He who lead the crusades against infidelity and executed those who defied his so called Quest for purity and population control, He fathered a child outside of his own sacred union.
“Attempting to defect from your colony is a capital crime Ms. White; I know you're aware of that.”
She glared up at the Pope. “I have the right to a trial.”
“You have the right to nothing!” He erupted, snatching her frail body up by the arm and leading her to the bull.
The crowd jumped to their feet to see. Some heckled her while others pleaded for her life, each voice lost in the roar of them all. Emery fought desperately to rejoin his mother's side; he called to her and strained against the might of the soldier holding him in place again.
The Pope opened the belly of the beast and threw her inside. He looked to the crowd for a moment before locking it.
“Shhh.” He waved his hands at them in a calming manner. “Shhh, Bear witness, to the might, OF THE BEAST!” He called, lifting his gold embroidered robes out of the sand. He signaled to another one of his guards to light the fire under the bull. Instantly music sounded from its nostrils, it was similar to the sound of a flute, light and sweet, quite delicate in its deception.
Marx's mother squeezed his hand once more as the boy struggled.
“MOM!” His pitch had reached hysteria as the music continued to fill the arena, bringing a hush to the unruly audience. Smoke billowed from the bull, the sweet smell of incense mingling with that of roasting flesh, and in Marx a sickening feeling rose. The smell was threatening to reveal him for the coward he felt he was, his stomach crept up inch by inch.
The dreadful song played longer than any of them thought possible. For fifteen agonizing minutes Marx had prayed for her death, while people danced in the stands, stepping over those who'd fainted from the horror of it all.
Emery melted into the arms of the soldier, never taking his eyes off the steaming bull, the aroma of his mother's scorched meat clung to the fibers of his clothes, enveloping him like a cruel final embrace.
The Pope had reached a new low with the introduction of this device. Marx sucked his teeth and frowned upon the man standing, twisting the tip of his mustache and playing to his audience. Millie dropped Marx's hand to quickly save her face from a falling tear.
“Defectors will be met with no mercy. The Ryder Colony is among the best in America. We have the best established infrastructure, we do not merely survive, we thrive. Who can say this about the others? We were the first and they want to be us, they want to learn from us and trade with us. You are the richest and most well cared for citizens of any colony in all the world. I take you all in and feed you and care for you as though you were my family. Who among you would throw that back in my face? Who among you would bite the hand that teaches you to feed yourself! WHO? “The people shook their heads.
“She dined at my table, now creeps out like a thief in the night without paying her dues, to share our Intel with some other colony? Oh not on my watch you don't. NOT ON MY WATCH!” some of the spectators applauded him.
The Pope had been a magnificent proselytizer over his thirty-four year reign as the Ryder Colony's religious leader. His devout following belonged to him implicitly; those who would question did not dare do so outside the confines of their own minds.
The Pope turned his attention to the boy lying listless in the sand. “And what of her bastard?” The Popes tone was soft and sympathetic. “Who among you would show mercy and care for him?” Everyone looked each at the other to see if anyone might speak up. No one did. “Mercy is for the weak.”
Marx felt his mother stiffen. He knew she'd had all she was going to take of this spectacle. Marx knew her too well, his heart sank at the idea of her enduring some cruel punishment as another one the Pope's obtuse points. As Millie parted her lips to speak, he stepped forward.
“This boy has taken an interest in the Restoration Crew Your Excellency, he knows all our maneuvers and I think with the proper training he'd make a great asset to the team.”
The Pope twisted the snow white whiskers once more in contemplation. “I'll tell you what, if he can survive the night in the catacombs, I will allow it.”
Emery lifted his tiny head from the sand, his face marred with fear and betrayal.
“Father no.” his voice quivered, barely at a whisper.
“I'm no Priest boy, I'm your Pope, and you'd do well to address me accordingly.”
“But Your Excellency--” Marx tried to give sway, but the Pope was firm.
“My decision has been made. If you want to help him, pray for his soul.”
The guard began dragging the boy away to the decorative iron gate that lead to the catacombs, A system of maze-like tunnels under the arena. It's where the ghost were kept after being captured from up top. Again, Marx had failed him. He tossed him the only thing he could give that might stretch his hours even if just a bit, his night vision goggles.
“Godspeed kid.” he whispered as Emery caught them with one hand before disappearing into the darkness beyond the gate.
This was the worst thing Marx had seen in his five years in the service of the self-proclaimed Pope. Today he was ashamed to be on his Restoration Crew; he was ashamed to be a citizen of The Ryder Colony, and most of all he was ashamed that his name was Marx Ryder, the singular nephew of the mad Pope. A kingmaker who acted as King and made him the Duke of all things misery and fear, the Duke of all things pain and death, of all things zombie, the ghost, and the ashes.
He watched the door of the bull collapse releasing the partially consumed remains of Ms. White to the sand. Millie turned away, but for him it was too late, the warm bile was forcing its way from his body in liters; it was the delightful cherry on top of the shit pile. Marx Ryder was no longer just a disappointment to himself; he was a disappointment to everyone.
CHAPTER TWO Fight or Flight
“It happens the instant a threat is perceived, the primal instincts buried deep within take over and you go on autopilot. Are you going to stay and fight? Do you have the power to gain control of the situation? Or would you be best served by running for your life? Your brain has assessed the outcomes and knows the answer in the fraction of a second; it simply has but to wait for your body to keep pace. So come now slowpoke... What is it to be?”
--Marx Ryder
***
Marx splashed his face with cold water as Frankie rubbed his back.
“It's going to be alright, remember to keep your eyes on the prize. In a weeks’ time this place will be but a bad memory.'
“After what I saw today, I fear we won't last another week. I mean how old was that kid eleven? “Marx shook his head. “He's becoming more unstable in his old age. I want to leave tonight.”
Frankie swallowed hard. “Tonight? We can't, I've not told Sanchez yet.”
Marx blotted his face. “Well what the hell are you waiting for; you need to make it happen Frances.” He touched the tip of her freckled nose and she frowned.
“Do not fucking call me that, you sound like the Prince.” She made her face stiff and serious then deepened her voice. “I beg your pardon Ms. Frances McNealson, a word?” they laughed.
“Aye, he loves to say that, “A word please.” Marx mocked.
“Except he doesn't say please.” Frankie giggled.
“For you dear friend he will say please or any other phrase that may find him in your favor, you know he adores you.”
“Nay, he is polite, he's a prince.”
“He is a Prince and has no need to be polite.” Marx drew his brows together in displeasure and Frankie stuck her tongue out at him. No matter how foul his mood was, the sight of Frankie always turned him into the eight year old boy who use to play with her in school.
“Oh, bring that radio thing you and Axle made, he will need to hear what we heard for any hope that he'll go along with us on this.” Frankie said, then flinched discovering Sanchez's reflection in the mirror behind them. Marx physic
ally jumped.
“Jesus man, you scared the shit out of me.”
Sanchez stood unsmiling. “Heads up, The Prince's man is on his way over here, so let us be at our best. Frankie, need I remind you that even though you may fight as bravely as any man I know, you are in fact a lady, and serve no purpose in the men's room.”
“Nay sir, you do not.” Sanchez gave her an under-eyed glance as she exited the room.
Marx felt more discomfort in his presence than he ever had. They were never buddies or going out for drinks anytime soon, but Sanchez looked at him with a certain venom...a hatred.
“All due respect my lord, “Sanchez began, but Marx furrowed his brow and shook his head.
“No formalities, just say it.”
“If you care anything for her, you won't allow the wrong ideas to be conceived.”
“I do care for her, but not like you think, I--”
“Then act like it, I'll see you in the prep room, Axle and Stucky are waiting on us to get going.” Sanchez turned to exit and Marx called out.
“Wait!”
“Is that a command my lord?”
“No.” Marx answered and Sanchez walked away, leaving him agitated, and biting his tongue.
As he made his way down the dimly lit corridor, he saw two members of the guard escorting Frankie in the opposite direction. When they approached to pass he stepped into their path and halted them.
“What's this? Where are you taking my officer?”
“We're here on orders of the Pope my lord; he seeks an audience with her.”
“Did he say what it was concerning?”
“He did not, only that it was an issue of some importance, but his mood was, light, if that's of any consolation.” The Prince's guard replied.
Frankie smiled at Marx. “Relax; just be sure you stay on task with what we discussed.”
“Aye.” Marx looked down the hall to Sanchez, who was attempting to look uninterested, running his thick fingers along the lines of a chart on the bulletin board.
“See ya soon.” Frankie's smile was reassuring, but there was something about this day that left Marx uneasy, a feeling that wasn't sure to subside until they were far away from the confines of the Ryder colony, and never looking back.
***
Sanchez peeped through the leafy vines that covered the windows and walls of the structure. It had only taken months for nature to reclaim what had taken man centuries to build. The tiles of the floor were cracked and pushed away from their foundation by grass and tree roots, roots of a tree that grew straight through the service counter and ceiling above. It split the counter in two and toppled the cash registers on to the ground where they lay open and empty.
The old meal menu was gone, claimed by scavengers or the Earth itself. It was hard to tell which, but the golden arches still stood tall outside, better served as a home for the birds than a beacon of sustenance and joy now.
At the tender age of seventeen, Marx was too young to have known what McDonald's meant to the world before infection, but he'd heard many stories from the old-timers about families gathering there for delicious comfort food and festivity with clowns for the children and a kind of ale for all to drink. Marx use to imagine his mom taking him to McDonald's when he was younger, he was sure he would have loved it.
Axle reached into the part of the wall where they stashed their radio to keep it safe from scavengers, but when he came up empty, Marx's heart sank to the pit of his stomach. It had taken them more than a year to find the necessary parts to make it work, and he was certain starting over would be near impossible.
“It's gone.” Axle's raspy voice echoed through the receiver in the helmet of his cooling suit.
“Check well,” Marx said, trying to remain calm. “Have you checked well? We pushed it far back when we hid it.” He couldn't believe that this was happening. He knew the only way to get Sanchez on board was to play what they had heard so he could hear it for himself.
“What on Earth are you two looking for?” Sanchez barked. Marx wasn't sure he should be told, the radio would be forbidden at Ryder for anyone but the highest ranking officers and maybe himself as a member of Ryder intelligence, but it would be tapped upon arrival.
“It matters not, it's gone now, let us move on.” Marx said, he could see the anger in Axle's eyes.
Marx watched from behind as Stucky moved through the kitchen, his ax at the ready as he covered Sanchez. Sanchez pulled open the door to the walk-in freezer and found himself nose to nose with a ghost. There was two others behind her standing over their last meal. Someone in a shredded camouflage cooling suit, he'd been hollowed out, his face shield so completely covered in blood, he couldn't be seen through it.
It seemed everyone stopped breathing for a moment. This one was awake for some reason; she silently stretched her black mouth wide bearing her large decaying choppers. Marx wondered for a fleeting moment what she might have been thinking, if she was thinking at all. Sanchez stabbed her in the skull with his dagger, used strictly for close combat. She dropped to the ground like a slab of meat. The remaining two raised their heads as if they knew something was happening in the room, opening their ghastly white eyes as if they could see from them. They shuffled toward their fallen Conrad until Sanchez cut them down as well. It was so easy when one wore the cooling suit. They seemed utterly baffled by them.
“Hey th,th, this guy is wa,wearing a cooling suit, how in hell di,di,did they detect him?” Stucky asked, stuttering worse than usual. Marx studied the mess of a man all over the floor.
“It must have malfunctioned somehow, it isn't one of ours.” he declared as the others moved in for their own assessments.
“I don't see a crest.” Sanchez added. Axle scratched his head.
“This is so far outside of my wheelhouse.” he was the first to walk away, followed closely by Stucky. Sanchez tapped Marx on the shoulder.
“Linger no longer than necessary.” he advised.
As they exited through the back door, they could see an armored truck abandoned with the doors open.
“The Freemen.” Marx whispered laying eyes on the black banner with the elk’s horn upon it. ““They're not a noble colony, so they bear no crest.”
“I th-thought the Freeman were taken by Erickson last s-summer.” Stucky sounded confused.
“That's what they would have us believe.” Sanchez said “Someone is a crafty little liar.”
“To what end?” Marx looked inside the truck at the bounty they'd amassed, some copper pipe, wires and metals. Their radio was among them. He breathed a sigh of relief that was short lived.
“Marx!” Axles voiced pierced the receiver urgently, he knew that tone, it meant danger. Marx spun around as quickly as he could, making physical contact with a ghost in a cooling suit. It was another Freeman.
It clutched him tight. The grip was far more intense than he was prepared for. He knew better than to pull away, it would merely result in a ripped suit, so he allowed it to lunge at him, butting its face shield against his arm. White teeth and pink gums mashed into the shield like a shark in a tank. This one was fresh and strong, the rot had yet to touch him, his body was sturdy and Marx felt fear even knowing it wouldn't be able to sink those teeth into him.
Sanchez was on it in an instant. “Heads up!” he called before lopping the head off with a single swipe of his machete. Marx breathed again in relief.
Let us make haste, Freeman will soon be coming to claim their men and we don't want to be here when they show up.” Sanchez said.
“Let them come, no one here f- fears them.” Stucky declared.
“A battle for the sake of pride is a battle foolishly fought.” Marx stuffed the radio in his bag. “Besides, we have larger concerns than petty scrimmages right now.”
“You speak of Frankie?” Sanchez asked.
“Aye,” Marx nodded. “Among other things.”
“What things?” Sanchez asked as they hustled back to their van. “What in hell
are you guys up to?”
“There's something we need you to hear.” Axle said as Marx fumbled with the knob in the back seat, the high pitched whistling and whizzing finally giving way to a kind of speech.
“--Still our citizens, we care about your survival. We have food, we have shelter and protection, we have a cure for the Necrosis Vitalis virus. You don't have to face life in the wild alone...” Sanchez looked up at Marx, his eyes wide.
“Our Restoration members are restoring America on a state by state basis, and we now have locations in most major cities. If you are receiving this message you are nearest to checkpoint number two. You will find Restoration members there ready to assist you and guide you to our next checkpoint. Godspeed citizens, and God bless America.” The voice was calming and soft, but certain. The message repeated.
“Welcome to The Mountain, Have you been exiled or escaped your colony? Are you on your own with little recourse or help? Have you or a loved one been bitten? You have precious little time to make your decision, so make the right one, please try and get to one of our Mount Elbert checkpoints where our Restoration members will receive you. We are The United States Government and you are still our citizens. We care about your survival...”
Sanchez raised an eyebrow. “I've scarcely heard so much deception in all my years, a cure for Necrosis, Do you think we have to fear an attack from this so called Government colony?”
“No, I don't, I think we have nothing to fear from them, I think they mean to help.” Marx said.
“They speak in the Devil's tongue.”
“It's just old English Sanchez.”
“This is bullshit,” Sanchez looked to Stucky. “Tell me you knew nothing of this.” The silence served as his answer. “You're going to get us all killed--”
“That's my meaning in this, we shouldn't have to walk so lightly for fear we may insult the Pope, and the slightest grievance be paid with the forfeit of our lives and those we hold dear?
I now stand the youngest citizen of our colony, is that what you want to fight for? A madman who would drive us headlong into extinction?”
All Things Zombie: Chronology of the Apocalypse Page 38
