Keeping Up with the Deadlanders

by J.R. Rodriguez

EPISODE TWO:

  CARRION ANKOU

  Famine threw the dead body into the back of the cart. This was the fifth one tonight and the pile was getting higher. The pale youth in a close-fitting tattered white burial shroud wiped his brow and moved a lock of hair out of his face. He looked towards the driver of the cart, a tall figure dressed in a long black robe and a wide brimmed hat.

  “How much longer, Uncle?” asked Famine.

  Ankou peered over his shoulder, his corpse-like gray face showing a slight smile. “Getting tired already, child?”

  “Not tired, just a little bored. These are all virus victims. No fun in that. Just like picking up trash off the side of the road. We’re not garbage men!”

  “Yeah, yeah, I know. We have to take care of any real business before we have any fun. That’s just the way it is.” Famine climbed onto the seat next to Ankou who clicked his tongue to the skeletal horses. The rickety cart started down the winding dirt road of the village. All around the duo, houses remained shuttered and dark. Every now and then, they could discern a faint light from a crack in a window or from under a door. Once every four to six doors down, a body lie sprawled next to the road. Some had been bound in a shroud and others were just thrown out, their virus-ravaged faces staring up blankly at the night moon.

  Whenever there was a corpse, the act remained the same: Ankou stopped, and Famine, despite his small frail frame, tossed it in the back. He didn’t even notice the fact that the cart never got heavy or ran out of room. That was one of the advantages of a death wagon…you could pack in as many victims as you wanted without the pesky business of physics.

  They had gone down a few more winding roads without having seen a body. There has to be something to complain about, Famine thought, what is the use in being a teenager if I don’t?

  “This cart is sooooo slow,” he sighed, “at this rate, we won’t even reach the edge of town by daylight. We won’t even have any time to hunt.”

  “Ah, the impatience of youth. Always in such a hurry’”

  “When did you get this thing anyway?” “I’ve always had it. It’s gotten me where I needed to go. It has taken many a soul to oblivion, and it has done its job well.”

  “That’s boring.”

  “I’m sorry being an omen of death and catcher of souls isn’t always happy ravens and poison ivy, child.”

  “Now you sound like Pop. I thought my coming was going to be good for the both of us.””

  Ankou let out a raspy laugh, his breath coming out like smoke from a dragon’s nose in the cold air. “It will child! It sure as hell will!” he paused, “I still have work to do though.”

  Famine continued to look ahead. The two continued on in silence for a few minutes more. They were coming upon the last houses of the village and remaining corpses for the night. Ankou pulled the cart to a halt; Famine stepped off and repeated his pestilent game of toss for the final time that night. A few laborious minutes later, the cart had its consignment, passed into The Deadlands, realm of the Dead, and was heading towards the cemetery.

  The countryside around them was a forest of twisted dead trees with massive trunks. The black bark had grown in a way so it that resembled tortured faces. Mysterious orbs of pulsing blue radiance danced off in the distance. A slight scent of decay permeated the air. They would soon discharge their cargo to the Grim Reaper, who would then see to it that the soul would be taken from its shell.

  He had a deal with some local ghouls, zombies, and demons that took the rendered carcasses for their own perverse needs. They were predictable and easy to please, so that meant they were good workers. The Reaper never had to worry about them getting any Marxist ideas. Just give them what they wanted (disused bodies) and they were good to go. While that sort of simplicity didn’t sit well with Ankou, he knew that there had to be someone to do the dirty work. Funny how even in a world of mythological beings and creatures, there was a duality.

  About two miles away from their destination, Ankou slowed down the cart. Something had drawn him out of his mental tirade. He pointed towards a faint light in the sky ahead. “Oh, I don’t like the look of that. Damn.”

  “It’s too early for daylight. What is it?”

  “Trouble. I was hoping I wouldn’t run into them tonight.”

  “Who? Run into who?” Famine asked impatiently.

  The light in the distance was becoming brighter. Famine could now hear new sounds. He thought he heard the galloping of horse’s hooves, the deep braying of hounds, and shouts of excitement and chaos. Ankou continued down the road, kept his eyes on the sky, muttered to himself, and shook his head.

  “OK, Uncle, what is that?”

  “The soul catching business can get nasty sometimes. Not everyone is as civilized about it as we are.”

  “I didn’t realize we were in competition.”

  “Well, you have these free agent types running around out there. Not really competition as much as imitators, and poor ones at that.”

  Famine now saw forms in the sky ahead, and they were rapidly approaching the cart. His initial thoughts were correct: the noises were of galloping horses and their boisterous riders. They descended like a fog and settled on the road ahead, forcing Ankou to stop.

  The riders were tall, wispy, spectral figures of white and gray. Their horses and dogs also appeared to be made of the same cloudy ectoplasm. They seemed to hover slightly above the ground, a thin swirling mist between it and the horses’ hooves.

  “The Wild Hunt Boys,” he explained leaning over to Famine.

 

  The tallest of the ghostly party broke apart from his pack and rode up to the cart. The faint image of his former human attire, those of a foxhunter, flickered on his body like candlelight. His voice was a low hiss. “Babysitting there, Ankou?”

  “Babysitting? I’m not a kid!” Famine protested.

  “Oi! Just you go back up to the sky there, cloud boy,” Ankou replied to The Hunter while motioning for Famine to settle down.

  “Not a very nice way to treat friends,” The Hunter said back.

  “You’re no friend of mine.”

  “Still driving that shoebox on wheels, too. I thought they would have given you an upgrade by now.”

  “At least he has a real vehicle. What do you guys have?” Famine asked with contempt.

  “It’s alright. He’s just mad because he keeps being turned down for that air hostess job.”

  The hunting party broke out in laughter. Ankou and Famine smiled at this unexpected response.

  The Hunter remained stoic. “Delightful as always, Ankou. Making up for your ugliness with humor has been your strong suit.”

  “What do you want? I have a job to do.”

  The Hunter peered into the back of Ankou’s cart, noticing the pile of corpses. He nodded towards them with a slight smile on what could be described as his face. “Awful lot of merchandise you have there. Not going to use all of that are you? I think that would be waste.”

  Famine’s thin pasty face contorted with anger. “Go get your own, you stupid git! We worked all night for them! Don’t give him nothing, Uncle!”

  Ankou nodded, pointing his gloved finger towards The Hunter. “I’m taking this cargo to the Reaper. He has plans for it that don’t include you.”

  “That’s the problem with your family, Ankou. You’re always hoarding the goods out here. It’s not like you guys have a monopoly on souls. It’s fair game out here as far as I am concerned,” The Hunter said.

  “That’s where you’re wrong. We are death in the minds and hearts of the people. They wouldn’t stand having your lot alongside our kind. They just wouldn’t accept it.”

  The Hunter’s look was that of disbelief and contempt. “And you know that for a fact?”

  Ankou was silent for a few seconds, and then he leaned ba
ck a bit to survey The Hunter and his party, “I’ve been in the game for a very long time and have seen a lot. I know what these pathetic bags of water and flesh fear and revile. I know what makes their hearts sink with pure terror and dread. It’s not a bunch of silly wispy boys on their silly wispy horses. It’s a figure of darkness without pity or remorse. It’s the Reaper. It’s me.”

  “So get back to chasing deer or whatever the hell it is you guys hunt and leave us alone,” Famine interjected. “

  You’re all talk and no action, the whole bunch of you. I’m not afraid of any of you rotting piles of meat, “ The Hunter boasted as he turned towards his party, “What can you do with your silly ugly hats, last century’s cloaks, and termite infested carts?”

  “Watch it, assho--,” Famine shouted.

  Ankou quickly cut him off. “Don’t listen to him, child. He’s an idiot.”

  The Hunter placed his hands on his hips and glanced up at the moon. He let out a long sigh. “I’d expect that from you. You were weak a thousand years ago and you are. You can’t even go out without your ugly, bratty kids for protection. Did your brother force the kid to come?”

  “I am here because I want to be like my uncle. Besides, Ankou could kick your ass all over this road.”

  The Hunter spun around to face Ankou and Famine again, a broad smile across his visage. “Is that so?”

  Ankou’s expression on his corpse-like face was one of surprise; he shook his head and waved his bony, gloved hand towards The Hunter. “Oh, no, no, no! The child’s got a big mouth,” he turned towards Famine, “He doesn’t know when to keep it shut. Besides, his brain isn’t fully developed so he doesn’t know any better. Teenagers are annoying that way. ”

  “What? I know what I’m saying, Uncle. You could kick his ghostly ass,” Famine defiantly said waving at the hunters, “and his riders’ asses, too.” Ankou’s jaw dropped and he quickly faced The Hunter again.

  The other ghostly riders stirred, commented amongst themselves and a couple threw out curse words in their direction. Ankou leaned towards his nephew and whispered. “Would you keep quiet? If you want to have any fun tonight, we need to get out of here fast. We just don’t have time for this now.” Famine was about to protest when the Hunter spoke.

  “So is this a challenge I’m hearing, Ankou?”

  Ankou was quiet for a moment, his bony finger tapping his emaciated chin, his head slightly down. Famine stayed quiet, too. He stared at his uncle, awaiting a response.

  “Did you fall asleep there, old man?” The Hunter teased.

  Ankou’s head snapped up. “Death doesn’t sleep, you damned fool. I was just thinking about a way to beat you without resorting to violence. I abhor it.”

  “Is that so? I’d love to hear what you came up with.”

  Ankou smiled ever so slightly, showing narrow blackened teeth. His eyes glowed a little more than usual. “Let’s see who can really collect souls. Let’s see who can be called a real Death Omen. We can sit here all night and talk, but the truth lies in the actions.”

  “In other words, put your money where your mouth is, you ass. That is if you’re man enough.” Famine said.

  The Hunter rolled his eyes, folded his arms across his chest, and kicked a small stone lying in the road into the brush on the side of the road. A mangy rat ran out screeching in terror only to be devoured by a nearby spectral hound. “You think I’m afraid? Hardly.

  What did you have in mind?”

  “We’ll have a race. You take one man and I’ll take Famine here. We’ll run down this road until we meet the next person. Whoever catches him first keeps the soul and proves himself a true collector. So, what say you?” Ankou asked.

  “Let’s say I do go for this childish game of yours. What’s in it for me? Why should I waste my time and…talent…on you lot?”

  “Other than bragging rights, the winner gets to catch souls in this area for the next year without the other interfering. He gets everything without question.”

  The Hunter shook his head “no” and put his hand out to match the gesture. He let a slight laugh of skepticism. “Your brother will never go for that, you know. He’s more powerful than any of us. He’s not going to just turn things over like that.”

  Ankou’s voice took a tone of reassurance and softness that took everyone by surprise. He acted as if he was addressing a small child as he directed the rest of his speech to his opponent. “Let me take care of him. The Reaper can be persuaded. He might be the most forceful being in our world, but he’s a man of honor. He’ll know and trust my judgment.”

  The Hunter thought for a few seconds. He spoke defiantly. “When I win, I also want your cart full of bodies.”

  “Bugger off, buddy! I told you we already worked to get these guys. You can’t have them!” Famine said pointing to the bodies in the rear of the cart.

  Ankou held his threw his hands up and shrugged. “Sure, as a bonus, if you win, you can have tonight’s catch. If I happen to win, I get to have ten of your men…or what’s left of them. Every little bit counts towards The Reaper’s pool.”

  “You got yourself a deal.”

  The Hunter climbed back unto his horse and waved for the tallest of his Riders to come near him. Once he was there, The Hunter looked back at the rest of the party and waved his wispy hand, the fingers tapering off into whip-like tendrils. “The rest of you go ride along the coast and look for any weary travelers.”

  With a tumult of fanfare, baying, and shouting, the rest of the Riders galloped off into the dark sky. The Hunter turned his attention back to Ankou and the cart. “Weary travelers make the best company. They always want to go somewhere and we’re always on the go.”

  “Who gives a damn? Let’s get this thing started, Uncle, I’m tired of hanging around these pathetic losers.”

  “Right you are, nephew. We’ll take the actual road and you guys ride just above us.”

  The Hunter nodded. He and the Rider floated above the cart and hovered there. “Anytime you’re ready, old man.”

  Ankou gave a raspy yell, pulled hard on the reins and the cart moved forward. Overhead, the ghostly duo followed closely. They rode for a moment without sighting anyone on the road.

  “I think this might be a waste of time. Who’s going to be out on a deserted road in the middle of the night at the height of a plague? You should have just gotten out, said some magical incantations and sent them all to Hell,” Famine complained.

  “Magical incantations? Who do you think I am? The witch Baba Yaga? Besides, there is no Hell. It’s all a lot of shite made up by humans.”

  “I was just saying you could have done something else back there.”

  “You impetuous kid. Haven’t you learned anything? Loudmouths like that always end up fools in the end. Just wait. Since when did you become such a smart ass anyway?”

  “It’s part of being young, Uncle. I’m supposed to be rebellious and all that sort of shit, you know.” Famine rolled his eyes, folded his arms, and gave an exasperated sigh.

  Ankou glanced up at his rivals who were still keeping pace. “Let’s pick it up!” He yelled again and the cart began to race faster. Famine then noticed a small stone wall running along the right side of the road. It became higher and craggier as they rode on. There also seemed to be bits of jagged metal jutting from the top. It seemed familiar. He glanced at his uncle, who kept his eyes dead ahead. For a moment, he thought he saw a flash in the carrion driver’s eyes. He was up to something. Famine was startled by a yell from The Hunter.

  “Aha! Look! There!”

  Famine peered ahead and saw a solitary figure ambling down the middle of the trail. The gait looked like that of a man uneasy on his feet. The Hunter and his Rider pulled ahead, barreling towards the walker. Ankou kept the cart at a steady rate; t
he speed didn’t catch up to that of their challengers. Famine looked towards him with eyes wide.

  “What are you doing? Catch up! Go faster!”

  Ankou said nothing. Ahead, The Hunter was almost upon his quarry.

  “They’re going to win, Ankou! They’re going to bloody win!”

  “The winner will lose and the loser will win.”

  “You’re talking out of your ass.”

  “You’re going to regret saying that, young Famine. We’ll see whose ass is talking when it’s all over.”

  “That doesn’t even make sense!”

  Famine decided to just be quiet and watch his family’s reputation and livelihood go down the proverbial toilet. He sat back and watched as the walker finally turned to face his attackers. There was shouting and screaming from both parties. The hapless victim vainly flailed his arms about, trying to dissuade his ghostly aggressors from taking any further action. The Hunter threw a net over him and dragged him to the ground. There were shouts of jubilation and excitement, as the quarry seemed to be caught.

  Famine hung his head. This was a damned sad day in the life of such a glorified and revered soul collector. How could this have an ending in their favor? What would his father say about all of this? He couldn’t imagine the Grim Reaper giving it up to a bunch of silly apparitions. Worse yet was what other spirits and creatures would think of him. Being a defeated Death Omen was one thing, but being the son of one seemed worse. A few seconds later, Ankou’s cart drew up behind the celebrating duo. Famine looked up to see The Hunter and the Rider standing above the prostrate figure under the net. They smiled - if you could call it that - broadly and looked very smug in their victory.

  “Who’s the pathetic loser now, boy?”

  “Kiss my deathly pale ass.”

  “Not very sportsman-like behavior there. Need to teach your nephew a few things, Ankou.

  “I agree that he needs to learn something, but sportsman-like behavior isn’t one of them at the moment,” said the soul collector taking off his glove examining his black nails in an uncharacteristically dainty manner.

  The Hunter glanced at his companion and shrugged. “Whatever you say. I won. Now hand over those bodies, get out of my way, and let the Wild Hunt take over from here.” The Hunter and Rider laughed and pointed at Ankou and Famine.

  “I wouldn’t put those souls in your purse just yet, Sky Boy,” Ankou said flatly.

  “What do you mean?”

  “Did you look at your…er…victim?”

  “What’s there to look at? It’s just some guy,” The Hunter replied with indifference.

  “Is that so? I’d have a look just the same, fellows.”

  The Hunter and Rider looked down at their writhing capture. It wasn’t just some guy. In fact, it wasn’t a guy at all. Staring up at them were two glowing yellow eyes. They were set into an elongated decaying face with thin black lips and a pointed nose. The thing drew back its lips to reveal jagged blackened teeth and a snake-like tongue of crimson. Shaggy gray hair covered its rounded head and rested on its broad wing-like shoulders. It raised its grotesquely thin arm and pointed a jet-black talon at the two. It spoke in a quick, clipped manner. “What’s this, then?”

  The Hunter’s lipless mouth dropped open in shock. His companion and horse stepped back. He stared back at Ankou with an incredulous look on his face.

  “Who is this?”

  Ankou pointed towards the beast on the ground. “Meet Gus the Ghoul. He works for my brother. He’s sort of a garbage man. Oh, I’m sorry. I think he prefers the term scavenger. Isn’t that so, Gus?”

  “I actually prefer corpse handler, but that’s okay. How are you, Ankou? Who are these blokes?”

  “Wild Hunt,” Ankou answered. “Oh, yeah, I should have guessed by the smell.”

  The Hunter was furious. He floated up to Ankou’s face and stared him down a bit before screaming. “What’s the meaning of this? Give me what’s mine! I won your game!”

  “No, you didn’t. I said whoever caught the next person won. Need I remind you that Gus over there is a ghoul? He’s not a person. No offense, Gus.”

  A small red and black spider scuttled across the monster’s leg. He quickly snatched it and popped it in his mouth with delight. “None taken,” it replied in a nonchalant manner.

  Ankou continued to address his accuser without blinking an eye. “As such, you didn’t win anything. Everything we betted on is forfeited. Nothing is won tonight, except maybe some intelligence.”

  “Trickery! You cheated!”

  “No,” Famine said, “you’re just stupid. You didn’t stop to think about anything you did.”

  The hiss in The Hunter’s voice was becoming higher and more pronounced and drawn out. “This is an outrage. You knew this would happen!”

  “And you would have, too, if you had listened.” Turning to his nephew, he said, “See what I told you about hotheads, Famine?”

  “I do now.”

  “How could I have known that,” asked The Hunter pointing towards Gus, “would be here?”

  Ankou motioned towards the wall. The Hunter looked over it and saw the rows of age-old tombstones and an occasional torch-lit mausoleum of crumbling stone. They sat in a vast gray graveyard shrouded with a wispy, low-lying mist. Here and there, gnarled twisted trees stood with branches reaching sideways like black skeletal hands. “I told you where I was going with the bodies. You know the sort of creature that works with my brother. What else would have been out here?”

  The Hunter reeled back and screamed. He pulled the net off the ghoul, who then stood and stretched. He was holding a severed arm in the hand that had been pinned under him. He regarded it with some concern. “I was going to take this home for dinner tonight. It’s too mangled to do anything with now!” With disgust, he threw the limb over the wall and into the graveyard. A small group of startled bats flew from the tree it landed near and fluttered off into the night.

  “You’re not going to get away with this, you stinking sack of rotted flesh! You used your family connections to get yourself ahead again!”

  “I did nothing of the sort. Like my nephew said, you were stupid. Now, I suggest you and your boyfriend there depart before my brother comes out.”

  Gus and Famine chuckled at Ankou’s remark. The Hunter scowled, drew back, and got back on his horse. “We’ll meet again someday and when we do, it’ll be me who’ll make the fool of you!”

  “Somehow I don’t think that’s going to happen, but go ahead and think what you want.” Ankou coolly replied.

  “You admit you’re a fool!” teased Famine.

  “Goodbye, Hunter.”

  With a scream of rage and disgust, Ankou’s competitors ascended into the cloudy night sky. Gus walked over to the cart, looked over the pile of corpses in the back, and nodded with approval.

  “Ooh, you got some nice ones! Virus victims! A few of them are already rotted! I’m like a kid in a candy store when it comes to this stuff. Nothing like a festered corpse to make the night complete.”

  “I thought you’d like that. Plus, my brother will have a field day with all the souls. Your pantry will be stocked for a while, Famine.” “Hopefully, there’ll be a few extra sweet ones. I know they’re bad for me, but they taste so good.”

  The door in the nearest mausoleum opened and a figure emerged. It was the Grim Reaper. His cowl was down revealing his shiny skull. Looks like he took the trouble of polishing the old dome, thought Ankou, he must be in a good mood. He floated over the cart and surveyed Ankou’s catch. “Had a nice night I see, brother. This’ll keep Gus and me busy for a while. What was all that damned noise just now?”

  “Just some loud mouthed jackass. Uncle Ankou had to shut him up.”

  “Oh?”
>
  “You know how it is. Rowdy locals. Some people just don’t know when to be quiet.”

  The Reaper nodded and motioned to Gus. “Let’s get started. We have a long night ahead. The sooner we finish the better.”

  The ghoul began to grab bodies and carry them to the smaller mausoleum in the graveyard. The Reaper followed suit. He stopped to say something to one of the stone gargoyles near the entryway. The winged beast moved awkwardly forward and out into the cemetery. It flew to the carriage with an uncanny grace, took a body, and went off into the night sky with a garbled shriek. Seemed that Gus wasn’t the only one getting an extra treat tonight. The Reaper liked giving his pets something under the table now and then. It builds the bond, he often said. Famine looked over to Ankou who was chuckling to himself and stroking his chin. “Do you really believe that guy will show his face again?”

  “Oh, I should think so. That kind doesn’t stay quiet for long.” “That doesn’t seem to bother you.”

  “Why should it? I’m looing forward to it!”