Fools' Apocalypse

by Anderson Atlas

  Markus holds up his hands to stop him. “I’ve been there. What I need is more information, such as local stories, maybe even rumors. I’d like to see the place where King Louis died. If that is possible.”

  Christian thinks for a moment. “I do not know where he died. That information has been lost to time. I do know Louis IX brought his brother Charles of Anjou, King of Sicily, to Tunisia with ten thousand troops. They easily took over the country. The King, however, died shortly afterward. The army made peace agreements with payment, left a garrison, and returned home with the King’s body.” After a short pause, Christian continues.

  “There is a story I have heard that is odd.”

  “Tell me.”

  “The King, supposedly, brought a plague with him. Historians thought it was dysentery, but I have been told it was something else altogether. It made the entire inner-city population die. The King’s remaining army declared the city cursed and burned every building to the ground. In 1920, a mass grave was discovered on the Carthage side of town, the old villa. It contained as many as six hundred bodies—all burned.”

  Markus circles the word ‘burned’ in his notebook. So far, two similar outbreaks occurred where the bodies were burned in an effort to control a plague. “Why do you think it wasn’t dysentery?”

  Christian shakes his head. “The symptoms: vomit, internal hemorrhage, diarrhea, are similar, but who knows for sure? They had no tests back then. What is odd is how fast it killed everyone. Dysentery does not kill in days like this plaque. It takes weeks to move through a population.”

  “The death happened in days?”

  “Three, to be precise.”

  “The King wore a particular crown on his head,” Markus changes the subject. “After his death his brother took the crown back to his country, incomplete. There was a precious stone embedded in the crown that was missing. This, too, is rumor of course,” he says, trying to pass his suspicion off as confidence.

  “I’ve not heard anything about a stone.”

  “Well, I believe it was blamed for the death of an entire city in northern Israel called Caesarea. It would make sense that the army became afraid of the stone and left it behind. Suspicion notwithstanding, I would think a stone of that value would be stolen, not destroyed.”

  “I’ve not heard of this.” Christian scribbles a name on a scrap of paper. “Call this man. He is the Islamic scholar in the area. He knows about the peace treaty signed with the King, and about his men and this plague. He may have historical records for you regarding this cursed stone.”

  Markus leaves the Catholic Church immediately and ask the driver about the man named Al-Ahem Mohamad Jahar. He drives to the largest mosque in Tunisia, Al-Zaytuna Mosque.

  “I wait right here for you,” the driver says.

  “That I can count on. Thank you,” Markus says and steps out.

  The mosque is such a beautiful building. There are hundreds of columns lining a colorful tile-covered prayer yard. A tall, square tower stands at one end of the yard and a single-story building surrounds the rest. A side building adjacent the prayer yard has a large, gold, onion-top roof.

  An old man meets Markus at the curb. He has deep wrinkles, sun-worn skin, and wears a colorful tunic and a long gown as blue as the sky.

  As they cut across the prayer yard, the man points out the significant parts of the structure. Thankfully, he too, speaks English. “The columns are taken from the ancient city, all one hundred and sixty. They date back to the time of Carthage.”

  “Beautiful,” Markus says, feeling nervous. There’s something about this man that Markus does not like. His eyes do not smile, though his lips are turned up. The wind picks up and spins dust in chaotic circles. Markus sneezes. It burns his eyes. He covers his nose and mouth with his handkerchief.

  “Al-Zaytuna is famous university. Many scholars come here,” the old man says as he walks past the Carthage columns and on to a building under the dome.

  A younger man approaches and shakes Markus’s hand. “I heard you were on your way,” the man says easily. He wears a white cap and an equally bright blue-and-gold tunic. “Come this way, please.”

  They step into an office leaving the grumpy, older man. He shows Markus how to wash his feet before he enters. “So, you’re interested in the disease that killed King Louis IX?”

  “I’m studying the Ninth Crusade. I’m particularly interested in a crown the King wore that is missing an infamous stone.”

  The man’s smile flatlines and he excuses himself. Markus waits and waits. The walls in the office are mostly bare. The desk only has a single notepad and a box on it. Next to the desk is a small bookshelf with five books. Markus leans in to read the spines. The Quran is obvious. The others are written in Arabic. At the end, however, is one worn out book that catches his eye. The spine is creased and faded and written in French but is clear enough. It’s a book on astrology. Someone is very interested in the sky. Meteorites come from the sky. The Stone of Allah came from the sky.

  The young man returns, but stops in the doorway. “I do not have any information about any crown. However, I have heard a story that many of the survivors of the plague escaped to Gabes. That is all I’ve heard.” The man raises his hand toward the exit. Markus must have outstayed his diminutive welcome. He thanks him, but he’s rushed out of there like he has an infectious disease.

  As Markus leaves the courtyard, a white van stops in front of him. The side windows are covered with a metal grate, and the side has no official insignia, just a few Arabic characters. A man in a dark-blue police uniform steps out and walks toward Markus. His uniform doesn’t have any patches like the other officers. Markus isn’t immediately alarmed until he sees the man’s face. His stare is solid and hard, and his fists are clenched. I’ve not done anything wrong.

  “Excuse me!” he says. “American preacher!”

  Markus doesn’t know whether to run or not. He sees a woman quickly duck inside a small market across the now empty street. Markus turns, but there’s another police officer behind him. He lifts up his hands, palms open. They are grabbed and twisted behind his back and a hood is thrown over his head. He’s dragged and shoved into the back of the van.

  Chapter 1.19

  Hana

  Holding Swindler’s Cove

  Hana’s sidearm is at the ready, cocked and with the safety off. Tanis hides on the other side of the door, peering at her. She peeks through the small glass window centered in the door. It’s raining steadily and getting worse, so it’s hard to see beyond the water cascading down the window.

  Five people try to kick down the gate at the end of the walkway. At this point, Hana has to assume they are looters. She has a good hideout and can’t lose it. She can share, but only with good people. They’re armed with a baseball bat and a two-by-four, at least. Hana grips her weapon and thanks Jesus she’s armed.

  The gate breaks open, and the group quickly moves down the walkway and onto the pier. One stays behind and closes the gate. Hana hopes they see that the boats are gone and then move on. The man with the long black hair rushes to the door. Hana ducks just as he looks through the window.

  “There’s a boat inside!” he yells.

  This may get ugly. Hana’s heart ramps up and she motions for Tanis to back away from the door, mouthing, “Get upstairs!” Tanis disappears up the stairway.

  There are two sets of double doors along the same wall. She’d broken the small windowpane on the opposite door, so she knows they won’t have any trouble getting in. Damn it. I should have thought to barricade the doors. I may have lost our hideout. I’m glad to see other survivors, but they may be cannibals. Territory like this is valuable. Her best option is to surprise them. She runs behind a tall storage cabinet and waits for one of them to enter.

  The door opens and the black-haired guy moves inside, cautiously. He has no weapon. She lunges from her hiding spot and trains her pistol at his chest.

  He raises his hands and yelps. Hana shus
hes him and directs him to the corner of the room with his hand. Then an overweight white man enters.

  “Drop the wood!” she yells.

  He drops the wood. “Ahh, I just pissed my pants a little!”

  “It’s okay!” the first intruder says, his hands still high over his head.

  Hana puts her fingers up to her lips, ordering the two men to be silent. She motions with the barrel of her gun for the fat man to join his friend in the corner. She whispers harshly, “Keep your hands up. Make one sound and I shoot you in the leg. You can bleed out for all I care.”

  Then a black man enters the building. He must have heard her because his hands are already held high with his baseball bat pinched loosely between his fingers. “I’m no trouble to you. Neither are my companions. We’re here for a boat. My name is Markus and that’s Ben and he’s Ian. The woman is Rice, and the boy is Andy, whom we just saved from a burning building, which is now between us and two hundred or so zombies.”

  “Thanks, pops,” Ben snips.

  Hana lowers her gun at the sight of the preacher. She didn’t even bother pointing it at the woman or the kid. “Take the boat. I patched the hole in it yesterday.”

  Markus steps toward Hana. She brings her gun back up to his chest, just in case he isn’t so holy. He raises his hands back up and says calmly, “You’re a police officer. I can tell. I’m a preacher. We’re good guys, too. Please, lower the gun and let’s talk.”

  Hana lowers her gun. “Take the boat. There’s nothing else for you here. All I ask is that you leave as soon as possible.”

  Ben drops his hands, “C’mon, lady. There’s some crazy shit out there.”

  “You’re not safe here. No one is,” Ian says.

  “He’s right. Have you seen what’s going on?” Markus asks.

  “Obviously not!” Ben injects. “She looks kinda messed up, but if she’d fought those walkers she’d be freaked like we are.”

  “Listen, the dead are getting up and attacking survivors.” Ian takes off his pack and leans against the wall. “I don’t know how it’s happening or why, but it is. We fought hundreds of them. They don’t die.”

  “What the hell are you talking about?” Hana snaps. “Who won’t die?”

  Ben steps toward her then stops as she tenses up. “Listen, lady. Everyone that died is now getting up and walking around. Zombies, dude.” He grabs a section of his shirt and thrusts it toward her. “See this black crap. This isn’t paint, lady. It’s their blood.”

  “The virus seems to have turned their blood black and these white root-like things are growing in their bodies,” Ian clarifies Ben’s rant.

  “It’s all true,” Rice adds, her voice shaky and weak. “They’re everywhere.”

  Markus looks out the window. “They seem to have some sense for what they crave because they’re followin’ us,” Markus says, then adds, “Oh no. We have more company.”

  Hana returns to the door and peeks out the window. A woman with dark hair, cut in a bob is trying to break down the gate. She’s got a couple of rifles draped over her shoulder. Next to her is a thin white man, wearing a medical mask and holding some kind of sharp weapon. The woman gets frustrated, pulls the shotgun off her back and bashes the latch off with the butt. The gate swings open wildly. She is splattered in the same chunky black stuff that Ben is covered in.

  “Do you know her?” Hana asks.

  “No,” replies Markus.

  Hana moves away from the door. “Let her come in just like I let you. Everyone get in the corner.”

  Tanis runs down the stairs, panic all over his face. “There are two more coming down the gate. The girl’s armed: shotgun, two pistols, and an M-16A4, standard issue army reserve assault rifle. The dude she’s with has a chainsaw.”

  “Thanks, Tanis. I’d find that hiding spot again,” Hana urges, looking out the window to confirm. “Take Andy with you.” Tanis leads Andy upstairs. “She’s not army reserve, though,” he says over his shoulder.

  “Kid knows his weapons,” Ben comments.

  “Yeah, he does.” Hana answers.

  Ian peeks out the window of the opposite door. “Definitely not reserve.” The armed woman at the gate does exactly the same thing as Hana and Ian did. She tries to lock the gate after she’d forced it open. Now the latch is too broken, so she can only tie the gate shut with the loose wire.

  “Let’s avoid a gunfight. She looks okay to me,” Ian says.

  “Thinking like that can get us killed,” Hana mumbles.

  The woman and the man start toward the boathouse. As they come closer the woman docks her weapon in her shoulder and stares down the sight.

  The woman scans the area while on one knee. Definitely has military training, though. She looks across the river and seems to notice the boats on the other side. She stands and jogs to the building and at the last moment, veers away from the door, turns, and hides along the east wall of the boathouse. She must have noticed the broken window or maybe she’s just being careful. The man she’s with stays right behind her with his chainsaw. There’s another double door toward the back, presumably for launching and loading boats but no one can’t get to without moving past the front doors.

  Hana doesn’t want a standoff and definitely doesn’t want to shoot her. She’s had to kill before, and it never leaves you. It changed her DNA somehow, altered her dreams, aged her.

  Ian yells as loud as he can, “Don’t shoot!”

  “Then start throwing weapons out that door!” the woman replies.

  “We’re wasting time. The walkers are coming! We don’t mean any harm,” Markus yells. “I give you my word!”

  “My name is Hana! What’s yours?” Hana adds, thinking this is a better strategy than having a shoot-out.

  “I just want a boat!” she yells back. “And I won’t take no for an answer!” She fires a round into the air. “I’ve got sixty rounds here, and I know you don’t have that.”

  “This is so stupid,” Ian hisses. “Can’t we all use the boat together?”

  “That would be wise!” Markus says. “Please, lower your weapon and come in. Help us get the boat in the water!”

  The gate rattles as people crowd it.

  “They’re here!” Ben yells. He runs to the boat. “Come on! They’re slow as shit, but faster than you think.”

  “Ben is right.” Markus joins him near the upside-down boat.

  Hana runs to the boat and helps flip it over. It’s very heavy. Had her and Tanis tried it alone it would have been very difficult. Hana counts the seats. It’s a big rowboat and will hold everyone, barely. The boat slips into grooves in the floor. The grooves lead to the side door, which Ben opens.

  “PUSH!” Markus yells.

  Everyone slides the boat on its belly until it splashes into the water. Ian holds a line tied to the boat, preventing it from floating away. He steps out of the boathouse garage and into the line of fire.

  The woman runs up to him. When he doesn’t move or raise his hands, she lowers her rifle. “Fine, we all use it. I’m Isabella and this is Josh.”

  Tanis flies down the stairs to see what’s going on. Andy follows him. Hana runs to him. “We have to go. It’s not safe here.”

  He points to the end of the walkway. “There are more people.”

  “Those aren’t survivors,” Ian says as he tosses his backpack into the boat. Isabella stows her weapons and her pack in the bow.

  The gate rattles as more and more walkers arrive and press on it.

  “They can’t get through,” Ben says, watching carefully.

  The gate is over fifteen feet tall and has solid metal arches on either side of the walkway. The bars are made to look like boat oars. On top of the bars is a sign. The whole contraption looks impregnable.

  “I had to bust the lock when we got here,” Hana confesses.

  “And I didn’t have anything to reinforce it with so it’s weak. Put enough pressure on it, it’ll fly open,” Isabella says.

  The dead s
urge at the gate and the metal tie snaps. The gate swings open and hundreds storm through.

  Ben gets in the boat first and helps Markus onto the deck. Ian and Rice board next.

  “I just want to stay here until we’re rescued,” Tanis complains.

  “I know, but I don’t think we can. We’ll be sitting ducks,” Hana explains, holding Tanis by the shoulders. “We have to get across the river. There’s probably a containment line—we get there, we’re safe. Then we can find our families.”

  Other walkers push through the gate, and some drop off the edge and into the water. The others move down the walkway slowly but purposefully. From this distance they look like drunks. Now the entrance is packed. They easily fill up the parking lot and beyond.

  “Hurry! In the boat!” Ben cries out.

  Hana helps Josh, Tanis, and Andy aboard and then hops in herself.

  “Thank you,” Josh says from behind his hospital mask. “For sharing your boat.”

  Hana nods and passes Ian and Isabella oars, keeping one for herself. Together they row the boat out of the dock area and into the river. The walkers mass on the dock and struggle to get to the boathouse.

  “Why are they like that?” Tanis asks.

  “They’re zombies, dude,” Ben says. “Comin’ to eat our brains.”

  Hana looks at Ben and frowns. “Let’s not be too dramatic and scare him. He’s only fifteen.”

  Ben tries to stand, rocks the boat, then sits. “Shit, lady. I’m not being dramatic. No reason to sugarcoat this crap. We’re all havin’ nightmares tonight.”

  She looks away because Ben’s glib, in-your-face remarks are making her mad. The only way he’s coping is because he’s drunk. She can smell whiskey on his breath.

  At the dock’s edge the dead stop. They aren’t jumping into the water, which means they have some brains. Maybe there’s some human left in them. Maybe the people are trapped inside their own bodies.