The Undead (Zombie Anthology)

by D. L. Snell

  Day 16

  Leading a party out to the mountains. We will drive as close as is safe, and then walk to better blend in. Three more parties follow over the next three days.

  They all have the code to the keypad.

  They also have guns. Just in case.

  Two Confessions

  E. W. Norton

  Capt. Eugene Bristol, Lakhnauti, India, June 8th, 1900

  My Dearest Anne,

  I sincerely hope that you have opened this letter before opening the package that accompanied it, as you probably surmised by the large block letters spelling out “OPEN LETTER FIRST!” which I inscribed on both the package and the letter. In fact, if you are willing to adhere to my wishes completely, you will never actually open the package at all.

  I am sorry to have to make such a request. As I am well aware that you are, by nature, a rather curious sort, I know that restraining yourself from taking a peek inside a package from distant and exotic India will be quite difficult. However, please believe me when I tell you that the contents of that package are extremely dangerous.

  I am rather sick with worry to have sent the package to you at all. I would strongly prefer not to place you in harms way. However, I felt that it was imperative that the object within the package be sent to a place far removed from here.

  In fact, Major Thomas, my commander in the Thuggee and Dacoity Department of Her Majesty’s Police contingent here in Lakhnauti, had actually ordered the item destroyed. As you now have the said item in hand, you can probably guess that I have obviously disobeyed a direct order. Thus, the story which I will relate in this letter will be something of a confession. . . .

  * * *

  Gregory Adams, Waysmouth College, Mass., USA, Oct. 18th, 2002

  To whomever finds this letter,

  To begin with, I would like to apologize to whomever finds this letter and the grisly scene in which it will be located. I am very sorry to have subjected you to the gruesome results of the events in which I have been caught up. Unfortunately, considering the horrific circumstance in which I find myself, I cannot see any way to avoid such an eventuality.

  Please forward this letter to the Chapter House of the Phi Delta Kappa fraternity of Waysmouth College. I trust that my brethren there will be honorable enough to distribute this letter amongst my loved ones and other concerned parties.

  As you may have realized by now, this is a suicide note. This note will, however, have to be quite lengthy. For I desperately want to explain to all those that I hold dear the series of events that led to this tragedy.

  Due to the presence of my girlfriend Donna Tinley’s body, I suppose it is rather plain that this letter will also contain something of a confession. . . .

  * * *

  Anne, I know that you are probably shocked that I would actually disobey a direct order. However, I simply could not help myself. I am unable to force myself to destroy the dangerous object contained within the package you hold.

  Although I believe this object to undoubtedly be of purest evil, and also to be extremely hazardous, I could not force myself to burn an item which so plainly proves the existence of forces beyond the natural. To actually be in possession of a truly supernatural object is a development which I never could have foreseen in a thousand nights of dream-filled slumber.

  I’m sure that you are skeptical that this item is truly magical. Hopefully, once I have related the entire tale surrounding the acquisition of this item, you will be somewhat more accepting of my assertions.

  The whole affair began with the discovery of the murdered corpse of one of the Raj’s closest advisors. . . .

  * * *

  Although, it is true that I will confess to some rather sordid acts in this letter, I will not actually be confessing to the murder of Donna. While it is true that I am partially responsible for her death, I did not purposefully murder her. Her death was a horrible accident. I did not intend to kill her and am not entirely sure how it happened.

  Of course, I don’t expect the authorities to believe such an assertion. So, completely unwilling to be arrested and branded as a murderer, I have chosen to take my own life. My only hope is that my loved ones will believe what I am about to relate. In order to ensure that my version of the story will be believed, I have decided to relate all the related events with complete veracity. I know that some parts of this story will be painful for members of my family to read, but I cannot risk altering portions that may later be discovered to be untrue.

  The whole affair began when Donna developed an interest in the occult. . . .

  * * *

  The advisor to the Raj, who was named Lord Beauforte Kellman, had apparently been convinced by several recent acquaintances to join them on an excursion into some of the most untrodden sections of the Indian subcontinent. It seems that Lord Kellman had been indiscriminant in his choice of companions. Upon his failure to return in good time, an investigation into the backgrounds of his fellow travelers was launched. It was revealed that their identities had been completely fabricated. Moreover, there arose reason to believe that these men were involved with the Thuggee cult of Kali.

  Such fears were confirmed when Lord Kellman’s strangled cadaver was discovered in a secluded area, surrounded by the trappings typical of a Thuggee ritual. As you can imagine, the audacity of such an attack against a British Lord resulted in a massive mobilization of the colonial forces. As Lord Kellman’s body had been discovered within our jurisdiction, it fell upon my department to spearhead the manhunt.

  Previous to this incident, we had been under the impression that all activities associated with the Thuggee cult had been eradicated from our vicinity decades ago. After all, Sir William Henry Sleeman had started the campaign against this wicked brotherhood as far back as the 1830s. We had all but reconciled the Thuggees to a bygone chapter of history. In fact, there had even been a great deal of talk regarding the dissolution of my department.

  Obviously, we had been somewhat premature in assuming that the cult was permanently thwarted. This new campaign against these villains made it apparent that they were still very much in existence, although they were definitely far from the strength they had enjoyed in the distant past.

  One very peculiar incongruity which had struck many of the officers on this case was that the devotees of Kali would stage such a bold strike against British authority when they were obviously too weak to present an actual threat.

  The answer to this conundrum became abhorrently clear when our inquiries finally led us to a hidden temple stronghold in the dense jungles of Hyderabad. . . .

  * * *

  Donna had always been sort of on the freaky end of the personality scale. She had a tendency to develop rather easily slaked thirsts for knowledge of the most bizarre varieties. Invariably, whenever one of these odd interests developed, I was conscripted as her chief researcher.

  The most recent oddity to catch her fancy was tantra. This rather arcane practice of eastern sex magic has recently become quite popular, so, of course, she had to try it. As the subject involved sex, I certainly wasn’t going to complain. I certainly wouldn’t have wanted to give her any reason to look for some other assistant.

  And so I soon found myself en route to a local new age shop. . . .

  * * *

  This clandestine temple of Kali was quite grotesque, being decorated largely in stylized skulls and engravings of gory sacrificial scenes. The temple was also fairly well fortified. The cultists had raised earthen bulwarks about the perimeter of the temple. I suspect that they feared we would be laying siege to their stronghold with heavy artillery.

  Unfortunately, there were no artillery companies within the immediate vicinity. Thus, we did not have the option of simply flattening the evil fane via a barrage. We were, therefore, forced to surround the temple and keep the criminals trapped until we were reinforced by heavier fire power.

  As we held our vigil around the heathen shrine, I was surprised to note that a group of abou
t nine of the cultists emerged from the temple dressed in some variety of full ceremonial regalia. As this small cadre lined up along the earthen fortifications, another individual appeared from within the temple.

  The sacramental robes which this last fellow wore were so extravagant, so heavily hung with precious ornamentation, that the robes of the first nine appeared rather ascetic by comparison. This man most certainly had to be the head of the cult, their high priest.

  Of course, his ostentatious display of rank attracted the aim of every muzzle on our side of the structure. The priest did not seem at all concerned. In fact, he almost seemed to be moving in some sort of trance-like state.

  As we looked on, we saw him approach the first of the other nine men. We were dumbfounded and truly aghast to see the high priest remove his sash, wrap it around the neck of the man, and viciously strangle him to death. . . .

  * * *

  The new age store was a fairly pleasant little place. Its atmosphere was thick with incense, and its walls bore a rather luxuriant growth of necklaces, fetishes, talismans, and other arcane accoutrements. Overall, the shop radiated an aura of calm and mystical charm. Unfortunately, as I scanned the room, I realized that this aura was disrupted by the presence of a certain disharmonious entity.

  This entity went by the name of Cyrus Bristol. Cyrus was Waysmouth’s foremost Goth freak. He wore the requisite jet black coif, bleach-white pallor, and ridiculous eye-shadow. He was one of Phi Delta Kappa’s favorite punching bags. When I and my brothers happened to cross paths with the social misfit, we almost always took a moment or two to make some sort of gesture of disapproval. Most often, these gestures involved depositing Cyrus and all his belongings in the nearest trash bin. We always saw our little pranks as good, clean fun, but I suspect that Cyrus may not have felt the same way.

  I wended my way through the maze of little tables and stands to the bookshelves that lined the rear of the shop, doing my best to ignore the presence of Mr. Bristol. As I perused the titles on display, an older lady approached, wearing a shawl and handkerchief tied over her hair. This lady was obviously the proprietor of the shop, as she offered to assist in locating whatever I was seeking.

  I hemmed and hawed for a bit, not wanting to confide that I was seeking a book on sex magic. Finally, I told her that I was just looking.

  As the woman retreated to another section of the shop, I was surprised to find Cyrus standing at my elbow. I was about to tell him to get away from me when I noticed he had a book which he was apparently holding up for me to view.

  “This would be what you want,” Cyrus said. “This is the best book they have on Tantra here, at least for your purposes. Its all about sex magic, none of the other bits of Tantra that westerners prefer to ignore.”

  I gingerly took the book from his grasp and flipped through the pages. To my untrained eye, it appeared that the Goth was being sincere in his book review. The manual even had a large number of helpful, and rather stimulating, illustrations.

  I thanked him in a rather hesitant manner, not at all sure why he was being helpful. As I turned to go he added, “Of course, if you really want to do effective magic via that method, you’re going to need a special tool. . . .”

  Personally, I have never needed any sort of tool in bed to please Donna. I was about to turn around and flatten the freak when I noticed that he was holding out something quite different than what had popped into my mind.

  “This is a special tantric scarf,” he said. “Just wrap this around your lady’s neck before you begin and she’ll experience some real magic. . . .”

  * * *

  We all watched in shock as the unholy priest proceeded to throttle all nine of his apparently willing victims. All of my comrades seemed to be frozen; they were unable to take action, completely stunned.

  As the priest finished off the last of his visible followers, I felt an incredible rage building within me. Without really even thinking, I took aim and fired. My shot found a home within the skull of the evil cleric.

  A cheer went up from our line as the wretch went down in a spray of blood and other less identifiable fluids. Surely, the loss of their high priest would completely demoralize any surviving members of the cult within the wicked edifice. It seemed that a ridiculously easy victory would be ours. . . .

  * * *

  “How much is that thing?” I asked. I looked around for a display of similar scarves, but I saw none in evidence.

  “They don’t sell these here,” Cyrus replied. “This is mine. But, as I always try to help out fellow delvers into the arcane, I’ll let you borrow it for awhile. Trust me, this thing makes all the difference. My great-grandfather sent it back from India when he was stationed there about a hundred years ago.”

  I was understandably skeptical. First of all, this guy had absolutely no reason to be helping me out; second of all, this piece of cloth did not look like it was that old.

  “Yeah, right,” I said. “Like they did sex magic in India a hundred years ago. . . .”

  “Ah, you do know that Tantra comes from India, right?” Cyrus looked taken aback and slightly amused. “Tantra is one of the most ancient forms of magic known. The Indians were probably doing sex magic way back when your ancestors were hiding in the hills from Roman invaders.”

  Noticing that the lady who ran the shop had again come rather near, I gestured to her and asked her if she thought the scarf actually looked like some sort of Tantric item.

  The lady examined the scarf closely, her eyes plainly showing a great deal of personal interest in the specimen. Finally she announced that the scarf bore symbols that were definitely related to Tantra. She also admitted that she wasn’t sure exactly in what sort of Tantric practice the scarf was meant to be employed. She then gave a cryptic warning about not all Tantra being sex magic.

  I was rather embarrassed that it had been so plain to her that I was interested in sex magic. Wanting to get out of her shop, I just thanked Cyrus for the scarf and told him I would give it back later in the week. I couldn’t imagine why he was being so friendly. Finally I decided that maybe he was just hoping his actions might result in fewer visits to the nearest trash can. Heck, if this thing worked like he said it did, I figured I might even tell the guys from the frat to lay off the freak.

  With the book and the scarf in hand, I set off towards my girlfriend’s dorm. I figured that she would be pleased with my successful acquisition of the items she had desired. It looked like I was going to get lucky tonight. . . .

  * * *

  Our men continued to wait for some action from anyone remaining in the temple. We were in rather good spirits, having eliminated their leader. Unfortunately, our high morale was doomed to vanish all too soon.

  As I watched the temple for signs of movement, I was startled to catch a glimpse of something shifting around in the area where the mad priest had recently strangled his followers. Had one of them survived the garroting? Soon, it became apparent that one of them had. Although it seemed that the extended period of oxygen deprivation may have caused some brain damage, for the man stood up and began to walk right at us.

  We held our fire at first, thinking that maybe he was trying to surrender. As he came closer, I noticed more movement behind him. All of the strangulation victims were coming to their feet. It seemed that their high priest was surprisingly incompetent at strangling. This was rather odd, considering that strangulation was basically a holy rite for these blackguards.

  The first Thug was coming quite close, so we yelled at him to stop and raise his hands. We were surprised to find our orders ignored. We repeated our demands, but the cultist kept coming. Finally, we fired a warning shot.

  I was startled to note that the follower of Kali didn’t even flinch when the shot was fired. I also realized that the fellow had a distinctly inexpressive facial expression. His features couldn’t have made him appear less interested than if he had been dead.

  As the cultist reached our lines, we were forced to fire o
n him. To our dismay, our bullets did little more than momentarily impede the man’s juggernaut-like advance. In moments, the Thug had lunged forward and wrapped his hands around the throat of one of my fellow officers. The cultist’s face was, unbelievably, still devoid of expression.

  The Thug was already riddled with bullets. At this point, he probably contained more lead than he did flesh and bone. As his hands crushed our man’s throat, we began to hack at the cultist with bayonets and bash him with the butts of our rifles. All to no effect.

  The other eight were almost upon us. We began to panic: it seemed like we were doomed. . . .

  * * *

  Donna was definitely intrigued with both the book and the scarf. We looked through the book a bit, but couldn’t find anything to do with a neck scarf. Finally, I suggested that perhaps it was used for something similar to auto-erotic asphyxiation. Supposedly, some people believed that oxygen deprivation enhanced orgasms.

  Donna thought it sounded dangerous, but as it was dangerous in a kinky way, this apparently served only to excite her. She decided that we were going to start practicing our new method of arcanum immediately.

  After disrobing and assuming one of the easier positions suggested in the instruction book, I began to tie the piece of cloth around her neck. Since she wanted to try erotic-asphyxiation, I made sure it was a little tight, but only a little.