The Village of Dead Souls: A Zombie Novel

by Michael Wallace

  "Sure thing." The Colonel took Pink by the hand and led her over to his Humvee.

  The General glared at Hellion and asked, "What kind of trouble are you causing now?"

  "You can't keep these people locked up like this." Hellion responded. "They haven't done anything wrong. They have rights, just like you and me. These are our friends and our family. They deserve just as much respect as any other living being. We need to let them live their lives without interference."

  "These aren't people and they aren't living beings." He pointed to the fence where the zombies collected and watched the conflict. "They're dead. The only thing they want to do is eat us and turn us into more of them." Brown turned back to her. "Now tell me what're doing here!"

  "I'm here to free these souls."

  With more anger building in his voice, the General yelled, "Okay, you want to free them? You want to help these bastards? Here's what I'm going to do. I'm going to put you in there and then you can socialize with them for the rest of your short life. Make all the friends you want. Reason with them. Explain how you're here to help them. And while they are biting into your major muscle groups and pulling your organs out for desert, I’m sure you'll find comfort in the fact, you stood up for their rights."

  He turned the soldier next to him. "Open up the first set of gates." Grabbing Hellion by the arm, he pulled her over to the entrance. She resisted, but could not break free from the grip of his massive hands wrapped around her thin arms. "Throwing you in there is going to save me years of therapy. I should have done something like this a long time ago."

  As he held her in place, waiting for the first set of gates to open, all the power failed and the base went dark. The electronic locks released with a loud click and both sets of gates eased open. With the zombies pushing through the first set of gates, Brown pushed Hellion into the van with the MP's. "You have no idea what you have done." He turned to the soldier near the guard booth. "Get on the horn and find out why our generators are not kicking in."

  Before the young soldier could reach the inside of the guard shack, the horde pushed through the outer gate and several swarmed around bringing him to the ground. Brown dove into the van, slammed the door shut, and told the MP's, "Get us the hell outta here."

  Zombies poured out of the gate into the base and encircled the vehicle. The MP tried to start the vehicle, but it wouldn't turn over. After several tries, the engine fired up. With the undead rocking the van, the driver asked, "What do we do, sir?"

  "Just run over the bastards."

  With the crunch and splat of bodies being crushed under the tires, the van pulled away from the gates.

  Speeding down the road, the General saw the living dead storming out of the various building where they had been contained. Soldiers tried to stop them with gunfire, but their bullets had no effect. The zombies overtook the men, massing over their bodies and feasting on their flesh like wild dogs. "Get Fort Logan on the radio. Tell them we need back up."

  The MP in the passenger seat, held up the microphone to the radio and clicked it several times. "The radio is dead, sir."

  The van smashed through the closed entrance gate and out onto the road. Through the back window, he saw a large explosion from the center of the base. The orange fireball climbed into the dark sky, as the pressure wave hit the back of the van, causing it to fishtail briefly.

  With a snarl, the General turned to Hellion. "I know you cut the power, but how did you knock out the radios?"

  Sitting on the floor of the van, leaning against the back door, she answered, "You are so caught up in all your big guns and powerful weapons and super technology, it never occurred to you this was also your weakest link. You have everything so automated and networked together, even your backup systems and satellites have to send data down the same sets of fiber. All this superior strength needs sophisticated electronics to make it work. It was so simple. Get past your multi-layers of firewall and place one massive virus into your machine, a localized magnetic pulse and then look what happens, "she motioned to the back window. "The world's military is reduced to throwing sticks and rocks. And, it's not just you," she checked her watch. "Right now, this same scene is happening at military bases in every country that illegally held these Second Lifers."

  "You have no idea what you have done." The General drooped over and lowered his head while he stared at the floor of the van.

  With a slight smirk, Hellion replied, "I've brought peace to the world."

  Brown snapped upright, quickly grabbed the sidearm from the MP driving the van, spun around and pointed it at the center of her face. With a definite deep angry tone, he said, "You've brought destruction to the world."

  The van swerved and flipped onto its side, which sent the occupants tumbling through the air and caroming off the interior. When the vehicle slid to a stop, confusion bounced around Brown's head. Dust and smoke settled to the ground outside the open rear doors. What just happened? Where's my weapon? Where's Hellion? Realizing he was upside-down, he pulled himself up in time to see Hellion scramble out the back of the vehicle. He picked up the handgun next to him and chased after her.

  On the street, zombies staggered along the road, sidewalks and yards. As he pointed his handgun at his prisoner, two of the undead attacked him from the side. He swung his huge arm and swept them away as though they were little dogs jumping on the couch. Refocusing down the road, he took aim again, but his prisoner had vanished into the darkness. Lowering his weapon, another living dead charged directly at him. Without much thought, Brown threw a right cross which landed square in the center of his attacker's face, knocking him flat on the ground. Gunshots erupted from the front of the van where the two MP's crawled out of the vehicle and fired at the zombies closing in on them. Within seconds, the living dead surrounded them and feasted on their bodies.

  Brown pulled the attackers off his men only to find he was too late.

  Chapter 8

  The early morning sun sparkled with light gold shimmers off the water as a raven landed on the branch of a nearby tree. Barely audible above the water rushing over the rocks, sounds of distant city traffic lingered. A gentle breeze ruffled through the tips of the tall grass, where Prometheus stood on the bank of the river, watching it flow past. His thoughts bounced between, Am I being punished or rewarded having my soul placed in a foreign body in this strange time, or is it a blessed gift to see the future and help our descendants?

  Gunnar Benwa approached the Athenian and said, "Greetings, brother."

  Prometheus turned to him and replied, "Greetings, brother. It is nice to see the sun rise on such a peaceful morning after the wicked events of last night."

  With a slight look of surprise in his eyes, the Viking responded, "Your eyes."

  "What about them?"

  "They have turned green, not a green which is normal, but a bright green like a jewel with light shining through it. It appears the debauchery of last night has brought you close to the end of your journey."

  "I do feel stronger and more energetic, more so than when I was alive." Prometheus held his hands out and examined them. He saw more color in his flesh and no signs of deterioration. "Hopefully, when I reach the point where I am able to relinquish this gift to our descendents, I will also acquire the knowledge of how to pass it to them."

  Gunnar sat down on a rock, with a slight bit of depression apparent in his body posture, as he watched the water flow. "I hope my gift arrives soon, so I might go to Valhalla to be with my father and leave this mad world. Although, I did not give much thought as to how the future of our world would look, I could have never imagined it to be like this." He motioned his hand to the distant abandoned apartment buildings with graffiti and broken windows. "Why would so many people want to live together stacked on top of each other, and in buildings with no character, function, or art of design? It is only one of many things, which do not make sense in this future world of our descendents. During conversations with the moderns, I have learned peop
le of this time no longer have the knowledge or skill to build a boat or forge their own iron. These large chariots with no horses fill the air with such a foul smelling smoke."

  “Still,” Prometheus smiled, “the smell of their chariots is not as displeasing as streets filled with horse manure. They may have lost the ability to craft a fine boat, but I would so desire to take passage inside one of their iron birds which sail the sky.”

  Vic and Constance approached the two men as three more ravens landed on the ground behind them. The man from Chicago pointed to the British woman. “Hey, Socrates, the Queen here said you have the green eyes.” Prometheus turned to him. “Damn! Those are some awesome peepers you have.”

  Constance spoke up. “You appear to be the first of our group to reach this point. As a great explorer once said, ‘You have ventured off the map.’ I say we focus our efforts toward you attaining the remaining strings of life required to turn your eyes blue. Perhaps, we will all learn what is needed of us to pass along our gifts and leave this place.” She pointed to the dilapidated building across the field. “Living inside the body of a dead person in this grotesque world is a hell that not even Dante’ could have imagined.” She cast her eyes down. “Excuse my language please.”

  Gunnar said, “The sensible lady with the fine manners makes a good argument. The next time we come across a living, we should save the feasting for our brother, so he may finally take his journey to Valhalla.”

  “When he does reach the point where his eyes turn blue,” Constance took a step closer, “how do we let the living know that he holds this cure for the plague they call the cancer?”

  Vic answered, “Maybe, if we ask Miss Wall Street some more questions about the prophecy, we can find some kind of coded message that will give us the answer. At least that’s how it always happens in the movies.”

  As the four undead walked back to the deserted warehouse, Constance asked, “So, Mr. Vic, how did you spend your days during the time you were alive?”

  “During the week, I worked in a Dispatch Center for the Metro Line. On weekends, I would hang with my guys playing the ponies, downing some brews, and making a play on some skirts. I’d usually stumble home between one and three, get up the next morning, and then I'd do it all over again.”

  With a wrinkled nose, Candice replied, “I do not understand anything you just said, but it sounds much worse than our good friend the Viking who spent his days pillaging.” She turned her focus toward Prometheus. “And what about you my friend from Greece? What did you do during your days on this planet?”

  The Athenian pondered thoughts of his home. “My family owned an olive orchard, which brought us great wealth for many generations before me. As my brothers and father conducted the majority of the work, I sought to use my time in other matters. During my many afternoons engaged in debate at the forum, I formed business arrangements with many investors to build a temple honoring Zeus.”

  Vic asked, “Why would a temple built for Zeus, be considered a business venture?”

  “During the days that you call ancient Greece, a temple could make a large income for the owners. The offerings the citizens contributed accumulated rather quickly. The owners, to cover the expenses, collected these offerings. Even after the tax amount had been withdrawn, it was still more than most people would make in a lifetime.”

  Outside the building, they approached K.C. who shared a thermos filled with coffee with several other zombies. As she took a drink, she said, “Damn, my friend. I wish coffee had this same effect while I was alive. Work would have been so much more tolerable.”

  Vic said to her, “Yo, K.C. we have some questions about the prophecy.”

  She handed the thermos to another undead. “Look, I’ve been telling you dorks, I have no idea what any of it means. My job was to recite it. I did that. Now I’m just waiting for one of these gods, all of your keep talking about, to come and take me to Nirvana, so I can donk a blunt and get wicked stupid with Bob Marley.”

  Constance asked Vic, “Can you explain to me what she just said?”

  He replied, “Nobody knows what she just said.”

  Prometheus interjected, “We have so many questions and the prophecy is the only guidance given to us.”

  “Then write the words down, memorize them, sing them out loud, tattoo them on your decaying bodies. It will not change the fact that, I don’t know what the hell it means.”

  “Such vulgar words you speak for a lady,” Candice replied.

  “Listen Princess Pudding, if my vocabulary disturbs you, you can stuff it up your tea and crumpets. I didn’t ask to be here, I don’t want to be here and I don’t plan on playing nice with others while I’m dead.”

  Gunnar called out, “In all of Einherjar,” he pointed across the field next to the warehouse, “does someone want to tell me what they are doing.”

  Prometheus turned to see a small group of the living, all dressed in long white flowing gowns, walking toward them. The strange sounds they made almost came across as some kind of singing. They carried a young woman on their shoulders, and calmly with caution approached the horde. Twenty feet away, they stopped, gently placed the woman down on the parking lot asphalt, and finished their strange melody. The lady on the ground kept her eyes closed as if in a peaceful sleep while the singing transformed into what sounded like a chant and they danced around the woman.

  Nemi, the Egyptian, asked, “Will someone please tell me what these people are doing?”

  K.C. responded, “Oh how cute, the nut jobs think they can make all of this go away with a human sacrifice. I take it all back. Being dead just got fun.”

  She held both of her arms straight out in front of her, tilted her head to the side, and walked toward the living with stiff legs. The humans quickly backed away from the woman on the ground, keeping their eyes on the zombie female as she approached. When K.C. reached the sleeping lady, she bent down until their faces were inches apart. The sleeping lady quickly opened her eyes as K.C. blurted out, “Boo!”

  The human sacrifice sprang up and ran toward her group of the living. K.C., along with several others, ran after them yelling, “You kids get off my lawn!” “Scat, you varmints.” “Come back and be our dinner. I mean stay for dinner.”

  * * *

  Inside the small examination room, the fluorescent lights gave off a slight buzz along with the greenish light. Wendy Cronsworth tried to pace back and forth, but was only able to take three steps, before turning around began to make her dizzy. The door swung open, breaking her out of her light trance, and the doctor burst in staring down at the chart in his hands. Almost bumping into her, he glanced up and stopped just in time. Anxious to hear the verdict of her tests, Wendy blurted out, "How's it look, doc? All better?"

  The doctor turned to the second page and said, "There's no way to sugarcoat this. The cancer has spread and it continues to grow. It's showing no reaction to any of the combinations of treatment that we've thrown at it so far.

  Even though her continued weaken condition supported the test results, hearing the words hit her like a lead weight. She leaned back against the table and tried to hold back the tears forming in her eyes. "I guess, I shouldn't be surprised. It's just that I had hoped for a miracle or at least a small glimmer of improvement."

  Closing the file with her chart, the doctor replied, "We're not done yet. You are not even close to point where you can give up. I've had patients in worse condition than you who made full recoveries."

  "Thanks, doc, but my husband is a research scientist who has studied diseases his entire career. I know the odds and they are not exactly in my favor."

  "Yes, I'm familiar with your husbands work. If I'm not mistaken, he's currently working on the re-an virus. I hear he's close to a cure."

  Hearing the doctor talk about her husband's fame helped Wendy cheer up. "Yeah, he's been working hard on the cure. He practically lives in his lab, these days. I just want to be here to see him save the world."

  "
I'm sure you'll be standing next to him in Stockholm when he accepts his Noble Peace Prize."

  "What makes you so confident?" She replied, with a bit of optimism in her voice.

  Her doctor set her chart down, crossed his arms and leaned against the scrub sink. "We're going to turn up the heat, so to speak. We're stepping up the radiation and the chemo. As my son would say, We're turning it up to eleven. I don't really know what he means, other than we are going to do a full blitz and completely overwhelm your tumors. Starting Monday, you need to go to my clinic on 28th."

  Hearing the location gave Wendy a bit of a startle. "Isn't that right on the edge of the quarantined zone?"

  "Yes it is, but it's the edge of the green district. I can give you a pass, which will let you cut across the Broadway Bridge and save you an additional mile walking around the perimeter of the quarantined section. It's not as dangerous as it sounds. The area is only barricaded as a buffer from the segment where there has been a lot re-an activity."

  "Are you sure it's okay to cross the bridge?"

  Her doctor gave a reassuring smile. "Not only do I have several patients, who cross Broadway, it's also how I get to the clinic. Parking rates in that area have gone astronomical, plus it's actually faster for me to walk across the bridge, rather than drive all the way around the barricades."

  Wendy felt a slight bit of relaxation on hearing that her doctor takes the same route through the green zone. "Well, I would like that trip to Sweden. I guess the walk to the clinic will only help towards my recovery."

  "Now that's the attitude I want to hear."

  * * *

  John Colton stood in the center of the parking lot on the concrete block at the base of a streetlight. The small crowd of civilians armed with hunting rifles, handguns and axes surrounded him. The light at the top of the pole let out a buzz, flickered and slowly lit up as the grayness of dusk settled around them. He spoke loudly, so his voice would carry over the crowd.