by Scott W Cook
“Most kind, I thank you,” Caesar said with a gracious smile.
“Come,” Ata said with a warm smile of his own, “You’ve had a long journey. A place has been prepared for you with refreshment. Let us celebrate your arrival tonight before we journey into the desert tomorrow.”
“All has been prepared?” Cleopatra asked.
“Your messenger arrived two days ago,” Anoxona said, “Everything has been readied in accordance with your royal wishes.”
The trio led their visitors along the dock and onto a stone pathway that led away from the river. During the rainy season of every year, the mighty river would swell and overflow its banks along much of its course through the country. This was one reason that the Nile river valley was so fertile in spite of being surrounded by sun blanched wilderness.
The downside, of course, was that anything within a few hundred paces of the river bank wouldn’t last very long. Most towns and cities along the river were constructed far enough back that they were out of the immediate danger of flooding except in the most extreme cases. Structures were built on stone piles and elevated above the streets for just this reason.
Dahshuranek was no exception. The town, it really couldn’t be called a city, was essentially a central high street on which public buildings and temples were constructed. A variety of homes ranging from Hellenistic villas to ancient sandstone apartments to individual clay huts were loosely laid out around the city center. Beyond these were vast fields of corn, wheat, flax and livestock.
Although fairly primitive and miniscule when compared to great Egyptian metropolises such as Thebes and Alexandria, Dahshuranek could boast a population of ten or fifteen thousand free Egyptians and slaves. Everywhere the wealth of the small community could be seen. The Nile provided a fast and easy trade route and even hundreds of miles from the cultural center of Egypt, gold and precious gems were worn on silken garments. Buildings were painted in lavish colors and draperies of exotic fabric hung on walls and in windows alike.
As they strode along the paved street, Caesar noticed that the town had a large library which doubled as a museum. Ata told him that there were over a hundred thousand books in this facility along with thousands of artifacts dating as far back as the first kingdom more than three millennia ago.
Even marble, a stone that was rare in the desert, had been imported from mountain regions to construct temples as well as the small royal palace occupied by the delegates and their families.
Imnapek led Caesar and Cleopatra into this structure and bid them to sit upon a series of cushioned couches. Although the day was cooling now that the sun had set, a light western breeze carried with it the legacy of the arid desert only a mile or so away. Several slaves stood by with large palm frond fans and helped to circulate the warm dry air through the room.
“It will cool,” Ata said as he sat next to Imnapek on a bench, “As the night comes on, the temperature will drop considerably and sleeping is quite comfortable.”
“Excellent,” Cleopatra said, “and my barge’s crew?”
“Your men and slaves will be well cared for,” Anoxona said with a charming smile, “Good food, a comfortable bed and no doubt our esteemed visitors from Alexandria will enjoy the limited but lively night life of Dahshuranek.”
Caesar smiled, “I’ve brought some of my men with me as well, High Priestess. A platoon of soldiers and two of my aids, Rufio and Agrippa.”
“Yes, great Caesar,” Imnapek said with a smile of his own, “We’ve seen to their comforts as well.”
Cleopatra had to stifle a laugh as she winked at Caesar. She’d seen the brief look of disapproval cross his features when Imnapek had called him great. Perhaps it was her youth, but the queen took an almost perverse pleasure in teasing him.
Caesar didn’t mention that four of his legionaries were even now taking up guard positions outside the two entrances to the Lord’s manor. The two guards that had accompanied himself and Cleopatra – another of his personal guard and one of hers – sat in chairs on the other side of the room attempting to look inconspicuous while at the same time omnipresent.
“Tell me, Anoxona,” Caesar asked casually when a meal had been served and the five of them were gathered around an ornate wooden dining table, “What has the Queen requested of you? What is it you’re going to show us tomorrow?”
Anoxona looked questioningly at Cleopatra who only smiled. The priestess sipped her wine and said: “Most notably, noble Caesar, I’ve arranged for a camel caravan out to the red pyramid of Sneferu. It’s quite extraordinary and our Queen believed that you’d find it most unusual and most interesting.”
Caesar leaned forward eagerly. Cleopatra smiled to herself. There was nothing that this man wasn’t keen to discover.
“Indeed,” Caesar said with a sparkle in his eyes, “I’ve read about this structure. It sounds unique.”
“It’s most unique,” Ata jumped in, “Not just because the facing stone is red, which is quite pleasing to see against the backdrop of the sands. It’s considered to be the first true smooth sided pyramid. As you may know from your studies, Caesar, the earliest burial structures, started more than four thousand years ago, were simple rectangular structures called mastabas.”
“Yes,” Caesar said, nodding his head, “As I understand it, they are the precursor to the pyramid.”
“Exactly,” Imnapek replied, “It was the great architect Imhotep who first began stacking ever smaller mastabas atop one another for the first tomb of Djoser more than twenty-six hundred years ago. He was the father of the pyramid, and most certainly the stepped pyramid. The pyramid of Djoser can be seen in the desert at Saqqara.”
“Like the early mastabas,” Anoxona continued, “The pyramids, and the red pyramid in particular, feature an offering place. The ancients believed that in order for the soul, the Ba, to live, the body of the deceased must be preserved and cared for. So a chapel with a false door is always present for the living to leave offerings.”
“Extraordinary…” Caesar breathed, “That’s why the ancient Egyptians began mummifying the dead Pharaohs.”
“Correct,” Anoxona said, “In the early days, the dead were buried in pits. The natural dryness of the desert mummified the bodies and preserved them. However, once structures such as the mastaba came into favor, the body wasn’t open to these elements and would corrupt. So an artificial means of preservation was established.”
“Do modern Egyptians still believe in the Ba?” Caesar asked, “And in feeding the dead entombed in these structures?”
The three of them exchanged glances and then looked at Cleopatra who smiled, “To some degree. The practice has fallen out of favor somewhat.”
“Yet the priestesses of the ancient Pharaohs and of the gods still perform these feeding rituals,” Anoxona stated.
“So much of your culture is devoted to death,” Caesar mused.
“To Egypt,” Cleopatra added, “Death is simply another stage of life… if a bit different.”
“In our beliefs,” Caesar noted, “Which are varied, when you die you descend into the underworld for the most part. Some fortunate few are deified and take their place in heaven among the pantheon of Gods.”
“Much of what you believe,” Ata said, “As well as the Greeks, the Persians, and even the barbarians, are very similar to our ancient customs and ways of thinking.”
“Makes sense,” Caesar said thoughtfully, “As man moves outward so too does his knowledge and his mythos.”
“Here in this land,” Anoxona said loftily, “A land that was ancient when your infant Rome was just a collection of huts squatting beside the Tiber, death holds more meaning. It’s woven into our lives. And know this, mighty Caesar… the dead do walk amongst us from time to time. And they are not always beneficent.”
Chapter 5
From the personal journal of Samuel R. Decker
I woke up around sunrise, as usual. It was habit. No matter when I went to sleep, my body said get the hell
up at daybreak, sailor.
Andrea was sound asleep and the boat was quiet. It was pleasant in the early mornings when it was only me. I kind of felt like it was a tiny bit of time when the world seemed normal. It was an illusion, of course, but it was a pleasing one.
I prepped the coffee pot and set it to percolating while I made a quick trip to the head. That was one of the great advantages of living on board a decent sized boat. We had power and hot water. I could run the fridge and freezer and start a regular coffee pot going. It helped add to the illusion of peace in the morning. Things were starting to get bad in the world… yes, they’d already gone down the shitter, but what I mean is that if there was any advantage to a post-apocalyptic world, at least in the first few months… it was the lack of people.
Not really a positive, I know. However, with fewer people, the finite amount of supplies to be scrounged was still relatively plentiful. Nothing was being manufactured now, but if you looked hard enough, you could find beer, soda, Twinkies, daily necessities and that kind of thing.
Yet after six months, things were beginning to get noticeably lean. Especially in cities. The stores were already barren for the most part and if you found anything now, it was in houses, cars, boats and RV’s. It meant that the ten percent or less of living people still around would get more aggressive to survive.
Last night’s little encounter was a good example. And of course, there were the zombies.
The less people there were, the more of them there were. The more of them there were, the larger and more aggressive the hordes would be.
For the moment, though, we were set up pretty well. I had the boat stocked with non-perishables and had a lot more stashed away in vessels around us. But we were coming to a decision point, and it had to be made soon.
Supplies, as I’ve stated, were not infinite. We’d either need to find another place to live where we could scavenge or we’d have to start thinking long term. The staples of a healthy life such as fresh meat, fresh produce, eggs, milk and so on needed to be farmed. Canned goods just didn’t quite cut it and they would eventually run out.
The coffee had finished brewing and I prepped two cups and carried them up on deck. Tony was sitting behind the wheel in the cockpit with his AK on his lap. He was wide awake, as I knew he would be.
“Morning, Sharky,” He said with a grin.
I handed him a cup, “Morning yourself, big guy. What’s the status?”
“Negative sit rep,” He said, “all’s quiet on the western front.”
I sat on a bench and sipped the coffee. One of life’s little pleasantries for which I was grateful, “Yeah… for how long?”
Tony eyed me, “What’re you thinking, skip?”
I sighed, “Last night has gotten me thinking. Encounters like that are becoming more the norm than running into good folks. Supplies are getting scarce and unless and until people start farming…”
“You think it’s going to get extra dangerous?” Tony asked.
I nodded, “Yeah, especially in the city… any city. Not just that, but what are we really doing here?”
“We’re alive,’ Tony said, “But I know what you’re saying. It’s not enough to just survive, is it?”
“No,” I replied, “We’ve got to win this war. We’ve got to eradicate these monsters and group the survivors together in such a way that we can start the machinery again. Otherwise… otherwise we lose what humanity has worked for throughout recorded history.”
“Would that be so bad?” Tony asked, “Yeah, I get wanting to preserve knowledge, medicine, space travel, exploration and other shit. Yet all that comes with a price tag. Pollution, murder, rape, war, racism, religious fanaticism, over fishing, soil depletion, reality TV… yadda, yadda, yadda.”
I sighed, “I know, Tony. And hell, maybe this zombie plague or whatever you want to call it is the result of all that. Nobody knows how this thing started. Or where it started.”
Tony cocked an eyebrow at me, “Not for certain, but both you and I have some ideas.”
I scowled, thinking back to our last days in the Navy, “Just hypothesis, X O. Who really knows the truth… and does it really matter now?”
We were quiet for a moment. I noticed how quiet the world was now, too. There were seagulls flying nearby and a few crows, starlings and even an osprey making a racket atop a masthead nearby… but the sounds of human activity were totally absent. It’d be pleasant if you could forget why.
“I’m with you, captain,” Tony said finally, “Maybe with less people we can get it right this time. For good or ill, I liked modern life and I’d like it back. Hell, I’d like to serve again.”
I smiled, “You and me both, commander.”
“What’re you boys talking about?” Andrea asked as she appeared in the companionway with a mug of her own.
“About getting our world back,” Tony said, “Captain America here thinks he can rid the world of the zombies and get Facebook up and running again.”
We chuckled at that. Andrea sat beside me and kissed me lightly on the cheek, “That so?”
I nodded, “that so. I think we can win this war.”
“Why?” Andrea asked, “The military couldn’t do it when they had their chance. Why do you think the four of us can?”
“If the damned military had figured things out sooner… like the simple fact that head shots were what counted,” I grumbled, “We might not be here now. We faced a very predictable, slow and methodical enemy and still got wiped out. I can’t believe how fast things went to shit.”
“That’s just it,” Tony said, “We had our chance and blew it. This enemy, while almost ridiculous, has several advantages. They can’t be hurt or frightened. They don’t get tired. And they clump together into ever larger groups very rapidly. How do you fight an enemy that doesn’t care about dying? An enemy that consumes you and if not, you switch over to their side?”
“By knowing your enemy,” I said, holding up a finger for emphasis, “You’ve read Tzun Su. This is a dangerous adversary… but it’s also an incredibly predictable one. We’ve got to find a way to use their weakness, their mindless drive to eat, against them. Yeah, we can’t demoralize this enemy… but if we can get them into a position where we bring them to us on our terms, we can eradicate them. Christ, there’s enough ammo and weaponry to do it out there.”
“The problem is organization,” Andrea said, “That was the biggest flaw. It wasn’t that it took too long to understand that you had to kill a ghoul’s brain—“
“it was that nobody wanted to believe they were actually ghouls,” Tony interjected, “Man’s ignorance destroyed us. Zombies were just the means.”
Andrea nodded, “Now people are scarce and they’re hiding. We need numbers.”
“And a centralized location,” Tony said.
“And a cure,” I added glumly, “I think we probably need some kind of vaccine or treatment. This is a disease that’s 100% fatal. At least I think so.”
Another silence fell. I liked the silences early in the morning, but now that the sun was coming up, they were beginning to bug me. It was just a reminder of where we really were.
“What’s the ammo situation?” I asked Tony. I knew he’d done an inventory yesterday.
“We’ve got about four thousand rounds for the AR’s, most of which is 5.56,” Tony began, “the rest in 7.62. Maybe a thousand rounds or so. I’ve got about five hundred rounds for my Kimber .45.”
“A little more than that for my Desert Eagle,” I commented.
“I’ve got eight hundred rounds of nine mil for mine and Andy’s Glocks,” Andrea put in.
“As for the quiet ammo,” Tony said, “Counting what we used last night… I think maybe two hundred and fifty .22 and maybe three hundred thumper for our AK’s.”
“So we need more ammo,” I said, “We’re in good shape for now… but the sub-sonics worry me. They’re great for quiet raids and I’d like more of them.”
“We’ve also got
four hundred .308’s,” Andrea added, “For the two bolt action Winchesters on board. You guys can also fire them from your AK’s.”
“Yeah,” Tony said, “but our AK’s are modified for that and aren’t nearly as accurate.”
“I think we’ve also got two hundred rounds of double ought buck and another hundred twelve gauge slugs,” I said, “For the two Mossbergs.”
“We really should have more 5.56,” Andrea said, “That’s the standard round and that’s mostly what we’ll find out there in military installations and vehicles.”
I nodded, “Yeah. I wouldn’t mind getting my hands on a SAW or a 50 call either.”
“Christ,” Tony said, “Why don’t we just go boost a Bradley or a couple of Strikers from MacDill then.”
“Because I don’t want to travel by land,” I said, “Not until we have to. On the water we’re far safer. G’s can’t swim and marauding humans can’t sneak up on us. We can move far and maintain a mobile secure home base with hot water even.”
That got a chuckle. Andrea held up a hand, “But it makes us conspicuous when we’re not tied up here.”
“True,” I conceded, “But thus the advantages of distance and unapproachability.”
“Do we have room for more ammo and weapons?” Andrea asked, “You know… we could get a bigger boat.”
We laughed and I kissed her cheek this time, “A bigger boat means more problems, deeper draft… Maybe we will sometime. Old Sorcerer here is a good balance. Lots of storage, good sailing qualities, good diesel mileage, easy to handle for one… and yeah, we’ve got a little room, even after yesterday.”
“So what’s the plan, skipper?” Tony asked.
“I say we scope out MacDill,” I replied, “Maybe there’s something left. Maybe the Marine training center, too.”
“How?” Andrea said, “You know how those bridges are now. The Gandy and the Howard Franklin are jammed packed with cars, a lot of which still have zombies in them ready to snag you. You remember how we had to walk that gauntlet when you first found Andy and me.”