by Tim Marquitz
The windshield marred with spots of blood and an array of bodily juices, Cam twisted in his seat to see what lay ahead. Harlan cast a quick glance behind to make sure they hadn’t lost Walter. The old corpse sat calmly, clutching to the rail. Harlan turned back in his seat.
A few more corpses in the way run over without incident, Cam whipped the vehicle right around the main building and raced across the dirt yard heading north, leaving the screaming walkers behind. The truck kicked up clouds of brown dust and tiny rocks in its wake as it bounced along the desert terrain, hopping lightly through a collapsed section of the chain link fence that surrounded the complex. A few minutes later, they slipped onto the nearby road. The crunch of gravel shifted to asphalt in a blur of sounds.
Cam’s assuredness behind the wheel and the glimmer of a smile on his lips, made it clear to Harlan this wasn’t the first time he’d taken the truck out for a drive.
That thought helped ease Harlan’s nagging doubts at letting Cam come along. Unlike most of the people he’d stumbled across in his travels, both few and far between, Cam had a better understanding of what they faced, an unconscious part of it from the beginning. Almost all of those he encountered had been helpless, or close enough, broken in spirit and often flesh. Cam was neither.
It gave Harlan a sense of hope he hadn’t dared imagine before then. Once more, he thought of his daughter, but this time he didn’t push her image away. He saw her as she was. Her little green eyes shone like emeralds in his mind, her smile the rising dawn. He pulled the shotgun from the window to keep from fighting the wind for possession of it, and set it in the floorboard. Staring out at the brown and greens that whipped by, he whispered he’d see his daughter soon.
Cam gave an energetic hoot and Harlan chuckled at his enthusiasm. Harlan reached back and retrieved the bottle of whiskey, setting it between his legs amongst the loose shells. He twisted off the cap and took a couple of deep swallows before returning the bottle to its hideaway.
“Not to pry, or anything, but can I ask why you do that?” Cam gestured to the whiskey. “I mean, I understand what you’ve been through and all, and I’m certainly not judging, but you don’t really seem the type to drown your sorrows in a bottle.”
Harlan looked sideways at Cam, staying quiet for a moment. Deciding there wasn’t any sense in lying to a guy risking his life to save the world, he answered the question. “It helps to quiet the voices.”
“The dead?”
Harlan nodded. “The only times they’re silent is at dawn and dusk, and that’s never long enough.” He sighed. “These days, they’re everywhere, their crazed chattering always in my head. I’ve learned to tune them out some, but it’s not as easy when I’m tired or hurt. My control slips; that’s where the alcohol comes in handy.”
“You should be all right out here, though, right?” Cam gestured toward the open desert that surrounded them, no corpses in sight.
“It’s better, but there’s no escaping them.” He held up his sword, pulling it out just far enough to reveal the blackness of the blade. “They’re here,” he slid the sword home and then tapped his temple, “and in here. The liquor just gives me a little buffer, from a downpour to a trickle.”
Cam whistled and gripped the wheel tighter as he looked out at the desolate highway ahead. “Well, I guess you should just sit back and relax as much as you can. Come hell or high water, I’ll have us at the Temple in a few hours.”
Harlan leaned back in the seat and stretched his legs, his confidence in Cam a strange comfort. His heavy eyes on the desert, the whiskey was a perfect complement to the humming song of the road. He watched the world narrow and dim, then fade altogether.
* * * *
The sense of movement suddenly gone from his dreams, Harlan snapped awake. He fumbled for the shotgun.
Cam reached through the window and steadied the gun. “Easy there. You’re all right.”
Harlan blinked a few times and focused his eyes past Cam. Not certain if what he was seeing was real, he reclaimed control of his shotgun with a grunt, and stepped out of the truck. His knees shouted obscenities as he dropped onto the asphalt, a choicer few exclaimed by his ribs. Not to be left out, his back chimed in with fluttering cramps. Pain helping to chase away the remnant haze of his nap, he stared unblinking.
“You just had to say high water, didn’t you?”
Cam shrugged.
“How far did we get?” Harlan asked as he examined the road. Following the natural lay of the land, it dipped down a steep grade to disappear under a rivulet that was easily fifty yards across. It ran in both directions for as far as he could see. Its slow moving water was murky and green, the highway creeping into sight on the other side.
“We’re only about twenty, maybe thirty miles from the Temple.”
Harlan grumbled to himself as he stared into the dark water. Bloated bodies floated thick in the gentle current, their movement impeded by piled detritus. Several twisted chain link fences were caught up in the depths, catching the bodies and helping to form a rancid dam of bubbled cadavers. The air was rank with wet decay, the smell of death grown moldy and moist. It settled over them like a virulent fog. Every breath was putrid.
Certain the trip around the newly formed river would take them past nightfall, Harlan called upon The Professor. His guardian spirit appeared and immediately drifted down into the water to check its depth. He floated up a moment later.
The spirit’s voice in his ear, Harlan turned to Cam. “It’s too deep to drive through.” He gestured both directions, leading Cam’s eyes with his finger. “And there’s no way we’re going to find a way around and get back on track before we lose the light.”
“So we go across?” For the first time, Cam’s cheerful nature seemed to take a hit. He looked at the water with undisguised disgust.
“Looks that way.” Harlan drew in a deep breath, no more enthused about the idea than Cam. “We can use the fences to haul us most of the way across, but we need something that floats. I’m not exactly interested in adding dysentery to the list of things standing in the way of our success.”
In full agreement, Cam looked back the way they’d come, a thoughtful expression on his face. “I think I saw just what we need on an abandoned tractor-trailer a ways back. Help me get Walter out of the truck.”
The two lifted Walter from the bed and set him beside the road. Cam climbed into the truck and drove off. Less than ten minutes later, he returned, four plywood pallets stacked in the back. Cam drove down to the water and parked the truck at its bank before hopping out.
“Not exactly a canoe, but we can strap these together and attach one of the tarps to the top to help the buoyancy. We’ll probably get our feet wet, but that’s better than takin’ a dip, don’t ya think?”
Harlan agreed and the two set to work on building the makeshift raft. Less than a half hour later, it was ready for its maiden voyage. Harlan tied one last piece of rope to the front as Cam watched him.
“What’s that for?”
“In case we need a tow.” He gestured to The Professor and winked. He then turned to Walter. “Let’s get you settled.”
Walter shambled forward and they helped him to lie on the pallets, face up. The corpse centered, they set the other tarp beside him. Its folded cover an attempt at waterproofing the weapons and ammunition and the few, small supplies they’d be able to carry once they reached the other side.
Ready to go, they pushed the raft into the water and climbed onto it with The Professor lending a hand. Buoyed by the tarp, the pallets sunk a few inches, but stayed afloat despite the weight. Cam smiled wide and Harlan gave him an appreciative nod as he reached out to grab the edge of the fence that protruded from the water.
Hand over hand they made their way across the river, the corpse smell stirred up in their wake. Swollen bodies floated past, bumping wit
h wet thumps against the wooden frame. One slid by, catching a bulbous swelling on the sharpened corner of the raft. The bubble burst and the air was suddenly full of the rank stench of infectious pus and putrefied flesh.
Cam gagged and nearly tumbled into the water as he spun away to keep from puking onto the raft. The sound of his retching roiled in Harlan’s ears and he nearly followed suit. He implored his hands to work faster, to pull them away from the pustulant corpse and Cam’s vomit. The raft wobbled and shook, but stayed afloat as Harlan put some distance between them and the horrid scent.
The smell settled back to its previous noxious odor and Harlan turned to Cam, his heart pounding. “You have to be careful or we’ll—”
The Professor screamed a warning just as a thunderous crack broke the silence. Cam twitched and blood sprayed from his eye in a riotous geyser. A volcano of blood, bone, and brain matter erupted from the base of his skull. He stumbled back in silence, his arms flailing like a severed marionette. Harlan reached out to catch him despite knowing he was already gone.
The sudden presence of the undead screamed inside his head.
Cam fell into the water, upending the raft as he went. Harlan was dumped into the river right after, barely able to catch a partial breath before going under. Walter landed on top of him a heartbeat later, pushing him down deeper. The wrapped guns and equipment dropped beside him, barely visible in the gloom before the tarp slid out of sight.
Walter’s empty chest cavity flooded, the weight bearing Harlan down. Harlan thrashed and reached for his sword as he bucked the body from his shoulders. It sunk fast as Harlan managed to yank his blade free. He thrust with all his strength at the sinking flesh and felt the sword strike home. Though he couldn’t see anything, he heard Walter’s agonized scream reverberate inside his head.
Free of the anchor of dead flesh, Harlan kicked madly and rose to the surface. He gasped and drew in a deep breath of sweet air tinted with rancid water, dogpaddling to keep himself afloat.
His eyes burned from the filth, but he found his bearings and peered across the river to see Alejandra standing on the far shore. She stood rigid, her chanting voice drifting across the intervening space. Her hands glistened with energy as mystical tendrils seeped from her fingertips. Spiritual energy coalesced before her and a ghost form took shape.
A splash behind him drew his attention away from the necromancer. Harlan glanced back to see a bloated walker drifting toward him, its dead eyes dripping with purpose. He spun and made for the tangled fence, frantic splashing doing little to speed his pace. Just before he reached its relative safety, he felt something grip his ankle. He lashed out with his sword. The water slowed his arm and the blade failed to pierce the rotten flesh of the corpse that held him. Before he could swing again, he was dragged under.
Harlan bit back his fury and held his breath. He turned his focus to the walker that held his leg. The glimmering light above sunk fast as they dropped toward the bottom. Harlan spun his sword about to thrust.
From the murky depths, a second walker crashed into his chest and pressed against his face, pinning his arms to his side. Rancid wet flesh oozed against his lips and nose as the walker squeezed him tight. He felt his ribs flex, the injured one giving way with a vibrating snap. He clenched his teeth to swallow his scream. The walker’s ethereal voice reverberated in his mind, raging obscenities and incoherent threats spewed in chaotic bursts.
Harlan’s lungs began to fill with blood and fluid as he struggled against the restraining walker. He couldn’t break its iron grip. His sword dangled helpless in his hand. He released it in a desperate bid, pushing it away as hard as he could. He called out for The Professor as he felt the downward movement stop, the walker attached to his ankle settling on the bottom.
Hearing nothing from his guardian spirit, the roar in his ears drowning out even the rambling fury of the walkers, he felt himself drowning in his own blood. Insane fury welled up in defiance of death, the image of his daughter pleaded for him to live. He bit down upon the wall of flesh that pressed against his face. Its waxy surface burst. Bitter bile and rancid pus exploded into his throat and splattered about his face. He gagged and added black blood and vomit to the noxious mix.
Though his vision was obscured by the swirling nastiness and the walker’s putrid flesh, he could see white spots flickering in the depths of his eyes. He felt his mind drifting. His thoughts waded sluggish through the mire of his head. In a panic, he remembered his blade. He called it to him, extending his hand as far as he could reach.
The blade cleaved through the water in silence. Its pommel crashed into the back of the walker’s skull, careening off to disappear in the darkness. The blow staggered the corpse and sent it tumbling into the murk, Harlan’s ankle slipping free.
Nothing but black before his eyes, there came the sudden sensation of light as the crushing pressure at his ribs was torn away. A leering ghost presence flashed before him as his mind shuddered. Cold and numb, his body giving in to the pain, Harlan floated limp. The vague impression he was moving flittered through his head as whispered entreaties battered against the building wall of insensibility.
Darkness became blinding light, an unexpected solidness replacing willowy softness. Pain screamed to life as something pressed hard inside his stomach. He rolled to his side as fetid water and thick, black blood streamed from his mouth. Hacking coughs ripped chunks of flesh from his throat.
Shouts surrounded him, but the words were lost in the humming drone of his ears. Trembles shook his body as he lay there weak, unable to move. An avalanche of thoughts thundered down the mountain of his mind, their essence slowing and becoming clear as they cluttered at the bottom of the slope.
Rough hands pulled him to his feet, vertigo taking him for a ride. He stared at the whirling blurs beside him until they coalesced and settled on a singular form. Charlie gave him a toothless grin as he held tight to Harlan’s arm. Harlan swiveled his head to see Jebediah at his other arm. Realizing what had happened, Harlan’s eyes went to their leader.
Alejandra stood before him. Her leathered flesh was creased with age, sculpted by the determination within.
“You don’t get to take him away from me, Harlan,” she said, her words tempered in steel.
Harlan lifted his chin, the effort exhausting. “My wife.” His voice could barely be heard.
Alejandra ran her hand over her wiry hair, smoothing it back in place. Her brown eyes stared into his. “She was just another spirit until I stumbled across you and learned the truth. Now she’s insurance against your attempts to seal the breach.”
“Why don’t you just kill him?” Rodrigo paced behind her, his lip curled into a sneer. His waving pistol emphasized his words.
“Be quiet,” Gunther thundered.
Rodrigo stood in defiance. “He’s the reason Will and Alfonso are dead. He deserves to die.”
Alejandra turned and stared Rodrigo down. “And he will in good time. Now do as Gunther said and be quiet.” She looked back to Harlan. “I find myself in a strange position that I must ask for your help to retrieve my son’s soul.” Harlan’s eyes narrowed and she waggled a finger. “Before you dare to challenge me, know that I possess both Cornelius and Sarah. I have absorbed their spirits and will hold them until you help me.”
The sound of his wife’s name was like poison on Alejandra’s tongue. It dripped into his ears and seared through his system, sparking a fury inside. He drew himself up, blood oozing from his mouth, and stared into Alejandra’s eyes.
“I will never help you.” Whispered, the words were like shattered glass, each shard flung at Alejandra’s cold heart. He cast a furtive glance at Rodrigo, then back to the necromancer. A bloody challenge spewed from his lips. “Die, bitch!”
Mustering the remnants of his strength, he threw himself at her, teeth gnashed together, fingers clawing for her eyes. Charlie and
Jebediah held him tight as he frothed. They stopped his advance just inches from her face. Alejandra shrieked and staggered backward into Gunther’s arms.
Rage carved deep into his face, Rodrigo stepped around them and buried the barrel of his pistol in Harlan’s eye. Harlan smiled and pressed back against the cold steel.
He never heard the gun go off.
Alejandra’s screech wafted to him through a watery haze. Her wide eyes stared at the howling ghosts that spilled from Harlan’s empty husk. Freed from the prison of his will, their fury unleashed, they lashed out at the living.
Harlan hovered above, setting his will against the summons that tugged at him so he could remain just a moment longer. He watched as Alejandra scrambled back against the swarm of spirits. He couldn’t help but laugh.
Alejandra looked up at the sound, her gaze locking onto his ethereal eyes. He snarled a warning and gave into the pull, the world blurring into a whitewash of light.
About the Author:
Raised on a diet of Heavy Metal and bad intentions, Tim Marquitz has always been interested in writing, but it wasn’t until about 1995 the urge became a compulsion. However, it would be many years later before the ability matched the interest. Fortunately, the two have reconciled...mostly.
Writing a mix of the dark perverse, the horrific, and the tragic, tinged with sarcasm and biting humor, he looks to leave a gaping wound in the memories of his readers.
A former grave digger, bouncer, and dedicated metalhead, Tim is a huge fan of Mixed Martial Arts, and fighting in general. Involved in the Live Action Role Playing organization, Amtgard, since he was fifteen, he derives great pleasure from bashing people into submission.
He lives in Texas with his beautiful wife and daughter, a neurotic dog and their finger-crippling cat.
Visit him online at http://www.tmarquitz.com