Zombified (Episode 2): Yankee Heights (13 page)
He must have been lost in thought, oblivious for a brief moment, because Matty didn't hear anything before the fingernails scratching on the backpack; a snarling face appeared at his shoulder, moldy teeth gnawing at the straps.
Matty spun away, turning to face the muncher, and found himself surrounded and backed into a corner. Zombies staggered up the hill and stumbled through the woods, gurgling and growling. Some of them charged up the sloping, rocky ground from the direction of Joey's house. They were closing in fast and Matty had nowhere to go except through them.
He raised the pistol and took aim at what must have been a beautiful, middle-aged woman. She opened her mouth to howl, but the bullet stopped the sound; the back of her head blew out, spraying thick hunks of brain on the tree behind her.
Matty switched aim and fired again, blasting the jaw and right ear from the head of an old timer with a handlebar moustache. As the sights fixed on one zombie after another, Matty noticed the little things that marked an individual: the style of hair, the bushiness of eyebrows, the shape of hips—but in death, none of those quirks made any difference. He pulled the trigger: a red-haired teenager lost his head.
Runners were on him, grasping and lunging; Matty stepped to the side and drew the machete. He kicked one of them down and blasted another in the back of the head, ejecting its eyeballs onto the leafy ground.
Matty swung the machete down, hacking through the forehead and into the neck of a zombie. The blade was stuck; he tugged and lifted a foot to kick the body free, but another muncher was there, biting at the arm holding the machete. Matty released the handle, yanking his arm back, and raised the gun: BANG! The chomping zombie staggered back, forehead oozing black goop.
Two more took its place and grabbed Matty's arms. He tore free and backed away, but his heel caught on a stone surrounding the firepit and he went down, landing on his back. The gunshots were attracting more of them. Matty was lying next to the cold embers, a circle of snarling and drooling undead surging forward. He fired a few more shots and then looked at the gun, watching the wisps of smoke curl up.
"Life is a vapor," he whispered. Matty turned the gun and placed the barrel to his temple. "It appears for a short time and then fades away." His hand scraped ashes from the fire and he held them; his finger squeezed the trigger, easing back to complete the last action of Matty's life. Undead faces swam into view above his head, mouths agape; wretched, rotting hands reached down and grabbed his clothes.
BANG!
He gasped. There was no tunnel of light, and the zombies were still there. BANG! One of the munchers fell away from his vision, hitting the ground nearby. More shots rang out and more zombies collapsed, blood spraying and coloring the stones. Matty heard shouting… the voice reached his ears, pulling his awareness back to reality and away from the resignation of death.
"Matty!" Joey yelled; he was close. "Talk to me, man!"
And then he was there, sword in one hand and Glock in the other. Matty took aim at the zombies around him, firing the last few rounds, and sat up. Between Joey and Matty, a knot of zombies shifted their attention to the new arrivals. Hank stood a pace behind his son, shotgun in hand.
Joey shoved the pistol into his belt and took up the sword in both hands. He brought it down and then up in a rapid, smooth motion; the blade carved through the torso and skull of the zombie: the ribcage burst open, hardened organs and heavy guts splashing out. Hank unloaded: BANG,
ka-chik
, BANG,
ka-chik
…
The munchers were down quickly. Matty sat, staring at the ground, torn in the storm of despair and relief. On his temple, Matty still felt the pressure of the gun; his hand still clutched the cold remains of fire.
I should be dead
. He opened his hand and looked at the ash.
Am I dead?
"How'd you know it was me up here?" he asked Joey.
"I was on the roof playing lookout."
Matty nodded absently; his limbs were slack and numb.
Joey grabbed Matty's arms and hoisted him up.
"On your feet, bro." Joey wrapped him in a bear hug. "I knew you'd make it."
AUTHOR'S NOTE
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Stay tuned for "Zombified, Episode 3: Garden Harbor". In this final episode, the survivors are headed to Timmons National Guard base, hoping to find a fortified and supplied refuge. Along the way, they are pushed to the limits of human endurance and have no idea of the terrifying scenario waiting for them at the end.
There are no appendices in this episode. The main narrative is longer than the first episode, and the fate of minor characters not as interesting or important. There is, however, a little bonus at the end. Read on!
FANGED
Bodies lay strewn about the village. Fires burned on the walls and roofs of cottages, shooting sparks into the overcast night sky. Togar, sitting atop a chestnut stallion, rode slowly through the settlement. Beside him, mounted on a sea-gray mare, his mate, Chey, kept pace; her feral green eyes swept back and forth, searching restlessly.
He is here somewhere
, Togar thought.
I know
, Chey replied;
but he is not alone
.
They dismounted before the village hall, a wide structure built from a stone foundation and whole timbers. Bronze doors were shut fast and dull light glowed beneath the door and from the narrow windows.
Togar met his mate's eyes. Chey nodded.
He drew a great sword of gleaming steel; the blade bore ornate scrollwork of knotted lines and sharp angles and polished silver strands wound about the crosspiece. It was nearly the height of a common man, but Togar towered above many men.
His heavy chain mail shifted but made little noise as he climbed the broad steps, sword held upright at this side. Nothing stirred outside and no noise came from the hall.
Be careful, Togar
. Chey's thoughts were troubled.
I feel him. He may be waiting for you. Remember: we need him alive
.
Togar nodded over his shoulder. He stepped onto the porch in front of the doors and reached out a hand, pressing on the bronze gate: it moved inward easily.
It is unlocked
. Togar stepped back and tightened the grip on his sword.
Chey, the door is open. He knows
—
"There is a reason we always escape you," a deep voice spoke, filling the air with a dull chill. "Your methods never change. You never adapt."
Togar whirled around with the blade raised above his head. His eyes widened and lips curled up in a snarl. "Release her!"
"You are in no position to give me orders."
Chey was bent back, her hands clutching at the arm wrapped about her throat. She gasped for air; veins bulged at her neck and temple.
He was shorter than Togar—shorter even than Chey. His muscled arms and stocky build marked him as a northerner, but the smiling face betrayed his true nature: sharp fangs akin to a serpent's teeth unfolded from the roof of his mouth, gleaming in the firelit night.
"Release her!" Togar commanded.
"Or what? Will you ssshow me mercy?" His forked tongue flicked out, stroking Chey's neck. He purred. "Oh, ssshe tassstes delectable. Is ssshe a fine mate? Does ssshe please you, mighty knight?"
Togar stalked forward. "You will die today. Release her and it will be painless."
He laughed then; it was a sibilant, hissing sound that raised bumps on Togar's arms and legs. "Look closssely at the dead lying about your feet. Notisss anything… unusssual?" His tongue caressed Chey's neck.
Togar glanced at the body of a peasant woman, her eyes staring off into oblivion. He nudged the corpse with a toe, exposing the woman's neck: she had been bitten. Two holes marked where the fangs had penetrated.
Moving quickly, Togar checked other villagers and found the same marks on their neck. There must have been a hundred or more dead that they had seen on the ride toward the bronze doors of the hall.
"Yesssss," the fanged man whispered. "All mine… all ready to take my plassse." He met Togar's eyes. "Ssslay me… give them life, mighty knight."
Togar
, Chey's thought filled the knight's mind;
he must be taken alive. Even if he kills me, you cannot destroy him
.
Swift as a striking asp, the man bit into Chey's neck; his pupils dilated and elongated, becoming the slits of a serpent. Her emerald eyes snapped open and then slowly slid shut; her struggling limbs twitched and went limp.
"No!" Togar charged forward, a bead of sticky tears dribbling over his high cheekbones.
The fanged man thrust her lifeless body forward. Togar dropped his sword and caught Chey in his arms. "My love," he murmured into her soft silvery hair. "I failed you… yet again. Forgive me."
Powerful hands seized Togar's neck, lifting the mighty knight from the ground. Chey slid from his arms; he gasped and clutched at the fanged man's forearm.
"Ssso sssentimental," he rasped. "You were never worthy." His arm whipped to the side, hurling Togar into the wooden wall of a village hut. The burly warrior smashed through the wall and landed on a heavy oaken table inside the squat building.
"I have waited to tassste… waited ssso long," the slithery voice proclaimed.
Inside the hut, Togar struggled to his feet, rubbing at the tender muscles of his neck. He watched the monster crouch down and cradle Chey's head. Togar staggered out of the collapsed building as the fanged mouth clamped down on her throat, gurgling and sucking the blood from her veins.
"Get away from her!" Togar sprinted, fists balled, and crashed into the creature. They sprawled to the ground, but the monster sprang to his feet; blood ran down the corners of his mouth. He grinned.
"Her power isss mine, mighty knight. Sssoon I will add yoursss."
Togar swung his massive fists upward, but the fanged monster dodged aside in a blur of movement. The knight was struck in the jaw and thrown down, spots swirling in his vision: the blow carried the force of a hammer.
"Get up!" He lifted Togar by the neck, a malicious glee filling his serpentine eyes. "I am not mersssiful, knight." He pulled Togar close, staring into his eyes. "Your death will be long and painful."
Togar
, Chey's voice echoed in the knight's mind.
Dropping Togar to the ground, the fanged man clutched at his temples and shrieked. "Out of my head, witch!"
Take up your sword
. Togar crawled to the weapon and wrapped his big hand about the handle. The silver threads around the crosspiece shimmered and faint lines twirled up the edges of the blade.
I cannot hold him long, my love
.
Then I will not take long
. Togar stood and straightened to his full height, towering over the creature. The fanged man was twisting and thrashing, tearing out clumps of his hair while hissing and spitting.
Togar raised the blade.
You cannot kill him, my love
. Her voice soothed Togar's boiling rage. He felt the faint brush of her lips against his cheek.
It must end here
.
"Yesss… you cannot kill me," the hoarse voice mocked. "It mussst end here." His lips split in a wide grin, the fangs unfurling and dripping. "My love."
Togar brought the great sword over his head and stepped forward to hew the monster in two. The creature moved aside—as Togar expected—and the knight twisted his body, turning and twirling the blade in a semi-circle. There was a flash of silvery light and the sound of shearing flesh.
The fanged man grunted, staring at Togar in horror.
"Your kind is also predictable." The knight raised the bloodied blade. "Always you dodge to the right."
Sliding from the mid-section, the creature's body separated into halves and flopped to the ground. Thick, syrupy blood bubbled and oozed out of the severed torso.
Togar knelt by Chey and slid his muscled arms under her back and thighs. He lifted her from the ground and whistled for his horse. It did not answer; it did not come.
Among the dead villagers, arms and legs began to move. One by one, they returned to life and struggled to stand. In unison, they turned and stared at Togar.
Their eyes were not the eyes of men, but the slit eyes of a serpent.
Faint at first, a hissing sound rose from their throats. Forked tongues tasted the air. They moved together, flowing like the coils of a snake around its prey; they surrounded the knight and his fallen lady.
Togar knelt and laid Chey's body at his feet. He picked up the great sword; honey-thick blood rolled from the tip.
"Come then," he growled.
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