The Village of Dead Souls: A Zombie Novel

by Michael Wallace

  Chapter 20

  Hundreds of candles, placed throughout the tunnel, provided the only light in the underground cavern. The flickering yellow glow, which faded off and disappeared in the distant darkness, cast shadows on the old rock and brick structure. Tiny bits of mortar and dirt flaked off the arched roof and left thin streams of dust like strings hanging from the ceiling. The dripping sounds echoed through the passageway, while small patches of water oozed through the sections of the old worn brick walls. Prometheus and Itaiyo walked past two undead working a forge while a third hammered red hot metal on an anvil.

  "There's a big advantage to having all of you ancients. Blacksmithing and sword making has been a lost art with all of us moderns," Itaiyo commented, as he watched the red glowing sparks fly from the metal and bounce along the ground.

  Prometheus responded, "Considering all of the magnificence this world has to offer, it is odd as to how the skills from my place in history, seem to have become the necessities for our survival."

  With the metal works in the distant end of the tunnel, the two living dead approached a table with Captain Bartholomew, Patricia, Salsa and several others. More candles lit the area with a yellow flicker. Spread out in front of them was a hand drawn map of the city with areas marked as descendants and dead. Remembering their last meeting held in the former library, Prometheus scanned his surroundings and asked with some confusion, "What is this cavern where we stand? Why do we not gather in that grand building called a library?"

  Itaiyo replied, "The library's gone. The army kept blowing up any buildings where we gathered. There's not much left on the surface for us or the humans to occupy." He waved his hand over his head at the bricks above him. "These tunnels were built under the city back in the late 1800's. They ran between the upscale hotels and the brothels, so the socialites could get there and back without being seen. Because of the powerful people using these passages to get to the hookers, the city didn't exactly brag about their existence. As the decades passed, and the brothels closed down, people forgot these things existed. Apparently, these don't show up on any current charts used by the army, so we're somewhat safe down here."

  Bartholomew pointed to the map spread out on the table and said, "Dis be our position here. Da soldiers be holed up in these spots here, here, and along here. If we still be trying to collect da strings of life, there be no more livings in what da moderns call downtown. We be needing to send our gathering parties out further beyond the soldier encampments." He glanced over at General Brown, who sat along the wall holding his thermos filled with coffee and staring blankly at the opposite wall. "What do you have ta say, army man? They be telling me, you once served in dis military with all the fancy guns and sky ships."

  While he continued to stare at the wet ground in front of him, Brown answered, "You're going to find the majority of livings along the rivers. They need the water and most have built waterwheels to turn generators for electric light and radios. Only these river colonies are most likely to have been vaccinated, so we can't use their flesh." He took a sip from his thermos and some of the brown liquid dripped out of the bullet hole under his chin. "The ones you want are further back in the trees. They're trying to isolate themselves from what's left of society. Most of them are too afraid to get vaccinated."

  Bartholomew asked, "How we be finding these tree dwellers, if they don't be wanting to be found?"

  "Simple, they build fires for cooking and to keep warm. Just look for the smoke rising from the trees during the day and the fire light after dark."

  Prometheus studied the map and pointed to the four corners of the dead area. "What if we break off into four new villages placed at the edge of our land. We would have less distance to travel in our ventures to these tree clans. It would also split up the descendant's army. Instead of focusing their strengths on one large group of us undead, they would have to confront the four different villages spread out in four different areas. It should give us a better chance of one clan gathering the required strings of life."

  Nemi, the Egyptian, responded, "Like the Clan Titus led by the Valkyrie, Hellion, I have doubts about us collecting these strings for the god's purpose." He pointed to Prometheus. "Look at our brother. He has worn the green eyes for many years and has yet to graduate to the blue. What comes of the final level, if we cannot tell the descendants for what purpose we exist, and how we are here to help?"

  "Why don't we just tell them or write a note on the ground?" Salsa asked, as she stepped out of the shadows and into the candle light.

  The others around the table turned to her with confusion expressed on their lifeless faces. Patricia answered, "Have you not heard the screeching and hissing they use to speak. Their written words are nothing more than scribble and non-sense. We have no way of communicating our message to them."

  Prometheus added, "Without the ability to speak in a common language, we are permanently cut apart."

  As if she had no idea what they just told her, Salsa responded, "All we need to do is write the message down. I know they can't understand us when we speak, but they should be able to read our writing." She glanced around at the confused faces around her and realized that she needed to clarify her point. "When I was in that cage, being tortured by that witch, I tried so many times to take her clipboard away so I could simply write down a message."

  Patricia said, "Our writing appears to them, the same as theirs appears to us. It comes across as nothing but scribble."

  Throwing her hands in the air, Salsa replied, "I have no idea what you guys are talking about."

  Bartholomew tapped his finger on the map. "We be discussing this at a later time. For now, we must concentrate our efforts. I believe our friend Prometheus may have a good plan."

  As the pirate captain continued to talk, Itaiyo glanced over at Salsa and asked, "If you got your hands on that lady's clipboard, what were you going to write?"

  "The first thing I wanted to tell her was to stop calling me Subject 143." Salsa answered in a low voice, so she wouldn’t disrupt the conversation. "I'm sure that would have been followed with something along the lines of; take your hands off me, you damn dirty ape."

  Itaiyo gave a bit of smirk at the humor in her message. His face quickly changed to serious, as he realized what she just said, while the rest of the conversation trickled off to silence as the attention focused back on her. Salsa glanced at the undead around her with their faces partially shadowed with the flicker of the candle flames. "What…what did I say?" Her voice echoed down the dark tunnel as another chip of mortar fell from the ancient structure and dripping water filled the temporary silent void.

  Bartholomew stood up straight and placed his hand on the pommel of his sword strapped to his hip. He squinted his one good eye while staring at her. "Da you mean ta say ya can understand da speak of da living?"

  "Yeah, that's the gift I'm supposed to give to them. I can understand all languages. I thought we all had one of these super power things we would pass along, so they could survive another million years or something like that."

  Nemi asked, "You can understand what they are saying?"

  "Yes, I can understand what they are saying and what they are writing. I thought all of you could do that."

  Patricia responded, "Only you have the ability to hear their voices. Can they understand you?"

  "I tried for years to reason with that bitch that held me in a cage. If she could understand me, she kept it to herself. I don't know if they could read my writing. I figured they could, because I could read theirs."

  Bartholomew handed her a piece of charcoal and said, "Write some words on this map. If it looks like the scratch of the descendants we may be able to speak with them."

  Salsa took the charcoal and wrote, "Greetings, take me to your leader."

  The rest of the undead around the table gave out a sigh of disappointment as they read the message. Nemi said, "This places us back to our position of the all the years we have occupied these bodies. We wi
ll never be able to speak our intentions and this war will continue. This is a never ending circle of tragedy."

  Prometheus stared into Salsa's eyes and came to a realization. "We do not feed on the living to sustain our bodies. We only do it to collect the strings of life. If we concentrate all the strings on the fair Salsa, she may be able to reach the level of blue eyes and we would have our bridge allowing us to speak to the descendants. This could end the war and allow us to work together on passing our gifts. Hopefully, the gods will see we have completed our mission and they will let us continue our journey to the afterlife in peace."

  While he pondered the plan, Bartholomew twisted his sword back and forth in its sheath, causing the leather to creak. He studied Salsa, who still wore only the white lab coat stained with the scientist's blood, and replied, "You be having a point, me friend. With the limited amount of living who do not carry da fire, if we be giving our sister all the good bites of meat, she can become da town crier carrying da message between all tribes."

  Prometheus asked, "What is the fire?"

  Patricia told him, "Some of the descendants have been injected with something called the anti-virus. If anyone tries to collect strings of life from one who carries the fire inside them, they will burn from the inside and cease to exist in this world."

  Itaiyo interjected, "This makes sense then. If we choose Salsa as the one who gets all the good DNA, she should be able to carry our message to the living, she would be able to speak to them and eventually pass her abilities so they can talk to us."

  Hearing these words brought the ancient Greek man to a sudden realization. "That's it!" Prometheus blurted out." The others turned to him, looking for an answer to his outburst. He smiled and pointed toward her. "Our sister, Salsa, she is the chosen one."

  Bartholomew asked, "What do you mean by the chosen one?"

  "The prophecy, KC from Golden, her mission was to teach us the prophecy. It revolved around the chosen one."

  Patricia asked, "What is this prophecy?"

  "I have forgotten the words in the exact order we were to remember them."

  A few feet down the tunnel, Princess Rachel in the body of the Harajuku girl, stepped into the light. "I remember the words. It was important that we never forget them." She thought for a moment, and then recited, "The soft colored song will carry the words of the chosen one. These words will be held silent for 100 years until the one who holds the spark of the flame, gives them to the children of the descendants."

  Itaiyo said, "So if she can translate human and zombie-speak, Salsa must be the chosen one. The rest of it doesn't make sense, but I think she's the key to ending this war."

  * * *

  Daniel stood by the fire and stared at the flames as they danced into the air. He thought about how primitive his life had become and how something as simple as a fire became a luxury in these types of living conditions. Memories of living in a house with running water and a home theater seemed like some other distant life.

  Another citizen militia approached with a modified battle-axe strapped to his hip like a sword. His tattered brown canvas jacket showed years of confrontations with the re-ans, as did his weathered face and the long scare down his cheek. He held his leathered hands out to warm them in the flames, as the cool air settled down around them in the final hour of sunlight for the day. He glanced at the scientist and asked, "You new?"

  "I joined up a few weeks back." Daniel answered.

  The man with the axe stuck his hand out and said, "Name's Larski, Jeremy Larski."

  Returning the handshake, Daniel replied, "Daniel Cronsworth."

  Jeremy thought for a moment as he gazed at the new man. "Cronsworth, aren't you that scientist who came up with the re-an vaccination? I remember seeing you on the news, before the all the broadcasts stopped a few years ago. In fact, it was probably the last thing, I ever saw on television."

  "I was one of several researchers who collaborated on the vaccine." He scanned Jeremy's clothes and saw his sun-damaged face with the deep scar across his left cheek. "You look like you've been in this unit for a long time. Your scar is deep. It appears to have healed a long time ago."

  A crack of a twig caught Jeremy's attention for a second, as he slightly turned his head toward the trees where the sound originated. "I joined up back at the beginning, when we were the crazies who shouldn't be taking the law into our own hands. Now, what's left of the population looks to us as the only remaining fragments of order and law."

  "What did you do back before the uprising?"

  Larski brought his attention back to the fire and continued warming his hands. "I sat behind a desk all day staring at a computer monitor as a data analyst. I spent my days dreaming of a time when I wouldn't have to look at a screen." He gazed to the top of the fire with a distant stare. "It's been eight years since I've touched a computer. It's been four years since I saw one in working condition."

  "What made you join up?"

  "Same as all the others, back then I lost my family. Those demon scums ambushed us as we came home. We had heard about the re-ans, but only saw them on the news. After the first couple of weeks, they weren't even the top story at night. I figured there was no way they would spread out to the suburbs. We never saw a need to change our life for something that would go away in a few months. They got to my wife as I tried to find a weapon in the garage. I held her in my arms through the night as she turned. Before I could destroy her body, she bit the kids." He glanced up from the fire at Daniel. "Why'd you join up? You must've had it good. As one of the Government VIP's, you probably had a steady supply of food, hours of electricity every day, a roof over your head, clean water, hot showers and military protection. Not many people would leave those luxuries for the caveman life."

  Out in the trees, another crack of a twig caught the attention of both men. As the sound dissipated into the breeze through the brush, Daniel answered, "There's not much Government left these days. Even the military is starting to ration supplies between the compounds," he paused for a moment, and then continued. "I lost my wife days before the vaccine went public. I also held her in my arms as she transformed into a re-an. After that, I didn't want to fight from behind a microscope any more."

  "Still, you were close to what's left of a government. What news did you hear about the outside world? I'm sure you had access to a radio."

  "There's all kinds of reports coming in from all over, but I learned the real news is what you didn't hear. China, Greece, and the entire continent of Africa have gone dark. As soon as information, broadcasts, or curriers stop coming from a country, they are crossed off the map. Nobody tries to send help or find out what the situation is, just act as though the country no longer exists."

  "I knew about Greece, but not Africa." Jeremy went back to warming his hands. "What about the elections? I heard the government was going to hold elections this year. There's even going to be new positions for people to hold. Stuff like Minister of Food Supply and Secretary of Electricity Rations."

  Daniel shook his head and brought his gaze down to his feet. "There's not going to be any elections or any new jobs. That's just something they leaked to the public to raise hopes. With all the areas that have gone dark just in the States, it's hard to consider us one continuous country anymore. Eighteen states no longer exist and three more are on their way out. The only power on the grid is coming from the three remaining nuclear plants."

  "What about Hawaii? There're rumors they were never affected by the uprising. If you can make it out there, it's life as it used to be."

  Daniel shook his head in despair. "No, Hawaii was the first state to go black."

  Another dried stick snap in the trees, drawing their attention. The crack turned into soft footsteps, which soon developed into several sets of feet. Daniel grabbed an old steel fencepost that had been sharpened into a sword, and he held it toward the source of the sound. Jeremy kept one hand on his axe, and gently waved the palm of his other hand toward the scientist, w
anting him to lower the weapon.

  Through the trees, Daniel saw two more civilian militia men appear at the other side of the fire. One had a sawed off shotgun in his hand and the other carried a modified battle axe. Between the two men, they held the arms of a woman wearing an olive green jacket, shirt and pants. The standard issue clothing the military had been handing out to civilians. She kept her face down so the others could not see her. One of the men said to Jeremy, "We found her out by the farm. She said she wants to join our cause."

  Larski glanced at the woman and turned his attention back to the fire. As he rubbed his hands, he said, "Okay, take her to the compound. Olivia said she could use some help in the med tent."

  The man standing next to the mysterious woman replied, "I tried to take her there, but she said she has some kind of special intel and skills we might find useful on the front lines." He hesitated for a moment and cleared his throat. "I think you need to hear who she is."

  Jeremy lowered his hands, turned to her and said, "We really don't have any standards here as to who gets to fight, so if you want to be on the frontlines, it's your call. What's your name and who are you that, I need to approve whether you get to join our cause?"

  The lady with the reddish-brown hair turned her head up and let the light of the fire illuminate her face. "I think you might know me by the name of Pink."

  Chapter 21

  The low clouds in the night sky continued to glow orange from the many bonfires scattered across the Front Range and they cast a dim glow on the land. Smoke from numerous makeshift crematoriums maintained a constant haze hanging in the air. Through the trees, distant fires flickered like single candles flames. Prometheus stood behind a tree watching the narrow dirt road for any movement. Midnight waited next to him, staring in the opposite direction. Dispersed through the forest, he could see glimpses of his fellow undead, all waiting for something living to come down the road.