“Shhh!” the son waved his finger at Tock, who scrunched his face in irritation at the boy.
They reached the northwest corner of the lake and landed without any trouble. There were some stragglers from the herd but the group easily took them down. They debated turning them into geldings but decided they couldn’t risk being slowed down.
Hugo gave a word of blessing and pushed off, disappearing back into the mist on the lake. The group hoped they hadn’t made a mistake leaving the city, the city where they now rivaled Polo in terms of popularity. The choice had been hardest on Tock, who had finally attained what he’d been chasing for years. Even he saw the futility of it, though. It wouldn’t last. John had described enough of northern ways for them to understand what the new regime would be about. Forced turning, kidnapping, selling people like animals, and any number of other horrors.
“We were always pawns, but at least it looked like we were going to be well fed pawns,” Carla lamented.
“Amen, sister!” Tock put his hand on her shoulder. She glared at him and shook it off.
A light appeared in the trees behind them. It was Hugo’s cousin. His name was Joaquin. He spoke little English but was a skilled pointer. He pointed west, and they followed him. He pointed at roots, and they didn’t trip on them. He pointed at a snake, and Tock wilted in revulsion. They followed dark roads through the night until he felt they were a safe distance from the city. He spoke with Lee, who knew Spanish, and she relayed the news from the surrounding countryside. A large portion of the herd had traveled northeast and was trapped against a mountain range. People were still fleeing from the area. Also, it was rumored this new queen was from a city up north where people were able to speak with the undead. This had raised the hopes of people who maintained bitten family members. In closets, fields, sheds and basements, people kept their turned loved ones. Whether it was false hope of a cure, delusion that a remnant of the person remained, or misplaced sympathy, it was an unspoken practice that most kept private. They wondered if this queen was the answer to their heartbreak. Joaquin thought it was all false hope, though. They were dead. Dead people don’t talk.
Their destination was about a week’s journey into the mountains, a change which John welcomed. He caught himself on numerous occasions expounding on the benefits of living in the mountains, to groans from Tock.
Despite John’s familiarity with mountains, he knew very little about where they were headed. Joaquin only said that it was a nameless place, and intentionally so. If a place is not named, no one can speak of it. If they can’t speak of it then no one can find it. That was good enough for the Martyrs. They were up for invisibility. Joaquin further assured them that they would find kindred spirits at this place. The people didn’t like outsiders, but the Martyrs would be accepted with open arms.
“He says we gave hope to a lot of people,” Lee began to explain. “He thinks the whole thing was staged, and he didn’t even see it, but he still sees the value in giving people hope.”
Joaquin rattled something else off and then laughed to himself. John gave Lee a puzzled look.
“He said ‘hope helps the smelly dog rummage through the trash heap for another day.’ I’m not sure what he means, it doesn’t really translate.” Lee laughed. John smiled back at her. Her sense of humor reminded him of Martha’s. Carla noticed the chemistry between the two and was glad. John was a man who’d seen too much sorrow. He needed to laugh all he could.
Over the next week, Joaquin prepared them for life in the mountains. He explained that they would need to work to earn their meals. No one objected, until they learned what the work would be.
“He says ‘run,’” Lee said.
“Run?”
“Yeah, like running,” she repeated.
“He wants us to run for our food?” Tock asked in disbelief.
“That’s what he said.”
Tock looked concerned. “Ask again.”
She had heard Joaquin right. He said they must run, but gave no more details. No one argued—but they all wondered what strange situation they’d gotten themselves into.
Chapter 23
Commander Quintana sat in the mud in the middle of the space the northerners had cleared amidst the buried undead. The area was the size of an arena, and they’d lowered the ground a foot and put a berm around the edges to further conceal their presence. The army had kept low. The only reason Quintana had noticed movement in there was because a man had been too eager to see what was happening outside. He saw that man’s execution after everything settled down. It was a brilliant plan, and a smartly arranged hideout for an army.
Now, the approximately 3000 prisoners were held there.
Quintana stood up suddenly and paced. He bumped into one of the other prisoners and yelled at him to watch where he was going, before storming to the entrance. Guards trained their guns on him, as he approached.
“I want to speak to your commander,” Quintana said.
The guards’ faces registered some surprise. It was the first time they’d heard a prisoner speak English. Quintana had been taught as a child, groomed since his youth to be a leader in the city. His father had hoped for a judge or a politician but instead got a son who was enthralled with the military life. Lower in nobility in his father’s eyes.
“Who are you?” one of the guards, a big, redheaded man, asked.
“I am Commander Quintana,” he replied.
The big guard motioned to a smaller man to go ask a superior. Since the death of Bowen, General Page was now in control.
One of Page’s assistants approved bringing Quintana out to speak with the General. He didn’t know what good it would do, but it seemed the gentlemanly thing to do. Page had insisted upon gentlemanly behavior from all his men.
Quintana was brought before Page in the latter man’s tent. It was Spartan and orderly. Even his few personal items were arranged in rows and at the same angle in respect to one another. This was a meticulous man. Quintana respected that.
“Commander Quintana, please sit down,” Page said. “Am I saying your name correctly?”
“Yes, perfectly, thank you,” Quintana said as he sat down, happy to be out of the muddy zombie fields. He was filthy from being in that pit, but if Page was bothered he did a good job of hiding it. “Sir, as a member of the conquered party, and as a high ranking officer in the military, I wish to aid in the negotiations for our surrender.” He had to focus on not choking on the word “surrender.” The northern dogs had gotten lucky. If the king hadn’t been so caught up in his superstitious fears, they wouldn’t be having this conversation right now.
“Thank you. I appreciate the offer.” Page paused. “The fact of the matter is that the surrender is settled. Your king understood completely his loss of power. If I can be honest, I am quite surprised at how quickly he relinquished it once captured.”
“He is a fool,” Quintana spat. What point was there in biting his tongue anymore?
Page looked at him with a hint of disgust. Page didn’t like it when men spoke disrespectfully of their superiors. “I understand your disappointment in the whole matter, but there is nothing more to discuss. Now if you’ll excuse me…”
“I must ask what agreement was made about my men…and the people of Tenochtitlan,” Quintana was not willing to be pushed aside just yet.
“They are under the oversight of Miss Academy now. The city is hers, Commander. The sooner you accept that–” Page began to condescend.
“Yes, but what are her plans for all these people?!” Quintana interrupted, his face contorted in anger. Page recoiled.
“I am not at liberty to discuss her plans with you, sir. Now I must insist on getting back to work. Good day.”
And with that, Quintana was led away by the guards. One grabbed his arm, but he shook the filthy northern hand off of him.
After the area was completely free of the herd, Sara’s men went back to their old camp to see what could be salvaged. Carts were crushed, weapons
stomped into the mud, food stores trampled. Dalbec’s explosion also left a crater in the ground. The men laughed that the “Pet” had saved the day. It had also been Dalbec’s idea to clear out a hiding spot for the main force amongst the buried undead, use a smaller force as a decoy, and hide their best men underground in the “tent of feasts.” Leaving the alcohol in there had been Sara’s touch and didn’t hurt in lowering the enemy’s guard.
Since Bowen was gone, she faced little opposition in her own ranks. She still caught wind, mostly through Dalbec, of men questioning their mission. First the beach, now a city on the water? Never mind, thought Sara. Success in battle answers all doubts. She had not forgotten the beach, she just knew that in order to live a carefree life on a warm coast she had to control everything.
Sara prepared to send a six-person envoy into the city. She’d already been briefed by some of the native spies who’d snuck in and out of the city. They said the mood was concerned but hopeful that new leadership would bring control over the undead. One of their major hopes related to wild zombies. Small packs still roamed the countryside outside Tenochtitlan. They assaulted farms and homes, often infecting and destroying them. Many people inside the city had extended family living in rural areas outside the lake and were frustrated by their lack of security. Did the king send the packs, or was he just unable to control them? If the king had been unable to control them, perhaps the queen could.
Sara enjoyed that perception.
While the whole zombies-as-pawns-in-a-manipulatable-future thing was still unbelievably silly to her, she was going to milk it for all it was worth. Once she was inside the city, she planned to secretly send small teams of assassins into the countryside to eliminate the walker packs. No one would see the dirty work, and her reputation as mistress of the undead would be cemented. First, though, the job of the envoy was to secure the reconstruction of the bridge. They were also instructed to take actions to encourage further goodwill in the people. She had been prepared to come down hard on the citizens of Tenochtitlan, but with public opinion seemingly in her favor she wouldn’t need to.
The envoy would be crossing the lake with the help of bought locals and Dalbec came to make sure Sara wasn’t going. He wouldn’t have her make the same mistake as the king. Sara simply stared at him after he asked and said, “No.”
Dalbec mumbled something nervously and trotted off.
“I know he’s useful, but aren’t you uncomfortable around him?” General Page asked Sara.
“Quite,” Sara responded.
Captain Obevens watched the envoy move across the lake from within the prisoner area. He had been stuck there with the Tenochtitlan army and was under their angry eyes. He waited for someone to sink a hidden knife into his back, as he might as well be one of the people who’d helped capture their king and made them look like fools. However welcoming the mood of Tenochtitlan might be, Sara would never gain favor with these men. That might end up being their undoing, as they would have to be turned to zombies.
Obevens couldn’t stop thinking about what Sara had said. As soon as they were free of the herd she would send men north to find and kill Ellie. Obevens wasn’t sure whether it was an empty threat or not. It was a long journey north. He anxiously peered over the buried walkers to catch a glimpse of anything that would give him a clue, but there was nothing. His mind was whirring with horrible machinations.
“Captain Obevens!” a voice shouted over the crowd.
Obevens walked toward the voice. He couldn’t see the guard calling his name. A large Tenochtitlan soldier stood in his way and wouldn’t move as Obevens approached. Obevens tried to go around but another man also stood and blocked his path.
“Come one, come on, let him through,” the guard nagged, as he shoved the soldiers out of the way. The guard grabbed Obevens and guided him through the checkpoint at the entrance to the prisoner area. Obevens recognized the face of a man he’d been fighting alongside with. The man looked away from Obevens. The Captain could hardly blame him.
Obevens was led away from the prisoner area, and some of the Academy men gave him the same looks the Tenochtitlan soldiers did. “Not popular on either side,” he mumbled to himself.
Sara had moved her tent from the site of the king’s trap. Too much blood. It was only about a hundred feet away, but Sara lamented that it was closer to the noise of the buried walkers. This tent was where the guards led Obevens.
“Captain, glad to see you are doing well,” Sara crowed.
“Yes, fantastic. And yourself?” he shot back.
“Mmmm…I wanted you to meet the men traveling north to do a little job for me.” She pointed to three men standing off to the side. Obevens recognized them. They were the slime Sara used for unscrupulous tasks. Obevens quickly lost his defiant expression.
“I think you get the idea,” Sara smiled.
“Sara…” Obevens’ voice failed.
“You can see by my choice in executioners that I want her to suffer, Captain,” she said.
“What do you want?” Obevens asked, trying unsuccessfully to hide the fear in his voice.
“I had wanted your loyalty after I spared your team’s life when you were caught trying to escape from Colorado Springs. Now? Now I want this.”
“Please, Sara.” Obevens swallowed. His voice was low and flat. “I’ll do whatever you want.”
“Whatever?” she repeated.
“Yes.”
“There is nothing I want from you, Captain,” she said, unimpressed. “Guards, stick him back in the pen.” And with that he was taken away. One of the three executioners stared at Obevens with a dead-eyed look.
Obevens had to get out of here, no matter what. It was all he could do to not try to fight off his guards and run off into the desert right then and there. His mind whirred furiously, as he was trotted back through the checkpoint. By the time he was back in the pen, he had the seed of an idea.
“Anyone speak English?!” he shouted into the crowd.
***
The envoy received a cautiously warm reception in the city. The king’s religious advisors were the first to greet it. They shook hands and smiled at the invaders.
A crowd of well-dressed citizens, chosen for their apparent affluence, was amassed behind a row of Tenochtitlan soldiers. These citizens were the privileged of the city.
Despite their selection for this display, their anxiety was obvious. They whispered about the queen. What would she bring? Some thought she brought death, others thought she brought solutions for the ills of the land. Neither side knew, but it didn’t stop their whispered speculations.
The envoy toured the king’s temple and then was shown around the rest of the city. The subtext was this was now their city, but it was never overtly spoken. The leaders made innocent inquiries about the “queen,” and the envoy, naturally, said she was a visionary leader. The interpreter relayed this to the religious leaders, who weren’t sure whether this meant sweeping progressive changes or a shift back to traditional spiritual relationships with the undead. They hoped the latter, and tried to hint at it but between the interpreter and the envoy’s lack of background knowledge on the subject it was lost. The leaders hoped once the queen arrived they could have a true council, as it used to be, where the leader had supreme control of the undead and required the religious leaders to assert moral authority.
“Please ask when the bridge will be put out again,” the lead envoy, a pale, bookish man named Mr. Linus, asked the interpreter. He fidgeted as he asked the question and had been required to increase his volume to be heard over the growing conversation of the crowd. The interpreter rattled off some Spanish and the leaders looked at one another in confusion. He repeated the question and they grew agitated. Finally one of them answered.
“They say it was burned,” the interpreter said.
“Oh dear,” the envoy said.
“We need a new one right now,” the envoy said to the interpreter, who passed the message on.
The religious leaders nodded and conferred with one another. They didn’t actually head the day-to-day operations of the city and weren’t sure who was in charge of the bridge. Preferring not to look ignorant, they simply agreed to take care of it as soon as possible.
“Now, please?” the envoy asked. Sara, had she been there, would have told them instead of asking. Mr. Linus was a gentler negotiator than Sara. After the interpreter passed the message, the leaders exchanged more words and some uncomfortable glances. Finally, one of them shuffled off in the direction of the lake. Linus sensed their hesitation and wasn’t pleased, but felt he had no leverage at present. He might have to bring over Sara’s carpenters to do the job. He would let her deliver any threats if necessary.
The envoy returned to Sara and General Page and relayed all they had seen and what had transpired. She agreed that her carpenters might be better suited to the job. In the meantime, she had to figure out how to get her men into the city.
“There are still plenty of Tenochtitlan soldiers over there. They were stationed around us at all times,” Linus told Sara.
“How many?” Sara asked.
“I couldn’t tell you,” he replied.
“We need to get into that city. It looks bad that I’m still here. We can’t go in half-cocked, though, or I’ll end up like the king.” She chewed her lip, thinking. “We need boats, lots of them.”
“There were plenty of boats over there, but we’ll have to commandeer them,” the envoy suggested absentmindedly.
“Fine, that’s what we’ll do. Send carpenters to begin on the bridge and in the meantime we’ll use boats,” Sara said.
“I know a man who may tell us what defenses are still in the city,” General Page said.
“Bring him here,” Sara said.
Commander Quintana studied the so-called queen, the “great” northerner who had defeated him in Gleeson. He wasn’t impressed. She looked vulgar and low-bred. He did not respect her.
100 A.Z. (Book 2): Tenochtitlan Page 16
