The Dishonored Dead (19 page)

The helicopter banked to the right, its shadow below them lengthening along the sand.

“Is everyone aware of that? You men, do you know just how special this man here is? He’s the one we should be thanking. He’s the one that has brought us all the way to this point.”

Besides Michael and Kevin, Conrad didn’t recognize any of the other Hunters. They were all young and he had to assume they were rookies fresh from Artemis, their faces stolid, their eyes dark and dead.

“I do want to apologize, Conrad. I’ll admit I always resented you. But what Hunter hasn’t? I mean, really, your old man being the world’s greatest Hunter, and then having to fill in those shoes and managing to do a pretty good job … well, I just don’t see why we can’t be friends again.”

The helicopter streaked across the desert, one hundred and ninety-nine other choppers trailing behind. They were approaching a large ridge of scraggly gray rock, and the co-pilot shouted back to them that they would arrive in one minute.

“What do you say?” Philip said, sitting right beside him, and like they were already buddies he placed an arm around Conrad’s shoulders. “Do you want to be friends again?”

“I didn’t know we were friends before.”

The co-pilot shouted, “Forty-five seconds!”

“Of course we were friends.”

The chopper crested the ridge and there it was before them, the entrance into Heaven, guarded now by over five hundred Special Police.

“Thirty seconds!”

“That’s why you’re here now, Conrad. Because we’re friends. Because we always were friends and because we’ll always be friends. Times are changing, and eventually I’ll be the one in charge. And I don’t know about you, but I think it pays to have friends in high places.”

“Fifteen seconds!”

The chopper began to dip. It was aimed toward the scattering of policemen, toward the slit in the earth that looked just like any other opening into a cave.

His arm still around Conrad, Philip leaned in close. “Let me tell you something else about friends. They don’t keep secrets from each other.”

“Ten seconds!”

The chopper was getting closer and closer to the desert floor, sending up tornadoes of sand.
 

“Know what I mean? Secrets destroy friendships.”

“Five seconds!”

The policemen began to advance toward that slit in the earth.

“You don’t want to do anything to destroy our friendship, Conrad. Do you?”

There was a jerk as the chopper landed, and at once the arm disappeared from around Conrad’s shoulders. Philip was up and out of his seat, already reaching for his broadsword, and he looked back once at the Hunters—
his
Hunters—and shouted, “This is for freedom!”

A roar exploded from the Hunters, a roar almost as loud as the rotor blades. His broadsword in hand, Philip ducked his head and jumped out of the chopper. He was followed by Michael, followed by Kevin, followed by the rest.

Conrad got to his feet. He realized his legs were shaking, and he had to force himself to duck his head and jump out of the chopper too.

Sand was everywhere, swirling about, and gunshots and grenade explosions were coming from that slit in the earth. More and more helicopters were landing, others having already crested the ridge and hurrying toward them.

The helicopter that had brought them began to lift off. It rose in the air, its rotor blades roaring, blocking out the sun and leaving Conrad momentarily in darkness.

Chapter 25

“Well?”

“Well what?”

“What was the first thing you saw?”

“What was that playing when I came in?”

“It was Duke Ellington.”

“Why did you turn it off?”

“Because right now I don’t want there to be any distractions. Now please, what was the first thing you saw?”

“You had no right to have me to do this, you know. I don’t even know why I’m sitting here right now. I should be heading home. It’s my son’s animation day today, and his party starts in two hours.”

“Then the sooner you start, the sooner you may leave. Conrad, please look at me.”

“What is it you want to know again?”

“When you entered Heaven, what was the first thing you saw?”

He saw darkness
at first, having just entered the slit in the earth. He ran with his broadsword in hand, Hunters in front of him, Hunters behind him.

But there was light at the end of the tunnel, not too far away. He heard the shouting of cracked and withered voices, obviously those belonging to the dead, but he also heard the shouting and screaming of the living.

There was gunfire, explosions, screams, more gunfire and explosions. As he got closer to the light, he looked around and saw bodies on the ground, both those of the living and dead. They were all motionless, the dead having been shot in the head, the living having been first shot and then decapitated by the trailing Hunters. Their unnatural blood was soaking into the ground, splashed on the stone walls.

Then he was out of the tunnel and the light was bright and he had to stop for a moment to take it all in. It wasn’t just a small cavern he’d entered, one that could hide a handful of the living. The cavern was gigantic. The ceiling was at least two hundred feet above his head, and up there were large lights shining down, their combined brightness almost as intense as the sun’s.

But that wasn’t all. The cavern was at least two hundred feet high, yes, but its width was double that, and its length … Conrad couldn’t see just how far it went on. It dipped down into the earth, no doubt intersecting with other tunnels leading into other large caverns.

And what would be in those caverns? Well, no doubt what was in this very room right here. Houses—actual houses—had been built along both walls of the cavern. They were primitive, nothing more than one-story huts made out of wood and stone. But they had doors and windows and roofs, and out of some windows laundry was hanging, out of others the barrels of assault rifles were right now being fired.

“So the living
were attempting to defend themselves.”

“You could say that.”

“They weren’t doing well?”

“Better than we expected.”

Judging by the
majority of the bodies he passed on his way out of the tunnel, the living that had been stationed at the entrance had quickly been slaughtered. They’d had weapons which they’d no doubt used, but which they’d used in vain. The dead policemen had come in with their own guns blazing, taking out as many living as they could. They had already been instructed that they were not to shoot to kill, but rather to shoot to disarm. It was the Hunters’ job to do the killing, and killing they did.

But one thing had been overlooked: Hunters almost never encountered adult zombies. Nearly every zombie a Hunter hunted down and killed was a child. But now adult zombies were all there were, and they were faster than children, stronger, even smarter.

Everything was happening so fast Conrad didn’t think he could keep up. But he wasn’t the only Hunter who was shocked by this new discovery; other Hunters were looking around as well, their dead eyes wide, their mouths hanging open. Some were so distracted they were taken out by the living, hiding up on the roofs and in the windows of those one-story huts. One Hunter standing right beside Conrad had his head explode, bits of his dead brain and decaying skin tissue spraying everywhere.

Conrad ducked. More gunfire sounded out, more explosions, more screaming. He looked around frantic, searching for barrels peeking out of windows, but most of the policemen were firing back. Some entered the houses shooting, a few others climbed up onto roofs, jumping from one hut to the next.

So many Hunters were squeezing through that slit, fighting to get through, Conrad didn’t have any time to pause. He was pushed forward, into the Hunters in front of him. A few times he tripped over his own feet; other times he tripped over dead zombie bodies on the ground. Each time though he managed to keep his balance and continue on, but like many of the Hunters, there wasn’t much for them to do.

“There wasn’t?”

“No.”

“Why not?”

Because the Special
Police was doing a good deal of the killing, that’s why. They weren’t supposed to—they had been explained their purpose here, after all—but this was a historic event, one that would become legend, and many of the policemen wanted to be a part of that.
 

So maybe that explained why some of the Hunters started attacking the policemen too. When a policeman killed a zombie, a Hunter would give orders to back off. Either the policeman ignored the Hunter and went about his duty, or the policeman said something back. Either way, Conrad had witnessed more than one Hunter take his sword to one of his fellow dead, decapitating the head from the body just like the policeman was another living. Sometimes a few of the policemen close by would attempt to defend their fellow officers.

But the number of Special Police and Hunters pausing in their killing to confront each other was small. The rest were intent on the task at hand, and like all professionals that had trained for this very moment, they did that task well.

Smoke in the air, broadswords dripping blood, more and more of the living were screaming. Conrad didn’t understand why exactly until he’d gone deeper into the cavern. Passing those stone and wood huts, passing the bleeding and dead bodies of the living, it became clear the living’s strategy in this slaughter.
 

“What strategy?”

“They knew from the start they had no chance. So they put the men at the front with weapons to try to take out as many of the Special Police and Hunters as possible. The women and children were pushed to the very back of Heaven, into those interconnecting tunnels. Some men were there too with weapons, but by the time we reached them, they didn’t put up much of a fight. And then …”

It was a
Hunter’s dream: all those defenseless living women and children, all huddled together for a protection that would never come. They had no choice but to stand helpless, crying and screaming, until either a policeman fired into them or a Hunter walked over with his blood-dripping broadsword raised.

Conrad by that point hadn’t killed anything. He’d only been in Heaven now five minutes, maybe less, and most of that time he’d just been caught up in the stream of Hunters hurrying forward. He’d been instructed by Norman to watch everything because he was to report back, and that’s what he did: he watched as much as he could, examining the huts and the other buildings, some of which were two-stories. Not only that, there were also animals running around—actual
living
animals. And plants, all kinds of trees and bushes and flowers, and other plants he knew which produced fruits and vegetables.

A voice rose up among the shouting and the screaming and the gunfire, a heavy and authoritative voice.

“Conrad!” this voice shouted. “Conrad, where are you?”

He looked behind him. More unmasked Hunters were heading his way. Many had climbed up onto the roofs of the huts along with the policemen, and they were jumping from one hut to the next, whooping and hollering. Others had sheathed their broadswords and taken up the assault rifles the murdered living had dropped, using bullets instead of their blades to fell those still alive.

“Where is Conrad?” That voice getting even closer. “Has anybody seen Conrad?”

Some living dogs were running around, barking and yapping at the policemen and Hunters. They were mostly ignored until some started biting, and then they were killed instantly.

“There you are! Conrad, look what I have for you.”

Philip approached, fighting through the Hunters streaming past him. He was pulling something after him, something that Conrad couldn’t make out.

“I figured since we’re friends and all,” Philip shouted, “I would bring you a present.”

“Why did you
stop?”

“You don’t want to know what happened next.”

“Of course I don’t. But I have no choice. Now tell me what happened.”

Philip had brought
him a living child no older than five years old. He dragged it by its arm as it screamed and hollered and tried to twist away.

“Look at him, Conrad. He’s pissed himself. And he hasn’t stopped crying. He’s been screaming like this ever since I grabbed him.”

The child had its free hand in its mouth. Its face was screwed up and covered in tears.

“So this is my present to you. I see your broadsword hasn’t yet tasted blood. What’s wrong, Conrad? Aren’t you enjoying yourself?”

Conrad didn’t answer.

Philip jerked the child off its feet, tossed it at the ground in front of Conrad.

“Kill him.”

All around Conrad people screamed and shouted; gunshots went off again and again.

“Kill him now.”

Conrad stared down at the child. His hand tightened around the handle of his broadsword. And before he knew it he began to raise it up above his head.

“You didn’t kill
the boy, did you?”

“What do you think?”

“I …”

“Look at me, Gabriel. Look me in the eye. What do you think I did?”

“I think you …”

“Yes?”

“I think you killed him.”

“That’s right. I killed him like I killed every other zombie before him.”

“I don’t believe you.”

“That doesn’t matter. Because my broadsword tasted blood. It tasted a lot of blood. In fact, I was covered in it. Everyone was. The ground was soaking it up by the time we left.”

“Stop. Stop right now.”

“After that boy, I couldn’t stop killing. I lost count after twenty. Men, women, children—I killed them all.”

“Please, no more.”