Lord of the Dead Read online

“What are we going to do about Chuck?” Travis asked.

  It all rushed back to me then. The excitement of meeting Jason had obscured the fact that Chuck was lying dead in the basement. I turned to see Travis standing in the doorway to the room. His expression seemed just as lost and haunted as I suspected mine looked. Only now, I had this new crazy thing to factor in: the reality that my dreams came true and that strange, emaciated boys who wander like the dead, are real.

  “We’ll wrap him up and take him back,” I said. “He deserves a decent burial.”

  That was it-cut and dry. You’d think we’d be in greater distress over the loss of one of our compatriots, and in truth, we were, but the apocalypse doesn’t allow for a lot of sentimentality. Sentimentality can cost even more lives. It truly sucked to have that part of humanity stripped away, but facts are facts, and survival was at the top of the priority list with sentimentality ranked at a perpetual eleven on a ten-point priority list.

  “And what about the supplies?” he asked.

  “We’ll take what we can get and send back a couple of teams to get the rest.”

  “And what about him?” He pointed to Jason.

  Brandon crowded into the doorway. “Yeah, what the hell are we doing with him?”

  “We’ll take him back, too.”

  “He looks half dead,” Brandon said. “How do we know he’s not infected?”

  “He’s not,” I replied.

  “How do you know?”

  “I know.”

  “Did you check him over?”

  “I didn’t need to.”

  “Okay, that’s enough of this bullshit,” Brandon said as he crossed the room to me. “I don’t know if you’re playing the psychic connection or some other voodoo, but you’re going to tell us how you know this boy, or I’m going to open a can of whoop-ass on you.”

  Despite the fact that I had nearly five inches and forty pounds on him, Brandon could put on quite a show. While I knew his ferocity could carry him a few rounds, in the end, he wouldn’t finish on top. Not that it would ever come to that.

  “I didn’t tell too many people, but I’ve been having these recurring dreams,” I said, turning back to Jason. “One of them is about him,” I pointed toward Jason, “and what happened outside today.”

  “You mean a vision?” Travis said stepping up just behind Brandon.

  “I hesitate to call them that, but Greg thinks they might be. Kara said they could be prophecy. I don’t think they’re anything like that. Maybe I’m just losing it.”

  “Do you think they’re from God?” Travis asked. “My great grandma said she had visions.”

  “I wouldn’t put much credence into them,” I said.

  “Well, there’s already a book of Joel in the Bible, so you can’t go with that,” Brandon said.

  “This is serious,” Travis said with some heat in his tone. “Joel’s visions could be important.”

  “Visions as in plural?” Brandon asked. “You’ve had more than one of these?”

  “How do you know about my dreams? I asked Travis.

  He looked away from my stare and said, “Kara told me about them.”

  “So, Joel the Prophet, what’s your other vision?” Brandon asked.

  “It’s nothing.” I could feel the heat rise to my cheeks.

  “It doesn’t sound like nothing,” Brandon said moving closer to me, and it was his turn to get hot. “I mean, you dream about a half-dead boy stumbling out of the woods, and that comes true. What other wonders from the visions of the Great Joel,” he put air quotes around this title, “are in store for us?”

  “Why don’t you just drop it?” I said, my voice rising in volume.

  “No,” he said with equal intensity, “if you’re keyed into the future through some pipeline with God, I think we need to know what’s in store for us.”

  “What have you seen that you’re afraid to tell us about?” Travis asked, but any anger had left his voice.

  I was quiet for about twenty seconds, letting my emotions spool down. “This boy coming out of the woods is the first one that has come true. That doesn’t mean anything else I’ve seen will come true, too.” I didn’t tell them about my vision of seeing zombies in the sanctuary in the church.

  “But what else have you seen?” Brandon asked.

  I didn’t know how to begin telling them I knew we were going to be attacked by a great mob of zombies and some person or force would be leading them. Or that our fences would be breached and they would get in and get at us.

  “Something’s going to happen,” I said, “but I don’t know when for sure, but we’re going to be attacked at The Manor by a horde of zombies. Someone is helping them, and they get inside the buildings. It’s not good.”

  “Great. Why can’t you have a vision that we find a magical cave with an endless supply of cheeseburgers and French fries? And hot water.” Brandon paced away from me. “No, you’ve got to dream of a zombie horde coming down on us. Thanks, Joel.”

  “It’s not like Netflix. I don’t pick my visions on demand. They just sort of come on me.”

  That’s when I felt a gentle squeeze on my wrist, and I turned to see Jason looking up at me.

  Russell moved among the houses as stealthily as he could. There were enemies around, and they were deadly.

  As food got harder and harder to find, Russell stretched his foraging perimeter wider and wider. His latest foray ended in a house near one of the city’s parks. He rummaged around in the kitchen when he heard a rumble in the distance. He walked from the kitchen as the noise got louder with whatever was closing on his location. It took him a few moments, but its deep yet raspy, mechanical resonance became frighteningly familiar.

  It was the telltale rumble of the bus. At first, his pulse accelerated like a jackhammer, and he felt sweat spring up all over his body. His legs wanted to move but also fought against the motion as they locked at the knees, effectively freezing him in place.

  A voice inside told him that they had found him and this time, he wouldn’t get away, but a rational voice overrode that panicked irrational one, telling him that they had no idea he was there. Still, he crouched down and out of view until he heard the bus pass, that voice of fear holding him in place.

  It took all the courage he could muster, but he finally rose and peeked out the living room window. He watched as the bus drove up to the park just a hundred feet away, hopped over the curb, and drove a few feet into the grass. He knew who and what was on board, but this time he saw that the passengers weren’t just the undead. There were live humans on board, too. People other than the man he had come to refer to as the Lord of the Dead.

  Were they pawns like the woman he had brought to the house? Were they hostages? Were they food for the zombies?

  The bus stopped, and the Lord of the Dead climbed out, followed by three men and a woman. These extra people all wore yellow plastic collars much like the one the woman wore who the Lord of the Dead had brought to the house. While the Lord of the Dead strode confidently along, their movements seemed tentative and reserved, like that of frightened pets.

  The Lord of the Dead barked some orders that Russell couldn’t make out, and two of the men moved around to the back of the bus. They proceeded to open the back door and pulled out a long metal loading ramp. The Lord of the Dead came around with them, and the two men moved out of the way.

  Up until now, Russell had been too frightened to move, but his nerves calmed as he saw that none of the people looked in his direction. He fingered his rifle, weighing the idea of whether he could get a shot off and take out the Lord of the Dead. If he could take the Lord of the Dead out, then he would have his revenge. But what if he missed? Sure he had over two dozen rounds for his pistol, but he was down to only two bullets for his rifle. If even he had the chance for a second shot, he feared he would miss because he was so rattled. If he missed; he could become trapped in this house with no way to escape. And the Lord of the Dead now had humans to help him.r />
  So, Russell decided to bide his time. If he could track the Lord of the Dead and his unholy minions back to their lair, he could do more than just kill this villain; he could take down the entire operation. That was the juicy rationalization, but he used the idea to convince himself not to act. Deep down, he knew he was just too terrified to do anything.

  So, he watched. The Lord of the Dead pressed some buttons on his chest-mounted keypad, and the zombies shuffled down the ramp. As the first few hit the ground, they started towards the two men who had lowered the ramp. These men backpedaled away from the zombies, but the Lord of the Dead confidently stepped in between the onslaught of undead and pressed some buttons on his keypad. The zombies started to shudder and shake as if they were going through their own personal earthquakes and then fell to their knees. Their bodies shook and bucked around on the ground as the current rode like chain lightning directly into the pain centers of their brains. The Lord of the Dead laid it on them but finally relented after nearly two minutes of teaching the undead a lesson. Russell was sure he could make out a slight smile at the corner of the Lord of the Dead’s mouth.

  The zombies took several moments to recover but then got back up. This time, though, they kept a respectful distance from the live humans and shuffled onto one of the park’s baseball diamonds, urged on by the electrical prods of their master.

  Russell wondered why they didn’t reach up and rip out the wiring that led from their collars into their brains, but he knew zombies were never known for their smarts. Still, they were smart enough to be conditioned. Even the dumbest animals could be trained if the right stimuli were applied. And that’s what this was: a training exercise. This one was for the living and the dead.

  Russell watched in horror as the Lord of the Dead handed out small panels with buttons on them to each of the living participants. He used his panel to separate out the zombies into groups of four and paired a living person with each of the groups. Then the real training began.

  The Lord of the Dead moved in a circuit to each live human and his band of undead, instructing each about the use of the buttons. He was patient as he provided instruction, letting the person employ the electricity in just the right amount to bend the zombies to his will. The woman and one of the men took to it quickly and even seemed to delight as their mastery grew.

  But one man seemed to have no stomach for it, and the Lord of the Dead sensed this. Although Russell was too far to hear specifics, he could tell that the Lord of the Dead was berating the man. Over and over again. While the Lord of the Dead was patient, it appeared he had his limits because after almost an hour of intense, yet unfruitful one-on-one training, the Lord of the Dead’s hand went to his keypad, and the man fell to his knees as if he had been shot. The man clutched desperately at his neck as his body bucked from the electrical current burning into his skin like a thousand searing needles.

  All the other trainees froze in place as their comrade screamed in agony and rolled on the ground in a desperate effort to get away from the pain. There was no getting away from the pain since it would follow him like a ravenous animal.

  Russell wondered if any of the trainees considered taking his newly trained ability to control their small mob of zombies and thought to turn them loose on the Lord of the Dead, but none of them did. They knew that their own trip down agony lane was only a finger press away.

  The Lord of the Dead screamed at the trainees, and this time Russell could make out what he said.

  “This is what will happen to each and every one of you if you fail to obey my commands. I will bring down lightning, and then I will release my soldiers on you. They will rip you limb from limb. Is that clear?” He looked from one of the trainees to the next until they all nodded their heads.

  “Just so you know I mean business,” the Lord of the Dead shouted and then ran his finger over several buttons on his keypad. The small group of undead that the reticent trainee had been working with started in motion. The reticent trainee lay spent on the ground, face up towards the sky, the electrical shock treatment leaving him as weak as a newborn baby. He looked up and saw the mob of zombies heading his way, and he must have found some reserve. He rolled onto his stomach and used whatever strength he had left to start crawling away from the oncoming zombies.

  But he was too weak to get any real momentum. The zombies, while slow, quickly overtook him. The lead zombies fell onto him and ripped into him with their hands and teeth, and the screaming began. It didn’t last long since the rest of the small mob descended onto the man. They hungrily devoured him, as the other humans watched and learned what disobedience meant.

  Russell felt the strength leave his legs and allowed himself to slowly fold to the floor with his back to the wall. He sat there, his mind going back to the death of his brother and his friends. The pictures played in his mind like some grotesque theater of horror, and he pounded his fists on the side of his head to shut off this torturous projector. The images flashed over and over, haunting him until the projector lights finally dimmed in his head.

  When he found the strength to look again, he saw the Lord of the Dead had ordered the other people to move their team of zombies back onto the bus. This took a few minutes since the trainees had to learn the fine details of getting zombies to obey their commands down to an infinite level of control.

  Russell didn’t get back up during any of this and didn’t move again until he heard the bus rumble away into the distance.

  “Hey Joel, I think he’s awake,” Brandon said, redirecting my attention back to Jason, who still lay on the couch, covered in blankets.

  There was the slightest of smiles on his face even though the effort it took seemed to eat up any of his precious reserves. Behind the fatigue and whatever horrors he had lived through, I could see a piercing luminosity behind his eyes.

  “Hey,” I said gently, “it’s good to see you awake.”

  His head nod was almost imperceptible.

  “Brandon, can you check to see if the soup is warm?” I asked without turning around. I heard Brandon’s footfalls move away and a door open and close. “We’re going to get you some soup.”

  Travis stepped up behind me, and I said, “This is Travis.”

  Jason looked past me and again, nodded his head slightly.

  “The guy who left is Brandon, but you probably heard me say his name. I know your name is Jason from my…my dream. Can you tell me anything else about you?”

  His eyes moistened and struggled for a moment as he tried to free his hands from the mound of blankets we had heaped upon him. I reached down and unpeeled a set of blankets, allowing him to get a hand free. He brought it to his mouth and made a backhanded waving gesture away from his mouth while he simultaneously shook his head.

  It took me a few seconds to get it. “You can’t talk?”

  He nodded his head then pulled down the blankets that covered his neck and pointed at his throat about where his Adam’s apple was. There were some angry red scars there that looked somewhat fresh.

  “Something happened to your throat?”

  Again he nodded.

  “Were you hurt before the…the Outbreak or after?”

  He paused, and I could see him trying to find a way to convey what he had to say without words. He brought up his hand in front of his face, the palm perpendicular to the plane of his eyes and made a pushing gesture to his right.

  “After?”

  He nodded affirmatively, but I could see that the effort to communicate without words was taxing him. If his face were a gas gauge, the needle would be well past E. So much so, the needle might be broken.

  There were so many questions I wanted to ask, and I knew there would be time later, but there seemed to be an imperative for answers now. The challenge was how to get answers nonverbally without draining him of what little energy he had left. The quandary was equal for me because I had to phrase each question for basically a “yes” or “no” answer.

  I pondered the que
stion as I looked down at his one free hand when I saw something that brought the whole process to a screeching halt. His sleeve was pushed back on his one free arm, and at just about an inch below his wrist was a bite mark. A bite mark that looked as if it was formed in a human teeth pattern.

  It was hard for me to even ask the next question, but there was nothing more important than getting the answer.

  “Is that a bite mark on your arm?” I asked.

  He looked away and came back to me to make eye contact again. It took him a moment, but he nodded his head.

  “Were you bitten by a zombie?”

  Brandon entered the room and said, “I’ve got the soup.”

  “It can wait,” I said. I could sense Travis leaning in towards Jason and me. “I need to ask again. Is that a zombie bite?”

  Again, he waited, but then he slowly nodded his head.

  My world started to tilt off its axis again. I had just met this person whom I had seen in a vision, and now I was going to have to shoot him? This was getting to be too much of a joke that God was playing on us, and my head reeled from it.

  I was about to stand up and walk away. Maybe just walk and never come back when his hand shot out and grabbed mine. He shook his head violently and tried to say something in a series of motions that I couldn’t understand. He let go of me and brought out his other arm, and I saw two more bite wounds, presumably from human teeth and presumably from a zombie. These were much older and completely healed.

  “What’s going on?” Brandon asked somewhere from close behind me.

  “Jason was bitten by a zombie,” Travis said in an almost whisper.

  “What are you trying to say?” I asked.

  Jason pantomimed slowly something that I didn’t get.

  “I think he wants something to write on,” Travis said.

  I turned back to Travis, “Can you get something for him to write with?” I asked. I glanced over to Brandon who had his hand on his pistol, ready and waiting.

  Travis went over to an old wooden, roll-top desk and came back with a pad and a pen. He handed it to me, and I offered it to Jason. Jason took it and started to write something with the pad turned away from my view. The pen faltered, and he pounded it against the pad a couple of times and started writing again. When he was done writing, he turned the pad out towards us, and there was one word written in big block printed letters.