by Unknown
Like most of its brothers, the Siqqusim inside Worm had no name. Once, long ago, a Sumerian 148
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sorcerer had summoned him into a dead woman and commanded him to tell fortunes. The sorcerer had given him a name—Tenk. But that name had lasted only as long as the body he inhabited. When that body deteriorated, Tenk was no longer under the Sorcerer’s command. And after all of the Siqqusim were cast into the Void by the Creator, there were no more chances to get another name. He still thought of himself as Tenk, but made sure that Lord Ob new nothing of such conceit. When humanity ripped open the walls of the Labyrinth and freed the Siqqusim from the Void, Tenk’s first host body had been an old woman named Melba who lived in Puerto Rico. Then he moved on to inhabit a tiger in India, a middle-aged goat-herder in Nepal, a snake in South Carolina, and an infant in Greenland. All of these bodies were preferable to Worm. Even the baby’s corpse had been better. Tenk had been able to use its helplessness to appeal to other humans’ maternal instincts. Then, when they’d pick it up, he attacked. But this new body? This... Worm?
Completely useless.
When Tenk had first taken possession of Worm, he’d searched through the body’s memories, cataloguing his experiences and finding any information that might be useful. There wasn’t much. Worm was a deaf-mute. Worse, he’d been sheltered and protected. His entire life consisted of playing checkers with his father, cooking with his mother, and taking long walks with his dog. No strife or hardships. He’d been home-schooled, so there were no taunts 149
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from other kids. He’d been happy, living a life of luxury until undead mice ate his parents. Then he’d struck out on the run. His dog died next, shot by a farmer who’d mistaken Worm and the mutt for zombies. Worm had taken shelter in an interstate rest stop. There, he met a man named Baker, and the two had traveled together until they were captured by a group of renegade National Guardsmen. Tenk probed deeper, seeing Worm pushed from the back of a speeding military vehicle and then killed by a group of zombies from an orphanage. And that was when Tenk had entered him, while his corpse lay bleeding in the middle of the road.
Since then, he’d been pushed down a hill (breaking one of his host’s legs), run over by a speeding Humvee (breaking the other leg, along with several ribs), shot in the arm (resulting in a shattered elbow), and then shot in the face (disintegrating the lower jaw). He was a joke. The rest of his brethren continued with the worldwide slaughter, but Tenk could only crawl along behind them, pulling himself with one good arm. He wanted this body to die—again. He wanted to be free. Wanted to find another host and join in the extinction of mankind.
Tenk thought about all of this as he lay face down in a roadside puddle of muddy water. He was playing dead, waiting for some unsuspecting human to come along and mistake him for a lifeless corpse. Then, as they neared him, he’d lurch to his feet and try to appear menacing. With any luck, they’d destroy Worm’s brain once and for all, and he 150
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would be free of this shell.
At sundown, he was still waiting.
He would have cursed, if he’d had the ability to speak.
Eventually, Worm’s one remaining ear twitched. The sound of a motor rumbled towards him. Slowly, ponderously, Tenk clawed at the asphalt with Worm’s good hand and dragged himself out into the road. Headlights appeared in the distance. He stumbled to his feet, wobbling on broken legs. The bones protruded from the flesh. Insects spilled from his wounds, landing in piles at his feet. The vehicle slowed as it drew closer. It was hard for Tenk to see with Worm’s eyes; they were infested with maggots. The vehicle drew closer—a truck. A human leaned out of the passenger-side window, and then ducked back inside. Tenk shuffled forward, thrusting his good arm out and trying to look menacing. The passenger slid something long and metallic through the open window. A rifle barrel, maybe? It was hard to tell. The truck picked up speed and swerved towards him.
Yes, Tenk thought. This is it. Destroy me. Destroy this brain so that I might be free. The truck barreled down on him. The headlights grew blinding. His vision blurred. Then the truck raced past him, continuing down the highway. Tenk caught a glimpse of the passenger pulling the object back inside. It was a sword.
Something was wrong. Everything was tilted, as if the world had been turned on its side. Tenk tried to move Worm’s arm and found that he couldn’t. 151
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Then he noticed why. Worm’s body lay five feet away. It was headless.
But if his head is missing, then why am I... The breeze ruffled his hair. He felt it. Felt the wind on Worm’s scalp. But he couldn’t feel anything else. Oh no. Those stupid humans! Those ignorant apes—
they only cut my head off. The brain is still intact... Tenk looked out from Worm’s decapitated head and watched the moon rise.
He couldn’t even scream.
152
THE NIGHT THE
DEAD DIED
The Rising
Day Twenty-Six
Bronx, New York
All night long, Cookie and the blind man sat in the dark restaurant’s kitchen. They tied damp handkerchiefs over their faces to block the stench of decay permeating the city. They ate sardines, washed them down with the olive oil inside the empty tins, and listened to the dead die.
It began with a message broadcast over a public address system. They heard it several times.
“This is the Federal Emergency Management Agency, broadcasting to all who can hear this message. The United States Department of Homeland Security has determined that Manhattan, Brooklyn, and the other New York boroughs are now safe zones. The quarantine has been lifted. You are free to leave your homes. All civilian and 153
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military personnel are encouraged to make their way to the area immediately. Aid stations have been set up for your convenience, to provide food, water and medical assistance. Again, the threat alert for New York City has been lifted and the area is now designated as a safe zone. Make your way into the streets. Military and civilian authorities will be there to assist you. Message repeats…”
The blind man didn’t believe it. Cookie did at first, but he had urged her to wait. He said it was a trick. The message was being broadcast by the zombies in an effort to flush the survivors from their hiding places. Cookie wondered how he could be so sure. The blind man said he heard something coming—something more than just the zombies outside. Minutes later, Cookie heard it to. An army. Tanks and halftracks and heavy artillery. They rolled into the city from all directions. Soon, the sounds of battle erupted throughout the city—screams, explosions, gunfire, and shouting. Cookie sat her empty sardine can down. “I guess you were right. It was a trick.”
“Think about it,” the blind man whispered. “This morning, the zombies were going door to door, trying to find us all. The only reason we escaped was because we hid inside the basement freezer and they didn’t bother to check it. It’s nighttime now. Less than twenty-four hours have passed. If the army had rolled in here and wiped them all out, wouldn’t we have heard the battle? The fighting is just starting now. Wouldn’t they have told us to come outside after the city was secured, rather than before? And 154
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even if the army had killed all the zombies, they wouldn’t tell us to come outside. They’d tell us to stay in our homes.”
“Why?”
“It’s a biohazard. We’re surrounded by millions of dead bodies. It doesn’t matter if they’re walking around killing folks or if they’re really dead. Either way, corpses carry disease: bubonic plague or hepatitis or dozens more. Those things outside are nothing more than a walking biological attack. If F.E.M.A. or the army were really here, they wouldn’t tell us to come out until they’d managed to burn the bodies and contain the threat.”
“That ain’t what happened in New Orleans,”
Cookie said. “The autho
rities said it was safe, so people came out and had to wade through floodwaters and bodies floating in the streets.”
The blind man shrugged. “Perhaps, but this is different.”
Cookie nodded in agreement. The blind man had been holed up in the restaurant since the end of the first week. He’d managed to stay alive all this time. When Cookie had crept into the restaurant a few days ago, half-starved and desperate for food, he’d automatically been able to discern her from one of the undead. He said he did it by smell. Cookie didn’t care what his methods were as long as they worked—and they obviously did. He was alive while the rest of the city was dead or dying. And so far, he’d kept her alive, too. Sure, maybe he was a little weird. He refused to tell her his name and he slept sitting up—on the rare occasions that he slept 155
The Rising: Selected Scenes...
at all. But he hadn’t tried to rape or attack her the way the last group she’d sheltered with had. Finished with their dinner, Cookie threw away the sardine tins. She wanted a cigarette, but the blind man said the zombies could smell the smoke. Besides, she only had three left and she was unsure when she’d be able to find more. Venturing outside at this point was simple suicide.
Far away in the distance, artillery explosions rolled across the city. Cookie jumped. The blind man smiled.
“I understand that you want to leave,” he said.
“You’re almost out of cigarettes. I want to leave, too. No offense, but with your added presence, we’re running low on supplies. We need food, medicine, water, and ammunition—not that I can shoot very well anyway. But you have to be patient. If and when the time comes, we will leave.”
She started to speak, but another explosion cut her off. It was followed by the sound of machinegun fire. When the sounds of battle faded, Cookie tried again.
“Where would we go?”
“Ramsey Towers,” the blind man said. “That’s our best option. A man came through here a few days before you showed up. He said they’ve got electricity in Ramsey Towers. I say we try for that.”
“How do you know he was telling the truth?”
“His voice—I can tell when someone is lying.”
“But Ramsey Towers is in Manhattan. Might as well be on the moon. We wouldn’t make it one block. Those things are everywhere. Humans, rats, 156
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pigeons, cats, dogs—and all of them are zombies.”
“Exactly. That’s why we stay put for now. I can tell by your voice that you’re getting tired. Why don’t you get some sleep? I’ll stand watch.”
Cookie wasn’t sure how long she slept. She was jolted awake by a rapid-fire series of explosions. They sounded distant, but the blind man said they were coming closer. His voice trembled. It was the first time she’d heard him sound afraid.
“What’s happening?” she gasped.
“I’m not sure. They just started.”
Another explosion, this one closer, rattled the light fixtures.
“Maybe the army is fighting them,” Cookie said. She grabbed a claw hammer and crept to one of the windows. Using the hammer, she pried a nail loose and pulled the heavy plywood away. The blind man stumbled forward. “What are you doing?”
“It’s okay,” Cookie said. “I don’t think they’re out there.”
She peeked out into the darkness. Dead bodies lay everywhere. None of them moved. All along the street, brilliant flashes of orange flame erupted from the sewers, and then vanished. The restaurant shook.
“Cookie? Where are you?”
“Right here, by the window. Keep coming forward.”
He touched her shoulder. “What is it? More zombies? I don’t hear them...”
“No. It’s not the zombies. They’re dead—again.”
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“How do you mean?”
“They’re lying in the street. None of them are moving. But something’s happening in the sewers.”
Another explosion rocked the building. Dust rained down on them both. Across the street, a liquor store burst into flame.
“Open the door.” The blind man tottered backward. “We need to get out of here before the gas lines explode.”
Working quickly, Cookie removed the barricade and flung the door open. She helped her companion out into the street. Both of them tensed, awaiting an attack, but none was forthcoming. Slowly, they waded through a sea of decomposing corpses. Cookie gagged. “Be glad you can’t see this.”
“Why? What’s that noise? It sounds...disgusting. Like Rice Krispies.”
“It’s the zombies. They’re falling apart.”
“Literally?”
Cookie nodded, but then realized he couldn’t see her. “Yeah.”
One of the creatures twitched. She prodded it with her foot but it did not fight back.
“We’ve won,” the zombie rasped. “Now we move on to the next world, to make way for Ab and his kind to invade this level.”
The blind man grunted. Beside him, he heard Cookie gasp.
“What is it? More zombies?
“No. The horizon is glowing. Something big is burning in Manhattan.”
The blind man shuffled over to the zombie. His 158
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foot came down on its face, sinking into the rancid flesh like it was pudding. He seemed not to notice.
“What is Ab?”
The creature grinned. “Now come…the Elilum.”
It melted across the pavement. The blind man wrinkled his nose, and scuffed his shoe on the curb. Then he reached for Cookie. She took his hand, and then turned back to the fire.
“How bad is it, Cookie?”
“It’s huge...”
She paused. Something buzzed in her ear. A second later, a mosquito landed on her arm and bit her. She let go of the blind man’s hand and slapped the insect. It fell to the sidewalk. It was crushed. Broken.
Dead.
“I wonder what the Elilum are?” the blind man asked.
Cookie didn’t answer. She was staring at the dead mosquito.
It was moving again...
159
THE MORNING AFTER
The Rising
Day Twenty-Seven
Goffstown, New Hampshire
In the 1700s, when Goffstown’s first settlers arrived, they found a magnificently forested area with hardwood-covered hills and magnificent stands of white pine, which extended along Mast Road (named for the many trees cut down and hauled to the Merrimack River so that the Royal British Navy could use them as ship’s masts). The morning after The Rising ended, Brian Lee, the last surviving human in Goffstown, emerged from his hiding place to find that the trees still stood. He climbed to the top of a cell phone tower and scanned the forested hills and the Uncanoonuc Mountains (Native American for “woman’s breasts”). It was a clear day, and Brian could see for miles.
The hills were green with life, but Goffstown’s streets were choked with death. Corpses, both animal and human, lay everywhere—on sidewalks, in the streets and gutters, rooftops, in vehicles and 160
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doorways and storefronts. Nothing moved. The corpses did what they were supposed to; they remained still and rotted.
Brian cheered. His cry echoed all the way to the winding river in the distance.
He’d survived by hiding inside a restaurant’s walk-in freezer. Earlier that morning, he’d crept out, looking for water. He’d stumbled, literally, over the first zombie a few minutes later. It was lying in the shadows. Using the butt of his rifle, Brian bashed its head in like a rotten melon, but the creature never reacted. Within minutes, he discovered two-dozen more, including several zombie dogs and an undead cow. All were truly lifeless, but there was no sign of head trauma—the only way to bring a zombie down. Brian was reminded of War of the Worlds, and how the Martians had seemingly died off overnight, infected by the common cold.
He’d explored for the last two hours and hadn’t encount
ered a single active zombie. The dead were dead again. The stench of rotting corpses hung thick, filling the streets like fog. He’d tied a bandana around his mouth and nose, but it did little to help. It was beautiful. The smell of victory.
“It’s over,” Brian said out loud as he climbed down. “It’s really over. They’re gone!”
His voice bounced back to him off the abandoned buildings. Gone…gone…gone…
Where were the other survivors? He couldn’t be the only one, could he? His wife and daughters had…
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They had…
He blinked away tears. He couldn’t be the only person left alive.
Brian’s parents moved to Goffstown when he was five years old. He went away to college for a few years (where he studied engineering), but then moved back, along with his wife (whom he’d met while in school). They’d lived here since, along with their three daughters. Life was good, the way it was supposed to be. A month ago, they’d added money to his daughter’s college and wedding funds. Now…
He ripped the bandanna from his face and screamed. “What’s the point? I can’t be the only one left!”His echoes answered him.
Overcome with delayed anger and grief, Brian snapped. He ran through the streets, firing into the unmoving corpses until he was out of ammunition. Then he clubbed them, beating them into piles of red pulp, until the rifle’s stock shattered. He sank to his knees in a red, wet puddle, and sobbed. Eventually, he found a vehicle that still had the keys, and drove out to his parents’ home. They were gone, of course, killed the same night as the rest of his family, but he didn’t know what else to do. He couldn’t return to his own home. He just couldn’t. His parents’ home was on the west side of Addison Road, halfway between Shirley Hill and Winding Brook roads. Driving there, trying to ignore the constant crunch of bodies beneath the tires, Brian thought back to his youth…in the woods with his 162
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sister, Anne, and best friends, Ken and John, digging junk out of the old dump, walking along the old overgrown railroad bed, exploring streams and swamps, catching frogs, and barely making it home in time for supper.
