glow.

  ‘There are consequences for this life.’ said the maker.

  ‘What? How did you know what I was thinking?’

  ‘I know your every thought. Your every impulse. Your blood is in my veins. You want to know why I chose you. In time, you may understand my motives. Time is also growing short for us.’

  ‘Time?’ asked Quinn. For us? came the afterthought.

  ‘Time was a lost concept for me, well, until now. I cannot stress enough. We must not exist to the outside world. It is one that I have…well, I have broken. That Is why I chose you…You're the one who is going to kill me.’ said the maker.

  ‘Why? How can you expect me to kill you?’ asked Quinn.

  ‘Murder, the cost of my existence. I have taken life after life; for me to live longer than what is allowed. You should get used to killing, you and Death will be intimate friends.’

  ‘No. I can’t kill you, I won’t.’ said Quinn. He continued, ‘Isn’t it a little too late for regrets?’

  Quinn’s maker gave a bitter laugh; there was no real telling as to what his age was before he was turned.

  If pushed to an educated guess, Quinn would have said around thirty. Still, irrelevant now; his maker's interior clock was far older despite appearances.

  ‘Do you know my name? No, of course you don’t. I never want to be remembered as a murderer. I tried to feed off those who deserved to die, but then who am I to

  judge? That is left to god…maybe he may ju
st forgive me…’

  ‘But why? Isn’t it in your nature to feed off the blood the living? Who did you kill that caused such attention?’ said Quinn. He hoped to change his maker’s mind.

  ‘The less you know the better. So live for a few more decades, grow old and grey then die in an undignified state in an old peoples' home…Or will you take the chance to live forever?’

  Quinn turned his back for a moment, it was not a move made to be impolite. He needed to think about this

  without eyes upon him. To live forever, cheating death…?

  ‘There are rules. No, think of them as laws as they come with punishments if broken. We vampires do not, cannot, be found to be thought of as existing. I just cannot stress that enough. I do not want you to make the same mistakes I have made. Therefore, here comes my other reason for wanting to be killed: I cannot face my punishments. I got careless; I forgot the rules in my blood lust. I want to die on my own terms. Aside from that you must think of us as the Mafia. We are not there, yet we are. As much as we need to feed, we must do our best not to kill. If we do, we must be careful to hide the evidence.’

  Quinn wanted to drink in what he could; he could kill if it meant surviving. After all he would have centuries ahead of him to get over his crimes. He ate meat as a living man, which involved the death of a living creature. So what difference would it make if he was a walking dead man? Quinn felt that all this information was hurried; his maker was running from his own existence. Despite this, his maker walked with the confident gait he was used too. Even in the face of true eternal death, he was defiant. Proud. Having only been courted for as an apprentice for six months, Quinn felt honoured to be chosen in such a short time. As Quinn understood it, such apprenticeships took no less then two years. To give the gift of eternity was not to be given away like a drunken one night stand; it was to be saved for one that would treasure such a gift.

  ‘Why do you want to die?’

  ‘Have you not been listening? My killing, I have had enough! I have lived for hundreds of years; I have watched people I have grown to love wither away into death. Above all, I am tired… I just want to rest. There has got to be more to life than blood and the night sky. I want to be dead to the world.’ replied his maker.