Knight of the Dead (Book 3): Fortress

by Ron Smorynski

  “Yeah, yeah, okay, well don't we have a say?” Robert brushed off Dad's information.

  “No. Oh well, you do, in that you can leave if you don't like it here. Or you can get with your people we just saved and try to take our guns, kill us, and put in your 'democracy', if you want.”

  “Okay, okay sir, we are not going to fight you,” Robert replied.

  “Not yet,” Dad answered.

  “We are grateful you saved us,” Ellie, his wife spoke up. The others nodded, some hugging each other, and others tearing and so distraught as to not be in the conversation or even aware there was one.

  “I don't care about your appreciation if the first thing you want to do is decide how I run this place,” Dad said. “And we are under martial rule right now. I am that marshal. I say what goes on and who does what.”

  Robert looked to the other individuals, Randall, Steve, Tom, Nick, to see if they were in agreement. “Doesn't sound fair.”

  “Wow. So out there, is that fair? Us risking everything to save you? Doesn't sound fair? What is fair exactly? You not knowing where your rights come from but expecting them?” Dad asked.

  Amador stood up. “I don't understand everything. But I know you in charge. You in charge. I follow you.”

  Dad nodded. “I'm sorry for your child.”

  Amador nodded, tearing, and sat back down. He held his children. “You saved us. You tried. You did good.”

  A younger man stood up. He looked Indian, Native-American, or Hispanic. He had a young, light-skinned fair face and black straight hair. “I, I understand what you're saying. And we were dying out there man. So whatever you say, goes.”

  “What's your name?” Dad asked.

  “I'm Cory... and I totally want to learn how to fight. That armor is bad ass.”

  “Thank you. Look, I don't want to be a dictator. I don't even know if this is all going to work. We could be arguing for a small pile of crap and those cannibals out there will decide. But for now, I am the ruler. I am the brutal king who decides who fights, who works, who lives and who dies.”

  They all looked up at him.

  “I don't mean dies die! I just mean who fights, you know. And dying... well... they know,” Dad motioned to his own crew. They all nodded in their own beleaguered way. “They know who deserves to die.”

  “Who?” the old lady asked with a soft hiss.

  “Those who put us at risk. Those who scream or alert the zombie hordes. Those who take it upon themselves to take everything, steal stuff, or put this colony, this fortress at risk. Those who think they can come in here and start making shit up and deciding how things go. Risking all of us for their own concept of how it should be while doing nothing. Those cowards deserve to die.”

  He looked at Jerry and Julianne. Dad scowled as he stood up to stretch out his muscles. His wife sat below him. He paced a little. His wife wiped and set his armor in good order. Dad paced around them. He had his holster on still, with his 45 in it. It fit just under the armor at his waist. It was hard to see with the gambeson covering it. The padded coat had waist flaps that hung over his belts and leg armor just a bit. But that was all off now. He looked mean and ruffian.

  “And you know what, what's your name again, old guy?” Dad asked rudely.

  The old man sighed and answered, “Rob... Robert...”

  “Robert, your rights come from God. Your right to your life and your liberty and your pursuit of whatever, they come from God, your creator,” Dad said.

  Robert shrugged. “Oh, I don't believe in religion, especially now. I believe in democracy.”

  “Democracy? Oh okay, should we vote to see if you get to live then? Cuz we only got so much food and we already got enough old people in here. All in favor of this guying getting killed, raise your hands?” Dad cajoled. His voice was raspy and deep, from coming off the ride and fighting, from having to growl his way right back to the leadership role. He raised his hand, then he lowered it. “All in favor of letting him live?”

  No one raised their hands. They were annoyed by the silly game. At least that's how the new survivors took it. Oddly, his old crew seemed to know where this was going.

  “Looks like you don't get to live today Robert. That's how democracy works,” Dad said.

  His family of survivors seemed to finally perk up and listen. Robert's face got red and tightened.

  “Should I condemn you to death by making you go out those doors?” Dad asked. “Or just kill you with my sword? As a democracy?”

  They all stared at him, with angry tired eyes.

  “Oh, but I have no right to kill you in God's eyes. I am not God. I have no right to kill any of you,” Dad said. “If we use a constitutional republic, that relies on a constitution, that tells us our rights come from God, that is.”

  “The U.S. Constitution isn't religious,” Robert replied, quivering.

  “Done in the Year of Our Lord 1787, which refers specifically to Jesus Christ, that's written in there, next to the signers, right there, as they risked their lives against the British Empire,” Dad answered. “In this fortress, we acknowledge that, and that the Declaration does declare our rights come from that Lord, that one, specifically, Jesus Christ.”

  “But you just said you could kill us,” the younger man, Cory said.

  “For due cause, yes. For endangering us, yes. But for being petulant, annoying.... yourself,“ he stared at them. They all stared back. His crew gave snarky looks. “No, I have no right under my rules, those rules... that is... under a constitutional republic. It doesn't matter if you all vote to kill Robert... without due cause, I, as the dictator under martial law, can not. God forbid. Do I offend you?” Dad huffed.

  He paced like a drill sergeant. Charlotte shifted on the bench, showing off her M-4, glancing at the others with a bored look.

  “So, which of you accepts me as the mean God-fearing dictator marshal? Raise your hands,” Dad bellowed.

  The survivors looked at each other. Cory, oddly, raised his hand nervously. A young woman next to him punched his shoulder weakly but nothing else.

  Dad waited.

  Another raised his hand. A woman raised hers. Robert and his wife looked at them all.

  Amador raised his as did his wife. “We raise to follow you?” he asked.

  “Yes,” Dad answered. “The rest of you will have to leave. We can not have you in here risking what we have.”

  Several more raised their hands. A distraught woman raised hers. Ellie, with teary eyes and a tight lip, raised hers while staring at Robert. They looked like an old tired couple. He finally raised his.

  “Look at each other. Look at each other. You all have raised your hands and are vowing allegiance to me,” Dad said. “Anyone that threatens this community, with their cowardice, with their anger and screams or whatever, shall be put to death. Anyone who steals or doesn't help, shall be kicked out, which I assure you, will be death out there. You can always choose to be put to death instead. Anyone who takes one of these weapons without my permission will be kicked out. Keep your hand up!” Dad yelled as Robert and a few others began to lower their hands.

  “Look at each other! You are vowing to do what I say, to follow my orders! Got it? This is Old Testament living! No bullshit, no lies and tricks, follow my God Damn orders! Understand?”

  .....

  “Say Yes Sir if you understand!”

  “Yes sir!” rang out. Dad stared at the old lady Ellie. He wanted to see her lips move and hear it clearly coming through her quivering mouth.

  “Say it again!?” Dad declared, stepping closer.

  “Yes sir!” they repeated. He looked into their eyes. He made sure they were looking at him. Many were moist with emotion and fear.

  15. The Big Picture

  “Jerry, Julianne,” Dad looked up, speaking with a softer voice. Jerry nodded acknowledgment. “I want you two to situate these people in those classrooms.”

  “Yes sir,” Jerry suddenly replied to Julianne's surprise. Je
rry moved, excited to be useful.

  “Not yet,” Dad said, raising his hand and freezing Jerry. “Not yet, I just want to go over somethings.”

  Jerry nodded and stepped back.

  Dad was leaning on the table when he sought their allegiance, his fists pushing on the kid cafeteria table. He stood up and smiled. It was odd, after all that, that he smiled.

  “The reason I know all of you will do what I say is because you have no other choice,” Dad said. “But here's the thing, one day, if you survive long enough, you will have a choice.” Dad looked at them as they perked up.

  “I will train you to fight, to survive. I'm not saying things are perfect here or that I will live long and prosper. But this is all we got to go on right now. Whatever... I will train you, just as they will. You will learn to fight.”

  The survivors unknowingly began to nod. It was subtle and hopeful. Their sitting became more alive, more attentive and less dour. Even Robert and his wife peered intently.

  “And on that day that you can survive... fight, you may still not like me,” Dad said.

  A few chuckled or smiled, exhaling soft sniffles.

  “And you know what? You'll want to leave here. And I will help you. I will. We need more colonies and survivors, so I would love that. This is a Christian colony. Christian in that you have to accept my rules, my moral laws as it were, but you don't have to accept Christ as your savior.” Dad couldn't help but look at Benjamin in the corner, silent and small. Benjamin rolled his eyes but smiled warmly at Dad who returned the smile but kept on.

  “We will be teaching the kids Bible study and church here. They will learn it. You adults just have to follow the rules and chill.”

  He looked at Steve and Tom who had already disengaged from each other and sat stoic.

  “And when you can, when you are strong enough, when my wife has made you armor and you have guns and swords and can fight for your own survival, I will help you set up a place or whatever you want to do, but not in this place. Got it?”

  “Got it,” a few said, as all nodded.

  “However, right now, I must tell you, we have a war going on. And it isn't just a sit and hunker down war. We have a real war going on out there. There's a time bomb, a ticking time bomb and it is going to explode,” Dad said. Everyone's eyes widened, gazing at him.

  “I fought those things. I drove them away from here, but there isn't anything else left distracting them. They are getting cunning and crowded. There isn't anyone else out there. There aren’t any more large group of survivors or distractions. We are it. In other words, they will soon be only noticing us! We haven't heard the military try anything in a while. There aren't other large groups of survivors out there: East, West, North, or South drawing the masses to them. In Los Angeles, the whole county, the valley, the most populated in America, we are stuck! It's just us, our noises and motorcycles. They are coming around here, for miles and miles, because I don't think anyone else has made it. And you know what? We are running out of time to save any more people that are still alive and hiding. They must be running out of water and food, especially water. It's been what, a couple of months now since it happened? No one has that much food and water stored up, and any that try to sneak out... what then? They can't fight. You guys couldn't fight. We are running out of time to save anymore people. I am anxious to get this rolling, to get quicker at getting out there to check for survivors, but the problem is, so are those zombies. And there are God damn new, stronger ones. That's right. We got the big ones, the tough big ones. And now I’ve seen another kind, a smart type I call ghouls. They look like regular zombies, only they aren’t decaying like them and are fast. They're aware and animal or beast or demonic.”

  Everyone gulped at that.

  “They're changing, evolving, getting meaner and more cunning. Maybe the virus or evil whatever is forming or building up. I don't know. Course, I'd say it was Satan and demons forming up more, stronger, faster, more aware. And what God and Jesus have in mind for us, I have no idea. But we gotta move forward quicker, and that means, training you guys. We got to go out on more missions to save others, and to gather food and supplies. We gotta get this place ready, to fight and to defend. We also gotta get ready for The Horde. It will be coming again. Do you know of The Horde?” Dad stopped to take a breath and let others talk.

  No one did. They all just stared blankly.

  “The Horde is when the zombies collect into a massive crowd. They form up and can bulldoze these fences down, run in here and destroy and get into everything. They are like a flood of zombies. We have to devise some emergency crazy plan to fight them and hide away down in the basement or up on the roof. I don't think The Horde can destroy this building. It's solid. But they can definitely get through the doors and windows with enough of them pushing and clawing at them. So we gotta figure that out ASAP. Is anyone getting this down?” Dad suddenly stopped to breathe again and look about.

  His wife perked up and thought out loud, “Should we get a pen and paper?”

  “Perhaps you should use a classroom?” Benjamin offered, his weak voice resonating across the cafeteria and amidst the silent sitters.

  “What?” Dad asked.

  “You know, like a lecture, planning stuff out, writing on the chalkboard all the plans, what we must do, having a board to organize everything,” Benjamin suggested, shrugging his small shoulders and waving his hands about.

  Dad nodded with a smug expression.

  16. Intros

  After eating, they migrated into a meeting room on the first floor. It had adult size chairs and tables. The school used it for staff and parental meetings. There were whiteboards on three of the walls. The other was a wall of windows facing into the courtyard. It was the perfect planning room.

  “This will be our planning room, our staging room,” Dad said, looking for the dry erase markers.

  Everyone shuffled in and took chairs, being overly nice to each other. The new folks, ragged and gaunt, weak and slow, huddled together.

  “Dad, what about the guns?” Charlotte nagged.

  Dad looked at her. “Okay, no loading. You show the kids how to fire them.”

  “I gotta show them how to load the bullets!”

  “First, show them how to aim, pretend load, move around with the rifles, safety stuff,” he replied as he wiped the whiteboard clean. “Wait, maybe I should ask the moms if it's okay?”

  “I thought you were in charge?” Charlotte replied.

  He shrugged. Dad turned to see Beth and Katrina sitting together. “So, Charlotte is going to show your kids how to handle the 22?”

  They looked at Dad with mild smiles. “Do we have a choice?” Katrina remarked snidely in her Russian accent.

  Dad couldn't help but chortle.

  Beth nodded to her children to go.

  Charlotte hurried out with their kids. Dad noticed Amador with his wife and kids. They were still too bereaved. They sat at a table in the back. Their mother whispered Spanish to them, a song or prayer.

  Tom took charge getting everyone seated. “Hi, so you're Cory. Are you Native-American?”

  “Yeah dude, ah sir... sort of, I mean I am. But shit, I'm just a dude in Hollywood, trying to make my way,” Cory replied with a cool cat smile. It felt out of place. He tried a serious look.

  “Oh, aren't we all, or rather weren't we,” Tom answered. He then turned to Dad. “Uh, Ronan, maybe they could all introduce themselves?”

  Dad was wiping the board and shrugged. He wasn't sure it was a good idea and he wanted to think about defense. But he sighed and stopped, turning. “I suppose.”

  Tom with raised eyebrows looked down at the lady sitting next to Cory. “And you?”

  “Hi, I'm Eva. I'm just... I was a wife... I, I... he didn't make it. I don't know. Should I talk about my past?” Eva looked up at Tom. Eva was in her mid-thirties. She looked like she was an average woman, but now had lost a lot of weight and was trying to keep a sane disposition.

&
nbsp; Tom gulped.

  “Just a name,” Dad interjected, “and maybe any info on how you can help, any skills or what you can spend your time doing here.”

  Tom nodded with an awkward smile.

  “I was in commercials, acting. I don't know what I can do, but I'll do anything,” Eva said, on the verge of tears. “And thank you...” She had to stop.

  Dad stepped forward. “Look, I'm sorry you have lost your husband. We have all lost.”

  “Not you, not your family,” Ellie said, her eyes red and slightly defiant.

  “That's because I kicked ass,” Dad hissed, pounding the nearest table. His wife was outside, placing his armor on the bench with the help of Lena and Lisa. She knew to keep his armor near. He had his gun and sword on a belt, but she knew to keep his armor close. She looked in, with moist eyes, begging her husband to be kind with her look. He caught it, and looked away.

  “I'm sorry. I didn't mean to insult you. We're just... broken,” Ellie answered.

  Dad looked down and spoke softly, but loud enough for all to hear, “We can not drag each other down. We have lost everything. We have lost family too. And I lose my wife and daughters every time I go out there. Every time they, the crazies surround me, I hear their teeth and claws scraping at my armor. I think of my wife, my Lena, my Charlotte. I relive that I will lose them, that they will lose me, every battle I am in....”

  Ellie closed her eyes.

  “We can not drag each other down with our losses. Each of you must find a way to live, to gather your strength, somehow. I find that in Jesus Christ, even in this hell hole on earth. The Bible warned that the end times were gonna be bad, there was going to be conquest and war and famine and death, that the survivors would flee into the mountains... I don't know... exactly... I didn't really study the end times a whole lot, but I believe nonetheless. So I believe I am here for a reason, if even just to help you all, my children carry on...” He choked a bit, stopping.