APOCALYCIOUS: Satire of the Dead

by K Helms

  “C’mon, Nita; don’t be mad at me.”

  “I’m not mad at you, Arlington,” she said and looked away. She was mad at herself and Arlington knew it.

  “I have to do this.”

  “Do whatever you want,” she said coolly.

  He leaned in to kiss her and she turned her head. He sighed, kissed her turned cheek and stood.

  “Put’r down on the beach, Basil,” he said to the Anubis and strapped on his holster before tying the leather hold down around his thigh. He straightened and looked back to see that Juanita had walked to where the Anubis sat and stood beside the half-canine humanoid. She refused to look at Arlington.

  He grabbed his shotgun, loaded it, and slung a shotgun shell bandolier over his shoulder as the ramp lowered for him to exit the ship. He walked down the ramp expecting to hear Juanita’s footsteps running after him. She would apologize and kiss him and everything would be alright, but those footsteps never came. He wondered for the thousandth time if he was equipped to handle a relationship such as this. Nita was worth the effort, but would he be worth hers?

  Arlington exited the ship and the ramp closed behind him. He didn’t want to leave her behind, in fact he hated having to do that, but then again she hadn’t exactly put forth a good argument against it. Still, he figured that he was in for a cold shoulder and possibly a beat down when he returned.

  Arlington began walking up the beach toward the path that lead to the mountain trail and saw four of the dead staggering in his direction. He pumped a round into the chamber of his Mossberg. There were times when there was something cathartic about shooting someone in the face and not having to worry whatsoever about guilt. Maybe he had become desensitized to the violence or maybe that threat of violence lay dormant in all human beings, waiting for the catalyst to draw it forth.

  The pirate strode purposefully forward leaving boot prints in the sand. The dead were about thirty feet away when he raised the shotgun and aimed. As he rested the bead on the closest he was stunned to see the dead men break into a slightly disjointed run. To him it looked as if they were competitors in the polio Olympics but it was also disquieting to know that they seemed to becoming faster and more agile than the slow lumbering hordes he had encountered at the beginning of the plague. He watched as their expressions changed into one of rage. Spittle and a yellow wax-like substance flew from their mouths as their jaws swung open wide and slammed shut like hydraulic presses. In that moment he might have laughed at their clumsy locomotion, but there was nothing comical about the speed in which they closed.

  He fired, hitting the closest just above the chin, shearing the top of its head from its lower jaw. He could see the tongue flapping left to right, forward and back like a dead fish as the force of the impact knocked it over backward. Its arms drew upward as its biceps contracted and seized. He pumped the shotgun again in horror as they gained ground on him and he found himself aiming at the next as he stepped backward. He aimed and fired again and took the second, what would have been a teenage girl, just below her eye, removing the left half of her head. Her shredded scalp fluttered in the tropical breeze and his mind thought of butterfly wings. Arlington pumped the shotgun again. It was a moot point the two remaining zombies were upon him and he back pedaled, dropping the shotgun into the sand. He willed the hook to straighten and it formed into a make shift ice pick as he slammed it upward beneath the chin of one of the dead men. The spike pierced all the way through the top of the dead man’s skull. Arlington yanked the hook back down as he felt the rush of air as fingernails clawed at the side of his neck. He thought that he heard a bee whiz past his ear and the fourth and final zombie dropped into the sand, the contents of its head strewn behind it on the beach. Arlington stood there breathing heavily, and watched as a crab crawled into the hollowed out skull and explored its new home.

  Arlington turned slowly and looked behind him.

  The silver disk hovered about eight feet above the beach. The ramp was lowered and Juanita had secured herself with a nylon harness. She held her Mini 14 and winked at him.

  “Basil said we couldn’t land on the mountain, but he was willing to follow you,” Nita said and Arlington grinned, not knowing what to say, but he thought that saving his ass beat hearing her running footsteps any day. She had been too proud for that and too stubborn to not find a way around her limitations. He could hear her easily from the entrance to the silent ship and he barely had to raise his voice for her to hear.

  “You’re awful cute when you’re savin’ my life,” he said.

  She mouthed a kiss to him “Don’t be a chauvinist; I’ve still got twenty nine rounds in this magazine,” she said patting the wooden butt stock.

  “From the looks of it, you only need one of those rounds,” Arlington said.

  She nodded. “That’s right. Now why don’t you hustle that cute little butt up the mountain so we can go home,” Nita said turning the chauvinism around on him.

  Arlington followed the path that curved lazily up the side of Mt. Alvernia and Basil hovered close, beneath Juanita’s watchful eyes.

  The Hermitage was a stone fortress surrounded by ten foot high stone and mortar walls. Some of the monastery appeared to have been hewed from the mountain itself. Arlington’s mind turned toward Freemasons and the church, but he wasn’t sure if there was any link to the secret society and Franciscans. As he climbed the final few steps he saw that a monk was waiting for him. It wasn’t just a monk though; there were dozens, maybe hundreds of cats prowling the grounds behind the gates meowing and rubbing affectionately against the monks legs.

  The monk glanced at the ship that hovered twenty yards behind Arlington, but didn’t seem to be very surprised to see it. Arlington reasoned that people’s lack of surprise must be in large part that they had just survived the impossible scenario of zombies eating their neighbors. The iron gates opened and Arlington entered. The monk shut and locked the gate behind him and as he did so, Arlington turned in time to see the ramp on the ship raise. Juanita kept her eyes on his until it closed.

  “Do you speak English?” Arlington asked.

  The monk clad in a long brown robe that was cinched at the waist by a white cord with frayed ends that hung down to the middle of his thighs. Arlington also saw that the monk wore a pair of black canvas Chuck Taylors. The monk said nothing, only gestured silently with his hands to follow him.

  They entered the main doors to the two story structure. Double iron-banded oak doors thudded heavily behind them. The hallway was lit by rows of candles and paintings alternated between them. The monk gestured him closer and urged Arlington to view the first painting. There was a brass placard that announced the name of the painting: ‘The Madonna with Saint Giovannino.’ The painter’s name appeared to be unknown only that it was attributed to the Lippi School. In the work of art, Arlington saw Mary looking down upon two babies that he assumed to be Jesus and possibly John the Baptist. Arlington’s eyes followed the monk’s finger as it pointed to the figures of a man and a dog looking up into the sky. They appeared to be staring at a shimmering disk shaped object that floated over the water above Mary’s shoulder.

  Arlington felt a hand on his shoulder and the monk ushered him past many other works of art to the end of the hall where another thick, banded oak door stood closed. Arlington felt an all-encompassing desire to study the other paintings and wondered what secrets they held in their masterful brushstrokes.

  The monk knocked twice then opened the door for Arlington. The monk placed a hand at the center of Arlington’s back and guided him into the dimly lit room. Two slits of windows allowed sunlight to shine in yellow streaks into the chamber. There were no stained glass or any gold or silver relics. This room was of Spartan décor and smelled of incense.

  “Please, sit, mon fils,” said a heavily French accented voice.

  There was only a desk and two chairs, one for the desk and one before it. It was simple furniture that contained no curved accents, functional, but not aest
hetic. Straight lines continued through the room and kept the room clearly divided into two sections. This one was obviously for work while the other side was for sleeping. This is where the voice emanated from. Another monk clad in the same plain brown robe emerged from its gloom.

  “I am Father Arnaud Lefevre, please call me Father Arnaud.”

  “Arlington Neff.” he said, extending his hand to the monk who shook it in both his hands. Arnaud’s hands were hard and calloused. Arlington half expected the monk to claim that he already knew his name and why he was here.

  “We don’t receive many visitors. Lately the only visitors we receive have the stench of the grave upon them. So what brings you to our Island?”

  “Just tryin’ to find some answers, I guess.”

  “Ahh…” said the monk, “but first you must ask the right questions.”

  Arlington shifted uncomfortably in his chair as the monk seated himself behind his desk with a pleasant smile. “I’m not sure where to begin.”

  “I believe that would be Genesis,” said the monk still smiling, “everything begins in the beginning.”

  Arlington spent the next hour talking. He told the monk everything he could remember that had happened since the beginning of the apocalypse.

  “I would like, very much, to see the Anubis,” said the monk, referring to Basil with an expression that was full of wonder, and Arlington managed to piece together the heavily accented dialogue, but he wasn’t surprised that a monk from the order of St. Francis would be interested in an animal.

  “He can’t leave the ship except for short periods and there is no place for him to land,” Arlington said, then added, “Besides doesn’t the whole alien bit contradict what organized religion says about God?”

  The priest smiled broadly and upon recognizing his language faux pas, made a conscious effort to speak in better articulated English. “I think that is what some would have you believe. The church does not believe that God is a simple astronaut or that Christ will come back in the Millennium Falcon to drive us to heaven with Chewbacca praying at our side, but we do believe that God can do whatever He wants, even if it does not include us in His plans or that we need to understand those plans.” Arnaud spread his arms gesturing grandly. “Aliens, why not? The universe is big enough for billions of races we could never dream of and God is certainly not limited by man’s imagination.”

  The monk looked troubled as he tried to reorganize his thoughts, but recovered his smile quickly. “Do you know the Egyptian legend of Egyptian burial, mummification or the Anubis?” the monk asked, and after studying Arlington’s face he didn’t wait for a negative response. “The Egyptians believed the Anubis a deity, but he wasn’t of course. He was a guardian of the dead...or undead. His purpose was to keep that blasphemy of mankind sealed within its tombs.” The monk leaned forward. “They believed that the Anubis came from the sun to protect them.”

  “Basil is a hybrid of humans and dogs...from what the aliens told me. They said that many centuries ago their race did all sorts of experiments with human genomes; fortunately they saw the error of their ways and repented to Yah. According to them Yah forgave but left the Anubis in Egypt.”

  Arnaud nodded. “Do you know the Egyptian legend of mummies?”

  “Of course I do, Boris Karloff and the whole bit.”

  “Zombies…early, regal zombies are all they really were. Puppets really, but they could not fulfill their duties in the presence of an Anubis.” said the monk.

  “So Basil may be a key to all this?”

  The monk spread his hands before him, “Possibly. Egyptian mythology is full of alien astronaut theories.”

  “I’ve heard,” Arlington replied.

  “Have you heard that the Great Pyramid of Giza has no hieroglyphics at all and that no bodies have ever been found within it?” asked the monk.

  “Yeah…I heard there was something about it being used to make hydrogen.”

  “Yes, you are well informed, Mr. Neff,” commented Father Arnaud.

  Arlington shook his head, “Not really, I’m tryin’ to figure things out, but I’m not doin’ a very good job.”

  “Only God knows everything.”

  “I could use some of that knowledge, it’d really be helpful.”

  “These are uncertain times; however I can tell you that there is a gate to another world, probably the world that your ship is from.”

  “That function of the ship doesn’t work anymore,” explained Arlington.

  “This is a gate that is not of the ship. And…here in Bermuda we know a lot about Haitian zombies and their lore. According to their tradition, a sort of ‘zombie king’ taught them how to raise and control the dead.”

  Arlington snorted. “A zombie king, are you kidding me?”

  The monk smiled. “The dead that controls the dead is a king of sorts.”

  “So if this zombie king is dead too, then who controls the king?”

  “I think you know that already,” answered the monk.

  “I really don’t,” admitted Arlington.

  “You realize that this is not his first attempt to bring forth a plague upon this world, don’t you?” Arnaud said, ignoring what he knew to be false.

  “There have been all kinds of plagues over the years,” Arlington said.

  “But only two have originated in Haiti; this one and the AIDS virus. Unfortunately, this plague worked far better than its predecessor. The first attempt did not originate from monkeys, but of zombies in voodoo rituals.”

  “Are you telling me they had sex with the dead?” Arlington asked in disgust.

  “Maybe or maybe the virus came about by these zombies coming in contact by other physical means. It could have been bacteria, viral, magic, evil…call it whichever you prefer, but only God and Lucifer know for sure.”

  Arlington was silent as he processed the information. He looked back at the monk and said, “Lucifer is the master of the dead king.”

  The monk nodded. “Of course he is.”

  “So where’s this gate?”

  “The crystal skulls need to be taken through the gate; the Anubis as well,” said the monk getting up from the desk and walking to a shelf of books and several wooden boxes.

  “I'm goin' with him,” Arlington corrected, but the monk shook his head.

  “There may be no return if you do.”

  “Where is the gate?” Arlington repeated.

  The monk opened one of the boxes and withdrew a scroll, yellow and brown from the years, and handed it to Arlington. He had something else in his hand; it was a small golden ring.

  “Give this to the Anubis. It probably has no use, but he lost it long ago.” Father Arnaud placed the ring in Arlington’s hand. “This is all we can do for you.”

  “Thanks Father,” Arlington said and removed the pack from his back. He handed the monk a phone.

  “We have no electricity, my son.”

  “It has a hand crank charger. It’s a satellite phone; keep it in case you need us for anything. My number is the only one programmed in there. Just turn it on and press one.”

  Arlington didn’t think the monk was going to accept it, but eventually he did. “God speed, child.”

  Arlington walked to the door then turned back. “Just out of curiosity, how is it that a man of God knows so much about Egyptian mythology?”

  Arnaud smiled brightly, “Mon fils, Christ was not only the Son of God, but a carpenter as well....we all have hobbies.”

  The monk rang a bell and returned to the opposite section of the room and gazed out one of the long narrow windows. Father Arnaud looked upon the silver disk shining bright in the sky as it hung suspended by invisible cords; he knew this to be the case because all men were puppets to one master or another.

  Chapter 72 - The last supper

  Ten months after infection

  Easter Island

  “I think I’m going to sleep here tonight,” Arlington said to Juanita.

  “Then
so will I,” she said.

  Arlington smiled gratefully. He was glad she was here and was his. In the old world the two of them would have looked like a freak show; a dwarf and a one-handed man, but here and now none of that mattered, they were among friends. He walked to where Basil reclined behind the control cuffs. The Anubis stretched with a wide yawn and noticed Arlington standing there then looked away feigning disinterest. Arlington held out the ring, the light catching on its smooth surface and glinting drawing the Anubis’s attention. Basil’s eye widened in apparent surprise.

  “Where did you get that?” asked the Anubis.

  “The monks had it. They wanted me to give it to you. Were you in an eighties hair band or something?” Arlington jibed him.

  Basil stared at the golden hoop with a wistful expression that Arlington would not have thought possible. “I haven’t seen that for…” he stopped and Arlington wasn’t sure if the pause was because he was trying to remember how long it had been or if the Anubis had gotten emotional; with Basil, it was hard to tell. “Will you put that in my left ear for me?”

  Arlington knelt down and fished the hoop through a small hole in the peak of the Anubis’s left ear. He squeezed the hoop shut with his thumb and forefinger and stepped back admiring how the gold contrasted against the satin black of Basil’s fur.

  “Very regal,” commented Arlington without sarcasm.

  The Anubis gazed proudly at them with his one crimson eye.

  Nita walked to them at smiled at Basil. “I’m going to go get Laptu, Death and Nan. I think they would like to stay with us tonight too.”

  “I should have picked you up a fancy collar to wear to dinner,” Arlington said as he watched Nita exit the ship.

  “I believe I will have fish,” Basil said as if he were looking at a menu.

  “Excellent choice, monsieur,” Arlington said in a horrible fake French accent that sounded more like Swedish than anything.