Empire

by David Dunwoody

  "No."

  She frowned, and so did he. It was difficult enough explaining this to an adult, especially the ones that thought they could bargain for their insignificant lives.

  "Couldn't, or wouldn't?" Lily asked.

  He opened his mouth to deliver the standard response, the clinical, unfeeling response, to tell her that he had no influence over her insignificant life; but as he thought of the undead, particularly the one that had been after her, and as he thought of the fate that might await her, suddenly Lily seemed...significant.

  He had no answer for her. She nodded and looked out at the sea.

  On her other side, the horse lowered its head. She nuzzled it and watched its eyes close, its posture relax.

  Death's eyes closed, and the contours of his face smoothed.

  "Does your horse have a name?"

  "I...it's me. My essence, like everything else about me, except for the scythe." He opened his eyes and said flatly, "I am the horse."

  She giggled. "I thought so." Then she turned and nuzzled it again. It seemed like she was doing it for his benefit, and it was wholly unnecessary, but he let her continue. For her sake.

  "How many people are still alive?"

  "Many. Most of them are very far from here."

  "If they get bit by those wild rotters, do they die right away?"

  "No."

  "How long does it take?"

  "Sometimes it takes a very short while, other times not. I'm not sure why. It might have to do with their spirit."

  Turning from the horse, Lily moved her hand to touch Death's. "Cold."

  "Yes."

  "If you're the angel of death, why can't you make them all go away?"

  "I don't know."

  He waited for the next question, but the girl was silent. Eventually it was he who spoke, in a voice that nearly trembled.

  "I hate them."

  "Daddy Addison wasn't my real daddy. My real one, I don't remember him at all. Or my mom. Do you know who they are?"

  "I can see your lineage. I could tell you their names." But it wouldn't much matter, nor would it matter if she knew the name they'd given her at birth.

  "Are...are they rotters?"

  "No."

  "They're alive?"

  "No."

  "What happened to them?"

  He set his jaw and stared hard at the water. She prodded him with her bare toes. "I wanna know."

  "You shouldn't...it'll make you sad."

  She tried to look tough, but she spoke barely above a whisper. "Did they get eaten?"

  "Yes. But there's more to it than that. It's about Baron, it's about why you can never go back to that house."

  "What does Baron have to do with it?"

  "Your parents came back to the house a few years ago. They wanted to take you away. Addison was already dead then. Baron killed him, just like he killed your brothers and sisters."

  "Did..." Tears filled her eyes and they looked black as his. "Did Baron kill my mom and dad?"

  "Yes."

  "I HATE HIM!!" She shouted. Death flinched away. She grabbed his robes. "You have to kill him. Please!"

  "I can't. It doesn't work that way."

  "You just don't want to! Why not?? Why won't you do ANYTHING?!"

  "I'm not a judge!"

  She balled her hands and beat on his shoulder. "I HATE YOU! YOU'RE JUST LIKE HIM!!"

  He grabbed her arms and tried to steady her. She shrieked and thrashed in his grip, and her curses turned to sobs, and she fell against him.

  The horse stepped forward and pressed its muzzle against her shoulder. She threw her arms around its neck and cried long into the night.

  In the house in the swamp, Baron Tetch raged.

  36.

  Bait

  "Just listen for a minute. Just let me walk you through it." Duncan said quietly. He and Voorhees sat by the window at the end of the fourth-floor corridor. The sun was coming up behind a miserable-looking cloud cover.

  "I suppose I've got nothing better to do," muttered Voorhees. "Shoot."

  "Addison's got 'domesticated' rotters, like the ones that attacked the shelter, like the one with the skull that followed us. We managed to kill some of them and get away. Then, you've got these explosions all across the city, and ferals start homing in on us. Now do you really think it's all a coincidence?"

  "Of course I don't." Voorhees said sharply. "But what you're saying is ridiculous. If Addison was still alive, and had trained up these zombies, why would he send them to kill us? Why would he lure the ferals into the Harbor?"

  "He wants us out." Duncan replied. "Simple as that. I don't know why - and I'm not saying this guy is thinking rationally either - but that seems to be the answer."

  "Let's say for a second that you're right, Duncan."

  "Jenna's the one who put it all together, you know that."

  "Fine. Let's say for a second that O'Connell's right. What, then, do we do about it?"

  "You're a P.O."

  "I'm not going to make anyone here any safer by running off into the swamp to arrest a guy who might not even exist. That's assuming I get past the horde in the plaza."

  Duncan shrugged. "I'll go with you."

  "Forget it."

  "Look." He tapped his bum leg. "You remember what happened here? The axe?"

  "Yeah."

  Duncan's face fell, as if he was reconsidering what he was about to say. Voorhees looked from his eyes to the bandaging, then it clicked.

  "Duncan, that's very unlikely. What you're getting at is very unlikely."

  "How do you know?" The man's voice was a soft, scratchy whisper. "You used that axe to take the rotter's feet off. The blade had his blood or whatever it is all over it...I could be infected."

  "Very, very unlikely." Voorhees said. Even as he did, he was studying Duncan's pallor. How long did he have left if he was right? Should he be quarantined? Or would it be better just to...no. No, there wasn't any way to be sure. Voorhees had never seen the infection transmitted by needles, or sex, or toilet seats, and this here was simply outside the realm of possibility.

  Almost. Almost outside the realm of possibility. The cop still had room to be skeptical.

  Palmer was alone in the stairwell, sitting above the remains of Lauren and Thom. Voorhees had removed the heads and intended to get rid of the bodies later. How? Throw them out the window and confirm the survivors' presence to all the rotters? Maybe set fire to them on the roof, that'd be brilliant.

  "Lord," Palmer said, "what do you want me to do? Anything? Do I just keep praying for the dead until I'm dead, too?"

  The door to the third floor was still slightly ajar. There was an infinitesimal movement. The reverend didn't notice. She folded her hands together and let out a long sigh.

  "I'm okay, I guess. As okay as I can be. My faith is my faith. But these people don't have anything to hold on to except each other. I have been ministering to them, through my works - right? - but I'm not about to start preaching. If this is the end of the world, no one cares.

  "Do you understand? Whether you meant to or not, you've answered the question of what comes after death. We see it all around us. No one looks for God anymore.

  "I just don't get it. If you don't have anything for me, I suppose I'll just keep doing what I'm doing."

  Eyes closed, she listened intently with her heart and mind. She thought that maybe, somewhere out there, she felt a slight shrug.

  Then she cursed in pain.

  A few moments later the reverend returned to the fourth floor. Jenna and Cheryl were sitting in a vacant office, and Voorhees and Duncan were in the hall. They each glanced at her, and the look on her face was enough to hold their attention.

  "There are rats on the third floor." She said.

  "Dammit. Did you close that door?" Voorhees asked. "Yes," she replied. "Good." He nodded.

  "I got bit." Palmer said. She wriggled the toe of her shoe.

  "Is it bad?"

  "The rat was dead
."

  Jenna and Cheryl came out of the office. The men rose to their feet. Palmer gave them a pained smile. "I asked for it."

  "No, no you didn't." Cheryl exclaimed.

  "I can still run. I can lead the rotters away, to the north. You all have to clear out of here. You need to leave the city."

  "No. No to all of it. Never." Taking her arm, Voorhees shook his head insistently. "What then, stay and starve?" Palmer snapped. "The city has fallen! It's done!"

  "You..." Voorhees bit back his words and stamped his foot. "I get it," Palmer told him. "This is your city. You want to die here, then fine. But don't bring the rest of these people down with you under the pretense that you're protecting them."

  "You don't get it at all!!" The cop bellowed. "I don't want to fucking die! I don't want anyone to die! The last thing I'm going to do is let you walk out of here!"

  "H-he's right." Cheryl stammered.

  "I'm already dead." Said Palmer.

  "Are you sure," Jenna asked, "that the bite broke the skin? Here, take off your shoe--"

  "I'm going out there. PERIOD." Palmer said. Voorhees tried to grab her again. She shoved him across the hallway. "If you don't want to use this opportunity to escape, don't."

  "Leave, stay, leave, stay, what's the fucking point?" Cheryl cried. "Why are we arguing over WHERE we want to die? Why do you WANT to be eaten alive, Reverend?!"

  "Because the alternative is that I become undead!"

  "I can take you out right now," shouted Voorhees, "without any suffering! You want to be a fucking martyr, that's all it is!"

  "My leg--" Duncan began. Voorhees slugged him in the stomach. Jenna threw herself on the cop's back. "Stop it! Don't!" Duncan gasped, pulling at her.

  "I'm trying to help you, Voorhees!" Palmer beat her fist against the wall. "I'm trying to help you do your damn job! You cannot save these people AND save Jefferson Harbor!!"

  "ALL RIGHT!!!" Dumping Jenna into Duncan's arms, Voorhees grabbed the shotgun leaning in the doorway nearest to him. The others froze, watched him pump it and dig shells from his coat pockets.

  "I'm taking you out there. Rear entrance on the first floor should be relatively clear. We've got to make it quick, and we need a distraction. O'Connell, check all these offices until you find Thom's stash of matches. We need fuel - Duncan, grab a box of paper from the copy room. Then you can help me break down some chairs."

  Voorhees turned to hand Palmer the shotgun, but she shook her head. "You'll need it more than I will."

  "Right." He tried to think of another order to bark, but there was a silence. He looked back at the reverend. "If I was the last one...but I'll never be the last one."

  "You're too good at your job." She replied.

  Twenty minutes later, a series of blazing torches flew off the roof of City Hall and landed out front in the middle of the plaza. The rotters searched the sky to see where they'd come from, then staggered toward the flames.

  The rear door flew open; a jawless zombie cocked its head at the sight. A shotgun blast sheared its torso off at the waist.

  Voorhees hustled Palmer out the door. Without a word, she ran for the street. The cop went to shut the door, but he saw something coming from the south. A man on a horse.

  As the horse neared the plaza, a rotter emerged from behind an overturned bus with a shovel in its hands. It cleaved right through the stallion's front legs as if they were clay. The man tumbled forward, and clinging to his back, Voorhees saw the little girl. He heard her scream. He ran.

  The rotter's detail came into view, and by God he recognized the son of a bitch. "GENE!!" Voorhees shouted. The garbage man turned and caught a blast right in the chest.

  The ferals were swarming around the City Hall building. Voorhees ran to the man and girl.

  The man looked up. Without reason Voorhees knew immediately who he was.

  "Take her," Death rasped. The cop grabbed the girl and slung her onto his back.

  "Hold onto my neck," he said to her, and loosed a hail of fire from the shotgun into the oncoming horde. They stumbled and spun and continued forward in a deranged dance. He sent the butt of the gun through a rotter's gnashing teeth and tore its throat open. The door he'd come through was wide open. If he could reach it before any of them saw...please...

  "I'M OVER HERE!!!"

  Holding a torch over her head, Palmer screamed at the top of her lungs. Another rotter ate shotgun and its cold brains showered over the rest. They abruptly changed course.

  Voorhees ran into the building and slammed the door, throwing every bolt and pushing a wall of furniture back into place. The girl hung on him like a corpse. He glanced over his shoulder at her just to be sure.

  Palmer's feet pounded the asphalt until she couldn't even feel them, just a vibration in her head, just the cold wind. She looked back and saw even the runners falling behind. She slowed her pace. "DON'T GIVE UP ON ME NOW, YOU ASSHOLES!!"

  Their stolen bodies writhed as they pushed onward, driven only by hunger, driven only to survive. They would never know why her death was so much more than that. In that moment, she found a God that she hadn't realized she'd lost.

  Then the ones up ahead grabbed her.

  One of them rolled back the cuff of its jacket and pointed a revolver into the horde.

  Addison's children.

  Palmer screamed as they carried her toward a pickup truck with a landscaper's faded logo stenciled on the side.

  37.

  Twenty Questions

  She awoke in Hell.

  The room was so red, so deep red, so overpoweringly monochromatic that it struck Palmer's senses like a wave, all sight sound and feeling. Then the prickling of her flesh gave way to an oppressive heat. Sweat stung the corners of her eyes; she blinked through the pain and tried to discern shape or depth in the room.

  The heat faded. So did the light, and it was soon replaced by a soft glow from behind her. She tried to turn and couldn't. She was in a chair, and her arms and legs were bound.

  "I told them they might taste you later, if they behaved." A voice at her back said; it was malicious, but youthful. "I'm not entirely disappointed - they couldn't find Lily, but they did fetch one of the maggots that conspired to take her from me."

  The speaker stepped around the chair and pulled another from the shadows for himself. He turned it backwards and straddled the seat, resting his chin on the back of the chair. "What's your name?"

  "Reverend Palmer. What's yours?" She felt swelling in her mouth, where one of the rotters had cuffed her. The last thing she could remember was being thrown in the back of a truck. If they were Addison's "children" then this was Addison's house. But the man before her wasn't Addison...

  "My name? Don't have one," he replied with a glib smile. "Like the dark man. He has no name, does he?"

  "I don't know what you're talking about. Where am I?"

  "You helped the dark man take Lily, isn't that right? Or is it the other way around? Did you people summon him here?"

  She had no idea who this guy was, what he was talking about, nor his relation to Doctor Addison - but he looked like he was on edge. Scared, for himself or someone else. This "Lily" maybe. If she asked the right questions, she might be able to get some answers and even get these ropes loosened. "Where's Addison? Isn't this his house?"

  His face paled. "No more questions from you. I ask the questions!" He slammed his fist against his chair.

  "I'm just trying to understand why I'm tied up," she said firmly, "and why I'm in this house. You sound like you need someone's help. Maybe we can start over--"

  "I'm not untying you." He snapped. "Your mouth still works. I suggest you use it to tell me what I want to know, rather than trying to fuck with my head."

  "I don't want to make you tense." Palmer lowered her head. "Ask away. If I know anything, I'll tell you."

  "Where's Lily?"

  "I don't know who Lily is."

  The man rapped his knuckles on the back of his chair, humming discordant
ly. "What does she look like?" Palmer asked, then, "is she one of the rotters--"

  "She's NOT a rotter. And you KNOW it!!" He stood and cast the chair aside, leaning into the reverend's face. "If you think the dark man can protect you, you're wrong. I will tap into forces that..." Stepping back, he smiled again. It was worse than the first time. "You say you're a reverend?"