Every Knight needs his castle.
Knight
of the
Dead III
Fortress
A medieval re-enactor's fight for Lord and family, in a zombie apocalypse.
By Ron Smorynski
Knight of the Dead Volume Series
Knight of the Dead
Knight of the Dead 2: Cavalry
Knight of the Dead 3: Fortress
Text Copyright
First Edition 2019
Edited by Tammi Smorynski
Cover Art Gleb Kos
No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, graphic, electronic, or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, taping or by any information storage retrieval system, without the permission in writing from the author, unless you are reviewing and/or promoting it.
This is a work of fiction. It is a work of fantasy. While real people have influenced this work, it is in no way to be construed as representations but as imaginary fiction for the purposes of entertainment and a sense of moral righteous fury.
Find more info @storytellingron on Facebook, Twitter, Instagram
Or at www.storytellingron.com
Psalm 18:2 The Lord is my rock, and my fortress, and my deliverer; my God, my strength, in whom I will trust; my buckler, and the horn of my salvation, and my high tower.
5. The sorrows of hell compassed me about: the snares of death prevented me.
8. There went up a smoke out of his nostrils, and fire out of his mouth devoured: coals were kindled by it.
11. He made darkness his secret place; his pavilion round about him were dark waters and thick clouds of the skies.
19. He brought me forth also into a large place; he delivered me, because he delighted in me.
1. Challenge
"So you're handling the food and the farming?" Dad asked, seeing Beth in the cafeteria kitchen. She and her kids, Carl and Maggy, were the first he rescued. He led them into the school grounds only a couple of weeks ago. He was not able to save her husband. He noticed she kept herself busy.
She nodded affirmatively. She was carefully cupping out portions of dog food for everyone that was there for breakfast. The bags of dog food were their staple. It was easy to get, easy to store, and easy to eat.
Katrina, the young Russian mom, was in there helping. Katrina had streaked blonde hair that was in need of a touch up. She was once portly. But in this zombie world, she was losing weight and remarkably, becoming more attractive, not that that was important to Dad. A chill ran down his spine. She smiled at him.
His wife came up to Dad with something magical. It was a cup of coffee. His wife looked amazingly beautiful and sexy with that cup of coffee, handing it to him. He noticed she had a tad bit of makeup. She blinked. He smiled and looked down at his coffee. Mmm... She kissed him and went on her busy way.
Usually everyone got up at different times. Dad didn't really think much about some boot camp reveille. Today was different. The men were up readying themselves. Steve the muscle bound gay guy was shaking off all that Dad had pushed him to do. Dad was sure Steve would recover and be able to fight on. What they went through, being stuck in that SUV together, expecting to die a horrific death, and Dad asking him to accept the Lord as his savor all lingered in Dad's mind. He was sure it all lingered in Steve's too.
His girls, Lena and Lisa, distracted him from thoughts of eternal hell, or rather the hell they were presently in. Lena and Lisa laughed and Steve seemed moved by them, their bravery in all of this. Lena and Lisa were becoming strong brave young women.
Lena was Dad's own, a high school basketball girl, who was now armored and swinging a sword with great skill. Lisa, her best friend and teammate, Dad had rescued. She was his first rescue. They adopted her as their own and he referred to her as a daughter. Dad saw a difference in Steve as he joked with the girls, as they were fixing their armor. They were giving him a distraction and perhaps a strength. Something Dad and his faith could not do, though he wished it had. He'd pray on it. It was all he could do. His charge to compel belief was done. Steve made his choice for now. Only for now, Dad hoped.
Tom, Steve's lover, wasn't one Dad liked to think about. He was more effeminate, obviously the 'woman' in the relationship. But after his courageous driving madness and the call for him, for there was no other, to fight, he seemed less flamboyant and more reserved. His physique was once somewhat soft, but in these brutal times it was becoming hardened quickly. Dad didn't know what to make of him, except that he was blossoming, though blossoming didn't seem like the right word. He was becoming more manly, tougher in some way. Dad wasn't sure.
He did notice Steve and Tom nagging each other over their armor, fixing and adjusting things. They were a roller coaster of undue nags. Dad did not like their relationship and told them they could not show their homosexuality in front of the kids, in his fortress, his Christian castle. Dad sighed. He was unsure about this, about how he was treating them. But he knew he had to, right or wrong. This entire situation of hell on earth, morality, church, God and man, was overwhelming. He grimaced and looked to the others.
Randall, he noticed, always looked at Beth as he ate and repaired or adjusted his armor. She glanced back as well. Perhaps it was too soon, since her loss. But everyone was getting used to loss, and either dying away, or surviving for a little while longer. Dad shuddered. He did not know how much longer. He had to spurn that thought away.
His daughters, Lena and Lisa, were now sharpening their blades with the kitchen sharpener. Nick, ever handy and helpful, was helping them, making sure all the swords were sharp with the lone public school issued sharpening rod.
Sean was outside. He ate and was anxious to continue training. He definitely had his Asian martial arts flair to his sword swings. That was fine to Dad since Sean was a natural. He saw his form of martial arts was merely a transition from karate or weapon katas of the Orient.
He returned to the cafeteria, the women were all there chatting and cleaning. It was odd to see them cleaning and organizing. It made him feel happy. He held his coffee, feeling the warmth. It had been so long. Today was the day of battle, the day to get his bike back and face the big one. And this cup of coffee was like a mystical potion of strength and blessings. Dad said a little prayer as he breathed in the coffee steam and sipped. It was all that he was expecting it to be. It felt like hot blood to a vampire, he bemused. It just was that fulfilling. He smiled as he looked down at his wife. She smiled, dancing her eyebrows, sipping her coffee.
There was plenty of dog food, stacked bags stored in the metal cafeteria closets. There was a mix of school snacks, several boxes of crackers, chips, cookies, the best stuff. The air felt like it would rain soon. There was a coolness, maybe from ocean mist coming in. The nights were getting cooler and it was surely fall or perhaps even winter in this southern California desert. It was hard to tell depending on the warming or cooling cycle.
Beth and Katrina were the food servers. They had to handle the anxious kids, hopping and jostling, getting picky over what they wanted. Even Charlotte, his little savior girl, was acting kid like. Dad gave her a look. She gave a look back. There were only a few different kinds of dog food bags, yet they pointed at the different flavors. Katrina had to remind them that they were only opening one bag at a time.
Dad shared a smile with her. There were these moments of safety and luxury amidst a horrific apocalypse. He sipped his coffee.
A few days before, after rescuing Dad and Steve, after the cavalry charge by Sean and Randall, all working as a team, they had a little birthday celebration. Lena had turned sixteen. His wife discovered the date as she chatted w
ith good ole Benjamin. He was their scribe or chronicler of sorts. It wasn't diary stuff like Dad wrote. It was just keeping the dates, charging the phones for them all, and listening to the radio. He told her that the military and many people, now living under marshal law, were retreating to remote areas, hoping this infestation would end with the onset of winter. It was a theory.
In that update, she discovered it was Lena's birthday. What was to be some sort of celebration, turned into a teary eyed depressing event. To think they were celebrating a girl's coming of age in this horrific hell of an age, it brought tears to them all, even the guests.
His wife cried, causing Lena to cry, causing Lisa to cry. Dad had tears. The only one who seemed not to cry was Charlotte. She was taking to this world, for she had not yet established her own psyche in a civilized world.
Dad recalled swaying Charolotte away from barbie doll shows to super hero cartoons. It was a selfish move on his part. After watching girly shows when Lena grew up, Dad could not go through that again! He got her addicted to heroes and adventure when she was two, three, four years old and beyond. Her psyche was in that, in seeing heroes fight against the odds. He saw that in her now. She was calm as she hugged, focused on courage and not emotion. Dad hid a smile even as tears swelled.
They armored up this day, getting ready for a new challenge, a strange one. Dad looked on as they were quite focused and serious in getting each piece of gear on right, fitted snug and firm. Tom and Nick helped them, like perfect squires. Lena and Lisa helped each other. They looked just as bad ass, maybe even more. Dad knew he could count on them. Yes, they rescued him and could fight well. But they were still his daughters, still young women to him, whatever the sexism, it was true. They were women. And as much as they were ready and able, their bodies would not last as long or be as tough as men's. This weighed on him.
Lena and Lisa trained hard on the court and were very capable. But one day, Dad knew, they'd want to be mothers. They'd want to be here at home, within the walls, and raise their children. It brought warmth to his thoughts. It was what he was fighting for.
Dad noticed Beth help Randall. She gave him a kiss that surprised Dad. Beth and Randall suddenly looked at Dad, as if for confirmation. Dad gave a faint smile and looked away. But he could still see their gentle smiles and her concern for him going out again. It seemed too soon after her husband's death, but what was time now but a day-to-day of intensity.
His wife helped him put on his armor. Charlotte used to help, but she leaned against the wall, cradling her baby M-4, chewing dog food. The kids generally hopped and skipped around her. She was trying hard not to join in the kid games. She glanced at them then ignored them. Dad smirked. She noticed and shrugged, What?
Today, they were going to kill that big smart zombie. It was some giant of a zombie. It was half a foot taller than Dad's 6 feet 2 inches, and heavier than him in his armor. It was smart, deliberately hiding and waiting. It knocked Dad off his motorcycle as he was leading zombies away from the school. Dad ended up fleeing, leaving his bike and shield behind. Then when Randall and Sean returned back that way on their bikes, they believe they saw it, hiding and waiting near his fallen bike.
He was going back to get it and kill the beast, for that is what knights did.
"Remember, Sean, you do your thing on that bike, leading any hordes away. But not till we get there," Dad said at the gate. "Steve, you take the right flank. Use your shield. That big guy has got a swing on him and a counter swing too. Our swords aren't as effective. I'm going for the legs, slicing ligaments. Do the same on your side. Get him down."
Steve nodded. Dad turned to Lisa and Lena, who were between him and Steve, a step back. They had light shields and swords on their backs, slung snugly using straps from kid backpacks. Both had their long naginatas and looked pretty cool.
"You two will do the puncturing, in that thing's neck and face. Got it!" Dad yelled a bit louder than they were expecting. He motioned a puncturing movement with a bit of bravado. "You get your weight, torso, your core behind it. Get that fling, that arc swing going!"
They both hopped a bit in excitement, tapping their polearms, like athletes before a game.
Dad saw Randall come up, scooting his bike up to them. "Randall, you hang with us, be that secondary decoy. You got our back."
Randall saluted.
Rondo came up to lick Dad's hand, standing under him. Dad tried to shoo him away. "Why is he out here?"
"He loves you," Lena quipped.
"He better go love the kids or something. Get!" Dad patted his head then pushed him brusquely. Rondo tried to leap for joy but Dad could see through his helm, the malnourished pain in his dog's joints. Rondo seemed like he had turned into an old dying dog. Dad blinked sadly. He stopped to bend down and push Rondo's head against his armored knee. It was Dad hugging his dog.
His wife came up and sprayed them all with an air freshener.
Rondo took off from the artificial smell, and headed back into the school. His joints weren't that bad after all.
Dad motioned for the gate. Tom and Nick, with plastic bracers on their arms and calves, school desk shields and their swords, opened the gate quickly. They weren't fully armored but had lots of ad hoc stuff. His wife was working on them next. They weren't expected to fight full on, just guard the gates, hold the line.
Tom seemed quite capable. But they'd need him there at the gate, fresh and able when they got back.
No zombies came.
"Let's march," Dad said in an elevated voice. He pointed with his sword out and ready.
2. It
They marched up the neighborhood street. Sean and Randall drove slowly behind them. It seemed quiet. There were no zombies.
"This could be nice," Steve said.
They continued. They passed one block. They thought they could hear a zombie banging on something. Perhaps it was a gate or door, stuck behind it. It sounded slow. They continued on. Sean kept his bike idling. He only gassed it a little and used his legs a lot to glide the bike along. He rode next to Randall who kept an eye on the rear, glancing to and fro, walking his bike along.
"I hope we don't draw them to other people again," Randall said to Sean. Sean nodded back.
They finally turned up the street at the next block. They almost sounded like marching soldiers. Their gear had that rough unison sound to it: Dad's armor clanking, some of the samurai pieces clacking, the swish-swish of the pads and plastic pieces, and the stomp of heavy boots and covered tennis shoes.
The city was relatively quiet. A few birds chirped. Far off, there were muted sounds of growls or a barricade falling. But the sounds were infrequent and distant. There was a stale slow breeze, sort of filling the void of noise in this vast urban sprawl. Within all that, in this neighborhood bubble, echoed this marching troupe. They heard it and felt it, rising like they were pure strength and hope. Steve stood taller, as if rambling along like a fighting man, hoping he could last. Dad walked ready as he always did, the veteran ready for anything and anticipating the greatest challenge yet.
Lena and Lisa were robotic, holding their polearms upright but ready to strike down, then retract and punch out again.
A zombie suddenly flew out at Dad. He swung quickly and its parts flopped between them. They rightly glanced and continued on, undaunted. Dad liked that.
They got up near the Hollywood Boulevard intersection. There were plenty of cars crisscrossed and jammed to denote the main thoroughfare. If there were any zombies, in a group, they'd be here. And if the group was large enough, it would be Sean's job to lure them away, having Randall held in reserve. Dad raised his blade across the troupe to stop. He waved and let Randall sneak up to see how crowded, if at all, it was. Randall parked his bike and easily moved up. He was more nimble in his attire, crouching as he hustled up against a car. He peered through the open motorcycle visor and looked about. He used the car windows to peer through, then stood higher to see.
A zombie smeared the window of a car
nearby, scraping from the inside to get to Randall but no one flinched. It could barely be seen or heard amidst the black rotting goo smeared across the windows. It would eventually rot to nothing.
Randall took a few steps along the cars, glancing. Dad was anxious and wanted to step forward but paused to let Randall do his thing. The others waited, polearms and swords ready.
Randall finally came back. "There's that group by your bike down the street. And we got solos all along the damn road, up and down. They're like... spread out evenly. They weren't like that when Sean and I rode through."
"Must have spread after you rode in and saved us all," Dad said.
Randall shrugged, giving Dad a pat.
Sean leaned his bike on its kickstand, trotting low past the others, and snuck up to listen to Randall. "Did you see It?"
"No, I didn't see It, but we ain't on the other side where it was hiding," Randall replied, breathing nervously.
"So they're spread out, you think like a warning system?" Steve asked.
Everyone looked at Randall. They saw his eyes through the open visor. "Oh God... Yes."
"That's not possible. Right?" Steve huffed.
"Uhh… nature does it," Sean said to no one.
Dad put up his gauntlet, in a fist. He looked at all of them slowly, huddled around him. "They aren't just zombies. It ain't just natural. Not in my book. It's demonic. But... I don't care whether their viral beasts or demonic with intelligence, we are marching forth. We're gonna get that fucker. Got it?"
They all shook, nodding nervously, anxiously.
"We'll go up, kill them as they rush, one by one. Sean, don't do your thing unless a big horde comes. And if it does, burn that gas, make some noises. When you do, we all will do our best to hide in plain sight. Got it? Randall, just leave your bike there and help us. If more come, you can go back and use it. Remember, our smell is covered and our faces are covered. If all hell breaks loose, use the houses and yards for cover. Run, hide, stop and just stand calmly. Let Sean draw them away. Randall use your bike only after Sean is far off and we still need it. Got it?"
Knight of the Dead (Book 3): Fortress Page 1