As he peeked around the corner of the building, George could only see that their backs were turned to him. One of them was pointing toward the edge of the woods. If he was very careful, George thought he could sneak across the open area and get into the trees without being seen.
The guards moved a few feet further from where George hid, walking softly in the direction the one had pointed. Suddenly, a large animal burst from the brush, a deer perhaps, startling them to the point that they ran into each other trying to get out of the animal's way, knocking each other down.
George used the distraction to his advantage, half-running, half-hobbling, scrambling for cover and hoping to get there unnoticed. He managed to get into the woods, just as the two guards were picking themselves up from the ground. They laughed nervously and brushed themselves off as they stood. Thankfully, neither of them had looked in his direction.
He stood in the shadow of a large tree and waited until they began to walk away again. A couple of minutes passed before they disappeared from sight. That was too close! He wiped at his sweaty forehead with the back of one arm.
In the darkness, he looked back again toward the small town to get his bearings and figure out which direction he would need to go to reunite with his horse. Once he figured out the likely course he would need to take, George turned around and crept through the trees. The guards should be near the other end of town by now unless they'd stopped again, so making noise wasn't a big issue.
After a couple of minutes, George saw the soft, red glow of the horse's eyes. Deciding that he would wait for the sun to come up, so it would be easier to find his way back to the Outpost, George sat down on the ground. He propped his back against one of the horse's legs and wolfed down some of the food he had pilfered.
Once his stomach stopped growling, he tucked the remaining food inside his vest and closed his eyes, hoping his exhaustion didn't cause him to snore and give away his location. In a matter of moments, he drifted off to sleep.
Chapter 12
The Factory supervisor looked up nervously when he saw the Black Knight. His face grew pale as the tall, robed figure stormed into the room. He didn't remember doing anything that he shouldn't have. Nothing that would cause the Black Knight to be angry with him, anyway. Still, he found himself wanting to shrink back into a corner and become invisible. He'd never felt such a terrible, hate-filled vibe coming from him.
The Black Knight's feet didn't even seem to touch the ground as he swiftly closed the distance between himself and the supervisor. Within moments he stood before the man, the heat of his rage rolling off of him, causing the cowering man to sweat profusely.
All work had stopped when the Black Knight entered the Factory, many of them laying eyes on his terrible form for the first time. The supervisor's eyes darted back and forth between the workers and his boss. He wanted very badly to tell them to quit gawking and get back to work, but his fear kept his attention more focused on the robed figure.
The silence in the workroom temporarily drew the Black Knight's attention from the supervisor. He turned and looked toward the workers. "Get back to work, you worthless sacks of flesh!" he roared, the deafening thunder of his voice causing the whole room to shake. Quickly, the workers averted their eyes and got back to what they were doing.
He turned his attention back to the cowering supervisor, reaching out with his claw-like skeletal hand and lifting the man from the corner by his neck. Carrying him like that, the Black Knight left the room. Once the two of them were outside the Factory and standing near the underground river, the Black Knight set the man down. He kept his hand firmly on the supervisor's shoulder and collar bone, his bony thumb under the man's chin forced him to look up.
"We're working as fast as we can," the man stammered, thinking the Black Knight was upset about the amount of production. "I've had to send more workers than usual up to Cemetery Hill, so I've been a bit short handed lately," he continued, pleading his case. "Especially since your man, George I believe his name was, hasn't brought me any new workers lately."
The Black Knight leaned down, putting his face directly in front of the man's. For the first time, the man got a glimpse of his boss' hideous face. It was a writhing mass of decaying flesh, long, jagged teeth, and soulless black eyes. His breath was hot and reeked of death. "I need one of the robots that resembles a human female, along with all of the mechanical insects your workers have assembled, and I need them now," the Black Knight whispered hatefully.
"How would you like them programmed?" the foreman stammered, choking on the smell of the Black Knight's foul breath.
"I don't want them programmed at all," he replied. "I will take care of everything myself." He rose to his full height, and spread his cloaked arms wide. Instantly, the area filled with the ghostly forms of his minions.
Chapter 13
After finding his way back to Outpost 12 a few days ago, George spent the majority of that time trying to recover from his wounds. The first two days had been brutal. Not long after his arrival at the Outpost, he had come down with a high fever. At one point during those two days, he considered his own mortality. The fever raged to the point where he was too weak to even get out of bed. Thankfully, he'd been smart enough to keep a healthy supply of water skins in the Outpost. If it weren't for them, he would likely have died when the fever was at its worst, feeling as if his brain was boiling inside his head.
Once the fever finally broke, he had been able to begin eating again. Just a bite here and there at first, but as George began to regain his strength his appetite came back with a vengeance. So much so, that at his current rate of consumption he would likely have to make a major supply run in the next day or so. His worries of dying had vanished along with his fever. He was now beginning to feel like his old self again. Strong, confident, almost indestructible.
He was sitting on the edge of his bed, gathering his things with thoughts of returning to the village a few hours west of the Outpost, when a light knock on the door broke the silence, startling him back to reality. What the hell? This can't be anything good, he thought, remembering the decomposing head sitting outside next to the door.
Trying not to alert anyone that he was inside, George crept quietly into the main room. He found the monitor that displayed the exterior of the Outpost and studied it anxiously. He couldn't make out any of the person's features at first, the only thing he could see was that the individual had very long, straight, dark brown hair.
Turn so that I can see you, he thought. George found himself hoping that it was a woman. It would save him the trouble of trying to single one out in the village. He could have her all wrapped up and waiting for his return while he went out for supplies.
As he considered his options, several disturbing thoughts popped into his head. The closest town is a few hours away. Could someone have followed me from the village west of here? Or was this person sent by the Black Knight to coerce him back into service? Maybe to torture me like the last woman I tried to capture.
All of these ideas seemed like they were viable. If it were someone from the last village he'd visited, there could be many more people out there than he could see, waiting for him to come out before they sprang their trap.
He studied the monitor more closely, looking for any sign that there were others lying in wait. He cursed the fact that the monitor only showed the area in front of the Outpost. There was no way for him to tell if others were hiding along the sides of the building, just out of sight.
The posture of the person outside shifted to one of frustration. For a brief moment the person looked to the left, bringing a face onto the screen. The face of a beautiful woman. She knocked on the door again.
Instantly, his mind screamed at him. It's a set-up! Get out of here while you still can! George resisted the urge to start pacing, looking nervously from the front door to the one leading down to the river.
Decisions, decisions. He had never considered himself to be a coward, but if he opted for t
aking the easy way out and heading for the river, did it make him one? Or did it make him a smart person, one that was in tune with the instinct to survive?
He weighed the pros and cons in his head for a moment. What am I? I'm a killer! There would be nothing except shame waiting for me if I walk down those stairs! I need to embrace who I am! Do what I must do!
With one final look at the monitor, his mind was set. He drew his sword and walked to the door. George paused for a moment, raising the sword in his right hand, intending to smash the hilt into her head as soon as the door opened. He placed his left hand into the handprint on the door and turned it.
As the door slid to the side, the woman rushed at him. Before he had time to react, she had slammed her head into his skull, dazing him. Holy shit! She has a hard head! he thought groggily. Then she repeated the procedure and everything went black.
When George regained consciousness some time later, he found himself in a familiar predicament. His head was pounding. It felt like he'd been hit over the head with a crowbar, several times in fact. His vision was blurred, but he couldn't see anyone around. He tried to move, but like the last time, he found himself strapped tightly to a tree.
"Hello? You better cut me loose!" he yelled furiously. He paused for a moment, waiting for a response. "I'm gonna gut you like a fucking pig!"
When the woman did not reappear, he began to struggle against his bonds. His anger had somehow broken him free the last time, so he was hoping for the same results now. This time, however, there was not even a fraction of slack in his bindings, nothing he could use for momentum or leverage.
"Fucking whore! Let me loose! Now!" he commanded.
Silence greeted this outburst. Nothing he could see, moved in the slightest, as if the world was idly standing by, watching. Even the wind seemed to hold its breath in anticipation. Moments became minutes, and minutes turned to hours.
At some point, even being uncomfortably fastened to a tree like a bug caught in a giant spider web, George had drifted into an uneasy slumber. In his haunted dreams, he found himself being subjected to the same types of torture that he had used on his victims. Every wound inflicted came at the hands of his countless victims, each one taking out their own brand of justice upon his flesh. As he screamed out in torment within his dream, he awoke.
The shadow formed by the tree he was secured to was growing long, indicating that the sun would soon be setting. He tried to swallow, but found he couldn't. His throat was as dry as an autumn leaf, blown across a dusty, open field.
He began to hear a noise, so faint that at first he thought it was his imagination running away with him. An auditory hallucination, brought on by his thirst. A few minutes later, George realized that it was not a misconception brought on by some form of delirium. It was very real.
A blackness appeared on the ground near the Outpost, which was a couple of hundred feet away, like the shadow of some large creature hovering overhead. He looked to the sky. There was no flying menace above him, not even a cloud in the sky to explain what he saw.
The shadow continued to move toward him, and for a split second he considered that he could still be dreaming this entire episode. The sounds he had heard a short while ago had become more distinct. The steady clicking and grinding of the mandibles of thousands of tiny bugs, brushing against each other in agitation.
As they approached, George remembered a time not so long ago that he had seen a similar congregation. Worker drones, sent out by the Black Knight himself perhaps, tasked with the mission of repairing one of the robots his slaves assembled in the Factory.
The column of insects was now only ten feet from him. So close that their chattering was drowning out all other sounds around him. He watched, waiting for the mass to swerve around the tree on their way to repair another damaged machine, but the column remained unchanged.
Moving with a single-minded purpose, the head of the mass reached the tree George was bound to. Instead of diverting around the tree, they began to climb it. Within a matter of moments, George was entirely engulfed in the mass of mechanical insects. At first, the only thing he felt was their tiny metal legs crawling over him, but moments later they began to nibble on his flesh.
At first it had only tickled slightly, but as the insectile mass settled in, the small pinches grew excruciating. George began to scream, whipping his head from side to side, trying to shake the tiny creatures from his face. He could now feel blood beginning to run down his body in little rivers, as the eager mass went into a frenzy. The pain was unbearable, but it was the massive blood loss that did him in. George passed out.
Fifteen minutes later, the enormous group of mechanical insects began to retreat, leaving a trail of tiny bloody footprints in their wake. George was no more; only a gruesome reminder to follow orders. His skeletal remains should serve that purpose well. In time, his entrails would turn to jelly and fall to the ground to decompose with the rest of the gore that had once been George Mancini.
Part Three
Chapter 1
Chris was no longer sure of anything. Ever since the virus had made its way to his doorstep—in his hometown of Collinsville, Alabama—everything had changed. Somehow, he had been immune. He'd had to endure more horror in these last few weeks than he ever would have imagined, even in his worst nightmares. His immunity didn't prevent him from having to deal with the loss of his entire family, or the rest of the town for that matter.
The whole town had succumbed to the virus. However, many of the dead didn't stay that way. It was like watching one of those zombie apocalypse movies that he used to enjoy, before it became real anyway. Thankfully, the whole town hadn't turned into zombies. If they had, he likely wouldn't have survived this long. He prided himself on the survival training that the Army so graciously provided him with while he was enlisted, but even that would've been no match for a town full of zombies.
He stood in front of the mirror in his bathroom, running his fingers through his dark brown hair like a comb, and considered whether or not to shave off his beard. It had been unseasonably warm here lately, and the stench of rotting flesh hung in the air like fog. He had to soap up his beard several times a day just to get the smell out of it, which was more difficult to do than it sounds.
Two weeks ago, the power had gone out. A malfunction at the power plant he supposed, but with everyone dead there was no one left to fix the problem. That meant there was no electricity to run the water pumps that brought running water to his home. The only thing that hadn't gone haywire was his gas stove. The electronic ignition didn't work anymore, but he could still light it the old fashioned way, with a match.
He began to dress, in what had quickly become his normal attire; camo, camo, and more camo. His thoughts turned to what his next move would be. Perhaps a move to the north would be just what the doctor ordered. At least in a cooler climate he wouldn't have to suffer with the smell of rotting flesh as much. Or so he hoped. He was pretty sure that the Alabama heat was speeding up the decay, so maybe the zombies up north wouldn't smell quite so bad.
As he placed his camouflage ball cap on his head, Chris walked back to his bedroom to gather the rest of his things. Everything was laid out on his bed waiting for him. A large backpack loaded with supplies, his shotgun resting alongside several boxes of shells, and his 9mm handgun surrounded by every loaded clip he could get his hands on.
He grabbed everything from his bed and went outside to load his Jeep, making sure to grab an extension cord on the way out of the house. It wasn't likely that he would need it, or for that matter have a chance to use it, but it was better to be prepared. Once the Jeep was started, the engine's generator should keep it running pretty much indefinitely.
He went to the back and opened the hatch, throwing the extension cord and his backpack inside before slamming the hatch shut. He then climbed into the driver's seat, closed his door, and pressed the button on the dash to start the Jeep. The motor lurched once and caught. Chris waited a moment for the
engine to level out, and then threw the Jeep into gear and headed for Interstate 59.
Chapter 2
For the last two days, Brian had been operating on little to no sleep, steadily working his way through Detroit. Most of that time he'd been able to avoid detection, but there had been more than a few situations to the contrary that he'd barely escaped with his life.
He had managed to leave the city behind without having an army of the dead following hot on his trail. Several miles north of Detroit he had spotted a lone farmhouse, sitting about a half mile from the highway. It was surrounded by snow covered fields, and looked to be a place he might get some rest in. The open fields around the house would allow him to see anyone approaching, long before they could ever get to him.
As he opened the door and shuffled inside, kicking the snow from his boots on the doorjamb, Brian began to methodically search the premises. The last thing he needed was a surprise attack because he'd been too lazy to look around before settling in.
He went from one room to the next, checking every nook and cranny. Once he was satisfied that the house was empty, he returned to what he felt was at one time the master bedroom. He sat down heavily onto the dusty bed, laid his gear on the floor next to the nightstand, and flopped back. The mattress was old, and had obviously seen better days, but despite the numerous springs poking him in the back through the fabric, he quickly succumbed to sleep.
When he awoke, the sun was only slightly higher in the sky. Its position suggested that he'd only slept for a couple of hours, but the stiffness in his body disputed that. It was more likely that in his exhausted state, he had fallen asleep for an entire day. He sat up and moved to the edge of the bed, stretching his aching body.
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