Empire Of The Undead (24 page)

With blood-smeared faces and hands, they rose slowly. Former centurions, they were big men with armor and helmets. Their eyes gleamed with pale light. They reeked of carnage, of danger. Two of them lurched around him while the third came straight for him. The alchemist tried to suppress his panic as he realized what was happening. They were flanking him!

Zuste did not much feel like Mars anymore. He took several steps back, breathing deeply, and switched the
pilum
in his hand so that the sharp end faced his foes. It was meant to be thrown, but he liked the length of it. He wouldn’t have to get too close.

He was aware of the two stumbling through the edge of pine forest, trying to get around to him, but the threat directly before him was more immediate.

The alchemist screamed and ran at the thing, holding the
pilum
with both hands as he charged. He aimed the spear at the bloody-handed monster’s neck, just above the cuirass.

He didn’t miss by much, but he struck it in the armor. The impact knocked the lifeless back a few steps, but it bent the soft iron tip as well. His weapon was useless.

The two lifeless from his side were coming at him now, slowly shambling at him from his left and his right. Zuste screamed at them wordlessly. His left hand dropped into his trouser pockets and his right hand whipped out the gladius from his side.

Spinning, not sure where to attack first, he withdrew the vial and held the blade before him.

Inspiration struck, but it was too late. The creatures reached him, bloody hands extended. Zuste whipped his blade across, slicing at their hands. The blade struck bone and stopped. The hilt was pulled from his hand as the monster wrenched away. The first of the lifeless reached him as well, mouth open and hands grasping with hunger. Zuste was surrounded, and he could feel them tearing at his head, at his shoulders, at his waist. One still had his sword lodged in its arm, but that didn’t seem to bother it.

Zuste punched one in the nose with all the force he could muster. It didn’t notice—merely opened its mouth with a hungry moan. There was too much weight pulling at him, and he found himself on the ground. On his side, awkwardly, as he had twisted to avoid landing fully on his pack. His left hand still clenched the vial, but curing one of these monsters would not save him from the other two.

There was a mouth in his face. It was coated in congealing blood and the teeth were dotted with rotting chunks of flesh. Even through his panic and fear, Zuste’s eyes watered from the stench.

One of the things bit into his arm, and the pain of the dull teeth was immensely unbearable. He screamed and could feel another grasping his skull. He realized that he might be making the last decision of his life.

The lifeless on his shoulder bit again, hot blood spurting across its face. With his rapidly numbing hand, Zuste uncorked his elixir vitae and swallowed it.
If this works, I’m the greatest genius of my time
, he thought wryly. He felt an energy flow through him and a font of health seemed to fill him.

With sudden strength, he tore away from the bloody things, stood up, and faced them. He drew his second blade as they stumbled up after him, and acting on the impulse that had come to him too late, removed the other elixir and coated his blade in it.

The lifeless were before him, vexed still to be fighting when they’d rather be eating. The former soldiers were too well protected by their armor for him to think of another strike at their chest or heads.

Instead, he dropped low, slashing at their legs, at their fleshy calves. He sliced shallowly, trying to avoid bone. His blade hit and the flesh sizzled. The big lifeless he’d hit stared stupidly, more stupidly than usual perhaps, and collapsed.

The other two were trying to flank him again, but this time the alchemist was too fast. He coated his blade twice more, and twice more it flew out, stabbing until the creatures fell.

He chuckled deeply.
Were I not here to see this
, he thought,
I would be highly dubious of it have ever happened.

Zuste sat down at the side of the road and checked his vials. That took some time. Two of them had burst, and one was showing cracks, but the rest were safe. That was a relief beyond all reliefs. Only after he had carefully placed them all in his pack again, with the wool surrounding it, did he look to his shoulder.

The wound was revolting. The drying blood mixed with the dust of the road. He cleansed it with some of his elixir vitae, and then with some fortified wine. Then he tore a long piece from his shirt and tied it around his shoulder, as tight as he could. It took some time to do, as it was an awkward angle.

A shadow suddenly blocked the sun. He looked up to see a centurion looming over him. His heart raced as he realized his blade was not at hand.

“Saluton, friend. Could you tell us what has happened?” the lead soldier asked uncertainly. Behind him, the other two were squatting in the grass, their bowels evacuating. “We have lost the events of days.”  Zuste looked up at him, his breath catching. He had pupils. They were men again!

"It's simple," the alchemist said. "I am enough of a genius to cure you, and enough of a fool to try to save Rome."

"Rome," the centurion echoed uncertainly.

CHAPTER XXVI

Italy: 89 CE, Spring

“I cannot do it,” Felix said dully. He stared vacantly at the broad road, surrounded by burnt fields and hard earth. They had left Rome three weeks ago and already forty men who had left the city with them breathed no more. It was still too muddy to use the chariots, but the
aurigae
were growing better at riding horses.

Winter had ended and the year of the Consulship of Augustus and Nerva had begun. The
Libereralia
was over, but it had been a cruel jest this year. A holiday meant to celebrate freedom from evil, burdens, and care, was sadly difficult to honor, and not that they would have had much time to celebrate.

“Kill her,” Rufus commanded again. The blonde girl stared up at them with wide-eyed fear. She could have been no older than six.

“Senator, she is alive,” Felix said. He could not keep the shock from his voice.

“Her parents are dead. She will be one of
them
before the morrow.”

“Yet, she still lives,” Felix said. His hand moved away from his sword. Bodies were scattered around them—some had been human, but most had been lifeless. All were bloody messes.

“For now. Would you rather wait until she became one of them?”  The girl was ever so slightly, backing away down the road.

“Yes, I would. I am not in the habit of killing children.”

“You are in the habit of doing what I say. I am your
dominus
.”

Felix stepped toward the girl, trying to hide his reluctance.

“What you do is a technicality. She’ll be meat for the monsters tonight.”

“We can bring her with us.”  He drew his blade, knowing the futility of his argument. They were a small, quick-moving military force, and there was no role for children. The Senator was right.

The girl screamed at the sight of the blade and turned to run. Felix caught her within three steps, plunging his sword through her back and into her heart. Her small body fell quivering to the cracked ground. “It’s all right,” Felix said to the gasping girl as he withdrew his blade. “It’s all right. Nothing can hurt you now.”

She coughed, and blood bubbled from her mouth. The light in her eyes slowly died. Felix slowly wiped his sword on her body, feeling a sadness he had not known he was capable of.   Hers was just another body among so many others.

“If I ever,” Felix snarled, storming past the Senator. “If I ever find out that this was created, as the Emperor suspects, woe to the men involved. I will kill them all.”

The Senator lifted an eyebrow. “There is no room for children in this world.”

Felix marched back to the horses, only belatedly realizing that the Senator’s words had been aimed at him. He clenched his fists and sighed, and then looked to his mounts. These, at least, he understood. The horses were noble beasts that seemed to stay above the sordid world humans constantly slogged through. Felix felt himself shaking, though he knew not if from anger or shame.

Hyacinthus stepped carefully toward Felix, who continued to comb his horses. For all his usefulness, the man could not abide the sight of blood and he always hung back during battles. He had used the war fire three more times, but as of yet, they'd only met small groups of the lifeless.

“I saw what happened,” he said. “Felix, war isn't easy. Life isn't easy. But you—"

“What do you know?” Felix snapped. “It wasn’t you out there. It’s never you out there.”  He stopped, realizing he was not being reasonable. “Apologies. This adversity grows beyond my ability to cope.”

Hyacinthus nodded slowly. “I suspect it's only going to get worse.”

“Worse?  I don’t see how that’s possible.”

“He’s right,” said the Senator, approaching both of them from behind. A horse whinnied at him in recognition.

“He’s right,” he said again, more softly this time, “it will be much worse.”

Felix looked to the two men. His hands stopped moving on the horse. “What do you mean?  What are you talking about?”

“Felix, we’ve been fighting these monsters for three weeks now,” Rufus said. “We have barely managed to move a day's ride outside Rome. Take a look around,” he instructed. “We’ve burnt the crops, destroyed the homes of people, and yet, we lose men we cannot spare.”

“There are more arriving,” Felix said.

“Yes, the Praetorian Guard should arrive here soon. If Domitian keeps his word—which is no sure thing. His paranoia knows no bounds, but should they arrive, they are no long term solution. In time, they too will die. There are too many lifeless, and every day they grow. They grow while we lessen.”

“There is a logical solution,” Hyacinthus put in, “but it is too dreadful to be of any practical use.”

“What?” cried Felix. He thought he knew what was coming, now. Perhaps he had known all along, but he still needed to hear it said.

‘“The lifeless prey on the living,” Rufus said. “As long as there are people who are alive and cannot defend themselves, we cannot defeat them.”

“No,” Felix said. He didn’t want to hear it said after all.

“We will have to kill all the people who are still alive. Once they are dead, we can finish killing the lifeless,” the Senator said. “That’s why the Praetorians are coming. They will aid us.”

“Why not evacuate them?  Move them to someplace safe?” Felix asked.

“Where?  Nowhere is safe,” the Senator said. “Nowhere. It just takes one of those creatures and an entire city is lost.”

“Rome hasn’t been lost yet.”

“Felix,” Hyacinthus said admonishingly, “Domitian burnt half the city and has the other constantly on patrol.”

“You know that to be true,” added Rufus. “The races have been cancelled. The gladiatorial games too. Even the Emperor is not feasting as he once did. Rome relies on the grain of Egypt. With the ports closed, food grows scarce.”

"Why do you make me lead," Felix asked suddenly. "The other men are veterans, and they know I am ill-equipped for the task. They don’t respect me, and rightfully so. I’m not a warrior, nor have I led men, Senator.”

“You’re a killer, and that’s close enough," Gaius Rufus replied. He must have seen the look on Felix's face, for he added: “Do you know why I have you lead?  Because I trust you. You belong to me, and you have a habit of making good decisions. Most importantly, we need a little luck on our side, Felix.”

Felix stared out to the horizon, doubting the truth of his own luck. There were thousands of people out there. People who dared not leave their homes for fear of the lifeless, and now something worse was coming. A legion of humanity. A legion of death.

****

The days grew warmer and longer as spring began to bloom, but no blossoms budded—no trees sprang forward with green leaves. It was a time of blood, smoke, and death. The numbers of lifeless grew ever more, despite the vast quantities that had already been killed and burnt. Domitian’s Praetorians arrived—big burly Celts and Germans, with great two-handed swords.

They had taken to burning alive most of whom they found. At first, Felix had been adamant to kill the living as humanely as possible, but there wasn’t time. Their horses were constantly lathered from rough riding, and the tide of walking dead pushed ever more adamantly toward Rome. That could not happen, because that city was too vulnerable, had too many people to allow even one of the walking dead into the city.

So, they butchered men, women, and children—burning them alive or riding them down. After a while, Felix stopped paying attention to whether or not they were lifeless. He told himself that all were enemies of Rome, witting or no. Gritting his teeth, he killed everyone. He was far from the best fighter in the forces, but the other
aurigae
looked up to him, and he found himself gaining a mantle of leadership.

Spring rains had caused great amounts of mud, which mixed from the ashes of the burnt crops and towns. The already-exhausted horses really struggled, and Felix’s chariot was strapped to a wagon. Overhead, the grey sky gleamed damply.

Felix found Hyacinthus at the campfire. The big man smiled at him sadly. “It’s very fitting that we are so close to Tarentum,” he said.

“Why?” asked Felix. He sat down next to his friend and grabbed some roasted rabbit. There was no food but what they could catch.

“You’ve not read your Dionysius of Halicarnassus then?” Hyacinthus asked.

“Not for some time.”

“Not since I insisted upon it, when you were but a boy. You are not alone. Few people have time to read anymore. Not with so many other things to distract them.”

“What happened?” Felix asked.

“This was many years ago, three hundred years or more. After Rome was founded, but before she had really become herself.”

Several of the other men at the cook fire took notice of the Greek’s speech.

“Tarentum then was a Greek colony, and the Greeks were the power of the day. A proper civilization, mind you. Not this copy you see here.”

“You Greeks always remind us of that,” one of Praetorians interjected. “I guess we need to remind you that we won.”

“You Latins always need reminding. The world is always changing,” Hyacinthus said. “Anyway, Rome had just destroyed the Samnites, and was in the process of defeating the last great power—the Etruscans. Tarentum knew that they were doomed, unless they did something.”

Hyacinthus paused, taking a great bit of the meat before him and chewing slowly. It began to drizzle, and the fire smoked angrily in protest. He continued, his mouth enunciating around the food.

“But the Greeks were a culture of wisdom, of learning. They knew little of fighting, and did not wish to drag themselves a fight that was not theirs. So they did the intelligent thing.”

“They negotiated?” Felix asked. If he’d heard this story before, it was lost in the recesses of his mind.

“Even better,” the Greek said, “they hired someone to do their fighting for them.”

“Ah,” said a swarthy Praetorian, “King Pyrrhus.”

“Indeed,” Hyacinthus said. “Pyrrhus was king of the strongest of the Greek colonies at that time—Epirus.”

“I’ve never heard of it,” a German soldier said.

“Of course not,” Hyacinthus said. “This was three-hundred years ago. The world changes!  Think you that Rome will still be here in three centuries?”

“Rome is eternal,” Felix said, a little shocked. The rain was coming down harder now, and some of the soldiers were erecting a cover to shield them from the worst of the downpour.

“Then what are we doing out here?  And even if the Empire survives the lifeless, it won’t last forever,” Hyacinthus said. “But that’s not immediate."  They moved under the cover as the rain started falling in cold hard balls of ice. The weather seemed an appropriate accompaniment to Hyacinthus' regretful tone.

"The Romans sent their legions against the Greek phalanx. It was, by all accounts, a very close thing. The legions were strong, though they could not break the phalanx, but for all its strength, the phalanx was used for defense and could not overrun the opposing army. They might have battled for days, but Pyrrhus had another weapon. It was late in the day when he sent his war elephants into the fray. None of the Romans had ever seen such a thing, and they were routed.”

Hyacinthus was silent for several long moments. “Accounts differ about how many died on each side. Rome lost the battle, but Epirus had fewer men and had suffered grave losses. Suffice to say, Pyrrhus was recorded by Livy as saying, ‘If we are victorious in one more battle with the Romans, we shall be utterly ruined.’"

The big man rose and walked away into the rain. He disappeared almost immediately into the gathering darkness.

“Well, bugger that. Greeks just don’t like to admit when they’ve lost,” said the swarthy Praetorian, and the soldiers began to laugh. A German produced some dice and the gambling commenced. Felix did not join them—he never won at dice. His name did not, it seemed, apply to games of chance.

Felix sat beside them, not at all listening to their banter. Hyacinthus was right, as always. These victories were ruining them, ruining him. What good was saving Rome if it came at the cost of slaughtered children?  There had to be another way. That or perhaps the Eternal City deserved to die.

A trumpet sounded an alarm. The sentries were banging their swords on their shields.

Felix leapt to his feet, thoughts replaced with instinctive action. Someone was attacking the camp.