Undead Genesis: Zombie (5 page)

“When the son’s spirit is released we must
send him to be with his ancestors as well. We cannot leave him to
wander the forest forever alone.”

“When we are done with him we should deliver
his dissected body to his own tribe. I will not give him the rest
you think he deserves.”

“It is good for his spirit you are not the
one making the decision then.”

The shaman continued with the instruction.
“There is still a lot of work to do. The first step is to secure
the body as tightly as possible as we did with his father. We do
not want him to get loose and start attacking. We must be prepared
to feed him so I have sent out men to find squirrels and rats. A
blindfold will keep him calm, as well as that…”

The old man pointed to a bottle on the
opposite side of the hut. “Bring me the green bottle.”

Marik walked over to get it and brought it to
the shaman.

“This is made from crushing the root of the
monrath plant and collecting its juices. You will apply it in small
doses to his food. One drop will keep him calm for many hours. It
would cause you or me to sleep like the dead for a day, but will
only keep him from straining to kill you whenever you get
close.”

“Are you ready to do your part Marik,” the
shaman asked. “I need a great deal of blood.”

“Yes,” the boy answered simply.

The shaman produced a narrow pale tube made
from a bamboo stem. “Sit over here with your arm fully inside this
tube. You must keep your arm inside until there is enough blood. I
will tell you when.”

Marik placed his arm inside the hollow tube.
He winced as the shaman expertly placed the metal knife up near the
bend in his arm and blood started to swiftly flow down towards his
hand.

The old man watched patiently from his chair.
After a few minutes he went to stand behind the boy to steady his
wobbling body. The bamboo tube swiftly filled, and when there was
enough the shaman carefully staunched the flow before removing
Marik’s now bloody arm.

“Now is a good time to get some sleep,” Tanis
said, knowing the boy was weak and had a long night ahead. He
helped Marik over to a simple blanket on the floor where he quickly
dozed.

The old man mixed a portion of the blood with
the other ingredients he had been concocting and continued the
preparation for the afternoon’s activity while Marik slept.

~ Chapter
XIII ~

Marik struggled to see everything that was
happening. The shaman was moving quickly around the dead body which
was now bound to the floor at the wrists, ankles, knees, elbows,
neck and waist. He was occasionally dipping fingers from one hand
into a bowl he carried in the other hand, and drawing strange
symbols on the body with Marik’s blood.

It seemed like every time Marik moved where
he could see, the shrunken figure in front of him moved directly
into his way. When the boy tried to ask questions, the shaman
ignored him. He had been warned to stay out of the way, but was
frustrated at not being able to see what was happening.

“How am I supposed to take over after you
when you won’t show me or tell me anything,” Marik asked under his
breath as he gave up and sat down irritably.

The shaman seemed to have finished his
application and stood over the body, straddling the chest with his
legs, facing the head. He continuously bent at the waist, and then
straightened up again with arms over his head, as if he were
fanning someone with a large leaf. He was chanting something Marik
could not understand, slowly increasing in volume with each passing
moment.

Marik started to feel something strange, but
he could not easily describe the sensation. Pressure started
building in his ears, but it was building from the inside, as if
air were being forced out from the inside of his skull. The life
force sustaining his body was being pulled from inside him and he
started to feel faint.

The shaman had a different bowl now and
brought a flame which had appeared from the tips of his fingers
towards it. The dark liquid within caught fire with a dull blue
flame and a stinging deep black smoke drifted in all
directions.

Tanis put both hands on the chest of the dead
man and pushed down hard. His chanting reached a crescendo as he
pressed. Suddenly he stood straight up. The smoke meandering around
the hut gathered into a steady swirling stream which was being
sucked into the corpse. The air itself seemed to be losing
substance and power.

When it seemed to Marik there was nothing
left to breathe and the chest of the man chained to the floor was
filled to bursting, an overwhelming exhalation of foulness escaped
from the body. All at once the air inside the hut returned and
Marik found himself once again able to breathe.

The man’s blindfolded head snapped upwards
and he struggled mightily against the bonds holding him down. The
struggling form was inhuman with uncontrollable convulsions.
Muscles bulged with monstrous effort.

Its lips peeled back and bright teeth lunged
towards the shaman. Tanis quickly jumped out of reach, just
avoiding a bite. The teeth came together like a handclap, and then
the jaws worked repeatedly, opening and closing violently as the
head tried desperately to stretch closer to the old man on a
straining neck. The body moaned loudly with unsatisfied
longing.

Marik stood stunned.

“The food,” the shaman said loudly to be
heard over the noise. “Bring it to me.”

Marik snapped awake. He pulled strips of meat
from a squirrel caught earlier in the day out of a bag and brought
it to the shaman. The old man produced the green bottle Marik had
seen earlier from one of the pockets in his pouch. He opened the
bottle and pulled out a long twig from within. He carefully placed
a drop of the liquid onto a strip of the meat, and then lowered it
towards the snapping jaws.

Once the teeth had a grip on the meat they
ripped it from the old man’s hand and whipped it from side to side.
It was pulled into the mouth and there ground relentlessly between
the teeth until there was nothing left to chew.

It did not take long before the contents from
the bottle took effect and the man on the floor stopped struggling.
The creature continued panting and wheezing from the exertion for a
time, but eventually that stopped as well and he lay there
calmly.

~ Chapter
XIV ~

Many days passed. Marik had started to refer
to the mad man as ‘the monster.’ The shaman referred to is as ‘the
undead’ or ‘Jombi,’ which was the traditional name. In reality, as
long as the monster was drugged he was much like a pet. Each day
Marik was responsible for feeding it twice a day. At each meal the
monster was heavily sedated and could safely be controlled for a
few hours.

The shaman had shown Marik how to take it out
of the hut. A bamboo pole longer than Marik was tall with two loops
on either end was used for safety. The pole was strong, yet
surprisingly light. One loop would be wrapped securely around the
monster’s neck, and the other around Marik’s wrist. Even if Marik
had fallen while the monster was attempting to reach him, it could
not have gotten close enough. Though the rest of the tribe gave
them a wide berth, Marik was surprised how submissive it was when
taken outside while heavily drugged.

He took the creature down to the river each
day. It willingly went wherever directed, including into the water.
This was a much better alternative than attempting to wash it off
by hand.

The monster walked as if its joints were
heavily wrapped in tight cloth. It had very poor balance and would
not lift its legs when going over a root or branch. Sometimes,
after falling to the ground, it would prefer to crawl rather than
get back on its feet to walk. It seemed to be completely oblivious
of the world. Marik did not know if this had to do with the strong
sedative running through its body, or if it would be this awkward
without the drug.

The shaman continued to instruct Marik. “In
the next few days the flies will hatch from their cocoons. We will
leave them in the hut with the Jombi.”

Marik was concerned. “The flies must escape
back into the forest for my father’s spirit to be released,” he
argued.

“No,” said the old man. “These first bonsai
flies will have the spirit of the dead enemy’s father, not of the
son who continues to bind your father here. The warrior’s spirit,
that of our enemy, has already strengthened our tribe with its
sacrifice. Only when the evil essence of the son is released will
your father’s spirit be avenged. I had a dream last night. There is
something I am not considering, but not everything is clear. We
must protect ourselves. We must be careful.”

“It is not enough,” Marik replied.

“Not enough?”

“No, their tribe must also suffer. They were
responsible to my father’s death. They raised this man to be a
monster.”

“That is not possible. They have given us the
one responsible for your father’s death. If we retaliate we will
then be murderers, and we will have to pay the price with our own
lives.”

“I will go myself. I will take their lives
for the life of my father. If I am caught, I will be giving my own
life, no one else’s.”

“You must not,” said the shaman. “You have a
place here. You have a destiny. Do not let your thirst for revenge
affect your judgment.”

The shaman stood up and the two walked toward
the hut.

“Feed him one last time. We will not go back
inside until after the full moon. By that time the larvae should be
done with him and new pupae will have emerged.”

Marik and the shaman went into the hut. The
undead had not been sedated since morning and was aggressive. The
shaman added the sedative to the raw squirrel meat and soon after
eating the hostility subsided. The body lay on the floor demurely,
its jaws grinding, its chest slowly rising and falling, but
otherwise deeply relaxed.

They verified the bindings were tight, and
added additional constraints around the shoulders and thighs. Each
double checked the interior walls to be sure there were no gaps
between the leaves.

Lastly, the shaman placed the unopened wooden
box on the chest of the Jombi where it rose and fell with each
breath it took. The old man had already verified the flies had
hatched and were active inside. When the creature struggled once
the drug wore off it would cause the box to fall and the lid to
open.

The two backed out of the hut. They fixed new
large leaves over the door, and then inspected the outside for gaps
as well. When all was complete the shaman built a fire once again
outside the door.

The two spent their days and nights there
next to the fire listening to the moans and growls emanating
continuously from the hut. The old man instructed the younger on
the secrets and rituals of his trade. Hours were spent discussing
the various worlds and man’s place in those worlds according to the
tribe’s history. The rest of the community left them alone. The
life of a shaman in the tribe was a lonely one.

Often Marik brought up his need for revenge
and the two argued. In all other things the boy acquiesced to the
knowledge of the man, but he did not agree with letting the enemy
get away with the murder of his father. The rage he felt when he
dreamed about it at night blinded all other thought. In his mind it
was not a desire for retaliation, but a need for justice. Being
told he was wrong only made him more confident in his hate-driven
dreams where his father pleaded with him for release.

~ Chapter XV
~

Marik had made his decision the night before
and had not been able to sleep. As dawn approached, he stared up at
the many bottles, weapons and other strange things he could not
identify while the shaman slept soundly on the other side of his
hut. Outside, a light rain fell steadily which had driven them
inside many hours ago.

The previous evening Marik had not had to
wait long for the drug from the green bottle to take effect on his
unsuspecting instructor, and the old man still slept soundly.

Earlier he had discovered and killed one of
the common large spiders hiding under his sleeping mat. This was
not unusual. The spiders were a regular source of food within the
tribe and each night a couple of them could be found roasting in
the various fires. They could also inflict tremendously painful and
dangerous bites, so removing them from the community whenever they
wandered in was imperative.

The boy got off of his cot and snuck quietly
over to the table. After skewering the spider on a long stick, he
snatched up the green bottle and applied a drop of its contents. He
turned around to leave and jumped when he noticed the shaman’s eyes
were open. Tanis was leaning over with obvious effort and was
speaking softly. Marik could see his eyes were glazed through half
closed lids.

“No… can’t get out... must stop.”

The shaman slumped back, once again asleep.
Marik moved quickly out of the hut without paying heed to the
warning. He had been listening to the old man for weeks and knew
his thoughts on the matter.

“He would not have needed to be drugged if he
just agreed with me,” Marik thought to himself.

The full moon was to occur in two days. Tanis
had estimated the pupae would emerge around then and form their
cocoons.

As he approached Marik could hear the moaning
coming from inside the hut. He removed the heavy outer leaves from
the door and opened it. The odor hit him like a club. It assailed
him to the point where he could not move forward. He took a step
back and heaved his last meal into the wet smoking fire pit.

After a few minutes of bearing the stench he
felt he could make another attempt. He was eventually able to enter
the hut. The low moans had become roars as the monster sensed his
presence. Marik could not see, but he could hear the jaws snapping
together and the bindings creak as the starving crazed beast
attempted to reach him.