by SD Tanner
Studying the naked woman, he saw a puddle draining into the dirt beneath her, and she’d clearly wet herself. Despite the strong smell of fire and smoke, he thought he could also smell feces. The woman was terrified, and for as much as her fear filled him with delight, he wondered if he should allow her to be possessed and join the Dead Souls.
Seeing his hesitation, the woman said desperately, “My name is Faith and I’m twenty-three years old. I’m a person, not a thing. You don’t have to kill me. You can own me. I’ll be your slave. I’ll do anything you want.”
It was Hull who didn’t want women in the Army of the Dead Souls, but he preferred a little female company. Unlike men, women had generations of experience manipulating their way to success, whereas men tended to focus on being brutal. Sometimes cunning was more effective than the fist. Exploring her mind, he looked for a lie and didn’t find one. Faith was genuinely offering him her soul and he saw no reason not to take it.
Giving her breast a sharp slap, he nodded. “Release her. She’s mine.”
He stood up and watched the Dead Souls unchain her, and immediately bring another woman to take her place. With the exception of Faith, all the women were sobbing hysterically, and when he explored their minds, all he could taste was the sweet nectar of their fear. Once released, Faith stumbled to her feet and stood naked beside him.
With a sidelong look at her refined profile, he asked seductively, “What do you want me to do with them?”
Faith straightened her back and looking down at the frightened women, she sneered. “Burn them.”
Knowing he’d chosen well, he replied softly, “Oh, they’ll burn.” With a flick of his wrist, he added, “Walk with me.”
Together they walked through the night and witnessed the games of hell on earth. After a short while, he joined his demons and Faith learned what it took to please the ruler of Hell.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR: The Long March (Pax)
All he could hear were the sounds of boots beating rhythmically along the road, and he could smell the dust being thrown into the air by their marching. The demons and ghosts invisibly walking earth could be detected by the sudden and sharp drops in temperature, and just as Mackenzie predicted, they’d lost their vehicles, birds and weapons. The freezing presence of the dead made anything mechanical inoperable, and having lost every vehicle and gun, they had no choice but to march their way to the battlefield. The men and women were in six columns, with their heads bent, laboring under heavy packs, they were walking at a steady pace. With seventy thousand people, they formed a long train of marchers ahead and behind him. No maintenance was done on the roads in at least two years, and it was filled with potholes, dirt and gravel. The surrounding land was brown, dry and lifeless, and there were blackened trees spiking into the sky. He assumed the endless dry heat must have caused fires that burned and then petered out, with no one witness their destruction. The loss of the land meant there was no wildlife, and even the birds that once flourished after the outbreak were gone.
Dressed in identical ACUs, wearing their Kevlar helmets, and carrying their packs, gun and hand-to-hand combat weapons, the column looked like an army on the move. We are Oscar Mike, he thought. With their heads down, eyes focused on the boots of person in front of them, wearing sweat stained uniforms, they marched without comment or enthusiasm. He’d done plenty of marches in his time, and he knew you survived them by putting one foot in front of the other, while ignoring the pain. By now their feet were blistering, their shoulders were aching, and their legs weakening, and many would be struggling to maintain their breathing. Despite the sun beating down on them it was cold, otherwise he knew he’d be dealing with people passing out from heat exhaustion and dehydration. While they walked, he moved up and down his section of the column making sure people were coping with the forced march. Occasionally he would stop and ask people how they were doing, and if necessary, redistribute heavy loads and make sure the weaker people were buddied up with a more capable partner.
Gears was at the head of the column, TL at the back, and he was positioned roughly in the middle. Captain Ted, Nelson, Wolfie, Logan and Mike were on the other side of the column, also monitoring the shooters for problems. Walking slightly apart from his section of the column, he continued to survey the troops, but it was the most cooperative brigade he’d ever seen. People were sharing their supplies, helping to carry one another’s loads, and whenever anyone struggled or stumbled, the person next to them was ready to help. There were few complaints and surprisingly little fear, and he wondered why no one seemed concerned about the impossible battle they were facing. Walking alongside him were two older people. The man was maybe in his sixties and next to him was a woman who looked to be the same age. Neither were carrying a pack or gun, and he assumed other people were humping their gear. Usually their shooters were younger, and he didn’t know either of these people, or how they came to be in the brigade.
Assuming they must be from Wolfie’s or Mike’s base in New York, he asked, “You doin’ okay? I don’t recognize ya.”
The man was clearly short of breath and he puffed, “Guess you’re surprised to see a couple of old farts like us in your army.”
The man read his thoughts well, and surprised and slightly embarrassed by the man’s directness, he replied, “Guess so. I’m Pax. Have you got names?”
The woman leaned across the man, and extending her hand while continuing to walk, she replied, “I’m Maureen and this is my husband Tom.”
Briefly grasping Maureen’s hand, like many older women’s hands, it felt fragile, cold and papery to the touch. Maureen was a tall woman who he thought was probably once well-built, but was now willowy, and her Kevlar helmet looked at odds with her delicate face. Her husband, Tom, was an equally tall man, but with rounded shoulders and a slight stoop. Neither looked well enough nor fit enough to be marching much less engaging in a life and death battle they were likely to lose.
Curious about why they’d joined the battle, he said sincerely, “You coulda stayed with the other survivors back at the camp.”
Shaking her head firmly, Maureen said, “Young man, we’ve lost our children and our grandchildren to this disaster, and we’re both prepared to join them.”
Tom’s cheeks were so red he could have been wearing rouge, and sweat dripped from his chin. He nodded at Maureen’s statement. “No point wasting limited resources on us, and we might as well do something useful before we die.”
Nodding, Maureen said sincerely, “We’ll make excellent cannon fodder.”
Knowing Pop was in his sixties, and still a well-respected and contributing member at the bases, he replied, “Jus’ ‘cos you’re older doesn’t mean you can’t be useful on the bases.”
“We know that, but Tom and I are from New York, and before all this happened, we were going to sell our apartment and move in with one of our children in Poughkeepsie. Now they’re all dead and our life has become a bit pointless.”
“That ain’t no way to go into battle. Ya gotta go in plannin’ to come out alive or you won’t.”
“Exactly,” Tom replied firmly. “Suicide by demon.”
Having no answer to their sad conclusions about life, he slowed his pace and let the column move ahead of him. He supposed each person had their reasons to fight and they didn’t have to be the same reasons, but it depressed him to know people would rather die than continue to strive for a good life. Somewhere in the lines, he heard yelling and immediately pushed his way between the columns, looking for whoever was shouting. Standing between two of the columns, people continued to stride past him, and eventually two young men walked towards him both shouting angrily.
“That’s mine, give it back!” A short stocky youth yelled.
The equally young man next to him retorted, “You stole it from me last night.”
“I didn’t steal it. I won it!”
Struggling to see what they were arguing over, he got between the two young men. Grabbing both of them by the
collars on their ACUs, he pulled them out of formation.
Once they were standing by the side of the road, he barked, “Now it’s mine, so hand it over.”
Both young men looked at him in surprise, and dumbly, one of them handed him a small flask, which he guessed was full of something alcoholic. Taking the flask from the young man, he twisted the metal lid open and sniffed it. It certainly was alcohol and if he knew his liquor, and he did, he guessed it was bourbon.
Giving them both a narrow-eyed look, he said, “You know the rules, no booze.”
“Why the hell not?” The stocky young man asked sulkily. “We’re all gonna die anyway.”
He wanted to say nothing was decided, and there was every chance they would win if they fought well, but he wasn’t sure he believed it himself. Screwing the lid back on the flask, he eyed the young men intently and not wanting to lie, he said, “I won’t lie to ya ‘cos you deserve better than that, and it doesn’t look good.”
Feeling a deep chill run through his body, he knew invisible demons and ghosts were walking through him, and after briefly looking up at the brilliant blue sky, he looked back at the young men. “You never know the end of somethin’ until it’s finished. No point callin’ your hand until the game’s done.”
“But we can’t win,” the stocky young man complained. Waving his hand at the lines marching past them, he added, “And we all know that. We’ve all been talking about it.”
Feeling dismayed, he asked, “Then why are you doin’ it if you think your death is guaranteed?”
“If you guys don’t think you can protect us anymore, then our death’s guaranteed anyway. If it wasn’t for the bases, I’d be dead already. If you can’t keep the bases safe, then I’m gonna die, and like Gears says, I might as well die in battle…at least it’ll be quicker that way and I’ll know it’s coming.”
Not knowing what to say to raise their hopes and not sure he should, he said kindly, “Get back to the lines.” As both young men turned to leave, he grabbed one by the arm, and pushing the flask into his hand, he added, “Ya share it and that’s an order.”
The young man looked at him in surprise, and then grinning, he said happily, “Yes, sir!”
It took two days of marching to finally arrive at the Ranch, which was only five miles from the agreed battleground. The previous night in the camp was quiet and people only spoke in subdued voices. He supposed they were tired, but he knew their people believed they were going to die. His last day of marching with his troops felt like a death march, and he’d become increasingly unhappy. It was as if the closer the troops got to the battlefield, the more they realized nothing was going to change, and they were headed into a hopeless war. Finally having the time to speak with Gears, he found him heading into the barn next to the main house. Trotting quickly to catch up with him, he walked into the barn and immediately smelt the familiar odor of horse manure and animal feed.
Gears walked over to a tall brown steed, and he gently stroked its nose. “What’s botherin’ ya, bro’?”
Standing with his meaty arms folded over his chest, he frowned unhappily. “They all think they’re gonna die and so do I. I think we’re about to become mass murderers.”
Clearly hoping for a treat, the steed nuzzled Gears, and he continued to stroke the horse’s long nose. “We can’t lose, Pax, it doesn’t work that way.”
He understood they were supposed to be immortal, but until that fact was tested, it remained unproven. He knew Ip and BD were reborn and he’d witnessed the baby resurrected on the island, so he was prepared to take their immortality at face value.
“No, Gears, we can’t lose, but they can all die and to me that means the same thing. We lost.”
Turning to face him, Gears looked grim. “You gotta look at the bigger picture. We get what we rule, but we can’t control how or when we get it. If that means all these people die tomorrow, then they do and we’ll fight another day.”
Gears had just said he was willing to kill the people he’d spent years protecting, and a sharp surge of fury ran through him. He’d lost a lot of people sourcing supplies, and he’d sacrificed hours of sleep training them to stay alive. He’d spent almost every waking hour for nearly two years worrying about their people, and doing everything he knew to take care of them.
Unwilling to control himself, he shouted angrily, “Have you lost your fuckin’ mind! You’re proposin’ to kill seventy thousand of our own people! I thought you hadda plan, but turns out you’re jus’ a big old bag o’ wind. Now, look what you’ve gone and done! Ya challenged Ruler to a battle we can’t win, and I’ve jus’ marched alongside a bunch of good men and women who are gonna be fuckin’ dead tomorrow! You’re a fuckin’ asshole, Gears!”
At the sound of his angry voice, the horses snorted and whinnied, and he heard one kick sharply at the gate to its stable. Gears walked to the back of the barn and made soothing noises at the distressed horse.
Turning to face him again, Gears said softly, “Cut it out, Pax. You’re upsettin’ the horses and we need ‘em tomorrow.”
He still couldn’t believe how casual he was being about the lives of people they’d all sworn to protect, but lowering his voice, he said angrily, “You’ve turned into a megalomaniac, Gears. You’re willin’ to kill all these innocent people jus’ to make a point to Ruler. You jus’ don’t give a shit about ‘em.”
As soon as the words left his mouth he regretted saying them. He knew Gears felt as protective of their people as he did, but he wanted him to hear his frustration, and he continued to glare at him.
“Don’t be stupid, Pax. What kind of point would I be makin’ lettin’ Ruler kill seventy thousand people? And don’t tell me I don’t care. I’ve worked just as hard as you have.”
Knowing Gears was right, he felt his anger fade as quickly as it started. “Then what’s the plan?”
“I don’t have a plan. I don’t need one. We’ll lay it out the way Mac saw it. Jacob at the front of the battle, us on the horses, our people armed with guns and hand-to-hand weapons, and then we’ll see what happens.”
Neither of them had heard TL come into the barn, and they looked over in surprise when he said, “That’s a plan, Gears, but I’m not sure it’s a good one.”
Ip had followed TL into the barn, and she walked to the last stable next to Gears, unlatched the door and approached the horse. Stroking it, she made cooing sounds, and the grey mare nuzzled her hair lovingly.
Smiling, Gears observed, “She doesn’t like kids, but animals love her. You’d think they’d be scared of Death.”
Rolling his eyes at how easily Gears was distracted by Ip, he said firmly, “Stay on point, Gears. Like TL says, that’s not a good plan.”
Gears spread his hands out in front of him. “It’s the only one I’ve got.”
“Well, it ain’t good enough. You need a real plan, one where they gotta chance of winnin’.”
Ip speaks: They may die, so others may live. It is their right to choose to give.
He thought Ip’s casual attitude to death bordered on psychopathic. “Who’s gonna live, Ip? The survivors left on the bases? What chance have they got against Ruler if all our shooters are dead?”
She walked out of the stable leading the mare with her and said calmly, “They are not all that is left. Earth is not quite so bereft.”
He didn’t know what Ip meant, but TL asked, “How many people are left alive, Ip? Do you know?”
“The earth may be dead, but man is not. I feel much life that is not yet got.”
It never occurred to him there might be a lot more people left alive, but they’d only searched for survivors in the areas around them within a thousand-mile radius. He supposed that was a small footprint compared to the size of the country. Although he could accept small pockets of mankind might survive Ruler’s scourge, it didn’t help him protect the people he knew and cared about now.
Reading his mind, Ip said mockingly, “They are not yours to own and their fate
is not yours to bemoan.”
Again feeling annoyed at Ip’s casual disregard for the lives of their people, he said angrily, “You don’t care about ‘em Ip and you never did.”
“Hey!” Gears objected sharply. “She’s supported everything we’ve done. She might not care in the loudmouth way you do, but she’s worked hard.”
He’d worked alongside her more times than he could count, and she’d never complained and always done what was needed. Now he knew she was the Horseman of Death, he wondered if she killed without conscience and retorted, “I didn’t say she hadn’t, but she does what she does for us. She doesn’t care whether man lives or dies, she’s Death and she’s happy to kill ‘em all.”
Giving him a filthy look, Ip said, “I am Death, that is true, but it does not mean I do not care for all of you. Death is not an end to much, it is only a transition, do not fear its touch.” Clearly sensing his dissatisfaction with her, she added gently, “Life is a circle and Death is a step, but there is life again so no need to fret.”
He understood Ip was telling him even if all their people died tomorrow, they would live again, but it didn’t satisfy his need to see them live now. Feeling her genuine distress at his anger towards her, he began to calm down. In his heart he knew she fought for all of their lives, and in her own way, she cared for their people. This wasn’t her fault and nor could he blame Gears. He was just venting his frustration at his family, but he knew deep down it would be Ruler’s fault if all their people died in battle tomorrow.
“It ain’t that, Ip. I get how you see life and death, but they don’t wanna die tomorrow, and I don’t want ‘em too either. I care about the people who are here now and they care about dyin’, even if you don’t.”
Looking resigned, Gears sighed. “Whatdaya want me to do, Pax? We’ve got no choice but to fight Ruler. The land is dyin’ and all you’re arguin’ about is how people die. If we can’t change the dynamic, then we’re only choosin’ between a fast death fightin’ and a slow death bein’ slaughtered at the bases by demons we can’t even see.”