Zombie Jesus (10 page)

              Jesus marveled aloud that the wound on his arm did not cause him pain, though the talon punctures in his chest did. Horus said only that the wounds in his chest were the mark of the Sun, his rite of passage to return to this world. As for the rest, the hawk spoke into his mind at it squawked, you are still yet fully returned to life, and an undead messiah you yet remain. Perhaps the book will yield the answers you seek, said Horus, the prophets died to bring it to you and it holds the power of their sacrifice.

              In moments the water of the pool crackled with blue lightning, and a shape was beginning to emerge from within. Jesus looked once more at the two Calaveras, then cranked the motorcycle’s engine and kicked it to life. The giant burst forth from the pool, and for the first time Jesus could see what it actually was. The giant was a massively sized kachina, and as it stood it reached nearly fifty feet tall. Its eye burned with a blue light as lighting arched all around it, as it the being generated a static electricity field.

              Horus took flight from the handlebars and flew into the canyon, quickly followed by Jesus astride Death’s motorcycle. The kachina giant emitted an otherworldly roar as it stepped from the pool in pursuit. Jesus risked a glance backwards and saw that a second kachina giant had joined the first, and a third was in the process of pushing itself upwards from the pool.

The hawk that was Horus flew much faster than Jesus thought possible, and even with his motorcycle he was hard pressed to keep up. He had to jink sideways to avoid running over a zombie that had attempted to grab him as he sped past, and Jesus drew the 9mm pistol that he’d taken from Cisco. He had never fired a gun before, though somehow it came naturally to him, and every time he squeezed the trigger a zombie went down with a bullet through its skull. Horus screamed a warning and Jesus laid the bike on it side just in time to avoid being smashed by the massive arm of a kachina giant that seemed to have passed right through the stone wall of the canyon.

They are not bound to flesh the way you are Son of Man, cried Horus as he flew ahead of the speeding motorcycle, the blue world has awakened and fallen gods walk the earth once more. Jesus stood the bike up as quickly as he could and hit the gas pedal a sliver of a moment before the kachina giant slammed a wooden club into the ground where he’d just been standing. As Jesus sped down the canyon he could see several other kachina giants emerging from stones and small pools. The ancient power within the land was rising.

Jesus saw a kachina giant sweep a massive claw through a small cluster of zombies, the claw passing through their bodies as if it was immaterial. Jesus saw more lighting flash as a static discharge arched upwards from each zombie and connect with the kachina giant. As he threaded his way through the valley he saw that with each lightning exchange between kachina giant and zombie victim the giants seemed to grow more vibrant, glowing blue and crackling with power.

His attention snapped into focus as a kachina giant lunged at him through a stone outcropping. Horus screeched and flew straight into the beast’s path, buying Jesus a brief moment to react. The giant was covered in fringed leather and had a blue and red painted beast face, replete with burning eyes and a wickedly toothed maw from which it bellowed loudly. He holstered the pistol and swerved to avoid its snapping jaws as it bent to devour him. Horus was caught in its jaws and a static discharge shook the walls of the canyon as the body of the hawk fell lifeless to the ground.

Jesus pulled the motorcycle around in a wide turn and brought it to a halt. He drew forth the bow and knocked a flaming arrow. Horus had nearly died to pull him from the blue world, the hawk at least seeming to have some clue as to the messiah’s purpose, only to die saving him a second time. First the prophets, and now the hawk, it seemed to Jesus that his path was laid out in blood, and it angered him that he could not see a clear purpose. So much death and suffering, and now these soul-eating giants, this death, at least, was one he could avenge. The kachina giant crouched and roared as it pounded across the canyon floor towards him. Jesus steadied his breath and aimed the weapon, then let the arrow fly.

The flaming arrow struck the giant high in the shoulder and it screamed as brilliant blue light shone from the wound. Jesus set his jaw and drew another arrow from the quiver, knocking it and firing in rapid succession. The second arrow found its mark in the giant’s chest, and it staggered in apparent pain. Zombies converged on his position, as did other kachina giants, though the messiah remained intent upon his target. He drew and fired another arrow that pierced the giant’s thigh as it lurched towards him. It drew near and opened its vast maw as it leaned down to consume him. Jesus stood his ground and fired an arrow directly into the beast’s mouth. There was an inhuman howl and the kachina giant exploded in light, leaving Jesus unscathed.

He turned quickly and felled two zombies and then slung the bow. He twisted the handlebars and hit the gas as his back tire kicked up a cloud of dust while propelling him further down the canyon. He’d felt the touch of rage when facing the giant, and he’d fought for revenge as much as he’d fought for survival. His mind buzzed with questions, and still no voice answered him. North then, he thought to himself, what more could he do? Like the father of his flesh he would ride north, and follow the star.

              He rode for hours before stopping, and made camp at the top of a small rock outcropping. With little else to occupy him he began reading the logbook that Cisco had left him. They were his own words, spoken back to him as the Gospel of Thomas, though perhaps also the Gospel of Cisco. In those few pages he found much that troubled him, and yet, he felt a certain sort of peace wash over him. There was hope in those pages, even as there was destruction and warning. His prophets had served him well to bring him this, for it rekindled a fire that had long fallen from flame to ember.

              The crack of lighting drew his attention away from the book, and he realized that dusk was looming, and the shadows had grown long. He looked out across the landscape and noticed that several small lighting storms seemed to have cropped up across the open desert. Then, as he looked closer, he could make out the shapes of the kachina giants striding towards him. Foolish, he thought to himself, to think that they would not pursue him. He was in their world, and even as it had healed him it had left a piece of itself in him, a beacon perhaps that the giants could follow. He revved the engines and hit the road.

THE RAINBOW WARRIORS

The wolf surged within her, the spirit of Fenris barely contained by her frail human form. It roared in its frustration, like a butterfly struggling to emerge from its cocoon. She could feel the electricity of its power coursing through her, threatening to tear her apart the moment she lost control of it. Gretchen relished that feeling, knowing that the wolf lay just beneath her flesh.

It had been this way for nearly six months, since the day the zombies had first begun to rise. She had been asleep when it first came upon her, the psychosis washing across her being in sleep and coming to its fullness upon waking. In the dream she saw herself standing on the edge of a jagged cliff, the mists thick and the surf crashing against the ancient stones echoing in her ears. As she watched the cloudy horizon a light rain began to fall at the same time the blazing sun burst through the clouds to create the most wondrous of rainbows.

She had wept at the sight of it, and through her tears she began to percieve the winged creatures that swam through the multi-colored light. They spoke to her, their voices at once a sing-song whisper and others a deafening battle cry. They told her that the rainbow was called Bifrost, and that it was both a particle and a wave, more than a gateway, but a membrane between the world of spirit and the world of flesh. Her mind shattered under the weight of it, and yet her soul screamed with joy as she understood. She was now one with the Aesir. She soared with the Valkyrie and fought against beautiful angels and tentacular horrors alike. Blood was on her tongue and she felt as if all that she wanted in this life was to die a glorious death while she swallowed the Sun itself.

When she awakened the wolf was in her flesh, and she knew its name to be Fenris Ulf. The Aesir had seared knowledge upon her very soul, and she remembered the secret powers of rainbows, even as her lust for battle and death overcame what shred of sanity she had left from the dreams. Gretchen, only nineteen at the time, had still been living with her family, and it was they who first fell to her psychosis. She had stood in front of her vanity mirror and painted one side of her face in a multi-colored rainbow, then had adorned herself in a random assortment of clothes, ending up with bright green fishnets from an old Halloween costume, black combat boots she’d stolen from her brother, jean cutoffs and a pink tank top.

She walked into the kitchen and taken several of the larger carving knives and mercilessly butchered her own family. In her mind she had seen only the weak and huddled herd animals that served as the meat for the winter wolf, not for a moment realizing that it was her own brother, mother, and father that fell before her blades. She was a teenager, and unskilled with knives, and it had been messy.

In the six months since she had become battle-hardened and an accomplished warrior. Now she stood on the hood of her war-car as a confident leader of fellow wolves, her long hair dyed with spray paint to mimic the Rainbow Bridge to Valhalla that she worshipped with violence. The band of twelve warriors that rode with her were just like her, in both appearance and history. All had stood before the rainbow and shattered, rising from their dreams as warriors for the Aesir, many of them like Gretchen, with wolves in their souls.

Let those who consider themselves survivors call them psychopaths, it mattered little, she thought as she looked out across the desert. Her band of warriors had begun their journey in Washington, DC and had fought and raided their way across America in the six months since the zombie outbreak. One of the secrets of the Aesir had taught her and the others was that they were shielded from the sight or hunger of the walking dead. A warrior who had stood before the rainbow and survived could stride unmolested and unnoticed by the cannibal corpses that terrorized the world. This was how they had been able to fight and raid as they pleased across the nation, plundering survivors for supplies and battling one another for sport and glory.

They had made their way to Nevada now, moving west to follow the survivor exodus from the more densely populated east. A caravan of survivors that they had been pursuing for several days had finally gone to ground. Gretchen and her warriors had, from the start, been extremely disciplined with their fuel, and as such had been very successful. They had pushed the survivors everyday, keeping up the pace of the pursuit until the survivors ran themselves dry. All that remained now was the fight, and that was what Gretchen and her people lived for.

The survivors had a sizeable caravan, and had quite shrewdly circled the vehicles to create a defensive perimeter for themselves. Her sight had become like that of a wolf’s over the last six months, her senses gradually changing from human to something more primal, and she needed no field glasses to see the snipers in position atop each of the vehicles. They had a solid firing line, and this would be a costly battle without a doubt. She looked back to her wolves and told them as much, and they growled in ascent. Gretchen had attracted other warriors during her trek across America, all of them sharing the same wolf spirit she did, a mark of distinction even among those of the rainbow. They were the children of Fenris, and she their mother and father, as the raging wolf god inside her called out to others of the breed.

At a whistle from Gretchen the warriors mounted their vehicles and revved their engines. They had been patient, and had run the survivors to ground, and now was the time for a full assault. Some warriors would die, and this was to be expected and praised, as all who died thusly would pass on and join the Aesir in their battles beyond. Within moments six vehicles, with two warriors per, rolled away from their vantage point and sped towards the survivor camp.

Gretchen’s vehicle was an old farm truck, and what it lacked in fuel efficiency and speed it made up for in brute strength. The snipers on the rooftops of the converted city bus and the mini-van that blocked her path peppered her vehicle with rounds, and still she came heedless of the danger, while the vehicle next to her veered wildly as both driver and passenger were shot to death. Her faith was absolute and her fear was non-existent, for if she died it would be in battle and that was all that mattered. The warrior in her passenger seat fired his assault rifle across the hood of the truck, the barrel protruding through the armored grille that protected had replaced the glass that had once occupied the front of the vehicle.

Her speed was as high as the vehicle could muster, which wasn’t much, though the mass of the vehicle aided by the ramming grille that was welded to the front of the truck smashed aside the mini-van that blocked their way. The truck stalled out as the mini-van rolled away from them, and both Gretchen and the warrior leapt from the vehicle. The survivors were in shock from the brutality and boldness of the frontal assault, and by the time they responded it was too late.

Gretchen cut loose with an MP5 that she had taken from the body of a fallen police officer back east, and pulped two survivors with a hail of 9mm rounds. She kept running towards her victims even though they’d fallen, passing through a mist of their blood as she reloaded. An old woman, perhaps in her sixties, raised a revolver and fired several rounds at the warrior. Gretchen threw herself against the wall of the city bus and narrowly avoided being gunned down, and squeezed the trigger of her sub-machine gun. The old woman jerked backwards as round after round perforated her body, then fell to the ground and lay still. Gretchen hit the release on her weapon and slammed home a third magazine while she surveyed the scene around her.