World of Corpses (Book 1): World of Corpses

by Cook, Scott W.

  Mark did as he was told, letting his rifle drop to the carpet just inside the door. One of his buddies thought he was in an action movie, I guess. Because he twisted sideways and tried to bring his long barreled weapon to bear on us.

  It would’ve been comical considering how long it took, if the side of his head hadn’t blossomed into a cloud of blood and bone and brain that rained down on the other guy lying on the deck.

  Andrea had taken him out with her Uzi from eighty feet away.

  “It never ceases to amaze me how fucking stupid you are, Mark,” I said.

  The other guy let his weapon slip through the railing and clatter to the pavers below. He slowly stood up and held his hands out, “I ain’t armed!”

  We waited. Neither Tony nor I said anything. We just stood there silently, our weapons trained on the two young men.

  “Well?” Mark finally asked.

  “Well what?” I asked in return.

  “You going to do us or what?” Mark asked, “You came for revenge, so what’s the deal?”

  “You eager to take a bullet?” Tony asked indignantly, “You have to be one of the stupidest white boys I’ve ever met. You had a nice group here. You met us and we helped you out and were even going to share what we found at MacDill with you. But at every step, you did something totally fucked up. I can’t believe you survived this long.”

  “Green!” Came a shout from downstairs before Andrea began to come up to us.

  Andrea entered the bedroom, her Uzi held in front of her. She glared at Mark and leveled her weapon at his heart, “You tried to kill my son, you cocksucker.”

  “We was protecting ourselves—“Mark tried to say.

  Andrea squeezed the trigger and the sidelight window next to Mark shattered, “Bullshit! I should just kill you right here and now.”

  ‘No,” I said, “Not our style. We’re not cold blooded killers… like you two.”

  “What’re you going to do?” The other man, a kid really, of about nineteen or so asked.

  “Take you for a ride,” I said, “Let’s go.”

  We walked back to my Ram and made the two prisoners get into the bed. Then Tony and I wrapped their wrists and ankles in duct tape. I drove them off the island, down Fourth Street and all the way up Fifty-fourth Avenue, which was also known as the Bay Way and led straight to the beach. At Gulf Boulevard, I stopped in front of the big pink Don Caesar hotel.

  Tony tore the tape from their wrists which elicited groans of pain as arm hair was yanked out. Then we waited while the two men unwrapped their own ankles.

  “Out,” I ordered them.

  The two young men jumped down from the truck and looked around in bewilderment. I handed Mark a knapsack that contained bottled water, some protein bars and a few other bare essentials. It did not contain a weapon.

  “You know where you are?” I asked.

  “Yeah,” Mark said, “The Don, at the beach. So what?”

  “So,” I said, “I’m letting you go. Find a place to stay out here. If I see you on our side of town again, I’ll kill you both. Understand?”

  “We ain’t got a weapon or nothin’,” The other guy said, almost whined really.

  “That’s right,” I said, “And there are zombies around. We passed a few on the way, if you noticed. So I suggest you move quietly, find a place to hole up and figure out a plan. It’s the natural way. You’ll either survive or you won’t, on your own resourcefulness.”

  “It’s a death sentence,” Mark said flatly.

  “No,” I said, “I’m giving you a chance. Or maybe you’d just like me to let Andrea kill you. Get moving, I hear something.”

  We all fell silent and listened. From a distance, from the south apparently, there was the sound of moaning.

  The other man, whose name I never bothered to ask, looked pale and frightened, “come on, mister…”

  “I’d haul ass if I were you,” I said and got back into the truck.

  I turned around and headed back along the Bay Way. I could hear Mark cursing us as we did.

  “Jesus,” Tony said, “He’s making more noise than the truck. What a dumb fuck.”

  “Hey that rhymed,” Andrea said with a grin. She paused and then said, “You should’ve let me kill him, Sharky.”

  I shook my head, “No need. Nature will take care of that for you.”

  “You don’t think they’ll make it?” Tony asked.

  “No,” I said, “But I gave them the chance, at least.”

  “Hardnosed,” Tony said, “But more than fair.”

  “I thought so,” I quipped.

  In the rearview mirror, I saw something large emerge from behind some trees that were blocking Gulf Boulevard. A writhing mass of shuffling bodies. Hungry corpses relentlessly hunting living flesh.

  Chapter 12

  Red pyramid of Sneferu

  West of Dahshuranek

  Dahshur desert, early 46 BCE

  “Welcome, my children,” A voice boomed from the darkness within the sarcophagus. It seemed like a much larger space than it should have.

  Cleopatra stood stiffly and bravely at Caesar’s side, but he could feel the fear in her by the iron like grip she had on his left hand. For his part, the Roman simply stood still, focusing his attention on the dark opening before him, using his iron will to control his own stomach churning terror.

  “Be not afraid,” The voice said. It sounded closer and not quite as reverberant.

  “That voice… it’s familiar…” Caesar muttered, knitting his brows in concentration.

  “What do we do, Gaius?” Cleopatra whispered to him, her voice only slightly shaken.

  Caesar suddenly smiled broadly, “Come out and reveal yourself, or I’ll come in after you.”

  Cleopatra gazed at him in astonishment. Caesar’s tone was commanding and almost contemptuously imperious.

  The sound of footsteps could be heard on dry stone. Cleopatra narrowed her eyes at her lover, “I hope you haven’t angered the Gods…”

  Caesar scoffed, “Gods be damned. That’s no God or dead Pharaoh, its Imnapek.”

  Cleopatra looked back in time to see the form of the village lord indeed emerge from the darkened crypt carrying a torch. Although it was certainly the man they’d talked to only that morning, he seemed different somehow.

  He wore only a linen skirt,sandals and a golden necklace. It was very much like the one that the Queen herself wore. It was a sign of the office of the Pharaoh. His body was lean with taught muscle under tawny and youthful chocolate skin. What struck her most was that his face seemed twenty or even thirty years younger than that of the weather beaten middle aged man they’d last seen.

  “Very good, mighty Caesar,” Imnapek said with a slight bow, “I see there’s no fooling you.”

  “You certainly have,” Caesar said calmly, “You played the part of a middle aged man quite well. May I compliment you on the return of your youth and vigor. Would that I could perform such magic.”

  Imnapek smiled benevolently, “You haven’t lost much, young man. Although truth to tell I’m far older than I first appeared to you yesterday. Far older indeed.”

  This last was said with a chuckle of self-amusement.

  “Village Lord,” Cleopatra said, her composure restored and her regal bearing once again evident in her own imperious tone, “You will explain your presence here in this sacred place.”

  Imnapek threw his head back and roared with laughter, “Such insolence! Such bravery!”

  “Insolence?” Cleopatra snapped, righteous indignation in her tone, “I am Cleopatra, daughter of Isis. Queen of the upper and lower regions… Pharaoh of all Egypt.”

  Imnapek shook his head and continued to chuckle. Whatever the joke was, he was certainly enjoying it, “Indeed you are, child. Indeed you are. I mean no disrespect. On the contrary. However, it’s just that… it’s just that I, too, am Pharaoh of all Egypt. Or at least I was, long ago.”

  Caesar narrowed his eyes, “Indeed. I’v
e never heard of the great Pharaoh Imnapek.”

  The amusement still evident in his bearing, the “Pharaoh” reached into the pool of water with a small golden goblet and took a long drink. He sighed contentedly and said, “Naturally. There is no such person. Imnapek is only an assumed name. No one would believe me if I told them my real name.”

  Cleopatra suddenly felt a chill run up her spine and asked in an admirably calm voice, “and that is?”

  Imnapek became very serious. He looked at them steadily and said, “I am Sneferu.”

  “I see,” Caesar said not without disbelief, “We’re supposed to believe that you’re a twenty-five hundred year old Pharaoh come back to life?”

  Imnapek / Sneferu smiled thinly, “That presumes that I died in the first place.”

  “So what?” Caesar asked, “You’ve been skulking around down here for eons?”

  “Obviously not,” Imnapek said, “I’ve led many lives, including that of the lord of the village, as I said. Some of the time has been spent in slumber, of course. There is a secret and separate entrance to this tomb. I take it you don’t believe me, Roman?”

  “I do not,” Caesar said, “I don’t mean to offend, even. It’s just such a wild claim. Although you’re sudden youth is intriguing.”

  “Shall I prove it to you, then?” The man calling himself Sneferu asked.

  “By eating our flesh?” Caesar asked indignantly.

  Sneferu / Imnapek laughed, “Indeed not. That carving above is meant to frighten away intrepid robbers. Although it is deeply rooted in truth. No, I will prove it by a demonstration. Do you have a weapon?”

  Caesar frowned and produced a dagger from beneath his cloak, “Just this.”

  “So there is no accusation of magic or slight of hand of some kind,” Imnapek extended a muscled forearm toward Caesar, “I want you to slice my arm deeply with your dagger.”

  Caesar looked at Cleopatra and she shrugged, “It’s his risk.”

  Caesar sighed, “Very well…”

  Caesar gripped the man’s wrist tightly in his own strong hand and slid the point of the razor sharp knife a fingernail’s breadth into the flesh and then pulled, cutting a furrow several inches long in the arm. Immediately, bright red blood welled up and began to flow across Imnapek’s arm and drip liberally onto the arid stone floor.

  The man barely even flinched and said in a calm voice, “Behold.”

  As the pair watched, they saw the blood flow slow, then stop and before their very eyes, the wound closed into a puckered seam, then the seam smoothed itself out and there was nothing there but untouched brown skin.

  The process had taken no more than two seconds, if even that long.

  “By the Gods…” Cleopatra whispered as she slid a slender finger across the area where Caesar’s blade had cut. The only sign that there had ever been a wound was the sticky blood that still coated the arm.

  “Extraordinary,” Caesar said. He was about to wipe the bloody point of the dagger on the hem of his cloak when to his amazed eye, the sticky red blood dried, flaked and dissolved into nothing. He looked up to see the same thing happening to the blood on Imnapek’s arm.

  “What…” Cleopatra breathed, “What sorcery is this?”

  “Immortality,” The man who was now more believable as Sneferu replied, “And it can be yours, if you wish it.”

  Cleopatra and Caesar exchanged glances.

  “Yes, my young friends,” Sneferu explained, “Infinite life and youth. It’s a gift that’s been a secret of the Pharaoh’s since before recorded time. Only the worthiest are chosen to receive the gift of everlasting life… and those who are willing to face the trial.”

  Caesar’s eyes locked onto the other man’s, “How invulnerable are you, really?”

  “And what trial?” Cleopatra asked.

  “Come,” Sneferu said, gesturing toward the open crypt, “Let us retire to a place of greater comfort than this dusty old tomb.”

  He led them into the sarcophagus which turned out to be a corridor that led for a few dozen paces. It opened into a well furnished apartment brightly lit not by torches but by rays of sunlight filtering in through a series of prisms high above their heads. The air in this lavish sitting room seemed fresher as well.

  “What is this place?” Cleopatra asked.

  “A place of rest and contemplation,” Sneferu said, arranging himself on a couch and reaching for a bottle of wine. He filled several goblets, “Please take your ease.”

  “Does Anoxona know of this chamber?” Cleopatra asked.

  “No,” Sneferu said, “it’s been hidden for eons. From here, a very long hallway leads nearly a mile out into the desert to a hidden entrance.”

  Caesar refused the wine, “I don’t drink wine.”

  “Tea then,” Sneferu said, indicating a Carafe on the low stone table between them, “You asked about the power of this gift, Caesar.”

  Caesar nodded as he filled his goblet and drank. He was thirstier than he thought.

  “Once you receive the gift,” Sneferu continued, “you benefit from many advantages, although you’re not entirely indestructible. Blade thrusts even into your vital organs are not fatal, although they are painful but heal rapidly. Considerable blows of this type can lead to a light coma. Major trauma takes longer to heal and requires special attention. Additionally, your vitality is improved – you generally take on the appearance of youth. Although you can, at will and by abstaining from sustenance, take on the appearance of age. Your strength increases as well. I’m not entirely sure what will kill an immortal… although many have passed. Even decapitation isn’t necessarily fatal, believe it or not.”

  “So you do… eat?” Cleopatra asked.

  Sneferu smiled, “The same as you, child. Although… although for true sustenance the blood of the living is required. In times of serious injury, for example. Small amounts of living blood enhance the healing processes.”

  “The depictions of flesh eating monsters?” Caesar asked.

  “To a degree,” Sneferu said, sipping his wine, “Although there is a darker side to this gift. It can keep you immortal… and it can also transform living beings or the recently dead into mindless flesh devouring ghouls.”

  “Anoxona was right then,” Cleopatra said reverently, “About not all the dead being benevolent.”

  “So do you risk this horrible fate?” Caesar asked, “When you choose the gift?”

  “Yes and no,” Sneferu replied, “If the trial is faced and the one being tried is triumphant, he or she is given the water of life… that pool in the tomb you saw. But it only works after the trial. And, if the one being tried fails… then he or she is condemned to eternal suffering – seeking the flesh of the living in mindless hunger.”

  “Nothing ventured, nothing gained?” Caesar asked with an arched eyebrow.

  Sneferu smiled, “That sounds like a quote. Cicero?”

  Caesar shrugged, “Catullus maybe.”

  “I thought neither of them cared for you,” Cleopatra said bemusedly.

  “I’m far more mature than they are,” Caesar remarked.

  Sneferu chuckled, “There you have it. I believe that both of you are worthy. The question is… do you have the heart and the fortitude to face the trial.”

  “And what is this trial?” Cleopatra asked.

  Sneferu sipped his wine, “You’ll find out after you accept.”

  “Cagey,” Caesar said.

  “Or,” Cleopatra said sweetly, “We could have our soldiers cut you into little pieces, Sneferu. How would that suit you?”

  The ancient Pharaoh only sipped his wine thoughtfully, “Brave words.”

  “My words are law, my King,” Cleopatra said with perfect politeness, “that you should know, having held the job yourself.”

  Sneferu laughed uproariously, “Such spirit. And what do you say, mighty Caesar? Shall you order your legionaries to lop off my head?”

  Caesar smiled thinly, “no. I’d do it myself. Howeve
r… I accept your challenge. May I assume that this immortality… heals pre-existing conditions?”

  Sneferu eyed the Roman placidly for a long moment, “It does. At least as far as I know. Why do you ask?”

  “Intellectual curiosity,” Caesar said with perfect aplomb, “What’s required?”

  “Are you certain?” Cleopatra asked Caesar with evident concern.

  “It’s the only way,” Caesar said, “You know one reason. The other is that sooner or later, and I should think sooner, my enemies will try to assassinate me. What I mean to do I cannot do without an edge.”

  She pursed her lips but said nothing for a long moment. She then turned to Sneferu, “I too will face the trial.”

  “Excellent!” Sneferu exclaimed, clapping his hands together, “I knew you both would rise to the challenge. As I said, only the worthiest are offered this gift… and the two of you are perhaps the most worthy of all. Come.”

  Sneferu led them into yet another corridor. The meager torch light died ahead of them but Caesar got the impression that the passage was immensely long. It probably led to the secret entrance the ancient Pharaoh had mentioned.

  They had only walked for a minute or so when they came to a small expansion. It was something of an ante chamber with a door to one side.

  Sneferu opened the wooden door and the trio found themselves in a large open room. They were on a walkway that encircled about a quarter of the way around what seemed to be a large round chamber. A dozen torches burned along the walkway, casting a gloomy and flickering illumination onto the floor of the chamber eight feet below.

  “This is the Arena of Worthiness,” Sneferu explained, “It is here that you will face your trial.”

  He went to a rope and hauled on it. A ladder attached to the rope through a series of blocks was lowered down into the pit.

  “Combat?” Caesar asked.

  “Of a sort,” Sneferu said, “More like survival. You will face four undead. The two of you against double odds. You have no weapons and must kill them before they kill you.”

  “Are they not dead already?” Cleopatra asked, “How do you kill a dead man?”

  Sneferu grinned, “It’s more accurate to say that these creatures are… walking death. They aren’t immortal, they are indeed corpses that have somehow… re-animated. They’re slower than you are, weaker than you are and seem totally mindless. The only thing that drives them seems to be an insatiable lust for flesh. They are relentless, remorseless and will not stop until you discover a way to stop them.”