The Battle of Zombie Hill

by Nancy Osa

  “All present and accounted for, sir!” Stormie reported. No one had taken an arrow. No horse had suffered a scratch.

  “It doesn’t get any better than this,” Rob whispered to himself. Forgetting for a moment that this success was just the tip of the iceberg, the captain of Battalion Zero savored the knowledge that he had brought his troops through a battle victorious and unscathed.

  CHAPTER 12

  CELEBRATION KEPT THE BATTALION UP HALF THE night. Thing 1 and Thing 2 howled happily at the moon. Jools played DJ, amplifying disco music from his computer speaker. And who knew Frida could dance like that?

  Meanwhile, Stormie inked up some unenchanted cactus needles and drew Turner a commemorative tattoo on a biceps he’d kept bare for just such an occasion. Kim and Rob spent time with the horses, just hanging out on the fence and tossing them chunks of carrot every now and then.

  As the moon journeyed across the sky, everyone gravitated back to their customary spots around the campfire and replayed their conquest.

  Turner was still pumped. “Did ya see the look on Legs’s face when every last one of his skeletons fell for our trap?”

  Jools reached over and shook his hand. “I liked watching him flee screaming on the back of a chicken.”

  Stormie turned to their leader. “So, what’s next, Captain Rob?”

  Turner cut in. “Let’s just do this again!”

  “I wish we could, Sergeant. I doubt it would work without the element of surprise, though.”

  Stormie moved closer to Rob. “Dr. Dirt will be onto us now,” she agreed. “But I’m sure you and Jools will think of something.”

  Rob grunted. It was so easy to let her think well of him.

  Frida grabbed an empty potion bottle and placed it on its side on the ground. “Let’s let fate decide.” She gave the bottle a spin. It came to rest pointing south, toward the extreme hills.

  “Hill country!” she said. “I’ll scout it out tomorrow.”

  “Hmm,” Kim mused. “The zombies and skelemobs would have to cross the desert to get there. You’d think they’d want to stay away from all that bright sun.”

  “That’s where Dirt’s plan actually makes sense,” Turner reasoned. “His hostiles always have cover at least half the time. Night comes to every biome, generally around, well . . . sunset.”

  “Thank you for that succinct explanation, Sergeant,” Rob said. “I’ve been studying the map. Those hills may be the key to unlocking Dr. Dirt’s hold on the Overworld. I notice that they adjoin twice as many biomes as the forest we just liberated. Taking the extreme hills would bring peace to one-tenth of the entire mapped world.” And maybe buy me a ticket home.

  “World peace is an admirable goal,” said Jools, “but necessity may require us to put the sunflower plains back on the drawing board, for now. If we don’t rally there soon, the village and Kim’s ranch might be lost.”

  Rob cast the horse master a quick look. She had said nothing about worry over the stock and property she’d left behind or the welfare of her villager friends. She had placed the good of the group above her own concerns. Perhaps they owed it to her to repay that loyalty.

  “It’s settled,” Rob said. “We’ll put the hills on the back burner for now. Frida, check into griefer activity on the western mesa boundary ASAP. We’ll attack there, and then ride into the village to reinforce their dominion.” He pictured the scene that they had left, smoke in the air and the iron golem’s remains scattered across the ground. “Let’s see if we can’t give those folks back their freedom.”

  Kim skipped over and hugged Rob around the neck. “Oh, Captain! How can I ever thank you?”

  He blushed, but said, “Maybe you can show me your vaulting technique sometime. . . .”

  “Hey, y’all!” Stormie said. “I’ve got a surprise.”

  She hustled away from the campfire and called from a distance, “To victory!”

  They saw a spark and heard a whoosh. Then the sky flowered with patterns of light—red, gold, green, purple.

  Fireworks! Their artillery commander had secretly crafted them in her idle moments.

  “Ooooh . . .”

  “Ahhh . . .”

  “Hoard the purple!” came the appreciative comments.

  As the display popped off smaller charges and draped the sky with color, Stormie returned to stand beside Rob and watch. “That one’s for you,” she whispered, brushing against him.

  It was as though she were a human magnet and he were a full suit of iron armor. But his role as commander meant that duty came first.

  “Thank you very much, Artilleryman Stormie. Those were very thoughtful explosions.” He turned on his heel, walked to the stream, and—gritting his teeth—jumped into the evening-chilled water.

  *

  Fresh from their conquest, Battalion Zero was well situated to mount an attack on the demons holding the plains/mesa boundary. Frida’s undercover work revealed that Dr. Dirt and his legions had run rampant in the area, destroying every attempt by the plains villagers to rebuild their shattered town. Kim’s ranch and horses were just a short ride away. Something had to be done.

  Kim contacted Aswan on chat to hear his side of the story. “It’s worse than we thought, guys,” she told the war tribunal. “The griefers have taken all three plains boundaries and are basically holding the villagers captive in between. It’s just a matter of time before they run out of supplies and manpower.”

  Rob knew she had to be consumed with worry for her horses, yet she focused on the villagers’ plight. “There’s no time to lose,” he said to Jools. “I want your best-case and worst-case scenarios for attacking tomorrow night.”

  “Well, I’ve been working on it,” the crafty quartermaster said. “Best case: We throw all the firepower we have at them first—cannon, flaming arrows, and a bunch of exploding creepers that I can generate using a spawn egg. While they’re reeling from that, we hit them with archery fire from horseback and set Thing 1 and Thing 2 on them. Then, if anything is still standing, we mow them down with blades and axes on foot.”

  They all thought this sounded like a strong option.

  “And worst case?”

  “We run away,” Jools said, shrugging his shoulders. “That’s all I’ve got.”

  No one asked what the probability calculator predicted. If giving this battle their all wasn’t enough, it wouldn’t matter what the odds were.

  This time, horse armor would be required. Unfortunately, none of the iron mesh pieces would fit Duff’s massive chest or substantial derriere. Kim told Turner not to worry. “If any horse can take care of himself, it’s Duff.”

  So when they assembled to set off for the biome border, Armor, Ocelot, Saber, and Beckett all matched their riders, decked out in protective gear, while Duff trotted along uncovered.

  “I’m glad you didn’t wear your birthday suit to complement your horse,” Jools said to Turner. “Not that there’s much bare skin on you anyway.”

  Turner leaned back in the saddle. “A man’s got to have his tats,” he said proudly.

  The mood darkened along with the sky as they rode farther from camp and closer to the scene of their next battle. The two wolves’ steady lopes even seemed subdued.

  “I hope Aswan’s all right,” Kim said from the back of Rob’s horse, where she was perched. “Turner, when I heard from him last, Aswan said Sundra had moved underground to escape the fires.”

  “That woman’s resourceful,” Turner replied. “Maybe I’ll bring her back with me this time. We could use a good farrier.”

  Rob wasn’t happy about leaving the broad mesa. This was not a life he would have chosen. Nothing like long stretches of uneventful boredom, punctuated by terrifying warfare. He allowed himself a brief thought of home with its soothing sounds of crickets and sage-scented breezes. That was what kept him fixed on defending a world in which he was a stranger . . . and an underdog.

  Rob pushed the memory away and reviewed the strategy for the upcoming ba
ttle once more. If it did come down to hand-to-hand combat, “Battalion Zero” might be a more fitting description than he’d have liked.

  *

  Again, they used a brush screen to scan for the mob’s appearance. Jools and Kim set up a supply station and Frida and Stormie snuck away to position the TNT cannon within range. They had to get in fairly close, so Jools agreed to move in after them with Ocelot, Armor, and the creeper spawn egg. Then he’d retreat with the girls once the creepers had spawned and were moving toward the enemy. Turner and Rob made ready to charge as soon as the first cannon shot wreaked damage.

  At Rob’s signal, the group went into action.

  But someone was waiting for them.

  Before Stormie could prime the cannon, a platoon of baby zombies wobbled toward her, arms outstretched. “Goooh-goooh, gaaah-guuuhhh!”

  She fell back and called out to Rob, “What should I do, Captain?”

  It was hard to believe that these awkward creatures meant them harm. The worst that could be said of them was that they smelled like rotting infants. When Rob hesitated, Turner yelled, “Blast ’em!”

  Rob cut him a look, but echoed, “Blast ’em!” The slight delay enabled the quick-moving baby mob to reach Stormie and Frida, who were still on foot. The small monsters pulled their golden swords and initiated a melee. Tiny green limbs and heads flew everywhere while, behind them, a row of daddy zombies marched into position.

  “Let’s go, boys,” Rob commanded Turner and Jools. Their horses responded to his voice and raced toward the girls, leaving Kim alone with the supply chest and the wolf guard.

  “Uuuuhh . . . ooohhh!”

  Rob and Turner held the zombies off with arrow after arrow, sometimes knocking off chunks of flesh and sometimes killing an attacker. The stench spread.

  By the time Stormie was finally free to prime the cannon, Jools had formed his creeper mob and shown them across the battle line. “Send in the wolves!” he cried at Kim, and the two Things chased the creepers toward the enemy.

  Stormie activated the TNT blast . . . but nothing happened.

  No noise.

  No explosion.

  No bits of zombies raining down.

  Rob eyed Turner. What could possibly have gone wrong this time?

  *

  “Puny . . . humans . . . of . . . Battalion . . . Zero!” came a high-pitched and well-enunciated address from the dark plains. “This biome . . . is my own!”

  Stormie and Frida, who were collecting their horses from Jools, froze. Turner and Rob reined in Duff and Saber, unsure which direction to take.

  Next came a rumbling so ominous, so deep, and so ground shaking that it could only be coming from beneath the earth.

  “Have a taste . . . of . . . your . . . own medicine!” screamed Dr. Dirt. “And then . . . some . . . of . . . mine.”

  Horror dawning, Stormie realized what was happening and hopped in the saddle, motioning for Frida to do the same. “Go, go, go!” she ordered the others. “Back to our side of the border!”

  “Retreat!” Rob cried, taking his own advice.

  Just as they cleared the boundary, the earth seemed to split in two.

  Ka-wooooom! A mighty detonation opened up a trench of soil, mortaring chunks of bedrock into the sky. Dr. Dirt had rerouted the TNT back at them, setting the very border ablaze.

  Rob couldn’t help but steal a glance over his shoulder as he led the riders back toward Kim’s station. There, they regrouped and watched the plains boundary burn where it met the mesa.

  “At least that oughtta keep them away from us,” Turner said, gripping Duff’s reins.

  “Or not,” Jools said gravely. He pointed. “Over there!”

  Across the fire line came a cavalry unit of skeletons mounted on horses, leaping the deadly blaze as though they felt no pain.

  “They’re not turning back,” Jools announced.

  Kim screamed. “They’re zombie horses!”

  “We’ve got to get out of here,” Rob said, transmitting his panic to Saber, who started bucking.

  “Somebody help me with the supply chest,” Kim called anxiously.

  “Leave it!” said Jools, and he scooped her up onto the back of Beckett’s saddle. “Now or never, Beckett. There’s no time for potions.”

  The battalion lit out for their mesa camp followed by endless ranks of cavalry skeletons. The pursuers closed in on Rob and company, maintaining attack distance. Arrows flew thick enough that some hit their marks. First Kim, and then Frida and Stormie took painful hits. Duff suffered a flesh wound in his rump. Rob felt an arrow pierce his neck. And still the attackers came.

  Rob scoured his memory for some bit of wisdom that would lead them to safety. Their horses’ hooves were accustomed to the mesa hardpan and could keep this up for quite a ways. Zombie horses, though . . .

  “Turner!” He steered Saber next to Duff. “What happens to zombies that lose their legs?”

  Turner thought a moment. “They just keep going!”

  “That’s it. We’ll run them into the ground. Battalion, gallop: March!”

  “We’re galloping as fast as we can, Captain!” Stormie cried.

  “Don’t stop!”

  As they thundered over the rocky mesa, sure enough, the zombie horses behind them started to break up. A hoof here, a leg there, and gradually the distance between the two lines of soldiers widened.

  When, at last, the skeletons could no longer maintain their firing range, they gave up and turned back for the plains.

  “Holy mother of lapis lazuli!” Turner swore. “That was a close one.”

  They straggled into camp, hurt, frightened, and defeated.

  Kim slid down from Beckett’s rump. “Oh, no! Where are the wolves?”

  They all gazed back at the burning battle line in the distance. Thing 1 and Thing 2 had been on the other side when their cannon had backfired. The wolves were lost, along with the fight.

  Kim burst into pink tears.

  Stormie moved over to comfort her. Frida confronted Rob. “Any more bright ideas, Captain?” she snapped. He had no reply.

  Their health bars low, the bulk of their supplies left behind, the battalion had suffered more than a setback. They were crippled, and Dr. Dirt knew it.

  Jools pleaded with his captain, “Let me and Stormie go to the Nether. We’ve been there before. We can find Colonel M and bring him here.”

  Rob reminded Jools that they had vowed to stay together and not split their ranks. “We can’t afford to lose anyone or anything,” he said miserably, knowing that he was more afraid than ever of descending below the Overworld. They would all have to do without Colonel M’s help.

  They drifted off to heal themselves, care for the horses, and rest by the cold campfire. As Stormie, Kim, Jools, Frida, and Rob gathered there, the absence of the tame wolves was noticeable and painful. But something else was missing. Rob looked around. Duff was out in the horse corral, but his rider was not.

  “Has anybody seen Turner?” Rob asked.

  They all eyed each other, not daring to answer.

  *

  Days passed, and the sergeant at arms did not return. They searched the old mine shaft and up and down the stream to no avail. Frida couldn’t even locate any footprints. When last seen, Turner had been alive. And he’d left his horse behind. Where could he have gone?

  Without one of his best combatants, Rob could not fathom how they would win the next battle, let alone a war for the Overworld. Now, more than ever, he needed real help.

  To bolster their dwindling supplies, they walked out onto the mesa to pick up what the zombie horses and skelemob had dropped. Turner would never have approved of the skeletons’ poorly fashioned arrows, but they were better than nothing. The hot sun intensified the reek of dead zombie parts, making the work nearly unbearable. Among the rotten flesh, odd bones, carrots, and potatoes, however, lay the most gruesome item of all. Frida held up a pink pony halter with diamonds set into the browband. “Anybody know whos
e this is?” she called to the others.

  Kim approached, squinting, then ran the last few steps. “It’s—it’s mine! It belongs to Starla—” She broke off, visibly shaken. Slowly, she mouthed her conclusion: “Dr. Dirt has turned my horses into zombies.”

  This time Kim didn’t cry. She seemed to gather every bit of her wisdom and strength and wind them about her waist like a belt that was holding her together. She gave Rob a silent, wordless plea.

  He understood. This must be avenged. And they would not be able to do it on their own.

  He stood, motionless, torn between action and caution. Then the knowledge of how he would feel if Saber were transformed by evil pushed him over the edge.

  Never mind what he could and could not, would and would not, do. Help resided in the underworld, and that was where Rob would have to go. He couldn’t just send Jools and Stormie. If he wanted to ask the utmost of his battalion, he would have to give that much of himself.

  “Troops,” Rob said, rising from the campfire and packing up his bedroll. “Make ready. All of you. We’re going to the Nether.”

  CHAPTER 13

  THE MEMBERS OF BATTALION ZERO PREPARED for their journey. Without a trip to the Nether, the fate of the Overworld, Kim’s ranch, and Rob’s return home would all be jeopardized. Jools’s remaining supply chest contained enough obsidian, flint, and steel to create and activate one Nether portal, but not enough for two. So they would have to track their whereabouts while below ground and return to the entry site if they ever wanted to see the sun again—without having to die to do it.

  Stormie’s compass and map would be of no use to them. Borrowing a move from Turner’s playbook, they each wrote down their Overworld camp coordinates on the backs of their hands. These should correspond proportionally to underworld numbers, but Jools reminded them that there were no guarantees.

  “The light level and the foul terrain further muck up one’s sense of direction down there,” Jools said. “We’ll have to leave a trail of bread crumbs.”