by Ember Lane
“Take us to the barracks, girls,” Frank said, and skipped in behind them as they fanned out in a row, dropping zombays and dancing on. “Come on, boys. We gotta get us some armor.”
Merl fell in beside Frank. It was weird letting someone else do the fighting, but Frank explained it was for the women’s own good, and that it was better for them to get used to the slaughtering now. Merl didn’t think they needed to practice. They seemed awfully good at it.
“By Andula, look at that lot,” Frank said as they turned a corner and headed down a side street toward the barracks.
“That’s one whole load of soldier zombays,” Merl muttered.
“Whatdya reckon?” Billy asked.
Gwen turned, shrugging her shoulders. “Shall we?”
Merl smiled, raising his cleaver and swinging his hand ax. “Let’s go.”
Frank yelled a lung-busting scream, lifted Scaramanza, and burst forward in a torrent of flashing bloody steel. Billy waded in, his scythe sweeping around, and Merl dove forward, whacking, slicing, and thumping. Fetid breath washed over him. Yellow fingernails clawed at him. Out of the corner of his eye, he spotted Gwen was being clinical with her strikes, Sarah-Ann danced like a devil, and Portius snuck around in a blur of flashing knives and spouting blood.
Merl hit his rhythm. The lifeless, milky eyes of the zombay hordes now held no fear him, the undead were mere obstacles to overcome—heads to cave in and throats to slice. He spun one way, jerked another, ducked, and lunged back up. Then one burst from the zombay’s ranks, much faster than the rest and with a rage about him that none of them had seen before. It lunged toward Merl, slamming into his stomach. Its arms grabbed hold of him and wrestled him to the floor. Merl crashed onto the blood-soaked road with a splash. The zombay reared back, its lips peeled, and its half a dozen teeth primed and ready to strike.
“By all the Gods you’re a foul bugger!” Merl shouted through gritted teeth. He writhed, and he tried to push the foul bastard off, but it pressed him firm as its jaws snapped down. “No!” Merl screamed, squirming around in anguish, but then a shadow fell over him, and Portius appeared. She pulled the slathering beast’s head back and ran her knife along its neck. At the same time, she yanked the foul zombay away from Merl and gave it a kick for good measure.
“Hi, Merl,” she said, all shy.
“Thanks fer savin’ me, Portius.”
“Jus’ repayin’ a debt,” she told him, and pulled him back. After catching their breath, the pair of them went back to the grim business of killing.
The speed of the zombay that upended him worried Merl, though he couldn’t help but think he might have imagined it. Had he merely become complacent—so used to their lumbering gait that he’d just not seen the filthy bastard coming? He hoped Frank had seen it and they could chat about it later.
With Portius by his side, Merl redoubled his efforts, determined not to slip up again—determined not to look daft in front of Portius, who kept glancing his way, little dimples showing through her blood and gut-soaked cheeks. He decapitated one, quickly following up with a punch to stop its flying bonce from hitting her. She slit a ghastly throat, but turned its spray away from Merl to stop the blood soaking him through.
The six of them fought like they’d been an army forever, and they rid Three Valleys of Morlock’s bastard zombay soldiers. In the end, there had been more than they’d bargained for, and it drained them of any energy they had left. Billy pushed a wagon against the building, and they all scrambled up and sat on the roof.
“Guess we got an hour until dusk,” Frank said, sitting next to Gwen.
“An hour t’get back to the inn,” Billy muttered. “Trouble is, the inn’s well is bad and we’re gonna need water afore the day’s done. Can’t go to kip covered in soldier’s guts.”
“They’re some baths opposite the inn. As long as there ain’t no filthy zombays in there, they’ll be fit to use, if a bit cold, and there’s plenty of buckets. We can grab some and take it to the inn,” Sarah-Ann said.
“I could sure use a dousin’,” Merl muttered. “Thought I was a gonna there, afore Portius slit the bastard thing’s throat.”
“Like I said, Merl. We’re even now, jus’ even.” Portius smiled sweetly.
At that moment, Merl thought she was the prettiest girl in the world, sitting there on the roof. He picked a bit of intestine from her shoulder and brushed a gut-caked strand of hair away from her face.
“I like being even. Shall we go get some gear before we run outta day?”
“I could stay up here all night,” Frank said, stretching back. “But a bath seems like a mighty good deal, and the flies are already getting on my nerves.”
He passed the water bottle around, and they all took a swig.
“You sure you don’t want us coming with you?” Gwen asked.
“Sure as eggs are eggs,” Frank said, “and I’m not sayin’ it just to get rid of you. There might be a dozen folk, or there might be more, hidden in this town. There could be a few homesteads up Three Face Valley, or there might not be. But we’ll leave a sign every place we go and send good folk to you. You girls are zombay killers, an’ you only just learned about ‘em.”
“What are you tryin’ to say, Frank?”
“What I said earlier. When this is all said and done, I want to have a place to come back to. Might as well be Morgan Mount, Gwen. Might as well be where you three all are.”
“Aww, ain’t that sweet,” Gwen said, pretending to fawn over Frank, though Merl wasn’t so sure she was faking.
Merl was sorry to see the back of Three Valleys. He was sorry to see the back of the girls too. He’d never known a girl like Portius before. Truth be told, he’d never really known a girl before. She was so tough, so pretty, and so shy. When they’d finally gotten back to the inn—and after they’d eaten—they’d fallen asleep together right in front of the fire, at least until Gwen had roused them and they’d gone upstairs.
Portius had shared her little bed with Merl. At first he’d wondered what the point was, seeing as there was a perfectly good bed on just the other side of the room, and it was nice and empty. But then she’d fallen asleep with her head resting on his chest, and Merl found that strangely comforting. When she’d started sobbing in the middle of the night, he wondered if he was doing the hugging thing wrong, but then he stroked her hair, she settled, and was soon breathing soft and peaceful again.
And in the morning she’d kissed him, and it was fine-oh-fine-oh-fine, and she’d asked him what his second name was, and that had stumped him because no one had ever asked that before. After a while, he’d told her what he thought it was, and then she’d kissed him again, and she’d said, “Well, Merl Sheepherderson, when you’ve done what you’ve got to do in Quintz, you come back and visit, and I’ll lay with you proper, and until that time I’ll lay with no other man.”
And that sounded mighty fine.
Billy had a big grin on his face too, and even Frank seemed to have a spring in his step, and though Merl didn’t quite understand how three girls had affected them so, there was no doubt about what they’d truly done to the little group.
The girls had given them something to aim for rather than just fighting their way through hordes of zombays and other bastard gangs. They had to go to Quintz to solve the riddle of the words Merl saw in his head and everywhere else—sure, they had to do that—but once they’d done it, they had to fight their way back home. Home was a place worth fighting for, and it was called Morgan Mount.
7
They trundled down the trail as Three Valleys receded. It was only when they’d got out of the town that Merl realized how much blood had been plastered over its buildings, roads, and just about everywhere else blood could splatter. Once away from it, fresh air filled his lungs and slowly rid his nose of death’s lingering stench.
Earlier, they’d rustled the girls up a wagon, horses, and supplies and set them off on their way. It was a strangely regret-filled moment, and perha
ps that was in no small way down to the fact that they were the first uninfected humans the trio encountered. It had given them hope, and although no others had ventured out, if indeed there were any, hope now shone as a twinkle in each of their eyes. All three prayed the girls would survive the road but reluctantly accepted it was out of their hands. Merl felt a bit of guilt about it all, but he knew Frank’s judgement was sound. It wouldn’t get any better the farther west they ventured, and that was made plain to see a few hundred yards out when they came across a horse and cart half in a ditch, its axle all bent and broken and its horse still trapped by its tethers. Two zombays milled around the cart occasionally tripping up on scattered apples.
“Gotta free the horse,” Frank said.
“Yup,” Billy replied, and he brought the monster wagon to a gentle stop. “Try not to cover them apples in zombay guts. They look like eaters.”
Merl was sure Billy didn’t know the difference. The apples were ruby red and looked mighty tasty. He grabbed his cleaver and jumped down from the wagon’s roof. The zombays were almost certainly a father and son combination. “Probably on their way to market when someone scratched or bit them.”
Merl took the boy and danced around him just like Frank had shown the girls. “Grab, yank, slice!” he crowed, turning the zombay son away from the apples and letting the foul blood spew across the road.
“Grab, yank, slice!” Frank cried, and he took out the father, turning him too. Billy drove the monster wagon past the upturned cart and then jumped down. He started scooping the apples up with Merl while Frank freed the trapped horse.
“Might as well let her go. We’ve no use for five horses.”
Merl watched the horse bolt. “Can’t see as it’ll do any harm. Who knows, might have herds of them by the time we return.”
Frank glanced at him, but said nothing, and Merl wondered if he was hoping a bit too much. They were soon back on their way. Merl and Frank sat up top, but there wasn’t much doing in the way of zombays. Apart from the bloodsoaked road behind, the rest of the valley was unspoiled. If anything, it was a curiously fine day.
“When we were fightin’ them zombays outside’a the Morlock barracks, did you see the bastard that upended me?” Merl asked Frank. “He was faster than the rest. Looked ‘telligent too.”
“Faster?” Frank arched an eyebrow. “Fast and intelligent coupled together amounts to trouble. We’d best keep out wits about us, eh?”
“What d’ya think it was about, then?”
“Who knows,” said Frank, throwing his arms up. “Depends whether it’s a sickness or some vile wizard’s work.”
“Na!” Merl waved Frank’s thoughts away. “No one’d be that evil.”
Merl waited for an answer, but Frank changed the subject.
“Time to do some more letters.” He rolled the little rock of chalk toward Merl and took out his quill and parchment. “Let’s try the third word, and if that goes well, we might just get to the fourth.”
Merl sighed, but then focused on the red pip that still blinked in his mind’s eye, and it instantly expanded into the block of text.
“Right,” he said. “First one is Walinda Alepuller, top half gone like the R, but with only one leg, and it looks like this.” Merl drew a P. “Then we have a wrong-way-‘round 3 and Mr. Doughmaker’s windmill without the sails. Don’t know the next one, but it’s a circle with a chunk bitten out of it. Like this.” Merl drew a C. “And last letter is a wrong way-‘round 3 again.”
Frank scribbled away. “That’s P, E, A, C, E, and that spells peace. Danger your peace. There, that’s three words outta your noggin.”
“What the heck’s that supposed to mean?” Merl screwed his face up. “Danger your peace—it makes no sense at all.”
“Danger your peace-ing all over the place,” Billy called up.
“Says peace not piss, numbnuts,” Merl shouted back down.
Frank chuckled. “Shall we do the next one? Maybe that’ll give us a better idea.”
Merl furrowed his brow. “Right. Squiggly snake, just like this, then a not sure. Can’t think of anything that looks like this. Maybe a bit of a ladder—look.” Merl scribbled the symbol.
“That’s an H, Merl. So, we have S and H.”
“And then I and E—I know them, plus the luh. I learnt that ages ago. After that we have the punched in O which is a D and the same as the beginning word and a duh. There, what does that say?”
Frank scratched his head. “It says shield, Merl, but I’ve never heard of a peace shield before. I wonder what it is. Billy, you ever heard of a peace shield?”
“Heard of a wood one, wood and leather, and maybe steel, but nope, never heard of one made outta peace. Maybe the words are like Merl’s head, all jumbled up.” Billy laughed so hard he started coughing.
“Danger your peace shield,” Merl muttered in wonderment. “It sounds nice. I’d like a peace shield, though I’d prefer if it wasn’t in any danger in the first place.”
“I think we could all do with a peace shield, Merl, especially now,” Frank told him.
“Perhaps,” Billy said, springing up and leaning on the monster truck’s roof. “Perhaps it’s a shield, and if you bash folks with it, they instantly lose their anger and become all peaceful, like.”
Merl had to agree that Billy’s explanation was probably right. He began nodding along with Frank.
“Reckon you might have it there,” Frank said. “You wanna do another word, Merl?”
“Might as well. Next one’s easy. It’s a stripe a squiggly snake and that’s it. After that we have Mr. Doughmaker’s windmill—”
“Without the sails,” Billy called, before dropping back down and sitting on the bench.
“Yeah, that one. Then somethin’ that looks a bit like Gwen’s chest leanin’ on the bar counter.” Merl snorted a laugh. “This.” He drew a B. “After that, circle, horseshoe, and then a scarecrow that’s been de-bonced.”
“An A, B, O, U, and a T. Danger your peace shield is about…”
Merl nodded hard. “Next is a small one. A T again and a circle. Then an E. The letter after is an odd one. If a letter could be evil, it’s evil. Looks like nothin’ at all, but its easy to draw. There. The rest we know.” Merl pointed to the letters he’d already chalked on the roof, and Frank wrote them down. “Then,” Merl said, “there’s a little dot after the last E, oh, and a small squiggle after the first word too.”
“Danger, your peace shield is about to expire.” Frank screwed his face up. “I wonder what the hell it means.”
“What’s expire mean?” Merl asked.
“Die,” Frank told him.
“Then a peace shield has to be a living thing.”
“True, or…”
“Or what, Frank?”
“Or maybe it’s magic, and the spell’s about to end?”
“Well, it’s been about to end ever since I was born, and that’s a mighty long time ago.”
“How long?” Frank asked. “How old are you?”
“Not a clue. Younger than Billy and older than a spring chicken, but that’s about as close as I can tell you.”
“Didn’t yer mom and dad tell you?”
“Ne’er knew my mom. Just know she was the most beautiful woman in the whole of tha land and me da’ was lucky to ‘ave her.”
“If you ‘ad a mum, she ne’er lived in Morgan Mount,” Billy proclaimed. “Mrs. Chivers tol’ me that your dad ne’er married, like, and she said you wasn’t there one day but there tha next. She said yer dad was all secretive, like, about where you and him came from. That’s what Mrs. Chivers said, she did, like.”
“Well that’s a load of Chivers’ shit,” Merl snapped. “If that was that, youda tol’ me before.”
“Had no reason to until now. Now it might matter. Now it might explain the words in your head.”
“You’re a bastard liar, Billy Muckspreader, tha’s what you are.” Merl launched himself off the monster wagon and grabbed Billy around
the neck, pulling him off and onto the road below. Merl rolled straight off the muckspreader, face contorted with rage, and then set about him with flying fists.
“Ge’r off me, Merl,” Billy said, soaking up Merl’s punches, but Merl was too far gone to hear Billy’s words.
“You take back yer filthy lies about me ma and pa. Take ‘em back, or I’ll kill ya, sure I will.” Tears filled Merl’s eyes. Every bone in his body shook. He rained his punches down on Billy until he’d used every ounce of energy he had. Then he searched for a bucketload more, and he used that up until he fallen off Billy and rolled over and over until he was on his own, and then he sobbed and sobbed until his tears ran dry.
“You could have stopped him, like,” Billy called up to Frank.
“Business was yours and Merl’s. All that happened before I came here.”
Merl snuck a glance at Billy. His best friend looked all wishy-washy through Merl’s tears. He squeezed his brain, trying to think of one memory of his mother, trying to wring one out like the last drips from a damp cloth. But try as he might, Merl failed. He thought of her as an elfen princess, as a queen upon a throne, as a warrior on a mighty steed, and then as nothing, just blank and gray. He knew Billy was right. But knowing and admitting were two different things, and Merl wasn’t about to concede defeat just yet.
“How was I born, then, Billy Muckspreader? How was I bloody well born?”
Billy sat up, folding his legs under him and dabbing his bleeding eye. “Merl, Mrs. Chivers said it, Doughmaker too. Walinda Alepuller knew the truth of it, but she didn’t tell a soul. Her and yer dad kept it all down to whispering. Why’d you think the pair of them was thick as thieves? Trouble is, everyone’s dead that knows, so here’s the deal, Merl. You tell me what truth you wanna believe, and I’ll go along with it.”
Merl began sniveling. Billy had offered him an out. Trouble was, the out wasn’t the truth.
“Jus’ leave my mom alone.” Merl spat, then sat up.
“Here, Merl.” Frank threw him a water bottle. “Now, here’s what I suggest we do. We accept that Merl didn’t know his mother, and that in all probability she wasn’t wed to Merl’s dad.”