Undead Genesis: Zombie (2 page)

Looking at the small group of eighteen others
around him, Marik could not fully conceive the vast armies which
had gone to war in the distant past. He had been enamored with the
stories of these unimaginable wars since he was a small child. The
tribal warriors, who now easily fit in a single communal hut, had
once covered a massive area with cooking fires as far as the eye
could see.

The elders stood and walked towards the door.
Everyone else stood up to follow. Wordlessly, the tribe’s ancient
wrinkled chief pulled the leather door cover open and the warriors
filed out at a brisk jog. The old man watched them go with a
melancholy gleam in his eye as he remembered when he was physically
able enough to join the war party.

The women and children formed two groups on
either side of the door the men ran through. The women wailed and
moaned with overly exaggerated gestures. Some flailed on the ground
covering their mostly naked bodies with fine dust, while others
clutched halfheartedly at the men as they ran by, symbolically
trying to hold them back. Young boys stared in awe from behind
their mothers and imagined the day when they would be included.

As the man with the least stature in the
tribe, Marik was the final one out the door. As he exited he
glanced at his mother. She was flailing most of all, bawling a
mournful appeal to her son not to leave. Her cries rose above the
rest and tore at Marik’s heart. She had been the center of his
world for thirteen years, and he left her now to potentially give
his life in an effort to become a man. As custom dictated, Marik
ignored her clutching hands as he passed and concentrated on
keeping up with the fast moving column.

The men ran all afternoon without stopping.
The brash boasting was gone as even the young men were forced to
use each breath to fuel the overwhelming needs of their bodies. As
evening slowly overcame the light, a single dim flame in the
distance became visible and guided them unerringly towards their
destination. It became brighter as they approached until Marik
could make out the dark figure of a man holding a single staff-like
torch taller than he was.

When all of the men arrived, the man with the
torch lifted it up and brought it back down. When the staff hit the
ground, the flame immediately went out. At the same moment a single
scream in anticipation of triumph was offered by all of the men as
blackest night crashed around them.

~ Chapter IV
~

The jungle was quiet and still wet with
morning dew. This deep under the canopy the sun’s light had barely
put a dent in the blackness of night. Marik walked slowly behind
his father following in his footsteps. They moved silently from
tree to tree, using every bit of cover and deep shadow to remain
virtually undetectable from ahead. To his left and right Marik
could see others from his tribe similarly stalking forward.

Tanis, the tribe’s shaman, boldly walked
ahead of the hidden tribe members striding openly through the
jungle. The various bones, decorations, and pouches dangling from
numerous places on his body loudly clattered as he walked without
fear into a clearing ahead. The old man was slightly stooped and
extremely wrinkled. His head was completely bald and his face was
dominated by a large flat nose.

Marik could make out the dark shape of a
similarly dressed shaman from the opposing tribe already waiting
for Tanis in the clearing. He could not make out any of the
opposing tribe’s warriors, though he knew they were there waiting
on the opposite side.

The two shaman sat down together. Their heads
leaned towards each other and they talked quietly. Not a murmur
made it back to where Marik was hidden. Their discussion seemed to
last forever as Marik’s muscles soon burned from standing
motionless. He wished he could lean over and stretch his aching
back muscles, but he remained stoic as did the rest of his kinsman.
Nobody ever mentioned this uncomfortable aspect of war when
recounting the past.

The light was growing now as the sun’s
strengthening rays managed to break through the foliage in random
places.

Suddenly both shamans exploded from their
sitting positions and jumped many feet into the air. When their
feet again touched the ground they faced each other dancing,
shrieking and shaking their staffs. The accoutrements clattered so
loudly they often drowned out their voices. The two were moving
farther apart as they danced and soon Tanis neared the edge of the
clearing.

The shaman both turned towards their hidden
warriors, raised their staffs, and brought them down in unison to
the ground. This time Tanis’ staff had a flame leap up seemingly
from nowhere and the warriors on both sides of the clearing burst
into action.

The large clearing was alive with painted men
brandishing short crude clubs, long handmade spears, wooden staves
and small round shields. All were yelling challenges at each other
as loudly as they could. Marik was unprepared for the sudden charge
and followed his father a few seconds later. He was in flight when
the two groups met in the middle. He could hear the collision as
weapons landed on shields, bodies slammed into bodies, and the
challenges changed to screams.

The boy caught sight of his father in combat
with another large warrior. He hurried to catch up to the
struggling men. As he neared he raised his long fighting staff and
swung it horizontally as hard as he could towards the back of the
opposing warrior’s legs. The long stick whistled as it flew swiftly
towards the unsuspecting warrior.

When it connected the large man collapsed
with arms pin-wheeling as his knees suddenly buckled. Marik’s
father took advantage of the sudden opening and brought his club
down towards the warriors exposed temple. Had the club connected
solidly the man’s skull may have been crushed, but it was a
glancing blow and the man dropped backwards. Their opponent lay
stunned with eyes open as Marik’s father disarmed him and quickly
knotted a rope to secure the prisoner’s arms. He then shouted a
triumphant cry and started pulling the man back towards their side
of the clearing.

“Help me drag him,” Marik’s father ordered
and the young man grabbed an arm to help pull. The rest of the
battle raged around them, but for Marik it may as well have been
miles away as he struggled to pull the heavy man. He entered a deep
hole in his mind where he neither saw nor heard anything happening
around him. All he saw was the nearly unconscious man on the
ground. The thin trail of blood snaking from the man’s forehead
fascinated him.

When they neared the edge of the forest a
tremendous explosion of color came from both sides of the field.
This was the agreed upon sign the two shamans used to signal the
end of the conflict. Neither had participated beyond the charms of
courage and blessings given to the warriors while they still lay
asleep the night before. Both bands of combatants separated and
formed ranks facing each other as they backed away. Although it
seemed much longer to Marik, the battle had lasted less than five
minutes.

As he regained his own senses, the warriors
of both tribes stood yelling and gesturing towards each other as
they exhausted their unsatisfied battle lust. Marik looked around
at the remaining warriors to see if anyone was missing and noticed
a young man named Juko was not with the rest. Juko was a tall
teenager nearing manhood who had bullied Marik in the past, but he
had been respected by his elders as a hard working future leader of
the tribe.

Lying in the middle of the field were two
broken bodies lying face down. Marik was surprised to find he could
not tell if either of the two were Juko. Both bodies simply looked
limp and ruined.

As tradition demanded, the men on both sides
who were considered the heroes of the battle were called to the
front to be recognized as such by both tribes. Marik’s father
pulled up the recovering prisoner by the arms into a standing
position. He then gestured to Marik to follow him.

Marik’s father leaned down and put an arm on
his son’s shoulder. “You were just as responsible as I was for the
capture of this prisoner. I am proud of you. Join me to receive
your deserved praise.”

Marik beamed as he followed his father to the
middle of the clearing a bit ahead of the other warriors of his
tribe. The prisoner was walking now and being dragged forlornly,
without resistance. Waiting there was an elder named Birani. Marik
guessed Birani had killed one of the warriors lying in the middle
of the field. Marik also noticed a warrior from the other side step
forward to receive praises for his part in the battle.

Both sides cheered their heroes and Marik
realized they had won the battle and he had been selected as a
champion. His status as a man was firmly established and the smile
on his face threatened to split it in two. He looked back as men he
had admired his entire life celebrated exuberantly in honor of his
achievement.

Marik’s father stood straight and proud
showing off the prisoner to the cheering kinsman. His hand still
rested comfortingly on Marik’s shoulder.

A loud crack suddenly exploded above all of
the noise. The open field quickly became deathly silent. Marik had
never heard a gunshot before, nor had anyone in his tribe ever even
seen a gun. He was completely baffled when his father’s hand came
off of his shoulder. This man he respected and revered collapsed
slowly to his knees, then twisting, fell on his back to the ground.
The warrior’s eyes died as his son watched in stunned silence.

Marik looked uncomprehending at the large red
hole which now existed in the middle of his father’s chest.

~ Chapter V
~

Birani, the other champion, was first to
react. He grabbed Marik’s wrist and the rope tied to the prisoner
and started dragging them both towards the forest. Marik stumbled
along behind Birani, unable to take his eyes from the prone figure
of his father. The prisoner continued to docilely follow where led.
The other warriors quickly turned and bolted at this awesome
sorcery which had struck down a member of their tribe out of
nowhere. Even Tanis was visibly shaken and quickly backed into the
forest while casting charms of protection around his fleeing
kinsman.

Birani pulled his charges behind a large tree
and looked apprehensively back towards the field. Some of the other
braver warriors stopped as well, while many of the young men
continued to bolt. Marik walked away from the tree’s protection and
stood forlornly like a statue. He was still unable to believe his
father’s body was lying motionless within sight less than forty
feet away.

Marik noticed a scuffle at the other end of
the large field. Three warriors emerged dragging a fourth man
struggling with every ounce of strength in his body. The other
tribe’s shaman was walking ahead of the group carrying a shorter
staff unlike any they had ever seen.

The group of five stopped in the middle of
the field where the two shaman had first met. The dead warriors
from the battle lay within feet of the small group on each side.
The struggling man was pinned to the ground by the others and there
was trussed with hands and feet pulled behind him and roped
together. He continued to struggle and scream, but was going
nowhere.

Tanis stepped timidly out of his hiding spot,
wide eyed and wary. He stared into the field with a fearful mask of
a face. After a moment he visibly shuddered, as if shaking off
unseen demons, and the outward anxiety was replaced once again by
his usual confident indifference.

Tanis signaled to some of the remaining
members of the tribe to accompany him and headed out towards the
middle of the field. As Birani walked by, he clapped Marik roughly
on the shoulder.

“Come. If you are bold now you can take your
father’s place,” Birani told him before walking away towards
Tanis.

The boy was still too stunned by the day’s
events to follow boldly, but he had been trained to obey his elders
and walked forward automatically.

The shaman walked at a slow enough pace where
the others were able to catch up to him. When the group reached the
middle of the field, they stopped just shy of the enemy.

Tanis asked in a commanding voice, “what is
the meaning of this… this witchcraft?”

The other shaman spoke with a voice like the
deep rumble of the earth shaking. “One of our young men, the one
you see tied before you now, left us to see the others beyond the
forest. When he returned he brought this weapon back,” he raised
the metal staff in his hand, “and claimed he could win this battle
for us. I forbid him to bring this weapon into the field.”

He paused a moment and placed the weapon on
the ground at the feet of Tanis.

“After watching his father’s capture, this
young man disobeyed me and decided to use the new weapon to show me
its power and avenge his father. In an effort to return the
balance, I offer you the young man and his weapon. Do with them
what you will.”

Tanis eyed the weapon at his feet without
expression. “It is not enough,” he exclaimed loudly. “The life of a
young and stupid child does not make up for the loss of one of our
best warriors.”

“The weapon is yours also.”

“What good is a weapon we do not know how to
use? I would rather have a sturdy staff,” Tanis spat.

The other shaman looked up sadly and said,
“then do what you must. We are your dogs until balance is
restored.”

Tanis replied, “I must meet with my tribe. I
will send a man to you with our answer. Please leave now.”

The other tribe turned and slumped with heads
down towards their side of the field leaving the young man tied
behind them. When they had disappeared into the think foliage,
Tanis picked up the long rifle. He held it as he would a staff with
the end of the barrel stuck down into the dirt near his feet.