Humanity's Death: A Zombie Epic (22 page)

“Its artillery shells! Somebody is aiming right
at us!” Vice shouted into Duras’s ear as Ice Man and Rhino hoisted
the branch up just enough for Vice to pull Duras free. He helped
Duras to his feet.

“Where is it coming from?” Duras asked, his
consciousness returning in a blaze of pain.

“Somewhere over there!” Vice said pointing int
eh general direction where the City of God was.

Duras stared around; zombies were everywhere;
like beacons sent from hell, their dead eyes glowed bright white in
the dreadful darkness.

Duras didn't see any sign of Okona and had no
idea the Militia existed. He only knew that something horrible had
crept up on them and rained furious hell.

Vice stepped in and brought Duras out of his fog
of uncertainty. “I suggest we try and circle around and flank em!
Lets get the fuck out of here!” More shells erupted into the hoard
as Duras and and his company ran through the trees, slaying dead
men as they went.

“
We’re
earning it today boys! Holy fuck!” Vice said as he and Duras
stopped and stood back to back and fought off a small horde of 6
zombies. In front of them, Ice Man and Rhino stood over the bodies
they had slayed holding their swords high in victory. They were
shouting:
Bring it on! Bring it on! Bring it on!

The shells were now behind them, but still
blasting hard against the earth.

The dead thinned out as they moved swiftly
through dark, shadowy trees. The trees towered in the darkness. A
cool wind blew and swirled the rotting flesh in a swirl of decaying
stench. Above the trees, darkness towered in dark clouds of black
smoke.

Artillery shells continued to explode as Duras
followed behind Vice. Their boots dug in the wet earth; damp air
filled their lungs. Their hearts beat at the same rhythm, and a
look of vigilant rage covered their faces. Darkness surrounded
them, but at that moment, they were a unstoppable phalanx, a rising
glory of determination.

The world may fall around them; they may hang on
a by a mere thread, the world gone to shit. But they marched on and
fought for glory, for the world’s ending, for lost love; while
marching through the fog of war, Duras, Vice, Rhino, and Ice Man
were the four horsemen of the apocalypse.

4

Tony Piper
clunked artillery shells into the launcher. BAM! Another one
inserted. BAM!
Clunk
. BAM! Tony
worked like a mad man. His arms moved, his legs bent, but his mind
felt only the mad exhilaration of the White Mist. The white powder
wasn’t meth. Nope. Something new, exotic, and more powerful. Tony
heard it all came from the Mountain King. All praise the Mountain
King. Creator of White Mist, that mystical powder, so fine, so soft
as it enters the nostrils.

Tony keeps clunking the shells as his mind
dances with raging obedience. Tony was no stranger to drugs before
the Fever. Meth, coke, heroin, he loved it all. On his knuckles
he’d tattooed ADDICT, each letter on a separate knuckle. Drugs
purified Tony. Least that’s how Tony saw it. Drugs freed him from
the norms of mainstream society. Tony new the truth. A truth the
Mainstream didn’t want to accept. All their hopes and dreams. All
lies. An illusion. “My drugs free my mind and body.” He often said.
Once he’d taken a dog into the woods and stabbed it to death after
smoking a few bowls of some fine Crystal. He'd lured Mr. Buttons
out of his elderly neighbor's yard. Mr. Buttons was a neighborhood
favorite. Mr. Buttons was part of the Mainstream. He’d let the
dying dog lick his hand as it bled out, then he stabbed Mr. Buttons
for the final time, directly into his eyes. Tony's cock was rock as
hard the whole time. When Tony was twelve he took another
neighbor's cat and hung it out in the woods and watched the
creature gasp its last breath. The cat was part of the
Mainstream.

Tony felt lucky. Since the shit hit the fans,
life was good.

Clunk
!
BAM!
Clunk
!
BAM!

Around Tony was Larry Burnett, Gary Mather, and
Todd Snout. Insane goons, jacked up on White Mist.

Tony stopped
dropping rounds and cracked his back. He felt a grotesque beauty
only he understood.
He was special
.
Just like his momma always sai—

The first bullet flew by Tony’s head and
shredded Larry's face.

Tony looked out into the darkness, his eyes wide
with—

(Fear?)

(Regret?)

Tony saw something moving out of the shadows. It
wasn’t zombies, it was the faces of warriors; the whites of their
teeth shining like beacons of destruction; a hot stream of urine
streamed down Tony's inner thigh.

5

Duras charged from the woods, into a circular
clearing, and saw the fear in the boy’s eyes. 18? 19? Didn’t
matter. The blade of his bat’leth caved into the Tony's chest;
darts of blood to splattered. The boy fell to his knees, Duras
press his foot onto his chest, and ripped the blade free.

A couple of feet away, Vice gutted the last man
standing with a thrust of his blade.

Then it was quiet. They stood their breathing
deeply. A cold moon shined a bar of light on Duras’ face. His eyes
were wide and he breathed heavily, but comfortably.

Mary Jane
.

“Mary Jane! We have to get back!”

“Calm down, lets think this through for a
minute.” Vice said.

“Lets hope like hell these boys aren’t organized
into something larger.” Rhino grunted.

Duras collected his emotions, then said “Some
red neck militia, may be? Look at this patch.” The same patch Candy
had found was sewn on to the sleeve of the dead solider. “Bet the
bastards love this world. My god. How did they know we were
here?”

“Somebody at camp probably told them. Had to of.
They caught us on the move and flanked us hard.” Vice said.

“You’re right. A coincidence is never this
precise.” Duras said.

“What now?” Rhino asked.

“If they are part of a bigger group, then the
town is probably under attack.” Vice said.

“Lets go stealthily. Might be more out here.”
Duras said.

6

Okona almost didn't believe his eyes; the voice came
out of the painting. His wife's voice. His dead wife. He saw her
standing on the painted rope bridge. But it wasn't painted anymore.
It was real. The painting had somehow come to life before his eyes
and there she stood, waving for him to step closer...
closer...then—

He was in the painting. Somehow he really was;
she stood right in front of him.

“Hello my love. Did you miss me?”

“What? How can this be?”

She reached up and touched his face. He felt her
hand caress his cheek.

“Its you. Its really you.” He said.

“Who else would it be?”

“But you're dead. I saw it happen.” Tears
streamed down his cheeks. His voice quivered. “I-I-Sa-Saw you DIE!”
He fell to his knees and held her around the waist, burying his
face into her stomach.

“Stand up. We don't have much time.”

“Time? Time for what?” He stood up, his face red
and teary.

“Time for you to make a mends with Tommy. There
are bigger problems. Neither of you can do it alone.”

“What? I don't understand! Tommy? Tommy
Morrow?”

“Yes. The Old World is gone, along with all the
problems and petty disputes it held. This is too serious to hold on
to those old hatreds. You must help him. You must make him see and
understand. There are people that need your help.”

“Who? Why is this happening? How are you
standing here? How am I standing here?”

“Shhhhhh.” She put her finger to his lips. “All
in time. Your questions will have their answers. All in good time.
Now go. Go and help Tommy.”

“
I don't
under
—
“

But she was gone. He stood staring at the
painting. Just a painting. His wife was no longer standing on the
rope bridge; he felt a firm hand take him by his arm and twist him
around.

“Are you deaf! Do you fucking hear that! Its a
goddamn battle zone over there!” Tasha's eyes were wide and
alert.

“Tommy needs our help.”

She looked at him bewildered. “What the hell are
you talking about?”

“Tomm—Duras. He needs our help.”

“And I need a hot shower! Let him fry! I say we
head north into the Outer Banks and hide out for a while.”

“No. I have to find him and make him see.”

She stood
looking at him. Okona knew she probably though he'd lost his mind.
But what he just experienced was no dream. He knew that. It was
real. He had to find Duras and fast. He had to know why his wife
appeared to him. Who needs help? What is the bigger issue? The
words of Fox Mulder came to mind:
the truth is out there
.

Okona intended to find it.

7

Duras moved carefully, keeping an eye, ear, and nose
out for zombies and militia men. Mary Jane continued to interrupt
his thoughts. He now knew he loved her; there was no doubt left. He
was scared; scared because he might lose her.

Then the screams came. The howls of dying men,
women, and children. Up ahead, he saw rising flames; his city was
burning.

The screams continued to scratch against the
night like finger nails on a chalk board. Him, Vice, Rhino, and Ice
Man crept closer to town and hunkered down and behind a few wrecked
cars. Duras saw the shadows of Militia soldiers moving through the
streets. He could smell the death. The blood. The pain. His people
were dying. Mary Jane was dying.

“Jesus.” Vice said as he stared through a small
pair of binoculars. “This is bad.”

“Don’t state the obvious. How do we fix it?”
Duras said, trying his best to keep his wits.

“Don’t know if we can, Duras. We migh—”

“No!” Duras said in a forced whisper. “We take
the town back!”

“How the hell are we gonna do that? We got
hardly any ammo. Those guys are packing serious shit down there.
And they look crazed as hell. We're out gunned and out manned.”

“Fuck!”

“We have to wait it out and hope for the best.
Its all we can do!” Vice put his hand on Duras’ knee. “Its all we
can do, boss.”

“Back to the woods? We can watch everyone die
from safety and comfort.”

A mean glare crossed Vice’s face, “Don’t think I
want to save Mary Ann? Uh? Hey! I like her just as much as you like
Mary Jane. But we can’t save them!”

“You’re a fucking coward!”

“If you go out there, you’ll die. Duras,
don’t…”

“What about you two? Don’t look away! You gonna
let all those people die?”

“It’s better than a fucking suicide mission!”
Ice Man said. His normally beautiful blonde hair was now mashed
down in clumps of sweat, dirt, and blood.

Duras stared out at the city. He slumped against
the car and put his face into his palms. “Just tell me one thing.
How the fuck did this happen?”

Chapter Nine: Rusty Ray and the Seekers

1
One Week Earlier.

A Christian tune played on a battery operated CD
player.

Don’t hide from Truth

Don’t hide from His Grace

You’re not a stranger

Your best friend was born in a manger

Guitar
chords played and the head of Rusty Ray moved with rhythmic motion
as he pulled out a pair of blue latex gloves from a red box. They
came out like thick gummy tissues. He pulled them on with a
skillful
snap
. He wore a
blue surgical coat, one he’d taken from the Horry County Hospital,
along with the rest of his equipment. He walked over to a surgical
table. He smiled down at a middle aged man, who screamed and
pleaded through a gag; the man's face was white as a
ghost.

Rusty Ray shook his head back and forth and said
with a comforting tone, “Don’t worry, Holiness is calling. His Love
has chosen you for the sacrifice.”

Rusty walked over, grabbed a surgical mask and a
Plexiglas eye protector from a long metal table. He stood in front
of a mirror and fastened them both with pride. He smiled under the
mask. He walked back to the steel table and lifted it up to an
incline position.

The song continued:

Don’t let doubt cause a stumble

Don’t fall from Grace

Everyone feels up against sin’s wall

His love never changes

Show faith Holy Grace

He took a
pair of scissors with long and sharp blades with large finger
holes. “My daddy always said,
Rusty Ray
, you gotta be strong to use these. Daddy, God rest your
soul. I’ve grown up and my fingers are nice and strong.”

A bright
light shined down from above and the man on the gurney, tied and
gagged, let out a shrill of pain as Rusty Ray slid the scissor
blades into warm gut; it sliced in like it was going into butter.
“Stay still now. Only take a minute.” Rusty
snipped
up through the bundle of nerves at the
solar plexus and into the beefy weave of muscle and tendon above
it.

The dying
man’s blood streamed, dripped, and plopped into a collection basin
at the foot of the surgical bed.
The blade cut into the sternum; the man gargled
blood. Rusty cut down hard with a heavy
crunch
, and the man’s rib cage tore open like flesh
wings.
Snip
-CRUNCH,
snip
-CRUNCH,
snip
-CRUNCH—the
bones split and the muscles sheared; the lungs freed and Rusty Ray
started in on the trachea.

His love never ending

graceful Hope for all

saves the beggars and the bankers