The Village of Dead Souls: A Zombie Novel

by Michael Wallace

  Midnight spoke in a low voice and asked the Athenian, "Seeing how you are from ancient Greece, you should be able to confirm or deny one of the biggest mysteries of your time."

  With a bit of interest in her question, he slightly turned from his post toward her. "What is this great mystery?"

  "Did Atlantis really exist?"

  The question slightly confused him. He briefly took his eyes off the road and glanced at the former dancehall girl. "Of course, Atlantis really existed. Why would anyone consider this to be a mystery?"

  "During my lifetime, which was a little over a hundred years ago, no one could find the city. Maybe they've found it since then, but I haven't seen a newspaper in a very long time." Midnight brought her attention back to the road. "The only written record of it existed in Homer's, Odyssey, and that was a work of fiction."

  "Of course, Atlantis existed. I visited the fine city many times." Hearing her speak of his time in such a way, slightly angered the normally gentle man. "What do you mean; the Odyssey was a work of fiction? It was considered one of the greatest plays of our time. If you are familiar with it, this would indicate it lasted through the centuries."

  "He did speak of actual cities and islands, but Homer also wrote about a giant Cyclops and witches turning men into pigs. Did you ever see a Cyclops? Did you ever meet a witch?"

  "I…" Prometheus thought back and realized that, even though he never doubted their existence, he never did see such a beast. "I may have never seen such a creature, but many a good man saw and engaged in battle with the giants. If witches did not exist, then why would so many men speak of them?"

  "Did you personally know someone who fought a Cyclops or was it a friend of a friend situation?"

  The question made him again realize all his knowledge of the legend were based on stories passed down through the generations, and he had taken them as fact, with no other basis than to believe his elders. "I may have never met such a warrior, but so many men have claimed to have battled the beasts, how could they all be speaking non-truths?"

  Captain Bartholomew and Patricia quietly walked up to the Greek man, causing him to halt his argument. Midnight tilted toward the pair and said, "Speaking of fiction, this is something that I never would have believed unless I saw it for myself."

  Patricia asked, "What did you need to see?"

  "If someone had told me, while I was alive, that I would one day join a band of rebels led by a pair of undead lovebird pirates, I would have considered them to be gale-minded."

  Both of the pirates gave slight smirks as they glanced toward each other. Bartholomew replied, "I would have thought da same thing. Hearing such demented words would cause me ta run such a person through with me sword to rid them of da dementia." He glanced at Patricia, smiled and squeezed her hand.

  Human voices emanating from the darkness at the far end of the road, stopped their conversation, as they all turned toward the source of the sound. Bartholomew and Patricia stepped up to the edge of the shadows bordering the road to gain a better view. Prometheus noticed how their hands automatically pressed down on the pommel of their swords, as if they prepared to board a merchant ship. Soft footsteps on the rocks and dirt, blended with the hiss and moans of the living voices as they rose in volume indicating they drew closer.

  Through a sliver of gray light strapped across the road, the small band of humans appeared briefly before vanishing back into the darkness. Bartholomew whispered, "They didn't look like soldiers."

  Patricia answered, "They might still have weapons. The glimpse we had was too brief to see if they are armed."

  The voices and footsteps grew louder as the group of living came within view inside the gray light. They did not appear to be military and showed no signs of weapons. It looked to be several families searching for a safe location. They carried large backpacks stuffed to capacity with additional gear attached to the outside. Their clothes looked to be mismatched items, showing many years of wear and they hung loosely on their bodies. A few of them pulled wagons overflowing with bundles of supplies. The humans became too involved in their own conversation to notice three undead stepping onto the road and following behind them. As one of the re-ans shuffled a foot on the gravel, a young woman in the group of livings noticed and casually turned her head to check the source of the sound.

  Spotting the zombies in the distance, she quickly alerted the others and they immediately ran down the road to escape the danger. As they entered a shadowed section of the road, twenty more re-ans sprang out of the trees and pounced on them, like lions on prey.

  The humans screeched and howled in fear, as they tried to fight off the dead who were armed with swords and pikes. The men circled around the women trying to protect them. They pulled out baseball bats and heavy wood clubs, swinging wildly at their attackers. The primitive weapons would make contact with the living dead, but would not do more than knock them down. Using swords and pikes, the re-ans impaled several men and slashed across some of the women. Blood sprayed and spurted across the group as several of the humans fell to the ground with their intestines spilling out onto the road.

  One of the human males stepped out of the group and smashed one of the older grays with a bat. The impact was so intense that it crushed the re-ans head like a melon. Another zombie jumped on the man's back, and bit into the lower part of his neck, where it joined with the shoulder. Lifting his head, the undead attacker pulled a large chunk of flesh out, between his teeth, with blood gushing from the wound and pouring out of the dead soul's mouth. Bartholomew ran his sword through the man's stomach and partially into the re-an still on livings back. The man fell to the ground with the zombie still on top of him. The living person went silent, as the undead assailant frantically rolled around on the ground, screaming in pain, grabbing his head and pulling at his skin. He even tore pieces of his own flesh off as if it were the cause his agony.

  The other living dead, surrounding the pile of humans, quickly turned to watch their fellow clan member on the ground. Most of the humans lay dead, while the others who remained partially alive slowly tried to crawl away from the pile, releasing low moans interjected with some hissing.

  Watching the zombie convulse with pain, Prometheus asked, "Why does he thrash about in such pain?"

  Bartholomew shook his head in despair, and answered, "He bit the flesh of a human who has the fire." He swung his sword across the screaming re-an's throat, severing his head and silencing his screams.

  Midnight walked around the pile of living victims scanning each individual body. "All of these livings have been injected with the antivirus." She pointed to a woman drenched with blood, who had a gash cut down her front, and she was missing part of one arm from the elbow down. The human used her intact arm, trying to pull herself along the ground and leaving a wide trail of crimson mud. "This one here does not have the black inside her. I don't think she's been injected."

  The pirate captain took out his dagger from his belt, stepped over to the woman, bent over her and carved out a handful of flesh from the human's shoulder. The woman screamed and hissed as she tried to hammer the undead man with her good arm. Bartholomew dismissed her efforts to fight back and tossed the chunk of flesh to one of the re-ans circled around the pile of humans. "Here ya go. Ya be testing this to see if it be holding the fire."

  The zombie, who caught the piece of shoulder muscle, took a large bite and chewed it up with blood oozing down the corners of his mouth. The others watched in silence to see if he would fall to the ground in pain. A few seconds passed and the re-an shoved the remaining piece of flesh into his mouth with no ill effects.

  "It be seeming she is clean of da fire." Bartholomew said as he reached down and cut a large square from the woman's leg while she continued to scream and roll on the ground. He tossed the piece of leg muscle to Salsa. "This be for you, me lady."

  The former dancer, now wearing universal camouflage clothing, caught the piece of flesh and quickly bit into it. Blood dripped down her
military jacket, as she used her palm to force the large raw meat into her mouth. As the pirate stepped away from the woman, who was still clinging by a thread to life, the other undead pounced on her like a flock of vultures on a fresh kill. It took another minute, before the ear piercing screams and moans from the woman buried at the bottom of re-ans, ceased.

  * * *

  Daniel struck his knife against the piece of flint, sending white sparks into the dry kindling, igniting a fire underneath the small still constructed from scavenged parts. The main pot was an old pressure cooker with the handle broken off. It sat on top of two rocks with the fire between them. A copper tube connected to the steam vent ran into the lid of an insulated sports bottle. A second tube carried the steam out of the container through a long coiled section with the condensed alcohol dripping into a plastic Sponge Bob Square Pants cup.

  He blew on the embers to heat it up and then turned back to Pink, who sat in front of the main fire warming her hands. As he sat down, he explained, "We need the alcohol to sterilize cuts and wounds. If the military comes through with the two hundred pounds of corn, they promised us, we can build a larger still and make enough to power the generators. Maybe we can even get one of the vehicles running." Daniel said as he walked away from the boiler and sat next to her on the log.

  Pink continued to stare at the fire and replied, "We're not in the real world any more. You don't have to rationalize it."

  With a quizzical expression, he glanced at her and replied, "I don't understand."

  "This isn't the society where we grew up and lived. There are no more rules here other than to survive. If you want to sip some moonshine, get a buzz going, and forget about our fate for a while, nobody's going to arrest you, judge you, or even care. The morality we once used as our measurement of decency no longer exists in this caveman world."

  The scientist reached into his backpack lying next to the log and pulled out a plastic bottle labeled carpet cleaner. Unscrewing the cap, he tilted it up and took a swig. Offering it to Pink, he said, "I made this last week. I found a Juniper tree with just enough berries to make a batch. It has a little more flavor than the rice moonshine."

  Pink took a swig from the bottle and handed it back to him with little reaction to the taste or the strength. "You need a bigger bump keg and longer condensation coil. You're getting some methanol bleed through and losing some alcohol from evaporation."

  Daniel glanced at the plastic bottle. "You got all that from one sip?"

  “All these years, you've been distilling in your fancy lab. You had clean conditions, controlled temperatures and cultured yeast. You were doing it for research purposes, but I'm sure you occasionally thought you were so bad when you sneaked a sip. Out here," Pink waved her hand at the surrounding forest, "we've been mashing in caves and bunkers for our survival. We learned that once you light that pot, you have to post guards. If the smell didn't draw nomads and wanderers set on hijacking your stash, it would bring the Ravens, which meant the re-ans would be close behind." She turned toward the scientist. "We had to make the decision to use potato for food or shine. You would think it would be a no brainer and food would always win, but it's been years since I've eaten a potato. So yeah, I could tell all that from one sip. When we made our shine, we had to do it quickly and we had to do it right. "

  "Great. We should put you in charge of distilling. There really is a need to use the alcohol for first aid and fuel."

  She brought her attention back to the fire as the light in the dark orange and gray sky, continued to grow dim. "That's not why I'm here. If I wanted to make booze, I could have stayed out there."

  A crack from the trees put Daniel on guard, and he reached for his machete. Pink remained calm and stared at the flames dancing into the air. As the scientist calmed his alert, he relaxed and asked, "Why are you here?"

  "I heard you had joined the cause and wanted to talk you out of it."

  Daniel shook his head in disbelief. "I thought we were on the same side with the same goal. You don't still consider these creatures to be," he paused to think, "What did you call them back then, 'Second Lifers."

  "We do have the same goal." She replied with a condescending tone. "I'm well aware of what these demons are. You are of no use out here."

  "I want to fight until this planet is rid of these demons." Daniel turned back to the fire.

  "As do I. But, we are never going to win with brute force. Look at us." She circled her hands at their small camp. "We're down to fighting with sticks and rocks. Every time we lose a soldier, they gain one more. The battle was lost on the first day and we just didn't see it."

  "It sounds like you've given up."

  "No, you gave up. We need you back in your lab, making a stronger anti-virus. It won't be long until the re-ans adapt to this strain and make it useless."

  "There's plenty of labs making anti-virus. I'm taking my fight to the front lines. I'm not going to hide behind test tubes any longer."

  "No, that's how we are going to lose this war. Think about it. How are we being wiped out? Look at the damage the Omega virus did to our population. The re-ans are killing us with their cells. This is a war where the front lines are on a microscopic level."

  Three civilian militiamen appeared through the dark shadows of the trees in the dimming light of dusk and shouldered their scrap metal swords. The man with a bushy red beard stepped forward and said, "We were down by the road when we smelled your mash. You wouldn't have any extra? Our med kit is out of antiseptic." He gave a slight smile, indicating he didn't really think they would believe that he wanted it for medical reasons.

  Pink rolled her eyes and continued her conversation with Daniel. "Think about how fast the Omega virus killed off China and Eastern Europe. We can do the same to the re-ans. If you and the other lab geeks can get our remaining population vaccinated, by this time next year, we will be rebuilding our society. We'll have electricity and hot showers, instead of hiding in the trees."

  Bushy Red Beard chimed in and said, "Ah, guys?"

  Daniel glanced up and saw the man pointing to the ground at the edge of the fire light. He stood up to see over the fire and saw the rotted body of a dead Raven bound into the clearing. It pecked at the ground, and then looked up at the humans. It had one eye missing and a decayed hole in its chest with small broken ribs protruding. Daniel grabbed his battle-axe and stood ready to fight. The three militia soldiers held out their swords and stepped back to back, watching all points of the clearing. Pink remained sitting on the log, warming her hands showing little concern over the possibility of an attack.

  From the trees, behind the Raven, came the low moaning sounds of the re-ans. The men formed a wall in front of Pink. Daniel saw movement in the shadows of the tree and said, "There they are."

  Six re-ans slowly emerged from the darkness into the light of the fire. Their torn clothing was encrusted with dried blood and it covered their decayed gray skin. The smell of rotten meat swept through the camp as they staggered closer to the fire. Their moans mixed with hissing gave an eerie chill to the already cold air. Blood mixed with saliva dripped from their black and broken teeth. One of them held out his hand with bones showing through the dead skin as he screeched.

  Bushy Red Beard said, "We need to move around and encircle them. That's our best chance of not getting bitten. You two go to the left. Me and this guy will-"

  Pink stood up and cut him off. "You idiots." She reached into Daniels backpack and pulled out the bottle of moonshine. "Stand back!" she barked out at the soldiers, who parted, giving her clear line of sight to the undead.

  The men took a few steps back from the fire as the demons closed the distance. Pink, unscrewed the top of the bottle and threw the contents at the re-ans. As the alcohol flew over the top of the fire, it ignited and landed on the undead. The zombies burst into flames as their screeches intensified. They staggered into each other and fell to the ground with their dried clothing sending colored flames into the darkness. As their movem
ent ceased, Daniel saw their blackened charred bodies continue to boil from the small amounts of burning fat left under their skin.

  Pink reached into her pack and pulled out a sawed-off shotgun. She turned away from the fire toward the dark forest behind her. "Those re-ans were the distraction. They wanted to draw our attention over there, so they could sneak up behind us."

  Two more zombies staggered out of the darkness into the light. She walked right up to their rotted bodies, placed the end of the barrel against the face of the first undead and pulled the trigger. Its head exploded in a cloud of blood and brain matter. Bushy Red Beard swung his sword at the second re-an, decapitating it. Both dead torsos fell on top of each other at her feet. Pink turned back to Daniel and asked, "So how do you like fighting on the frontlines now?"

  Chapter 22

  Inside the sandbag bunker, Daniel listened to the young military man give his report on the latest statistics gathered from the various war zones. The smell of smoke from the nearby crematoriums lofted through the air with an unavoidable sickly sweet smell. Occasional sporadic gunshots echoed in the distance. Pink sat next to him with a navy blue wool hat pulled down tight around her face and a scarf bundled up high around her neck. Even though the majority of the current soldiers had no idea who she was, she wanted to be cautious about her identity. She sat low in the chair and kept her head down. The limited lighting offered by the kerosene lamps assisted in concealing her face.

  The soldier at the end of the table wore a uniform, which appeared to be one size too big for his thin frame. The scuffed up stars on his collar sat crooked, indicating the 25 year old had only recently been promoted to General, and his brass had been handed down several times. He glanced at the small piece of dark slate with the numbers written in white chalk. "The latest counts are in. For the first time, since we started the re-an census, their numbers have dropped, not much, but they didn't increase which means our counter attack with the anti-virus might be working."