Among the Dead and Dying

by A.R. Wise

  Chapter Ten

  Cerrus was in hiding in a cellar along with Madeline and two other children. The girls weren’t frightened, but it was impossible not to be nervous. While The Scholar was always meticulous when planning an attack, chaos reigns in war. There are no guarantees.

  The zombies wouldn’t attack Cerrus or the girls, and it was unlikely that a Sword would harm them even if they were discovered. As far as anyone else knew, they were simply down here hiding from the horde, and had no part in the attacks.

  The cellar stank of mold. Old, empty wine barrels were stacked along the wall, each of them rotted and their bands rusted. Rodents scurried along the wall, their eyes flashing in the dim light of the lantern. Cerrus sneered at one of them hatefully. He was reminded of the many times others had referred to him as Cerrus the Rat, in the days before he traveled with The Scholar.

  Madeline walked over to the wall, and peered up the stairs that led to the cellar door. She whispered, “Someone’s coming.”

  “Are you sure?” asked Cerrus.

  Madeline pointed to her ear, and then up at the ceiling. Cerrus listened, and heard faint footsteps from somewhere above. The sound grew louder as someone walked through the house. Cerrus and the children listened, hoping that whoever had broken into the house would stay away from the cellar.

  A calamitous crash shook the floor, and suddenly the person above was screaming. It was a woman, and she was crying out about how the devils had found her. She was directly above them, and now there were new footsteps clopping on the wooden floor, chasing after her.

  Cerrus and the children listened, hoping the zombies would swiftly murder the invader, but next came the distinct sound of soldiers’ armored boots clattering on the floor. Men yelled, fought, and thundered about, causing the children below to shudder with each loud bang.

  The muffled voice of one of the soldiers bled through the floor, “Are you all right?”

  The weeping woman responded, but Cerrus couldn’t hear what she said.

  “Were you bit?” asked another man.

  Again, Cerrus didn’t know what the woman said, but heard the soldier respond, “I’m sorry for this.”

  Next the woman screamed, and was then silenced just before something thumped onto the floor. Madeline and Cerrus exchanged worried glances, and then they heard one of the soldiers say, “Let’s check the cellar.”

  Word must’ve spread through the Swords that the horde nests were located in the basements of homes throughout the city. Cerrus tried to think of a way to get the Sword to leave them alone, and he headed for the stairs just as the man above started to try and open the locked door.

  Madeline stopped Cerrus and whispered, “Let me talk to him.”

  “No,” said Cerrus. “You stay down here.”

  Madeline pulled at him harder and said, “No, you stay. If he sees you, he might mistake you for an enemy.”

  Cerrus knew she was right. His wrinkled skin and grey pallor caused people to distrust him immediately. Madeline, on the other hand, looked like an unassuming child. She motioned for Cerrus to hide, and he slunk between the barrels as Madeline headed up the stairs.

  The Sword was pounding on the door, asking if anyone was there. Madeline went halfway up and called out with a tremulous, innocent voice, “We’re here. We’re hiding.”

  The Sword’s tone softened when he heard that it was a child in the cellar. “Open the door for me. It’s okay, I’m one of the good guys.”

  “My daddy told me to keep the door locked,” said Madeline.

  “It’s okay, honey. Just open up for me. We’re getting everyone out of this part of town. It’s not safe here anymore.”

  “We’re fine,” said Madeline. “No one can get us here.”

  “Can’t do that, sweetheart,” said the Sword. “If we can contain the zombies then we’re burning this district. You’ve got to come with me.”

  Madeline looked back at Cerrus, uncertain what to do.

  “You can handle this one,” said a different soldier on the floor above. “I’m moving to the next house.”

  “Okay,” said the soldier at the door. Then he turned his attention back to Madeline and said, “Open up or I’m going to have to kick the door down. I don’t want to have to do that.”

  Cerrus looked over at the other two girls embracing against the far wall. He left the cover of the barrels and scurried over to the girls, pointing at the floor and then whispering to one of them when he got close, “Sit down and pretend you hurt your leg.” Next he looked over at Madeline and gestured for her to let the soldier in, and that the other girl was injured.

  Madeline nodded back, aware of her partner’s guile.

  Cerrus went to the lantern that was sitting on a crate in the middle of the room and turned down the flame until it was nearly extinguished. After that, he slunk back between the barrels and took out his knuckle knives, a devious glove that had short blades sticking out from the knuckles and a longer, razor-sharp knife that ran along the side opposite his thumb. It was a weapon built for hand-to-hand combat and designed by Cerrus himself to complement his fighting style. Cerrus’s disability kept him from being a strong fighter, but he was quick and agile. Before his opponents had the chance to react, Cerrus could strike them several times in a variety of places. The knuckle knives made every blow count.

  Madeline lifted the board that had locked the cellar door and said, “My sister needs help. She hurt her leg.”

  “Was she bit?” asked the Sword as he opened the door.

  Cerrus couldn’t see any details about the man in the dim light, but his silhouette was large in the door frame. Madeline went back down the stairs and led the Sword to the other girls. The man dutifully followed, ignorant of their deception. These three girls had been the key to much of The Scholar’s success. No one ever suspected children of evil.

  “What’s the matter?” asked the Sword as he approached the girls. “Did you get bit?” He was apprehensive as he approached.

  “No,” said Madeline. “She twisted her ankle. Look at it. It’s swollen. She can’t walk.”

  “I’ll carry you,” said the Sword. Cerrus got a chance to study the man now that he was in the lantern’s light. He wasn’t wearing a helmet or coif, which was lucky for Cerrus. The Sword was grizzled and aged, with a square jaw and prickly, white stubble. His nose had certainly been broken many times, and now curved to the side. He was thick and strong, with two scabbards crisscrossed on his back in a fashion more familiar to the bandits of the plains than a Sword.

  “It hurts,” said the feigning child on the floor as she gripped her ankle.

  Madeline glanced over in Cerrus’s direction, and they devised their ploy silently. She moved to the opposite side of the Sword from Cerrus, and spoke to him to mask any sound her partner might make while he moved.

  “She fell really hard on the stairs and I don’t think she’s going to be able to…”

  Cerrus snuck up as the tall man bent down to pick up the child who was supposedly suffering from a twisted ankle. The man was oblivious to the trap he’d fallen into, and Cerrus was able to chop down at the man’s neck with the bladed side of his knuckle knife. This was far from the first person felled by this type of ambush.

  Cerrus leapt backward, aware that one strike wouldn’t be enough to kill the man instantly. Ferragut might’ve had the strength to kill a man with a single blow, but Cerrus could only hope to wound an opponent severely, perhaps fatally given time. The Sword gripped his neck and pivoted, and Cerrus immediately knew that his attack had done its job. Blood was flowed forth with such strength that it squirted between the Sword’s mailed grasp. The older man grimaced and cursed, saw Cerrus backing away into the darkness, and then reached for his swords.

  “I’ll kill you, you little bastard,” said the Sword. He reached back with both hands, gripped his swords, and drew them. The tight confines of the cellar hampered him, and he had to duck to pull his blades free, but then he was prepared to l
aunch himself at his foe.

  He had no inkling of a suspicion that the children were in on the attack. Madeline and the other girls grasped the man’s boots as he tried to move, causing him to fall hard to the floor. His breastplate clanged and he huffed out in shock and pain before turning to see the children gripping his feet. They released him, and darted away, aware that he might attack them in desperation.

  The Sword’s neck was pulsing blood, and his face had already started to turn white, but he was still far from dead. “You little freaks!” He screamed out, now aware they were in on the trap.

  Cerrus zipped in, chopped down at the man’s neck again, and then disappeared into the darkness. The Sword gripped his new wound, leaving his swords laying on the ground, and screamed out in pain and anger. Next he forced himself up to his knees, gripped one of his swords, and then stood the rest of the way, faltering a bit as he tried to steady himself. Both of Cerrus’s attacks had been perfectly aimed, leaving wide gashes on either side of the Sword’s neck, both of which were gushing blood that coursed down the front of the man’s breastplate, obscuring the inlayed symbol of his status as a Second-Sword.

  “Fight me,” said the man in a pathetic sputter. He wobbled, held his sword before him, and then focused on the three children huddled against the far wall. He pointed his blade at them and said, “I’ll kill all of you.”

  “Go ahead and try, meat,” said Madeline, taunting the man with the name that the half-deads used when referring to people not afflicted with the disease.

  Cerrus emerged from the shadows and swept the Sword’s arm aside with one hand while driving his other fist up into the man’s throat in a fierce uppercut. The bladed knuckles pierced the Sword and ripped easily upward across his chin, leaving four long gashes behind as Cerrus danced away to join the three children.

  The Sword staggered back, voiceless now, and moments from death. He gazed out at Cerrus and the children, and the three girls smiled as he dropped to his knees, weak and dying. He managed to croak forth one word, “Monsters.” The Sword fell over backward, and gasped as his blood gushed from his multiple wounds.

  Madeline drew a long sewing needle that she dipped into a flask of blood. Then she advanced and pierced the man’s shredded neck with the needle. “Welcome to the family, meat.”