by Perrin Briar
Rupert was shocked to find Manuel looked no more tired or exhausted than if he had been taking a stroll rather than chasing his quarry for the past twentyfour hours. And it had been a day, now that Rupert had time to think about it.
Manuel grunted, snarling under his breath, casting about, first this way, and then that. Then, not happy to be standing in a single place, took off, directly ahead, and disappeared into the undergrowth.
He would run in that direction until he was given sufficient reason to turn and head in another, Rupert knew. The last thing Rupert wanted right now was to give him that reason to turn back by making noise. He would wait, give himself a little time to think and consider his plan first.
Rupert would wait ten minutes, fifteen, until he felt certain Manuel was safely heading in the wrong direction. Then he would… what? He couldn’t stay on this island. He couldn’t ask for the Flowers’ help. They were more likely to kill him than Manuel was. Then what would he do?
He would head to the cave where the family kept their boat. He would hijack it and sail into the sunset, never to see the island, the Flowers, the demon, nor Manuel ever again. He was sad to leave Manuel behind. He had been a useful tool, but he had long overstayed his welcome.
It had been ten minutes since Manuel had taken his little detour by Rupert’s internal clock. He raised his head to peer into the foliage in the direction Manuel had gone. He was nowhere to be seen.
Smash!
The foliage folded back, and a monster, like Mr. Hyde on steroids, stepped from the greenery. The familiar heavy footsteps. Manuel couldn’t have turned around, not yet! There had been no reason for him to turn round and head back already. Had there? Evidently there had, but Rupert was stumped if he knew what it could be.
With any luck, Manuel would rush right past him and continue in the wrong direction, back the way he had come.
Manuel flew from the foliage and turned his head from one side to another, looking, searching in vain for Rupert.
He’s going to find me, Rupert realized. He’s going to find me here.
He had to get up, had to make a break for it. If he didn’t do it now, he would never get the head start he needed. He felt like the rabbit who had to remain perfectly still or else risk being seen by the predator.
All his senses were screaming at him to run, but his brain was telling him to stay put. Stay put long enough and eventually Manuel would move on, would go somewhere else and continue his manhunt for him in all the wrong places. It would give Rupert the time he needed to escape and get away from there, figure out a way of escaping this infernal island.
He couldn’t wait any longer. He needed to make a move. He was going to do it. He was going to go for it. He couldn’t ignore his instincts any longer. He was a man who had had to rely on his instincts for many years. He couldn’t just ignore them now.
He sprung from the undergrowth. There was a grunt, and then the heavy, relentless thud, thud, thud of Manuel’s marching footsteps.
The hunt was back on.
Chapter Three
THERE WAS no need to rebuild or start again as they had before, as a large part of the damage done by the Overlord In Black was superficial. The worst had been done by the family themselves, having emptied entire clips in the direction of their home.
They set traps in the jungle to recapture the farm animals they had preemptively set loose to protect them from their enemies. There was every chance they would never see many of them ever again, but they would do their best nonetheless. They were a part of the family and provided a lot of what the family needed to sustain their existence on the island.
The fact Fritz had decided to stay with the Flower family was a cause of great relief on Bill and Liz’s part, and that of his younger brothers too, not that they would ever admit it. They would have missed him terribly if he had left them.
Despite their relief, Bill and Liz were aware they had four sons and no girls for them to socialize with. It was difficult to cling to a future when there was little for you to begin building it with.
After they had fixed up their little island and secured it once again, they would need to begin setting up for the community they would be hosting. They had had a great deal of bad luck with the first two members of their community project, but it hadn’t extinguished the need they had for a community to help support them.
In truth, none of them were completely convinced that this island, out in the middle of nowhere, was really the right place to set up such a community. They had assumed they would be in a safer place when they came here, that they would have no problem in holding the undead back, that there would hardly be any undead. But they had been wrong on both counts.
No matter how hard they worked on defending themselves, there was always another enemy. They had succeeded so far, often by the skin of their teeth. Luck was on their side. One day it wouldn’t be, and they would be doomed.
Fritz set another trap and moved on. These traps were designed to capture, to ensnare, not hurt or maim. They wanted their farm animals back without injury.
“You know, there is another option open to us,” Fritz said. “Besides setting up our own community.”
“You mean, finding one to join?” Bill said, nodding. “The thought had occurred to me too. But there’s something about it I just don’t like after our recent experience. We don’t know what kind of people would be living in these places. If they’ll be similar to those we’ve already met.”
“But they’re likely to have already been vetted by the community,” Fritz said. “We’d just give it a try and see if we like it. It would make things a lot easier, don’t you think? Joining a community that has already been set up as opposed to beginning everything ourselves.”
“If only there was somewhere we could go where we already knew the people and knew they would be safe to co-exist alongside,” Bill said. “It would be the best of both worlds.”
“Look out!” Ernest shouted.
Yaaaaaaaargh!
The undead broke through the undergrowth with surprising speed, and reached up for Jack, who had been in the process of descending from a tree. He was within clawing range. If Jack let go and fell to the ground the undead would have him for sure.
But instead of letting go as most people would have, Jack scaled up the tree. The undead had already fell to its knees in preparation of falling upon Jack’s prostrate body. It hadn’t counted on Jack climbing so fast.
Bill was on the undead figure within a split second, and slammed his knife into the side of its head. Razor sharp accuracy thanks to his knowledge of the human body.
Another two Lurchers erupted from the foliage, on the other side of the clearing. Fritz pushed his undead back, its pace gone at having lost its footing.
Ernest brought his cudgel around, smacking his undead in the ribs, breaking at least two, before it stumbled and fell over. He raised his cudgel to deliver the killing blow.
“Wait,” Bill said.
His two sons, well trained, restrained themselves, and held their weapons in position, never taking their eyes from their undead charges.
“What for?” Ernest said.
Bill approached the undead and sliced a deep gash in each undead’s legs, sending them flopping to the ground.
“Training,” Bill said. “Jack, come down here. Fritz, Ernest. Can you keep an eye out for us please?”
They didn’t reply. They didn’t need to. They were all well aware of what each other was doing. It was like they had become a single entity, knowing what each other was doing before they even began to do it.
“Jack,” Bill said. “Come show me how to slice the proximal bicep tendons.”
Jack withdrew his knife and slowly approached the undead writhing on the ground.
“Careful now,” Bill said.
It was too easy for the undead characters to turn, trip them up, and render them in a dangerous situation. Bill emphasized the need for caution at all times. Jack bent his knees, keepin
g himself as low to the ground as he could without dropping to his hands. A stronger base of support.
Bill sidled up close to him, knife ready to bring down on the undead at a moment’s notice.
“Easy now,” Bill said.
The undead kept trying to get to his feet, but it was no good, he had no use of his left leg, and every time he tried to get to his feet, he only flopped over to one side.
“Pin him,” Bill said.
Jack extended his leg and pressed down on the undead’s chest. It bent its head forward but couldn’t reach Jack’s boot, never mind his flesh.
“Good,” Bill said. “Now the cut. Remember, quick, fast and efficient.”
Jack located the tendon and pressed his knife into the creature’s flesh, slicing through with ease. The undead’s arm went floppy, just as its leg had.
“Remember,” Bill said. “This is for practice purposes only. You aren’t to take this risk when I’m not here with you. Ever. Is that understood? Ideally, you’ll always be able to take a Lurcher out quickly and without need to slice through tendons. But there’s always the chance one of these guys might take you by surprise and fall upon you. In which case, it’d be useful to utilize such strategies to take them out, incapacitate them so you can get away to safety.
“Always go for the killing blow if you can, but sometimes you might be unable to. That’s when this training will come in handy. Ernest, you’re up next.”
“They looked like they knew what they were doing, didn’t they, Pa?” Jack said.
Bill had thought the same thing, but how could that be? The Overlord In Black was dead. They had seen him get swept off by the river. And he had been full of bullet holes. There was no way someone could survive an ordeal such as that, was there?
Except he isn’t human, a voice in the back of Bill’s head whispered.
It was difficult for Bill to think of the undead, overlords or otherwise, as anything but human. They were so similar to himself. They looked the same, acted roughly the same. There was no way to think of them as any different. And yet they were different.
By the time the Flowers were done, the undead looked like a butcher had been at them. Sliced and diced.
Chapter Four
THE OVERLORD In Black slammed the palm of his hand hard against a root that protruded at a right angle from the tree, shaping his current resting place into a throne. In his mind it had been a powerful blow, but had in fact been extremely weak, barely sending any tremors up his arms. He felt weak. He needed a new donor.
Of course, ‘donor’ was a bit of a misnomer when the overlord took it from his subjects without recourse to asking permission. Dotted about him were the mutilated, barren bodies of the undead who had sacrificed themselves and their blood—such as it was.
Unfortunately, undead blood was not good blood. It was difficult for him to heal the injuries he’d sustained, and so he had to replace his undead donors frequently, as they could not replenish their own blood supply.
Another of his slaves tottered on his feet and hit the deck. No blood seeped from his body. He was drained dry. The next undead in line stepped up, shoved the reed into his arm without preamble and his blood, thick and congealed, began to slowly flow through the reed and into the Overlord In Black’s body. He shivered upon contact.
This was what he had been reduced to. This quivering, useless sack of meat, depending on the slaves that he commanded in order to survive. The only other option open to him he had never seriously considered. He could end the pain and suffering right then, could do it in a matter of seconds, by gripping the reeds and pulling them from his arm, letting his slaves’ blood pool on the ground. Alternatively, he could order his pets to tear him to pieces. They would do it, without hesitation. It would be faster, at least, but there was something about it that he despised, the idea of handing himself over to his lower class brethren.
No, he would—couldn’t—do it. In all honesty, the thought rarely crossed his mind. But he wished he could do it, could be reborn so he might try it all again. If he could, would he have done it any differently? No. This was who he was. This was what he did. He would get his revenge before the end—before his end.
That was when the Overlord In Black hatched his scheme for how he would punish the family once he got his hands on them. Their blood. They would provide him with the blood he required. That would be how they would spend the rest of their days—sustaining his life, allowing him to heal and get strong again, so he might leave this place. He would suck them dry, until they had nothing left in their veins but poisoned memories.
The Overlord In Black let himself run the thought through his mind. He would leave them with just enough blood to recover, and once they were strong enough again, he would drain them again. Theirs would be a life lived to sustain him. In his own mind there was no greater honor. They weren’t good enough to lick his boots, but he would give them this honor at least.
But he had a problem.
An overlord was only as powerful as the number of undead he had at his disposal. He had wasted entirely too many of his forces on the family, particularly when he’d attacked them on the beach. He should have acted quicker, should have shut them down as fast as he was able.
Next time, he wouldn’t be so slow. Next time, he wouldn’t be so lenient. Next time, they would all die. Painfully.
Chapter Five
BILL AND THE BOYS returned home trailing two goats, one sheep, four pigs and two piglets. They had been very docile, and hadn’t panicked when the family had approached them. They knew they would be well treated.
The family moved around the back of Falcon’s Nest to the farm where their farm was located. They had quickly fixed the fences, knowing they would need to act fast if they wanted to contain their livestock again.
Liz, Francis and Jim had begun clearing the area, moving the less heavy items out of the way. The equipment that could be washed and used again, would be, and an inventory would be made of the objects that was missing. They didn’t have any heavy duty electronic goods, so they should be able to replace it.
Once they were done and the animals were watered and fed, the family moved around to the clearing. It was anything but clear. Bodies still dotted much of the landscape, but it was at least beginning to look like their old home again.
Liz was heating up some soup she’d put together at the last minute, throwing everything they had into a pot and boiling it. It was the only thing she had time to make. It was easy to reheat too whenever they were hungry.
The boys took a seat. Some of the chair legs had been broken. They’d replaced them with lengths of wood, metal or plastic from other items that had been destroyed.
Bill approached Liz and hugged her from behind. She reacted by leaning her head back. Bill said something in her ear and Liz laughed. They kissed, as a married couple would in polite society, gently, softly, on the lips.
“Disgusting, isn’t it?” Ernest said. “I wish they wouldn’t do things like that while we’re around. It’s child abuse.”
“Yeah,” Fritz said, though he sounded distracted. “Horrible.”
In truth, Fritz couldn’t think of anything he wanted more than what his parents had. He knew how lucky he was to have his brothers, but it wasn’t the same as an emotional relationship with a girl.
This was one of the main reasons Fritz had considered heading out on his own and finding a community. The promise of building a future with someone. He had decided to stay because it was the best thing to do at that moment, but perhaps not in the long run. Fritz was of the age where he was interested in girls and needed to socialize. But he wasn’t going to get to do that anytime soon.
“Good evening,” Jim said, taking a seat at the table.
He had improved a lot after he had—finally—woken up. The boys liked to tease him that he seemed to wake up at the best possible moment—right after they had done all the hard work and removed the Overlord In Black from the island.
Jim’s mo
tor skills appeared to be working fine. He’d been helping Liz and Francis with tidying up Falcon’s Nest, despite Bill telling him to take it easy. He was still physically weak, and wore a bandage around his head from where he’d taken the blow that had knocked him unconscious. He was smiling and in good spirits.
“Is it good?” Fritz said.
“Well, it’s not bad, is it?” Jim said. “Much better than it could be—or has been lately.”
Fritz couldn’t fault him on that. There had been a great deal of tumultuousness in the past few days. He was just glad it was finally all behind them.
“Jim, I wanted to ask you something,” Ernest said. “Now that you’re awake.”
“Sure,” Jim said.
“When you were unconscious, you kept saying the same word over and over,” Ernest said. “‘Chow’. What does it even mean?”
“I was trying to warn you,” Jim said. “I wasn’t in my right state of mind and couldn’t tell you directly. After all, Rupert or Manuel might have overheard me. They would decide to put me down for good. You’re aware of the Chinese game Mahjong?”
“Of course,” Ernest said. “I figured as much. Chow is when you dispose of your weakest tiles to try and get a stronger hand.”
“Right,” Jim said.
“So the meaning is about taking care when listening to Rupert?” Ernest said. “Pretty abstract, don’t you think?”
“I was in a coma,” Jim said. “How clear thinking do you think I was capable of?”
“Jim’s right,” Bill said, carrying a tray laden with steaming bowls. “It’s remarkable he managed to get anything out.”
“Something clearer would have been better,” Ernest muttered.
“I thought you were meant to be good at puzzles and these kinds of things?” Jim said.
“I would be,” Ernest said. “Except I didn’t know who you were, why you were saying a Chinese board game rule or even what you were referring to. It’s hardly surprising I couldn’t figure it out.”
