“Just tell me.”
“That they’re demanding more food than everyone else gets, that they are here to force people to join them. Some of the religious groups that we have are uniting against them and already demanding they be removed from the island.”
Nothing great, but I was sure we could weather that.
“Anything else?”
“That.” He hesitated and my stomach clenched as though already awaiting the gut shot that was about to come. “That their leader is a murderer, a killer who delights in slaughter and will come for them in the night. People are scared.”
Not entirely untrue.
“Damn,” I repeated as I sank back into my seat, the drink forgotten.
Chapter 13
The two buildings rose high above the weed-choked grounds that surrounded them, with thick, overgrown hedges forming a barrier that effectively hid the steel fence that formed a ring around them.
Abandoned trucks still waited, backed up against the loading bays while the car park stood empty of all but the cracked bones of a few unlucky people who had made a fine meal for the zombies that had long since escaped through the open gates.
There was little movement and only the sound of crickets and birds nesting in the hedges could be heard. Even so, there was something about the place that set off that primal part of my brain that was screaming at me that danger was near. I couldn’t help but grin.
“Do a circuit,” I said and without a word, two of my escort peeled off and ran past the open gate.
They would keep running until they had circled the complex completely. Normally, I would wait for them to return and report anything they saw, but I had a pressing need to kill something so instead, I headed towards the gate.
I kept low, though making sure to keep my eyes on the occasional tree we passed. I’d learned the hard way that Ferals could climb them and drop down on any unwary person foolish enough to pass beneath them.
The other three members of the fist followed behind me, copying me as I dashed through the gate and across the weed-choked area towards the loading docks. All the while, I kept a wary eye and ear out for any potential danger. I was almost disappointed when nothing jumped out at me.
All of the loading bay doors were firmly closed and we were hardly prepared to break through those steel shutter doors, so instead headed towards the front office. Predictably they were closed and some responsible employee had taken the time to lock up before they left on that last day.
As annoying as that was, it was an easy fix. I nodded to one of the larger minions and he dashed off, returning a moment later with a heavy rock taken from beneath the hedge. The glass doors shattered with a loud crash that sent the birds scattering from the hedgerow in alarm.
We waited, poised for attack, but nothing came. No running feet of a feral or moan of a shambler, just a quiet that seemed to stretch taut.
“Damn,” I muttered as I tightened my grip on the hilt of my long-knife.
The need to kill was like a roiling ball of darkness that churned in my guts and made my skin itch. I clenched my teeth and fought the urge down before stepping through the broken door.
One of the minions made a cursory check of the reception desk as I pushed through the door and into the darkness of the warehouse. While I was comfortable facing and killing the undead in the darkness, I did need to see whether there was anything in the warehouse worth looting, so I slid the shorter knife back into its sheath and pulled a penlight from my pocket.
The powerful beam of light from the little device revealed little of note. Dust covered the floor and the racking, suggesting no one had been inside for some time. With a gesture, my minions spread out, moving along the rows of racks in search of any threat.
A year's worth of dust covered the entire warehouse and each step sent small clouds of it into the air. A cough from one of my minions echoed through the building and pretty much confirmed for me that there was no threat hiding inside.
It was beyond frustrating. I had no real idea of where the undead had gone to and nothing to kill. My grip on my knife hilt tightened until my knuckles whitened.
“Nothing,” one of the minions said as he jogged back over to me, filling the air with dust.
“Fine. Catalogue everything and see about getting the loading bay doors open. We’ll take everything of use when the trucks arrive.”
He saluted and spun on his heel, dashing off to see my orders carried out. There was a sour taste in my mouth and I swallowed down my frustration as I headed back outside and into the clear air, away from the dust that hung in the still air of the warehouse.
The two minions I had sent to run around the warehouses were jogging through the gate as I came outside. They slowed to a stop and with a nod of my head, I directed them to follow me towards the second warehouse.
Much like the first, its loading bay doors were shuttered and wagons waited patiently outside to be loaded or unloaded. But, unlike the other, the main doors were opened wide and there was blood smeared on the glass of the windows.
My heart beat a little faster at the thought of some potential violence to come and I eagerly moved towards the open door. I flicked my light on once again as I stepped inside and stopped, sucking in a deep breath of the foul-tasting air.
Deep gouges crisscrossed the walls that were spattered with old, dried, blood. The dessicated head of a woman sat on the receptionist's desk, sunken eye sockets staring sightlessly at the entranceway as wispy strands of hair clung to the skull.
There was no sign of the body but the carpet that led down the hall towards the door that opened into the warehouse was stained a deep brown all along its length. Something had dragged that body away to feed.
“My Lord…”
I waved the minion to silence before he could say more and took a cautious step towards that hallway. My heart thundered against my chest and I couldn’t keep the faint smile from my lips as I looked into the first office.
Scattered papers littered the floor, blood covered almost every surface and had sprayed over the white painted ceiling like some demented artist had set to work. A broken spear lay on the stained carpet, dried blood along its length.
Survivors then, I reasoned. Someone had come scavenging long after the world had fallen and found either a Feral or a Reaper. I desperately hoped it was a Reaper for I needed a real kill, a death that would be not be satisfied by the slower zombies.
The next office was empty, untouched by violence or death and the third was much the same. I moved towards the door that led into the warehouse. My hand rested gently on the handle as I raised my knife in the other.
I made note of the splintered wood of the frame, the gouge marks in the wood around the handle. Adrenaline surged in me, urging me to action as I forced myself to restraint. A Reaper then, for no other was smart enough to work a door.
Foul air rolled over me as the door swung silently inwards and I braced myself, waiting for any sound or sign of movement in the darkness. When none came, I took my first step through the open door.
My boot knocked against something that rolled across the concrete and I flicked on my torch, the beam illuminating a small skull that could have only come from a child. Rib bones, bits of vertebrae and many more littered the ground.
The Reaper, like some beast, had made the warehouse its den and fed well by the looks of it. There were no moans, no shuffling of feet, no sign of the small army a Reaper would tend to keep around it. Not a good sign.
“Spread out,” I said and their torches flicked on.
Their lights, along with mine, illuminated a floor filled with bones and tattered cloth that I could only assume were once the clothes worn by the victims. Living or dead, I couldn’t say but from the mess out in the office, at least one of the victims had been alive when it caught them.
My minions moved with practised ease, their blades in hand and demeanour confident. While not veterans, neither one of them hesitated when I gestured for them to sp
read out and begin the search. I gave a sharp nod of approval as they moved off, heads tilting up to check the racking.
It burst out from between the racks without warning, clawed hands flashing as it was caught for an instant in my minion’s torch beam. A scream was wrenched from him as the torch clattered to the floor alongside his knife.
I was moving before his body hit the ground and I arrived moments after my other minion, skidding to a stop amongst the old bones. The minion swung the beam of his torch around, searching for the enemy as I risked a moment to shine mine down.
The wounded minion was gurgling, blood spilling from the ruined flesh of his throat. There was nothing to do to save him even if I had been so inclined. I stabbed down, my blade giving him a final death and I shivered, pleasure running through me that I couldn’t have stopped even if I had wanted to.
“Find it,” I hissed as I rose back to my feet, the desire for more blood flowing through me.
My remaining minion looked around, torch beam cutting through the darkness of the warehouse. I did the same, swinging it in a careful and controlled manner as I illuminated the racking and the pallets full of goods that rested upon them.
There were too many places for it to hide and there was sign enough that it had climbed the racking more than once. Many of those boxes bore evidence of that on their tattered sides.
“Head towards the door,” I said. “Draw it to us.”
Without a word, my minion spun on his heel and jogged towards the still open door. I followed suit, the hairs on the back of my neck rising as I turned my back to a potential threat.
The minion screamed, his voice filling the air with his agonized shriek as the Reaper ripped through the thick clothing and into his flesh beneath. I stopped in my tracks as the minion was lifted easily and torn in two.
Sweat beaded the back of my neck as the monster, half hidden by shadows, turned to face me. It towered over me by a good three feet and even as I calculated the best attack, I wondered whether the man it had once been had always been so tall.
Tall or not, it was fast and it crossed the distance between us in an instant. A flash of pain as I dived to my left was enough to tell me it had scored a hit and then I was on my feet and running back between the racks and into the darkness.
I flicked off the torch and pulled free my second knife as I ducked behind the end of the tall racking, willing my breathing to slow as I listened for the sound of its movements in the darkness. Blood ran down my arm and I whispered a silent curse as I fought back the urge to laugh out loud.
The vibration of the metal I leant against was all the warning I had and I jumped to my right as it swung its clawed hands down at me. I risked a slash of my blade and felt the claws tear into the skin of my hand as a reward.
I leapt backwards, out of its reach and ducked down another aisle between the racks, headed once more towards the door. I hit the ground hard, scraping my cheek and jaw against the concrete as I tripped over one of the old bones that littered the floor.
Then I was lifted into the air, clawed hand clamping down on my arm as it held me. Its tongue licked out, bloated and black, like a snake tasting the air. The white film over its eyes had taken its sight for good.
My blade sank to the hilt in its neck and I grunted as it jerked back. I couldn’t hurt it but I could anger it. I yanked back on the blade as it roared its fury and swung my leg up to plant my knee on its chest.
A scream was torn from me as it sank the claws of its free hand into my side, digging through the leather of my jacket as though it were the thinnest cloth. I threw myself backwards, pulling it off balance as all of my weight shifted.
It staggered and I used its grip on my arm to pull myself forward, knife striking as fast as a serpent towards its eye with all the force I could muster. It yowled in fury and jerked back away from the blade that sank barely an inch into its sightless orb.
Not a killing blow but enough to make it drop me as it recoiled away. Some driving urge for self-preservation with the Reapers it seemed. It swung wildly and I rolled across the bone covered floor and sprang to my feet.
The sound of running feet came to me and I swore as more of my minions spilt into the room. The creature roared its hate and ran. I stopped and stared at in confusion as it disappeared amongst the racking with a surprising speed considering its size.
“My Lord Death, we heard the screams!”
“Yes, yes, get after it,” I snapped and didn’t hide my grin as I set off at a run.
Chapter 14
Samuel stood at one end of the basketball court, arms crossed over his chest as he scowled at the acolytes that filled the space. Occasionally he would bark out an order at one pair or another and they would adjust without a word of complaint.
There was something almost mesmerizing about watching them fight each other. They didn’t use blunted blades or anything like that. If you were slow enough to be caught by a weapon, you bore your wound stoically and learnt not to get caught again.
Around a hundred men and women were gathered in the court, each moving through the motions as they practised their fighting. I knew for a fact that three people had died in the training sessions and two more wounded badly enough that they would have permanent damage back when we were in Glasgow.
Despite that, it didn’t slow the others down. They went out of their way to pair off in wildly unequal groupings. There, a small, slim woman barely more than five feet in height and sixty kilos at best, was holding her own against a six-foot-tall mass of muscle that looked like he could crush her skull with one hand.
I shook my head as she leapt up and struck him on the side of the head with the hilt of her knife. He staggered for a moment, but then grunted an acknowledgement of her strike and returned to his fighting stance as she did the same.
That’s all they did. If they weren’t on guard or out fighting the zombies, they were practising at killing the undead. It was all they lived for in the most part. Sure, some of them, like the couple who had found themselves with a child on the way, would still find some time for human contact; for the most part, they thought only of killing the undead.
I could understand it, a little. They were all people who had lost everything and everyone that they had loved to the zombies. They had nothing left but hate for the undead and the only reason many of them hadn’t killed themselves was because Ryan had given them a purpose.
“Hold!” Samuel called out and all motion in the room stopped as if the people had just been switched off. It was eerie.
He strode through the crowd towards me and I tilted my head as I watched him. He moved like he was stalking prey, every step placed with care. Where Ryan moved like one of those giant cats, a panther or a tiger, all lethal grace in every movement; Samuel moved like a wolf.
Fitting, I supposed, as he was as loyal a companion as any hound, but unlike a dog, he had a wildness in him, a rage that could never be quelled.
I watched, nonplussed as he bowed low to me, and immediately, the rest of the acolytes did the same. It was a disturbing show of honour for me that I received because of my connection to their beloved leader.
“Your meeting went well?” he asked as he rose back up to face me.
“As could be expected I said.”
“Ah.”
“Yeah, we should talk.”
“Soon,” he said. “First, we have some new recruits to speak of.”
“New recruits! From where? The town?”
“Yes, they arrived an hour ago.” He paused and looked back at the motionless acolytes before turning back to me. “I will not turn away any who wish to join us, but I am aware that it may cause problems.”
That was an understatement.
“We can deal with that if we need to,” I said with a heavy sigh. “To be honest, I don’t think you’ll be getting too many of them anyway.”
“Oh?”
I answered him with a shake of my head. That was something we would need to discuss later whe
n we had a little more privacy.
“Gregg back?” I asked instead.
“He is waiting in your private quarters with your friend.”
“Cass?”
“Yes.”
“Great, well I’m in for the night so you can tell your guards to go back to their regular duties.”
“Of course,” he said and gestured once with his hand. The three acolytes that had been following me around turned and walked away without a word.
“Now,” he continued as I was about to leave. “We will speak to the new recruits. You may wish to witness this in case you are questioned about it.”
That was new and I raised my eyebrows in surprise. I had not actually seen anyone inducted into their group. I mean, I had been around when people asked to join but had never actually seen what that entailed.
Ryan was usually vague about it and while I was sure that if I had asked I would have been allowed to watch, I hadn’t considered it necessary. But there, on the island, surrounded by potential threats, I realised it would be necessary.
“Okay, what do I need to do?”
“Just observe in silence,” he said and waved his hand once more.
Six people were escorted into the room as all of the acolytes already there moved to stand or crouch beside the walls, leaving the majority of the space in the centre open. Those six were directed to stand in a line in the centre of the room, facing Samuel.
Four women, two men. None of them older than forty or younger than twenty and each one of them bearing those same tell-tale signs of grief and loss that I had seen on so many others over the past year.
A wife, a husband, mother, father, son, daughter, brother, sister, friends and lovers. They had all lost one or more of them and each of them had found something missing in their life once they reached safety. A reason to keep on living.
“Welcome,” Samuel said, his deep voice filling the large, open room. “You are here because you are seeking.”
He turned his head, ensuring he met the eyes of each of the new recruits before he continued.
Killing the Dead (Book 13): War of the Dead Page 10