Lord of the Dead

by R. J. Spears

  “You really shouldn’t have done that,” he said into the bullhorn and then depressed several keys on the control panel.

  Ten of the zombies standing at the front of the house went into immediate motion and started toward the big man in their shambling gait. The big man turned his aim from the house and onto the approaching zombies and started firing. He was not only a good shot, but also cool under pressure, taking each shot with exacting aim and poise. It was a pity to have to lose him, but object lessons were always valuable.

  The big man dropped the first three zombies he targeted, but he missed with his fourth shot, starting to falter under the pressure as the zombies mounted the small porch. He regained his composure somewhat and took down the next two, but the other five closed in on him too fast and from too many angles. The big man pulled down his gun and tried to retreat towards the door.

  That wouldn’t do, Anthony thought. If the big man got inside, then he might have to kill them all, and that would mean waiting for the next group of unsuspecting nomads to make their way to town. With winter in full swing, that could be weeks away. So, instead, Anthony decided to take measures into his own hands and stepped to the window. He brought up his rifle and peered through the scope. The big man was just about to the door.

  His aim landed on the center of the big man’s back; then, he dropped it about twenty inches, and he pulled the trigger. The bullet took the big man in the back of the thigh, and he screamed as he fell to the porch, clutching his leg.

  The soldiers closed in on the big man, and despite the searing pain, he started to drag himself towards the door. It was too little, too late. A large zombie got between the big man and the door while two more clutched at him with their boney fingers. The big man started to panic and screamed for help.

  A shot came from inside the house, and glass from one of the windows sprayed onto the porch. The large zombie soldier staggered from the impact, but righted itself and descended on the big man and lowered its mouth to the place where the neck met the shoulder. Its teeth sank deeply, and the big man shrieked. It was all over. The big man knew it, and so did the people in the house.

  One of the other zombies went to work on the big man’s thigh, taking a big bite of flesh and muscle. The big man shrieked again, but with less intensity.

  In a measure of respect and kindness, Anthony took aim, and put a bullet into the big man’s brain. His body jerked from the impact, but he wouldn’t have to live through being torn apart.

  The zombies were undeterred and kept working, tearing and rending with hands and teeth, taking the big man apart, a handful and mouthful at a time. The blood from the man stained the snow red, melting little streams with its warmth and ran off the porch, pooling in small puddles in the snow.

  He let them eat to their hearts’ content then played his fingers across his control pad. The zombies on the porch shook in place for a moment, stood, and moved back into the yard, standing there, blood dripping from their mouths and hands.

  He listened and thought he heard someone weeping from inside the house, but this was no time for pity. “Shall we start over?” Anthony asked, filling the silence.

  It took a good minute, but the four remaining nomads came out of the house, weapons held in the air, their heads down.

  “Now, that’s more like it. My soldiers will not hurt you unless you try something. So place your weapons on the porch. I will be with you in a moment.”

  He left his safe house and worked his way out to the back of the house where the nomads stood, surrounded by his zombie soldiers. The four nomads slumped, dejected, beaten, and waiting. Waiting to die. Waiting for the zombies to suddenly break from whatever held sway over them, or for this madman to come and do worse to them.

  As Anthony walked, he ran his fingers over the control pad, pressing keys the way a master pianist plays melodies with unselfconscious ease, almost without thought and with supreme confidence. A select set of zombies moved to let him pass as he walked through their midst to a place in front of the nomads.

  For no other reason than to string out the tension, he maintained his silence as he appraised the nomads, one at a time. The woman looked up and gasped when she saw his alabaster skin and his pink irises. She looked down as quickly, but he saw her fear and her disgust. His fingers played with the keypad again, but stayed poised over them. He took a deep breath and collected himself, letting the anger out. Why should she be different from all the other people that had looked on him in the past? Why wouldn’t she be startled by his unnaturally white skin?

  She shouldn’t look at him like that because he held her life in his hands. Or better put, in his fingers. The storm of anger passed.

  Anthony stood silently, evaluating the four nomads. They were a pathetic lot, to say the least, but they would have to do.

  “Okay,” he said, ”in case any of you get the idea that you can pull one of the weapons you kept hidden, then think again. If I get shot, then all control over these creatures surrounding you is gone. They would be on you in seconds, and that isn’t something any of us want, now do we?” He let the question hang there for a few seconds, but it went unanswered. “No, I didn’t think so.”

  He stopped and rummaged his hand around in a small backpack and brought out four yellow, neck-sized plastic collars connect to heavy plastic vests. He tossed them onto the porch in front of the nomads. The vest clunked heavily because they were full of batteries used to power the collars.

  “Now, if you’d do me a real big favor and put these on, I’d be much appreciative.

  Chapter 17

  False Security

  Doc Wilson took an hour to study the books we brought back from town and then put the Geiger counters to work. It was a long hour. After monitoring The Manor and finding no appreciable radiation levels, he scanned us from head to toe but refused to give any results until he scanned the clothes we wore to the atomic plant. His face was screwed into a scowl throughout the entire process. (Not a confidence inspiring expression.)

  Greg, plus the four of us, waited anxiously for some proclamation from Doc. Devin’s face was pinched so tight from worry I thought his eyes might pop out of their sockets at any moment. The Doc’s infirmary, which always was seemed quite spacious, seemed tight and claustrophobic.

  Doc took his time consulting a chart from one of the books and looked at the readings one more time and then said, “From what I had time to read, your numbers are higher than they should be, but I think all of you are safe.”

  “What do you mean, higher numbers?” Devin asked.

  Doc Wilson pulled the book back up for another quick look and put it back down. “Your dosage, as far as I could tell, is significantly higher than what it should be in a single year, but since you’re all healthy young men, it is low enough your body should tolerate it. You will probably die from a zombie bite before you die from any radiation-related illness. ”

  Devin let out an exaggerated exhalation and bent at the knees, his head tilted toward the floor.

  “That’s looking on the bright side, Doc,” I said, “thanks. That’s a real comfort.”

  Doc Wilson looked at me and winked. “I just call them as I see them.”

  Travis let out a chuckle, and Greg even smiled a little.

  “But seriously, we should stay out of the area. At least, for now.”

  “What about our gear?” Brandon asked.

  “You mean, like your riot gear? Doc asked.

  “Yeah,” Brandon said, “and the Kevlar vests?”

  “I’d have to recommend that you not use those. At least, for a while. We have no way to decontaminate them.”

  “That sucks,” Brandon said.

  “We have more riot gear,” Travis said.

  “But those were the only four vests we had,” I said.

  “Well, I am sorry….” Doc started, but shouting drifted down the hallway in our direction, and he stopped.

  Greg was the first one out the door, and I was fast on his hee
ls. I heard the footfalls behind me. The shouts intensified as we ran toward the dining room.

  The source of the commotion came from the courtyard. When we got to the dining room, I could see people streaming out of the doors and into the courtyard. Their body language didn’t convey fear or shock, more surprise and maybe even excitement as if they were headed to an unexpected street performance.

  They were so intent on their destination that none of them even looked our way when we rushed into the room.

  “Hey, people,” Greg shouted, “what’s going on?”

  They didn’t even turn back in his direction, but Henry said, “It’s back,” just before he slid out the door and out of view.

  There was little to do but to follow the crowd. I looked ahead and saw Travis gently pushing Kara ahead of him, his hands on her shoulders. “Come on, woman. We’re going to miss the parade.” She turned and looked back over her shoulder at him, her smile wide and full of playfulness. Something in my stomach tightened, but I chose to ignore it as I shouldered my way into the surging crowd and outside into the cool twilight air.

  I heard it before I saw it. It was the military drone again. Back for another frustrating and unfulfilling visit, no doubt.

  When were in town, one had buzzed over us a couple of times, getting everyone’s hopes up that the government was on their way to our rescue. Only they never came.

  The scene outside in the courtyard was uncannily similar to the drone’s last visit when we were at the church. Dozens of people milled about with their heads turned up and their eyes locked skyward. If snakes suddenly filled the courtyard around their feet, I doubt they would have noticed.

  “What is it?” Hub asked. “Is it a plane?”

  “No,” Brandon answered, “it’s a drone.”

  “How can you tell?” Hub asked.

  “Just take his word for it, Dad,” Travis said nudging in next to me. Kara stood to his right, looking up to the sky, her expression hopeful, but guarded.

  Nightfall was just about a half hour away, but the sky was still bright enough to make out the outline of the plane-like object. My knowledge of aviation vehicles was limited (basically, if it had wings that didn’t flap, it was a plane), but it looked like the drone that had flown over the church just a few months ago.

  “Brandon, do you think it’s the same one from before?” Greg asked from behind me.

  “I can’t say it is, but it looks very similar,” Brandon said. “It has a camera on it, but it could be a different model.”

  Questions filtered through the crowd. All of them were obvious. Where did it come from? Why is it here? Is it a threat? Will the military be coming?

  These were all the same questions that we had asked before. Too bad, we got none of the answers.

  Someone bumped into me from behind, and then I heard Kara’s voice, “Why do you think it’s here?”

  “You know my philosophy; why ask why?” I said, still looking up at the drone.

  “Come on, Joel, this is the second time it has visited us,” she said. “That has to mean something.”

  “I think it’s just a part of the continuing cosmic joke being played on us to get our hopes up only to bitterly dash them by never showing up again.”

  “Well, well,” she said, “you’re in a mood.”

  “Life’s just a laugh riot in the zombie apocalypse, and I’m just here to keep the funny stuff coming.”

  “I think it’s better not to talk with you tonight,” she said, moving away from me.

  I looked down, turned in her direction, and started to apologize, but Devin moved into the space that Kara had vacated. So instead, I just stood there with my mouth open. Being polite, he looked away.

  “What’s the deal with the drone?” he asked.

  “It’s some sort of military reconnaissance drone. We had one fly over us while we were in town. It came; it hovered; it left. That’s pretty much the end of the story.”

  “But it means that some military organization is still out there,” he said.

  “And?” I responded.

  “And what?” he asked.

  “And, it doesn’t mean shit,” I said. “If we put any hope of the men in uniforms coming to rescue us, well, I’ve got a bridge from Hawaii to Japan for sale if anyone’s interested.”

  The drone did its thing and passed in slow circles around us. The people in the crowd oooed and ahhhhed, totally riveted on the drone, but once it completed its gentle dives and turns, it did what it did the last time and flew the hell out of Dodge and into the western horizon. Most people stayed for the entire show, following it until it was a blip, and then it blipped out. I went back inside well before it got anywhere near blip status.

  “This was a clear sign from God,” Brother Ed shouted, working himself into a lather as he stood holding court over the audience. With our people in a tizzy, Greg called a community gathering to hopefully restore a sense of calm and equilibrium. Brother Ed seemed to be doing everything in his power to go in another completely opposite direction.

  “Now, Ed, you weren’t around when we had our last visit from the drone,” Greg said.

  “Please call me, Brother Ed. But I’m here now, and I can tell because I’ve been praying for a sign. This is it. I’m sure of it.”

  A few people clapped, and I nearly groaned aloud. His small but devoted flock was growing.

  Kara stood and said, “While this could be a sign, we just can’t put our faith and energy into expecting any sort of immediate action. If it is sign, we’ll know in God’s time frame, not ours.”

  “Then your faith is weak,” Brother Ed said, throwing down the gauntlet. There was no mistaking it. He was challenging her and making a public play for spiritual leadership of our community.

  Kara looked taken aback at first but rallied when Travis stood and put a hand on her shoulder. “I don’t think it’s a question of my faith,” she said, “My faith isn’t what’s going to make things change. It will be God.”

  “The Bible says that faith can move mountains,” Brother Ed shouted, his arms extended theatrically, and his followers once again clapped.

  “Yes, it does,” Kara said, “but it….”

  “It doesn’t mean that you’re not a blowhard, Ed,” I said standing, feeling a heat building behind my face. That took the air out of the room, and all eyes came to me. Which was not really my intent, but I decided to roll with it. “The drone came last time, and everyone got their hopes up. And what did we get? Jack Squat. Maybe it’s a sign from God; maybe it’s not. All I know is that if you start packing your bags tonight hoping for an army rescue convoy or a chariot from heaven, then you’re going to be seriously disappointed.”

  Brother Ed held me in a hot stare, and I met him in it, matching his temperature by each degree.

  “I think what Joel is trying to say is that we need to be patient, no matter what,” Greg said. “We also need to proceed in the manner we have been: day-in/day-out. Even if something is going to happen, it probably won’t happen soon, and the dangers we face are not going away as we wait. We must remain vigilant and prepared.”

  While my entry into the debate stirred things up, Greg’s was calming and measured. I broke the staring match with Brother Ed and quickly walked away from the gathering. I learned later that Brother Ed tried to work the crowd back into a frenzy, but his spell had been broken. (Bully for me.) Brandon was the only person to congratulate me for putting Brother Ed in his place while Brother Ed’s followers gave me sideways glances for the next couple days. Oh well, I knew I wasn’t winning any popularity contests with them anytime soon.

  Chapter 18

  Double Vision

  They are coming through a dense fog. A massive horde of zombies shambling down the gently sloping hill towards The Manor. Driven by their insatiable hunger, they trudged forward, but there also seemed to be some other unspoken purpose.

  Something or someone led them towards us. A dark master of some kind, aiding their onslaught
: a puppet master pulling their undead strings.

  A blinding light signals the first explosion. Another explosion comes with bright ferocity right in front of The Manor, blowing a massive breach in the fence. The undead mob clamor through the breach and then surging into the buildings.

  I am in one of the glass walkways between buildings, running as fast as I can but knowing it wasn’t fast enough because I’m moving in slow motion while the rest of the world was moving at normal speed. My feet trudge forward as if I were running through quicksand. Sounds are long and drawn out. I try to shout a warning, but my voice is choked to a hoarse croak that has no resonance.

  Where is everybody? Why haven’t the guards warned us?

  As I turn a corner in the hallway, still moving in ultra-slow motion, I run right into a large zombie. His face is partially shredded, one eye completely missing and blood dripping from its chin like melting chocolate. He lunges forward and clutches me in a bear hug, his mouth open and his head falling forward towards my throat, ready to tear it out. I can see its cracked and broken teeth, pieces of flesh and muscle between them. Its putrid breath fills my nostrils as it moves in for the kill. I feel the sting of its teeth, tearing into my flesh as it bites down.

  That’s when I woke up: 3:30 AM. This was becoming an all too regular and all too annoying occurrence.

  My room was still dark, and I was soaked in sweat, despite the room being a chilly 48 degrees. I hoped I hadn’t shouted out in my sleep because Naveen and Madison were in the neighboring room, along with Kara. I stopped to listen as my breathing slowed back to normal, but heard nothing. It took a good five minutes before my pulse got anywhere close to being normal.

  This dream had taken the place of the boy in the woods. I didn’t know whether I should be thankful of that or not. The boy was a lot less frightening than a horde of zombies, but who got to pick the subject of their nightmares? Certainly not me.

  Later that day, I told Greg and Kara about it. Greg said that he was surprised that more of the group didn’t have these dreams, but Kara felt it was like the other dream that I had about the attack at the church in town. She thought there might be something more providential to it. Something almost prophetic, but we agreed to keep it to ourselves. At least for the time being.