by Mark Tufo
“Ah, there it is!” I could sense she was smiling. “You feel it, don’t you? The ancient power, it courses through your veins like an untamed beast, yet you dare to chain it. As if you could!” She came in again, I moved enough to miss the thrust of her blade. There was an “oomph” as I put a foot in her midsection, sending her on her way.
“Leave, Payne. Take what remains of Charity and the zombies and leave. Forget you ever stepped foot in the New World.”
“The zombies?” She paused. “What do you believe I have to do with those filthy, living dead things?”
“You don’t control them?” I asked.
“I would rather return to the well from which I originated than sully myself with those hideous creatures.” Then she laughed. “You don’t know, do you? For all your power, you don’t!”
“What are you talking about?” I asked, partly because I wanted to know what she knew, but more importantly, this kept her from stabbing me.
“I don’t know all, Michael, but someone in your group does. And on some level, you know that as well.”
“Mr. T!” Tommy shouted. It sounded like he was approaching, but this fog was making it difficult to tell.
“If you yell out to him, I will kill you and then him. I have no love for the one that betrayed his own sister.”
“Now you lie. You don’t care. You yourself said vampires are incapable of love; why avenge a death for someone that means nothing?”
“It is not that I cared for Eliza, but a betrayer of one’s kind must be taught a lesson. You should heed the words that you and I have spoken, Michael. If you somehow survive me, they may very well revisit you.”
“I don’t know what are you talking about. I’ve made no betrayal.”
The mist began to recede, giving me more sight-lines. It rolled out like the tide, thankfully, taking Payne with it. When I felt she had gone, I wiped the blood from my face and lifted my shirt to see the five wounds she had given me. I was thinking about what she had said; if vampires were incapable of love, but betrayal and avenging fit in very nicely with their mindsets, Tommy could indeed be dangerous.
“Mr. T! Are you alright?” Tommy asked as he ran toward me.
“You knew, didn’t you?” He had a confused look on his face. “You knew she was out here.” I let my shirt drop down and picked up my rifle. Adrenaline had been keeping the pain away, but now the cuts throbbed, like anything created by a sharp blade is wont to do.
“I thought she might be,” he confessed, “but I wasn’t sure.”
“A heads-up when I walked by you would have been appreciated.”
“When did you walk by me?” he asked. I could not detect any sort of deception in his voice. He must have been focused on something pretty big to have missed me and our greeting.
“The zombies, are they your doing?”
“What?”
“You heard me.”
“What did she say?”
“Are you afraid she told me something you don’t want me to know?”
“What are you talking about, Mr.T?” I felt like my own tactics were being used against me.
BT was at a full sprint coming my way, Travis and Justin hot on his heels. Would have been hard not to spot Tommy and I squared off, at least, I was.
“What’s going on here?” BT asked breathlessly.
“Ask him. I’ve got some wounds that need tending.” I walked off but not before I caught a shrug from Tommy.
“Dad?” Travis asked.
“I’m alright. Get everyone inside, we have company coming and not the kind we want to entertain.”
“Zombies!” Gary yelled from his perch on the roof.
“Son of a bitch,” I said under my breath as I turned around. Two lone zombies stood far out in the field looking our way. Scouts. Then a few more marched up; this continued for another half an hour, until there were zombies as far as the eye could see. It looked like we were going to have our own battle here, though I didn’t think there would ever be enough people left to come on a pilgrimage and look for trinkets left over. In fact, there might never be anyone to record it. How many massive battles through time must have been waged that were never retold? There was no reason whatsoever to believe the ancient civilizations that had risen and fallen before recorded history were without their own bloody conflicts. The moment Flunt stumbled onto the much more spacious cave of Vart, there was war. It was pretty coincidental that moments after Payne’s departure, an army of zombies showed. Just because she denied her involvement didn’t make it true.
“That’s interesting,” Deneaux said smugly as she flicked a make-believe ash off of the straw she was not smoking. She was looking over the field, as were we all. “What are they waiting for, you suppose?” she asked.
“Probably their boss to make her safe departure.”
“Or his,” she said softly. She looked about to ask another question; I was not in the mood and went inside. Tracy was there, she had Wesley in her arms.
“I think I need some help.” I was suddenly feeling light-headed. I fumbled with the buckle to my rifle and harness, I took them off and then peeled my shirt off.
“My god!” Tracy exclaimed. I hadn’t thought any of the wounds too vicious, that was until I looked at the dark red lines radiating out from them.
“Bitch poisoned me.” I sat. I was getting weaker by the moment. By now, most of the inhabitants of the Inn had come into the main room.
“They’re not moving.” Justin had run into the room but stopped talking when he saw me.
“Justin, get me the strongest proof liquor you can find and a towel!” Tracy ordered. She helped me lie down and placed a pillow under my head. “Travis get Tommy!”
I wanted to tell her I didn’t want him here but my throat was beginning to close up, to the point where breathing was going to be difficult soon. I shook my head. It was a three-way tie as Travis, Justin, and Tommy came to skidding halts in the room.
Tommy’s cool touch brushed my forehead. “He has a fever.” He traced one of the wounds before saying anything. “Vervain.” I thought he was speaking a Latin swear. “It’s an herb often used to ward off or even kill vampires; it has varying effects depending on how it is introduced into the system.”
“Do something!” Tracy beseeched as the lines marched upwards towards my heart.
“There is very little we can do; this fight is his own.”
“How long?” BT asked, thinking about my recovery and now the very real threat of a zombie invasion.
“I don’t suggest moving him. We need to set-up an IV, get some fluids in him, get him upstairs and into a bed, make him comfortable.”
My body felt like I was being stung by a hive of angry hornets. Not an inch of me didn’t feel on fire. The fever was intense; at times I thought I might burst into flames from the heat of it. I drifted in and out of consciousness, sometimes waking to the fevered pitch of a battle being waged, to screams and commands of those around me. A good amount of the time, I was dead, or dead to this world anyway. I traveled the highways and byways of Dreamland, Coma Town, Out Of Itsville.
“You yet live?” Payne whispered. She appeared before me in a long, flowing blue dress; it had a high, white trim collar and her bodice cinched tight showing her more than ample bust and narrow waist. There was hardly an inch of her exposed, yet the presumption of what was underneath those clothes could stir many a loincloth. “It is painful is it not? The vervain, I mean. I had to be careful even collecting it. I poisoned you with enough of it to drop you where you stood; perhaps I have underestimated your will.”
Charity came up alongside Payne. She wore a white dress with tassels that looked more in tune with something a flapper from the roaring twenties would wear. Her body was no less perfect than Payne’s, though she liked to put much more of it on display; times change.
“Are you shocked to see my sweet Charity? Alas, this is the only place we can still communicate. The bullet has left her physical body in a state o
f disrepair; here, though, she is still free to roam.”
“He is weakened, and he is in our territory, Payne. Stop toying with him. Kill him now and end the threat.”
“Are you so sure, sweet sister?”
“What are you talking about?” Charity asked.
“Are you so sure this is our territory and our territory alone? He is here, that speaks volumes.”
I was a fan of Payne’s cautious approach because if they attacked, I wasn’t sure I could do much except cheer them on in the hopes they would finish me fast.
“Look, even now he finds a way to defend himself.” Payne looked amused, I watched incredulously as a sword formed in my hand. The pommel was a deep golden color and the blade shone bright as the morning sun. I still said nothing; I was afraid my voice would betray me, a quiver in tone could be all that Charity needed to force the issue.
“If he is so powerful, why is he in need of a weapon?” Charity sneered.
“Do you not recognize the blade?” Payne asked. “That is Dawn Setter, the blade blessed by the…”
“I know the blade!” Charity snapped. “It has bitten deep of our kind. He has no right to wield it!”
“Do not upset yourself, little one. We will strike some other time,” Payne said.
That was all I needed to hear to get my indecisive ass into gear. I refused to be hunted. I’d thought about saying something dramatic like: “We end this here!” in some authoritative Viking-type voice, but why? I was already at a disadvantage; a quick, unexpected strike might be the only thing that turned the tide. Tough to not telegraph your moves when the very weapon you are swinging takes up half the room and shines as bright as the morning sun and all. But I was up and I’d halved the distance; Payne was already on the move, separating from Charity, getting to my sword-less side. Charity was a little slower on the uptake, but she still had plenty of time to avoid my charge. My swing missed her by a foot, maybe more.
“You are as clumsy as an oaf in a realm you should be as graceful as quicksilver.”
“Shit,” I muttered when I watched Payne rise up into the air, she hovered ten feet above my head. It got no better when Charity did the same.
Didn’t need to read the Art of War to see where this was going, they now had air superiority, the old high-ground. Odds were pretty good they were going to attack. I did not have the luxury to wait and react; acting without direction was now my default mode, maybe always was my default mode in whatever realm I found myself in. I swung that blade up and around, Payne had to veer abruptly to avoid being struck.
“Still think I’m oafish?” I asked when she stared angrily down at me. Now how’s that for superior war-brains? Egg on one opponent with your back to another, and women, no less. Charity hit me with an impact that looked and felt like a charging Rhino slamming into a Safari Jeep. My back was jarred and my neck whipped, causing my brain to rattle around in its housing. I knew in my head, that as soon as I hit the ground, Charity had me. She would rip into my neck like a jaguar would a deer. Then a funny thing happened. Well, not so much funny as fantastical, magical, bordering on the miraculous. I was wondering how hard dream-ground was, just as my face was about to be blasted into it, when, there was…nothing. No concrete, no asphalt, no hard-packed earth, no grassy surface, just…nothing. I spun completely around. Charity had, at some point in my revolution, been thrown from me. I didn’t think about the hows or the whys; I didn’t think about reacting. I just did. She was looking up at me, and I swung that sword, striking her in the shoulder. The blade bit deeply; it came to a rest just above her breast. The scream she let loose was savage; it ripped at my ears. Her eyes glowed a bright red as her fangs elongated. Her right hand reached over and grabbed the sword; she cried out even harder as she touched it.
As loud as Charity’s cries were, they were nothing to the primal war-scream Payne let loose as she attacked. For someone incapable of love, she sure was pissed. She hit me hard enough I had to reset my teeth. I was wrenched away from Charity; my grip sufficiently tight that I took the sword with me, which made a particularly horrific squelching sound as it was removed and amplified her screams. My mind was far too addled to once again alter the ground; this time I skidded along it face first for nearly twenty feet. When I righted myself, Payne and Charity were gone. Exhausted didn’t even begin to explain my sorry state. The sword dissolved into nothingness; my arms felt as if they were made from stone. I sat down, convinced that I now found myself in an atmosphere of heavy gravity, and I was very much in danger of being melded to the ground by the extreme pressure. I lay down, as this was the only position that allowed any form of comfort or end to the vertigo that threatened to spin me off my feet. Right now, Wesley could have beat me to death with a rattle and there wouldn’t have been a thing I could do about it.
I awoke sometime later to the smell of cordite and smoke, a scent I was all too familiar with: spent gunpowder. I craned my neck around. I was in bed; Tracy was at the window, leaning out and firing. I sat up, expecting my head to be swimming in a sea of misery. Surprisingly, I felt great. I know right?! What does that say about you that on any given morning you expect to wake up feeling like shit, and then are genuinely surprised when you don’t? Still, we take the good surprises with the bad; my wife was shooting at something while I lay there. I tossed the covers to the side and stood, stretched, gave the normal ball-scratch, and walked over to give Tracy a kiss as if this was part of our regular routine. I wrapped my arm around her waist and put my head on her shoulder, careful not to disrupt her aim. I looked out the window. In terms of a battle, this one was nearly finished. Zombie bodies were strewn all over the lawn and parking lot; she was busy picking off those lucky few who appeared to be moving away.
“You’re awake!” she said, happily enough.
“Everyone alright?” I asked, dreading anything but one answer.
“Everyone is fine.” Something made her look over her shoulder at me. She frowned. “Michael, you realize you’re not clothed, right?”
“Oh, motherfucking hell, Talbot!” BT yelled from the doorway. He held an ammo can-clad hand in front of his face. “Have you no fucking modesty? Shit, it’s not even that! We’re in the middle of a damn zombie battle and you aren’t going to be able to do much with that weapon.”
“Fucking ouch, man. That just hurts.” I made sure I was facing him in full frontal mode.
“Fucking deviant.” He put the ammunition down and walked away.
“Well, it seems my weapon worked well on him.” I had my hands on my hips and sent him off with a pelvic power thrust.
“No, you did not just do that.” Tracy had placed a cupped hand over her eyes. I got dressed, but only because it seemed the right thing to do in this particular situation. By the time I was done and had grabbed my rifle it was all over except the cheering. I would have to time more battles like this one–good strategy.
“This was a strange attack.” Tracy turned to me as I raised my rifle out the window; there wasn’t a target worth wasting a bullet on.
12
The Battle For Cemetery Hill
After weeks of peace, the zombies had followed Mike and the others up to the Inn. BT had Travis and Justin lock all the bottom floor shutters, and then they had barricaded the front door in expectation of an attack that had yet to launch. The zombies had mustered fifty feet from the entrance.
“What are they doing?” Gary asked, peeking from one of the windows.
“If they had candles, I would almost say it was a vigil,” Tiffany said.
“For who? Why would they do that?”
“I didn’t say it was a vigil; I said it looks like one,” she replied.
Winters and BT were standing by a small conference table discussing how they should proceed.
“Anything?” BT asked Gary.
“Nothing. They’re just standing there,” Gary said.
“They’re waiting for the night or for some, what do you call them? Bulkers?” Winters posed.
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“Possible,” BT said, “but they’re not usually shy or cautious in regards to attacking. They pretty much go balls out once they’ve got a target.”
“Let’s give them something to think about before they do, then,” Winters said.
“I’m all for killing zombies,” Tommy said, still visibly shaken up by Mike’s accusations. “But if we start firing, that might spur them into action.”
“You’re saying we wait? Wait for what?” Winters asked. “For them to get more reinforcements? For the dark? For the earth to split open and swallow them up? They’re zombies. Doesn’t matter what it looks like; they’re here to kill us. They’re not pondering if they should kill and eat us; they’re just pondering when.”
“Sorry, Tommy. I’m with Winters on this one,” BT said. “How’s Mike?” he asked as he saw Tracy come down the stairs.
“Resting, but far from comfortable. Tommy, I’d like it if you were up there; it seems the vervain poisoning has stopped spreading, but I can’t tell…the discoloration doesn’t look so great.” She looked tired and extremely worried.
Tommy went upstairs; Justin followed, Avalyn in his arms.
“They’ve stopped?” Tracy asked, referring to the zombies. BT nodded.
“There a reason why we haven’t started firing yet?” She cocked her head at them and frowned.
“None that I can think of,” BT replied.
Deneaux came down the stairs, a half-chewed straw in her mouth. “I want a cigarette so badly I would walk out there and pull one off a zombie and strike my match across his face. That being said, I just might. I would prefer it was dead, but I could take my chances…how about we kill a few so I can look over some corpses?”
The waiting was over; retreats were rare and reinforcements seemed a more likely outcome. The word was given and a few minutes later there was at least one rifle in every second-floor window.
“Fire!” BT shouted from the middle room, making sure he was heard throughout the Inn. Gunfire erupted, zombies fell in droves, heads exploded, chests ripped open, arms and legs blown off, yet still, the horde did not shift. After five solid minutes of wrecking their front lines, BT called a cease-fire. Except for the zombies that had been obliterated, none of the others had budged. They did not look at the dead at their feet, they did not look to the Inn where the ferocious and barbaric shots had come from. The nothingness, the absence, was disturbing in its own right. BT now had to weigh options; how many rounds did they expend on an enemy that did not seem interested in the conflict? Thanks to Sanders, they had replenished their stock and then some, but he wouldn’t pour water out in the desert merely because he had plenty to drink.
