Eric stepped on it for good measure before moving on to the next foe, his arm loose and comfortable as he chopped again and again, four strikes taking the next zombie down.
The next half an hour was a blur, machete spinning and twirling and body parts flying. Eric was in another place, his mind shutting down as he moved. When he stopped, muscles screaming in protest, he was past Marineland and about a half a mile south.
Exhausted and finally feeling like he'd worked off the anger, Eric headed back up the beach and smiled at the bodies strewn on the sand.
He was still deciding whether or not to go back to his home and sleep or go back to Murph's and crash on the couch or in John's room. If he wasn't there when Murph got up, the old man would give him all kinds of shit. It was maybe about four a.m. but Murph was notorious for getting up at all hours of the night and frying eggs and washing dishes. Even next door, Eric was sometimes woken in the still of the night by the sounds of Murph moving around his place.
Eric was getting hungry, and looked forward to Murph being up and making some breakfast. He smiled and decided to crash on the couch so he didn't miss the food. Even this early in the morning, it was getting hot, the heat from the sand rising and Eric sweating.
He was unlocking the gate leading to the stairs when he smelled gasoline.
Chapter Thirty Six
Frank sensed him before he knew the human was aware of his presence. The machete in his hand was of no real consequence. As long as he could sneak up on him and put him down before he made a sound, the rest of the plan would be successful.
And why should one measly survivor matter in the grand scheme of things? He wasn't a threat. None of them were, even a mass of them. Frank was beyond the pettiness, but he didn't want to test it just yet. He needed to grow and progress more.
He poured out the last two gas cans, in a puddle on the driveway of the house, and crouched down, moving to get around whoever was out here this early. It would be the wrong time and place for them.
There was only one, so the actual fight would be quick, but if Frank could do it without a sound, it would be the key. As he slipped around the far side of the dwelling, he stifled a giggle. He couldn't remember the last time he'd been so giddy, and it definitely wasn't in his adult life. Being a respectable doctor had mattered so much to him, and keeping up with the Joneses was all that mattered. Big house, big cars, trophy wife, flashing money in the finest restaurants Montreal had to offer. Getting his name in the paper on occasion. Where had it gotten him? Bitten by a dying man and turning into a zombie, and then progressing farther than he ever thought humanly possible. But everything before his reawakening had been a waste of time.
Frank came around the house, intending to sneak up and smash the human in the back of the head and knock him unconscious. He was carrying the machete loosely but Frank didn't feel the need to unarm him. He might even have some fun with this. Who cared if the man screamed? There were only four of them, and they couldn't possibly offer any real resistance to him.
"Hey, buddy, got a light?" Frank said, only three feet from behind the man, flicking the lighter on at the same time.
The man jumped, spinning around in fear and letting out a scream.
Frank started to laugh at the comical way he'd scared the guy, when the machete sliced through the air and imbedded in Frank's upper arm, severing muscle.
The lighter fell from his grasp and bounced once on the ground, covered in gasoline, and Frank and Eric both watched as the gas sparked.
Chapter Thirty Seven
John was almost asleep, cuddled next to Darlene, when he heard the scream. "I think Eric is in trouble." It had sounded like Eric, but as John came awake he wasn't sure.
Darlene was up like a shot, running to the wall and hitting the light switch. "What happened to the lamp?"
"The power is out. I guess you really were sleeping when I told you."
"Why didn't you wake me? What's going on?" Darlene grabbed jeans and a shirt and slipped on sneakers. John got dressed and followed her into the living room, where the machetes were leaning against the wall, near the front door.
John grabbed his compound bow and his arrows from the couch.
"Why are they here?"
He shrugged as he followed her out the door. "I bring them with me everywhere. You didn't think I let Eric have my best bow, did you?"
It was still night outside, and even with the moonlight fighting through the cloud cover, it was still too dark. They stood on the deck, eyes adjusting to the natural light.
"Where did it come from?" Darlene asked. She moved around the deck, looking over the rail. "Holy shit."
There were flames around the house next to them, and a trail running north as far as John could see, the stilt houses catching fire and crackling. This was a deliberate blaze, but he didn't know who would set it. "Is this a trap to get us outside?"
"It worked."
John rushed down the stairs. "I need to get Murph to safety." He didn't know if there really was such a thing anymore, but he needed to try.
Darlene was right behind him. As they got to the ground, they could see two figures in the glow of the flames.
John knew one was Eric. "Go get Murph, I need to get Eric."
"Fat chance. Your dad's house isn't on fire yet. Whoever this is needs an ass kicking."
John was about to charge and attack with the machete but thought better of it. Why act like a fool hero when he could be smart? "Move from my line of sight," he yelled at Darlene, as he cocked an arrow to the bow.
His first arrow hit the unknown intruder in the chest, but then he turned just as the house over him caught on fire with full force, casting an eerie orange glow. It was a man, and he was smiling. Eric's machete was buried in his arm, nearly severing it.
Eric was dancing around, putting out the fire on his pant legs.
Darlene dodged between sea oats that were sparking as the wind carried the fire, machete spinning overhead.
John quickly put arrow to bow and took a better shot, aiming at the head. At the last minute, the man deftly moved and the arrow flew past.
"Sonofabitch," John said.
Darlene was almost to him, and John had a bad feeling. He wanted to yell for her to be careful but knew how stupid it would sound.
Eric, flames out on his clothing, looked around confused, probably in search of his machete.
"Looking for this?" the man said, yanking the bloody machete from his arm and charging Eric.
John loaded and fired an arrow into the man's neck, but it didn't faze him. As the man got to Eric, who was unarmed, he broke off the arrow and left it lodged in his neck.
"No!" Darlene yelled, only steps away, trying to distract him.
It didn't work. Eric put his arms up to block the blow, but the man must have been very strong, because he clove through both of Eric’s arms, before taking a slice of his chin and into his chest.
John shot two more arrows into the man's torso, to little effect. He dropped the bow and ran, now in fear Darlene would be next.
Darlene took a swing with the machete, coming at the man full force.
He stepped to the side, reached up and blocked her attack, and gripped her neck in his hands.
Chapter Thirty Eight
Darlene couldn't breathe. His grip was like a vice, and, this close to him, she could see he was anything but human.
"Stop where you are or I'll rip her throat out and chew it in front of you. Understand?"
"Darlene?" John yelled, but stopped twenty feet short of them, still holding the machete. "Don't you dare hurt her."
The man laughed. "You're in no position to tell me what to do."
Darlene could feel the flames getting closer and, out of the corner of her eye, watched in dismay as her stilt house began to catch fire. "John, save Murph," she screeched, and the man tightened his grip.
The man was about to say something when his eyes went wide, and he leaned closer to Darlene, sniffing her. He
looked confused, but didn't release his hand. "What are you?" he whispered.
"Run," she screamed and felt her throat burning. She was gasping for air.
"You're like me, yet, you aren't… how is that possible?"
"Let me breathe and we can talk about it," Darlene gasped.
He actually released his grip just enough so she could breathe, but stepped inside and wrapped his other hand's fingers around her forearm. "Let's talk. Tell your boyfriend to go away."
"John, seriously, you need to go and help the old man. I'll meet you in Flagler Beach, okay? Do it before his house catches fire." She looked into the man's eyes. "Happy?"
"So far." He glanced in John's direction and smiled. "Run along or I will crush her windpipe. You don't want that, do you?" He stopped and put his ear to her chest, chuckling. "Especially, with your weak sperm already taking hold. If you want to see your baby boy, I suggest you run along and help your daddy."
"What?" Darlene whispered.
"You are strong. Obviously, more than you think, and different. Have you been bitten?"
"Yes."
"You are immune. Why?"
"I don't know." Darlene was still turning over the pregnancy in her head. How was that even possible? They'd made love last night and tonight. There was no way…
"You and I are two different facets of the New Order."
John was gone.
The house above them was creaking as the flames licked the wooden structure.
"I'm pregnant? Already?"
"You are unique, my dear." He released his grip and stepped back. "I am Frank. I rule this world now. But I will let you live as long as you join me. I want to help you grow and teach this child, for someday it will rule in my stead."
Darlene thought she was going to faint. None of this made any sense to her. She was going to have a baby? A boy? John's child?
Frank was laughing and clapping his hands together, oblivious of his injuries. The fire, behind and above him, cast an eerie glow on the scene, the arrow jutting from his neck and his arm sliced up but still operational.
Darlene started to back up and it caught the attention of Frank. "Where do you think you're going?"
She pointed up. "The house is going to fall on us any second. I'm sure you're invincible, but I might not be. Fire or a falling beam would kill me."
Frank nodded and walked quickly to her. "I think the fire will kill us both, and we can't have that. We have a baby to raise."
"Exactly." Darlene didn't know what else to say. She wanted to stall as long as she could so John and Murph could get to safety. It was clear mortal wounds had no effect on Frank, but his mention of fire piqued her interest. She wanted nothing more than to test the theory. "What do we do now?"
Frank grinned. "I'm no fool. You're hoping I'll let your friends go if you sit here and chit-chat with me for a bit, so they can escape. In the grand scheme of things, I don't really care about them. They are just two more fleas in this world. Insignificant to us and the greater glory we will have. Don't you see? You might be more advanced than even I, because you were bit but never died, and lived to tell about it."
"Only time will tell, Frank, right?" Darlene casually moved to her left, putting Frank between her and the fire. The sea oats behind them were engulfed and a chink of the stairs for the house had fallen into the spot, adding fuel to it.
"Exactly." He paced to his right and Darlene moved with him, keeping within arm's length. This guy was creepy, with blood covering his neck and arm, and dripping to the ground. He didn't feel any pain. "This is going to be monumental. We'll need to capture slaves and have them build us a temple, and have human females to help you with the baby. He'll need a name befitting a king, as well."
"It sounds good to me."
Frank looked at Darlene and she thought he was reading her mind and she'd be busted. He grinned again, an evil thing with no real humor behind it. Only hate. "How rude of me. What's your name?"
She smiled and stepped toward him, extending her hand as if to shake. "Darlene Bobich,"
As he took her hand, she suddenly rushed him, slamming a shoulder into him and pushing him into the fire behind them. Frank tried to scramble away but she kicked at him, forcing him back into the blaze. Within seconds, he was engulfed, screaming in agony, as the fire consumed him.
"Darlene Bobich… zombie killer."
Epilogue
His name was Mark, but he didn't like it anymore. He wanted something more powerful, something to strike fear into the hearts of his enemies. In a previous life, he was a doctor who'd been bit by the Swedish woman in a hospital in Montreal. He'd died, alone and scared, as the chaos around him took its toll. Mark had crawled into his office, trying in vain to stop the blood flow. He died.
And then he began to walk. And feed. The initial days were a blur, and he had no real idea why he was so far from home right now. He supposed he'd been wandering for months, or maybe years, in a southerly direction. Feeding and evolving as he went.
Was it part of the master plan from God? It seemed like every zombie was heading to Florida and points south, crowding I-95 and the major thoroughfares. And there didn't seem to be any real resistance to them. The living had gone away or joined the dead, and nothing could stop the flow of them as they moved. And they were moving in his direction, which wasn't good. They forced the living away from Florida and Daytona Beach, and now he couldn't find too many of them.
If it wasn't for the weakling, Jeff, he'd be in trouble, but the evil man did his job so well and with such passion it was scary. Mark knew he'd eventually find someone better to use as his gopher but until then the former corrections officer was the right fit.
He knew now he was chosen, and he relished the raw power flowing through his new and improved form. His senses were stunning. He could sit still for hours and listen to the rats in the walls, hear conversations down below on the floor of the Ocean Center, as the women and children whispered and planned an escape they would never get. He could feel the storms as they formed, and any disturbance in the wind outside came to him.
When Mark went down the bleachers, he smiled, because the humans curled up in their cells and looked away from his beauty and presence. He walked slowly and deliberately, sliding up to a cell with two women. "Turn and face me, whore."
When neither of the women moved or looked at him, he slammed his fist on the cage, rattling the bars. "Now."
They both stopped cowering and stood, but kept their eyes on the ground. They were both with child, the dark-haired one on the right farther along. Mark grinned. The idiot, Jeff, had done quite the job impregnating several of the women, and their babies would taste delicious when they arrived. More women meant more children, and more feeding for… Mark.
"What the fuck are you?" the blonde on the left spit out, fear in her down-turned eyes. "You're not like the other zombies."
"Why aren't I?"
She glanced at his smiling face before turning away. "You're another kind of monster. You can talk and think. Yet… I've watched you feed on the living like an animal. What are you?"
Mark threw his head back and laughed loudly, more for effect than because he found her stupidity engaging.
"He's a lich."
Mark stopped laughing and turned to face the man in the cell three down the aisle. "What did you just call me?" He went to the cage and stared at the man, in his forties with wild unkempt hair and a long beard. He wore a bloody lab coat and was actually leaning casually against the cell, not even flinching when Mark came up to him.
"I called you a lich." The man shook his head and smiled. "I guess you never played Dungeons & Dragons in high school."
Mark snickered. "I was too busy having sex in high school. Loser."
"Ha! I know what a lich is, so who's the loser now?"
Mark shot his hand out and grabbed the man by his throat before he had another heartbeat. "I would be careful if I were you. I could end your pathetic life with ease."
"I'
ve no doubt," the man wheezed. "I'm Azrael."
Mark released his grip. "Azrael? Like the cat on the Smurfs?"
Azrael laughed, rubbing his red throat. "That's what I said when she called me that. My actual name is Russ Meyer, but I've been rather fond of Azrael for awhile."
"What is a lich?"
"It's a powerful undead wizard. H.P. Lovecraft and Robert E. Howard both wrote about them in their stories, as did Clark Ashton Smith in the excellent "Empire of The Necromancers", and my personal favorite, "The Death of Halpin Frayser" by Ambrose Bierce. They are greater than mindless zombies. They have evolved." Azrael looked excited now. "You are the next step in the evolutionary ladder, don't you see? The human race is progressing and changing, adapting into what you have become. Tell me, are there more of you?"
Mark stroked his face and paced away from the human. There were far too many out there, and, with each passing moment, more and more of his kind were altering from mindless zombies into… liches.
He turned back to the cage. "I am a lich." He smiled. "I like the sound of that. Mark the Lich. No… Azrael the Lich."
"I'm Azrael," Russ said.
"Not anymore, fool."
The doors leading to the doorway opened and Jeff entered, carrying the prone form of a young girl. "I got another one, boss."
"Excellent. Put her in an empty cage. You can impregnate her at your leisure."
Jeff hesitated. "She's really young, boss. Her name is Bri."
"Are you afraid you'll be arrested? God will judge you from on high? Please… put her in a cell. And stop calling me boss. I am forever more known as Azrael the Lich."
"I'm not even sure what any of those words mean, boss… I mean… um…"
"You don't need to know what they mean, you idiot. You just need to show some reverence for the one who let's you live and bask in his glory."
"God Complex. Cool," Russ said. "This should be interesting to see it played out."
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