Pyramid of the Dead: A Zombie Novel

The Pyramid of the Dead

By

John McCuaig

1-
Surrounded

The year 1532,
deep in
the heart of the Inca Empire,
in what is now called Peru-

As he got to the small jungle clearing
,
not far from where he was born,
Minco
ground to a halt
. Enough was enough.
Dropping
down
onto
one
knee,
he gulped
the
hot,
humid air
as the
p
ounding deep in his chest
felt
as if
h
is heart
was
ready to burst
.
It had
long
become clear
that
he
could n
ever
outrun them,
for
they were everywhere
.
So
here,
it would
have to
be. H
e had to make a stand
and this
little open spot, near his
ancestral
home
was
as good as
anywhere was
.
Closing his
eyes,
h
e whispered a
nother
prayer to his Gods for
their
help in
the forthcoming
battle.
He hoped they would answer.

The
trees
rustled
as the
first of the
undead
soldiers
approached
and
Minco’s
eyes
snapp
ed
o
pen
.
Although he thought it would be
impossible
,
his heart
now
raced faster.
This was
it;
t
hey were here
. Th
e Ukhu Pacha, the army of the
un
dead were
here,
head
ing
right for
him
, and t
hey were coming
from all directions.

Quickly,
h
is hand went in a
nd out of the leather bag tied around his waist
and h
e lined
up
the
sharp
sto
nes for his
slingshot in front of his knee
.
He then c
arefully
placed his
trusty
bronze-head
axe and jagged
edged golden
truncheon in
close
touching distance, ready to be grabbed
when
he
needed
them
.
The
slingshot
was soon spinning
high
around his head.

Just
at that
moment,
one
of the undead
soldiers
appeared
to his left
,
breaking
through the
heavy
tree line
before
halting
.
M
oan
s of
delight
flowed
from its
evil
mouth
as it saw its
long sought
prey
waiting
ahead
. Its g
rey
, lifeless
eyes locked
on
to Minco
,
and then
it
began
shuffling
towards
him
.

It did
n
o
t get far.

A
flying stone smacked
into
the forehead of
the beast that
was
once a
man,
once a member of Minco’s
own tribe.
However
,
n
o
t one
single
drop of
blood appeared
at the
gaping
wound
,
for
nothing
flowed
anymore
in
side
its
dead and
withered
veins.
The beast
started to
rock slightly
from side to side
until
w
ithout a
further
sound
,
i
t fell backwards and ceased
moving
.

Minco
managed a little smile as he
thanked
the
Gods for keeping his aim
strong and
true
. Th
is
brave
warrior was ready for battle,
ready for what lay ahead.
At least
h
e
thought he
was
u
ntil he saw
the rest of
his foes
appear
.
T
wo dozen
more of this
army
from hell
burst through the
heavy
foliage
that surrounded him
and raced towards their target
.
As they got closer, Minco
saw that the
only
color
s on their ashen faces were
the
dried
bloodstains
spread
around
their mouths. They
may
well
have
fed recently, but they were still hungry
for more
and
Minco knew
only too well
that
t
heir hunger
for flesh
w
ould never be satisfied.

Stones fired off in all directions
as the Incan
warrior
tried
his best
to keep them back
,
but
it was
a
hopeless
cause
.
There were just too many
and
in
only a few
short
seconds
the
hordes
were
right
upon him. Dropping the slingshot and g
rabbing his close combat weapons
, Minco
sprung up
,
dodging
and
weaving from
the
myriad of
grabbing hands
and snapping jaws
.
As he fought
toe to toe
with
the beasts
,
he looked deep
into the eyes of his attackers
,
but
could
only
see his own reflection co
me rushing back.
Skulls
cracked
open
and split
wide
as he
se
t to work
with his
faithful
tools
, his years of training serving him well
.

Then
his luck changed.
One of his weapons would not budge from its prize. Even after pulling with all of his might
,
the bronze axe stayed
tight and
firm.
It
was imbedded
deep
in
the
head
of one of his
lumbering
foes
and p
utrid
,
dark
liquid oozed along the
wooden
handle
and
onto his hand.
He had
no
other
choice;
he had
to leave it
in its new home
. H
e had to keep moving
,
as
th
os
e
deadly
hands were getting closer
.

He was down to
just
a
solitary weapon but
the
number of the beast
s
that surrounded him, wanting a
taste
of
his flesh
still grew
.
He fought bravely but
already
knew that it was
now
a lost cause.
His next prayer was for the Gods
, and his ancestors,
to welcome him into heaven.

“Minco,” a
voice called
out
from
far
behind him. “Get down
!”
T
his
time it
was
n
o
t the Gods that
had
answered
his prayers
.

Turning
around
to
face
the
distant
t
ree
line,
he saw a group
of twenty
or so
Spaniards
spreading out about fifty feet away
. Francisco
Pizarro
, their
enigmatic
leader,
was
right
at the front
with his
thin
rapier
sword held
high above his head. I
t was he who
had
called out
.

“Get down
on the ground
now
,
you
damn
fool
,
”
t
he
Spaniard
shouted again.

Minco could see a line of
muskets
being
raised then
aimed
in his direction
. Quickly f
orgetting the beasts around him as he
remembered the
great
power
of those fire
sticks,
he threw himself
face down
on
to
the
damp
grass
.

BANG!

A volley of s
hots rang out.
All around him t
he birds and animals of the jungle
shrieked, shrilled, roared and howled as they
returned that
ear splitting
noise with interest.

The next sounds
that
Minco
could hear
were the
dull
thuds of
the
bodies
falling
all
around him.
T
his was quickly
followed by
pounding of
the
rapid
footsteps of charging
soldiers
.

He looked
up
just
in time to see their swords
flash
in the sun
,
as they
finish
ed
off
the remaining handful
of
the
beasts
that had
not
been
felled by those streaks
of
hot
lead.
Heads were pierced, sliced and
removed as
cold steel
defeat
ed
the cold flesh.
With
their
blood
red shirts
flapping in the
slight
breeze
and
their
polished
silver
breastplates
gleaming in the
sun, the
Spaniards
were
for the first time,
a
welcome
and timely
sight.
E
ven considering
the
deep-rooted
hatred that
Minco
ha
d
for
them
,
ever
since he
f
irst laid eyes on them
.