Undead Worlds 2: A Post-Apocalyptic Zombie Anthology

by Authors, Various

  His chin in his hand, Zeus looked old. Ten thousand battles commanded on ten thousand fronts and never had he seen death and destruction like this. Even the battles with Cronos paled in comparison.

  “Six of my human cities lost,” he whispered to no one. “The dead feed in the mountains of Ionia and legions of them reap the plains of Thrace. Ares battles them in Acharnae, Athena in Delphi. Poseidon mows them down in Knossos and still they come.” The King of Gods angrily brushed eagle feathers from his cape. “Enough! Hades will pay for this treachery! His time has come.” Zeus stood. His robes burned away to reveal hidden armor of blue and white with gilded edges. Lightning flashed as he flexed his fingers.

  Hera, wife and sister to Zeus, rushed to his side. “Husband, where do you go?”

  “Tartarus!” he roared and disappeared in a flash.

  His wrath knew no bounds as Zeus materialized into Hades’ palace. “HADES,” he bellowed, “you go too far! Face me, brother, do not cower! Fear does not become you!”

  Zeus pointed his palm at Hades’ gilded throne, white lightning lancing from his fingertips. The chair exploded, sending stone fragments throughout the vast room. “Where are you?” he demanded.

  Only the echoes of his yell and the rain of dust from the destroyed throne answered him. Zeus noticed a hulking mass, bloody and unmoving some four dozen yards away. He strode across the chamber, his brow furrowed in confusion. The King of Olympus knelt next to the lifeless body of Hades’ favorite pet. He sighed, placing his hand upon the ebony fur and stroking it for a moment in grief.

  “Cerberus. You did not deserve this, my friend. Hades crimes will not go unpunished, I swear on my throne.”

  Zeus cocked his head to listen to sounds emanating from the halls behind him. A scrabbling noise, which bolstered as it came closer, made the god smile. A shimmering bolt of lightning grew in his fist like a spear, “Finally…”

  The Thunderer was completely unprepared for what came next. The vanguard of ten thousand souls burst through the towering bronze doors, all chasing a larger figure. “Brother!” Hades screamed as he ran, “Help me!” The things leapt upon the God of the Underworld as he struggled to escape them. He tossed them away, thrusting with his bident. The fire which shot from his fingertips roasted three dozen of the things, but there were too many. Hades went down under a hundred of the creatures, and there were thousands more to come.

  Zeus’ hesitation was only momentary. He threw his bolt at the revolting creatures which began to fill the massive room. The bolt struck the front ranks of the teeming dead, incinerating some and tossing others several yards in the air. They landed broken and burnt, but not destroyed. The rear ranks trampled the fallen to get at Hades and his brother.

  “Not today, vermin!” bellowed the King of Gods. Another bolt formed in the fist of the massive figure. He strode forward swinging the bolt as he would a sword. Lightning flew from his free hand as he swung the bolt back and forth, crisping his brother’s attackers or outright disintegrating them. Zeus grabbed Hades by his robes and threw the God of the Underworld behind him, where he rolled to a stop against the shattered throne. Zeus continued to fire chain lightning and swing his bolt as the creatures advanced. They were utterly fearless, careless even, with their own existence as they ran heedless into lightning. The Thunderer regarded the situation as he destroyed the dead by the hundreds. He then did something he had only done once before; he backed away from a foe. All of Tartarus seemed to stream through the massive doors into the throne room, spreading like a malignant plague across the marble floors and edging ever forward. Hundreds of thousands strong, the host of obsidian-eyed things raced at the gods.

  Zeus made a powerful bound, landing next to Hades a few hundred feet from their attackers. He noticed that the robes of the powerful Underworld God were ragged and spattered with vile fluids. He grasped Hades by the shoulder and dragged him to his feet. Hades pointed out the gothic window of his palace into Tartarus, “Look, brother.”

  As far as his vision would stretch, Zeus saw millions upon millions of the denizens of Tartarus racing across the vast plains and craggy red peaks of the Underworld. They came like a black tide, screaming as they dashed toward the palace with a single-minded goal.

  “Impossible…” he breathed. He turned his gaze upon his brother, “Hades, what have you done?” Grasping Hades by the arm, Zeus transported them both to Olympus, the wails of the dead echoing behind them.

  Zeus stood tall on the marbled floors of Olympus, but Hades landed in a heap. Ten of the council members sat in their chairs around the great table. Only Ares was unaccounted for.

  The King of Gods pointed his finger down upon Hades, “EXPLAIN!”

  Hades glared up at his brother, “Look upon me, Zeus! Drink deep this sight, and despair, for I have not the power to accomplish this!” Hades held out his forearms. Deep furrows ran down his left arm, and two small bites adorned the right. Already a puddle of red seeped from beneath his robes. “I bleed, brother!”

  The council stood as one, some gasping, others crying out in disbelief.

  “This cannot be…” marveled Zeus.

  Acharnae

  Ares leapt almost two hundred feet from the square to the western tower. He crashed through the flimsy thatched roof of the tower cap landing on the top floor. The door to this tower had not been sealed, dozens of the dead already sprinted up the wooden stairs. Ares made a much shorter leap to the eastern tower, landing amid the living humans. Several of the dead leapt off the tower after him to plummet fifteen yards to the square below.

  Four of the humans fell to their knees when Ares landed, their foreheads touching the ground. Antrius remained standing, his mouth agape. The bowman reached up to drag the child to a more respectful position and Ares smiled.

  “Rise, mortals.”

  The humans lifted their eyes and gazed upon Ares in awe. Only the boy stood. “You, boy,” the god began, “you had the courage to give warning and the bravery to stand before me first.” Antrius could barely discern anything over the din of the dead in the square, but the voice of Ares was like nothing he had heard before. “I would give you the gift of unfailing valor, but it seems you have it aplenty already. These will have to suffice.” A golden sword and shield appeared in the boy’s hands. “Strike the sword on the shield, boy.”

  Antrius did as he was instructed. The sword was instantly enveloped in flames. He held it at arm’s-length, so as not to be burned.

  “The sword will not burn you boy, and any weapon that strikes your shield in malice will shatter. Use them wisely.” Ares cast his glance at Pelias. “Bowman, your aim is true. Let it remain so. You will never want for another shaft. Nor your spearman for javelins.”

  Ares focused on Desma. “Woman, this honorable man has taken you for his own and together you birthed the child before me. I bestow upon you the gift of sight. Danger will never come without prior knowledge.”

  The mortals fell to their knees in front of their god and he smiled again. “Rise once more, mortals.” Ares glanced over his shoulder at the yowling creatures at the foot of the tower. “I must away from this place. The city is lost, and these things disgust me. Where I go you cannot follow. I will bring you anywhere you wish to go, but only this once.”

  The humans stood as one and regarded each other. Pelias put his hand on his son’s shoulder. “Mighty Ares, we thank you for these gifts. We will use them to clear our city of these foul creatures.”

  “Be certain, mortal. I offer transport but once.”

  Pelias gripped his son as he looked to his wife. Both of his spearmen also nodded. “We will stay and fight, if it would please the God of War.”

  Ares laughed. “What a creation Zeus has wrought! You creatures have the capacity for such cowardice and such courage. Rarely have I seen valor such as this. I bid you good fortune,” the god concluded and vanished inside the same gleam of light from which he had arrived.

  Desma turned and screamed, pointing. Where Antruis
had been stood a warrior, fit and strong with the sword and shield Ares had gifted to her boy. The man looked himself over and laughed. He took a knee, placing the sword on the ground, “Mother, it is your son grown. Ares has bestowed a second gift.” Antrius stood and looked to his right, “Father, shall we rid Acharnae of these vermin?”

  Olympus

  The throne room was vacant when Ares appeared near the Pool. Several of the stone chairs were overturned, one broken. A tattered robe lay on the ground, gold-red fluids staining it and the floor around it.

  Ares usually arrived to some flourish from Aphrodite and glances of hatred from Hephaestus. Neither were present. In fact, no one was present, and this struck Ares as odd. There was always one god or another in the room. Where was Zeus? He should have been on the throne or by the pool directing the other gods on how to destroy the evil that was ravaging his precious humans.

  No god, save perhaps Zeus, had seen as many battles as Ares, and he knew a battlefield when he saw one. A battle had raged here. A clash between gods was not unheard of, but it was never carried out on Olympus. No god would desecrate their home by physical combat, that is what the earth was for.

  A scratching sound on the far side of the huge marble table caught his attention. Ares strode past the end of the slab to see a figure slumped in a bloody heap on the cold stone floor. The figure raked its broken nails over the floor once more before it pushed itself from the ground with one hand. It rose on unsteady feet, heaving and making odd and terrible sounds.

  “Hermes, what has transpired here?” demanded the God of War.

  The figure pivoted its head to glare at Ares.

  Ares drew a quick breath, “Brother, no…”

  Obsidian orbs burned into Ares’ very soul. Red-gold blood seeped from a ragged hole in Hermes’ neck further soaking his stained tunic. Ares blinked, but before his lids had finished moving, the thing was upon him. Ares brought his spear to bear, but he was not fast enough, for this was Hermes, the God of Speed. The dead thing clawed at its living brother, slashing bloody channels into the neck of the God of War. Ares pitched the thing away from him, the body of his brother crashing into the side of the Pool. The creature was up in an instant, but Ares was ready. He thrust his spear into the chest of his brother, who grasped the shaft and pulled the spear deeper. Penetrating the skin of a fellow god was impossible, but the spear had pierced the flesh easily. This thing was no longer a god, but it possessed the speed Hermes had in life. Ares smiled and brought his sword down upon Hermes’ left shoulder. The blade bit deep into the flesh, lodging halfway down the side of the carcass. The dead thing struggled down the length of the spear to reach Ares, but the living god let loose with a tremendous kick, sending the dead god sprawling yet again.

  It was Ares’ turn for speed, and he leapt into the air, drawing his spear back then thrusting it forward into Hermes’ side, pinning the dead god to the marble tiles. The creature’s struggles ceased when Ares brought his gleaming sword down upon the thing’s ruined neck. The head of Hermes came away cleanly, a golden winged circlet rolling off into a table leg with a metallic ring. Eyes as black as pitch rolled back into the thing’s skull, the lids closing slowly.

  Ares took a huge breath and let it out slowly. He didn’t know if Zeus would praise or punish him for killing another of the gods. Any other time he would have either been imprisoned in Tartarus, or had his immortality stripped away by his father, but this time… Hermes was clearly no longer a friend to the gods, or even a god himself. Perhaps Zeus would forgive him for this transgression?

  As the God of War pondered his fate, his brother’s eyes opened, and the mouth began snapping, teeth clicking together loudly.

  “Enough!” Ares roared, the tip of his spear piercing the severed skull. He picked up the head by the hair and placed it on the edge of the pool, the red-gold blood of a god dribbling down the white stone.

  Ares felt an odd sensation nip at his throat, the god absently brushed at his neck. He failed to notice the stain on the back of his hand. He trod down the halls of Olympus, seeking out his family.

  Acharnae

  “I feel them, but I don’t know where they are.” Desma searched in several directions “I can’t see them.”

  “Nor can I,” one of the spearmen added. He lowered the palm he had held over his eyes to shield the sun, and glanced below at the piles of truly dead Acharnians. There were thousands heaped upon one another. The cobbled streets ran red with the blood of the citizenry; men, women, and children in a great pile at the base of the tower. One such thing, a dark-haired boy, climbed from under several heavy bodies. It howled at the living humans atop the tower, breaking its nails on the stone in its haste to tear into them.

  “Forgive me, child,” Pelias whispered. He drew back the string of his bow and a wooden shaft appeared, nocked and ready. He let loose the arrow, the child-thing below released of its misery. Hundreds of shafts protruded from the skulls of the fallen.

  “Three days we have destroyed these things with spear and shaft,” said Theras, “and still they come.” He pointed to one of the things streaking toward the tower. He drew back his arm, the shaft of his spear steady. The thing sprinted, bloody and howling. The spearman threw his projectile, striking the creature between the eyes. It tumbled to the cobbles, landing at the feet of a dozen of the destroyed, all with similar wounds. The throw had been impossible. Thirty yards and perfectly on its mark. Theras held his hand out, the shaft in the skull of the creature quivering slightly. Suddenly the spear shot back to its owner alighting perfectly in his hand.

  Pelias regarded his band of slayers. Two were his family, two his friends. He knew what was to come next and he dreaded it. His son, grown from boy to man by the will of a god, was difficult to look upon. Pelias loved him still, but felt they would both miss the child’s life the boy should have had. Growing, learning, laughter, and tears: gone. The bowman glanced at the heaps of dead, many of them children, and cursed himself a fool. If not for the gifts of Ares, his son would have been dead these three days past. He shook his head, silently begging Ares to forgive his sentiment.

  “We must leave.”

  The spearmen and Desma turned to Pelias questioningly.

  “We must rid the city of the rest of the dead. None must escape. When we are done, we must head to the docks at Penteleimon. We must warn the council of what has happened in Acharnae. They will send the Hoplites to other cities to ensure none of the dead escaped here to spread this plague.”

  Antrius gazed upon his sword, the blade cool and sharp, “Finally.”

  “Do not wish for war, my son, or you will find it,” Pelias admonished.

  Antrius lowered his head, “I only wish to end it, father.”

  As the group strode down the street, weapons bristling, Desma glanced back at the tower she had called home for almost four days. Both sanctuary and prison, she thanked the gods for it. She also gave thanks that her son had been spared the fate of so many other children.

  They weaved between the corpses now rotting in the sun, taking care to make sure nothing moved. They were already beginning to smell, and as Desma brought her wrist to her nose in disgust, she felt a tingling from her right side. She quickly turned her gaze in that direction, her vision able to pierce through buildings and the aqueduct. She spied three red pulses coming from a few hundred yards to the right. They were coming fast.

  “Danger from the north!” she whispered.

  The four warriors faced north, but only a bloody fountain and an overturned vegetable cart greeted them.

  “There,” she pointed, “beneath the aqueduct.”

  “I see nothing,” one of the spearmen offered.

  Antrius touched his sword to his shield and it erupted into flame. Two of the infected sprinted under one of the arches of the aqueduct followed closely by a third. “I see them, mother. Stand ready!”

  Pelias drew his bowstring back to his cheek, a shaft appearing on the nock, both spearmen raised their weapo
ns ready to cast. The first of the creatures shrieked, the horrible sound echoed by the second and third beasts.

  At the same time, tingling sensations erupted across Desma’s mind, coming from all directions. “Danger comes,” she cried.

  “We see them,” Pelias told her, “there are but three.”

  Desma tore her gaze from the oncoming trio of monsters searching the city behind her. A tide of death dashed toward her and her group, the red pulses too many to count.

  “Husband, many more come from other directions, we must flee!”

  Pelias let his arrow fly, the first infected flopping on the street, a shaft in its eye. The spearmen also let loose, both spears piercing the skulls of their opponents. Holding their hands out, the spears returned, glowing a slight gold.

  Answering shrieks from the unseen horde rent the air. Dozens of the things came into view, the vanguard seeing their prey and redoubling their efforts to gnash and devour. Spears and arrows flew, but it was too little too late, and in moments the dead were among the living. The spearmen now thrust with their weapons and Pelias brandished his bow as a club keeping the things at bay. Antrius stepped forward, slashing with his flaming blade and bashing with his shield. Two of the things were beheaded with his first strike, the weapon searing the flesh of the dead things and setting clothing alight. He was like a man possessed, stabbing through the skull of a creature which had leapt upon his shield, and bringing the blade backwards to lop off the leg of one which had slipped behind him below the knee. Pelias had never seen such ferocity in a fighter.

  The things came from all directions now, the group of humans realizing that they may have left their refuge a bit too early.

  One of the things bounded toward Desma, but Antrius beat the thing to her and smashed it away with his shield. The dead woman slashed at his shield, her hand breaking into bloody bits on contact. “HA,” the boy bellowed. “Hail Ares!” He swung his sword in a vicious sideways arc, slicing through four of the things and setting them ablaze. Two were destroyed, two severed in various places, each piece of them afire. Antrius stabbed into the skull of the first, the second stopped moving when a spear thrust pierced its skull. Antrius nodded to Abantes as he swiped at another dead man.