The Rotting Souls Series (Book 3): Charon's Debt

by Ray, Timothy A.

  “Showtime Hoss,” the hick said as he began walking towards the entrance to the gates. They brought him around the corner and the crowd began to cheer instantly. He turned his gaze to the men along the gate and saw that each had raised their weapons on the crowd. They were just as much prisoners as he was, except he was being lead to an enclosed space with a bunch of walkers. His feet almost slipped on the bloody ground and both men at his sides gripped him tighter to keep him moving. How they thought he could fight in this condition was beyond him.

  They came to the final door separating him from the walkers beyond and he steadied himself, tried to control his breathing. His chest ached, but the adrenaline was beginning to pump now and his limbs were returning to his control. He didn’t know how long he’d last. If he was going to survive, he’d have to be quick or he’d end up zombie food like that poor white boy in there. The walkers hadn’t noticed him yet, they were too busy eating their fill, but he knew that would soon change.

  On the opposite side of the arena, he watched stunned horror as twenty more walkers were being led into the fenced area and knew that it was no longer going to be just the five he’d have to deal with. They were going to get the most of his death and he fought the urge to just give in and just let the walkers take him.

  He wasn’t a pit-bull in a dog fight.

  He looked into the faces of his captives and saw the eagerness there. No, he wouldn’t give them the satisfaction of his death. Somehow, he was going to pull it off.

  The gate was open and he was thrown through the opening quickly, where he stumbled and fell to the mud, his chest protesting every step of the way. Something thumped into the ground at his side and he saw a black aluminum bat. “Wouldn’t be sporting any other way,” the hick said as he closed the gate behind him; locking him in a fenced area with twenty-five walkers. Well, twenty-six he corrected, as he saw the young boy’s body begin to twitch.

  Oh, this was going to be fun, he thought sarcastically.

  He knew he only had moments left as the walkers began stumbling towards him and he took a deep breath, set his hand on the handle of the bat, and rose to his feet. He flexed all his muscles, tensing and releasing, trying to loosen up the knots and soreness that plagued them. He stretched his back and swung the bat, testing its weight. It wasn’t anywhere near as good as the one he had left back in Morenci, but it would have to do.

  The horde in front of him gave him slight pause, they were not what he had grown accustomed to seeing in zombie movies. People that just turned—instantly looking like they’d been rotting for a week rather than just moments. And they stayed that way for the duration of the movie or show. These things? They were in various stages of decay and you could tell instantly the timeline of when they had died.

  The oldest of the zombies stumbled as they walked, their heads lowered even as their eyes fixed on him. Blow flies had accumulated across their bodies, swarms of which followed the host as they moved forward. He thought he could make out little white pieces of movements amongst the rotting flesh and knew that the flies had planted their larvae within the undead corpses.

  Most of them were pale, blood pooled up in their legs, and their flesh had begun to have a sunken look, shriveled. A couple of arms hung loosely, not even twitching, and he noticed that muscles had been torn away by teeth, leaving bits of bone to show through the torn flesh.

  Couldn’t the arms still move? Weren’t they supposed to work regardless of damage to their bodies? How many times had he seen hands crawl on their own, or zombies with chunks missing that still moved like nothing had happened? What was going on?

  The oldest of the zombies were falling behind as the newer corpses began to move towards him with a purpose. He didn’t wait for them to close in and corner him. Instead, he charged forward and brought the bat around. The crowd began to cheer as he connected and a young female’s head exploded from the impact. Not slowing, he jabbed the next one in the jaw, forcing him back, then brought his bat around again and bashed that one’s head in as well. Full of fury at the torture that had been inflicted upon him, he forgot everything that he was and let himself go with the torrent of rage spilling forth.

  The aching of his arm began to draw him back from the red haze clouding his vision and he noticed that only a few walkers were left. The crowd was roaring louder now and he thought he heard a different pitch to their cheers. Maybe they were actually cheering for him to win? Was that possible? Maybe they saw one of their own actually winning and were rooting him on?

  He couldn’t be sure, but with their willful support, he closed the distance between himself and the young half eaten boy and punched the walker in the temple. His wrist flared, but he was pushing past the pain as he gripped the young boy’s head and separated it from the badly gnawed neck. The mouth was still trying to bite him and he leveraged it away, tossed it up in the air, and smacked it with the bent end of the bat. The head flew into the face of an overweight white walker and he followed closely behind, smacking the dead man with full force of his bat; roaring in triumph.

  He turned towards the last walker and his blood suddenly cooled. A thin female zombie was limping towards him. Her hair was bloody and matted to her head, clumps having been torn out and leaving gaps of bloody loose flesh. Her knee made a popping noise as she walked and her arms and legs were missing chunks of flesh. Her left arm was almost completely stripped and it hung uselessly at her side. Her jaw was broken, but it moved with her movements and her cold dead eyes bore into him, accusingly.

  Steeling his heart, he stepped towards the woman he had begun to let in, the woman he had just taken the day before in a flurry of passion. He knew that there was only one thing he could do for her now; he could put her out of her misery. The adrenaline was gone and his body was aching—his soul weary. He knew that he only had just enough to perform this one last act of mercy.

  “I’m sorry Nina,” he breathed as he stepped forward and took her head in his hands. Her remaining good arm began to rise, her fingers attempting to claw at him, but he shook their weak attempts off. He was tempted to kiss her goodbye, but he didn’t dare go near those lips again. He jerked his wrist, broke her neck, and her body went suddenly limp. He let her fall into a heap at his feet and he looked into those dead eyes as he brought his bat down one final time and ended her existence.

  The crowd cheered and he could hear them chanting “eight” over and over again.

  Weary, he stumbled and fell next to the woman that had once been his friend. People were rushing forward and he didn’t fight them as they kicked the broken bat away. Hands securely pulled him to his feet and began moving him towards the roaring crowd, but he didn’t hear them.

  “Isabella,” he mumbled, his dead daughter walking at his side. “I’m sorry.”

  The delirium swept him away.

  Chapter 18

  Not a Video Game

  Monica

  Compound 2

  Monica raced along the umbilical tunnel that connected the two compounds, her feet pounding out a fast rhythm as she hurried to catch her husband before he left. Her mind had erupted into a civil war.

  Her daughter could see dead people.

  It sounded like something out of a Shyamalan, but for some whacked out reason, she didn’t doubt it for a second. How else would Michelle have known that Nick was sneaking off with his father? She had been in her room the entire morning. She cursed herself for not checking on each of their kids upon her return to their quarters.

  They were too damn clever for their own good.

  She knew logically that Nick was probably as skilled as she was with a gun or knife, but her heart caught again at the thought of her son out in the thick of the action with her husband. Why did it have to be Nick? Why couldn’t one of the other strangers she’d been thrown into with gone instead? Why the focus on her own family? She knew she would not survive if she lost either of them.

  She wanted to scream with frustration.

  There was not
a damn thing she could do about her son going along. She could ask him to stay, but that put her husband’s life at risk and she couldn’t bear that either. She hated this whole situation and not for the first time, wished her mother had listened to her in the first place, and had taken off when she had received her first texts.

  Time slipping away from her as she tore through this abysmally long tunnel, cursing the distance it was on foot.

  Finally, the end was in sight. She took the steps two at a time and burst into the morning light. Rounding the corner, she darted in the direction of the parked Humvees on her right. She could see the group clustered around the one that still bore its original desert color paint job.

  They were doing a last-minute check on supplies, double-checking their weapons, and she could see Nick hovering around nearby. She pushed her body to its limit and nearly ran into her husband as he turned to greet her. She tried to slow her pace but he had his arms around her and was sweeping her lower body along, embracing her top half and burying her mouth with passionate kisses.

  He thought that she had come to make up and was making sure that she felt the full force of his love in one forceful display of emotion. Someone coughed and she even heard a snicker. But she ignored it, finally giving in and releasing her pent-up love in response.

  “Weren’t planning on saying good-bye?” she gasped as she pulled herself free; still trying to catch her breath. He had an expression of apprehension and when her eyes caught her son’s looming face behind him, she saw that he an almost identical look and was painfully reminded of just how much the two were alike.

  “Mom—,” Nick began.

  She cut him off with a short wave of her hand. She knew that there wasn’t much she could do about making her son stay, her daughter’s prophecy haunted her every thought. She couldn’t think of a way around it. She was going to have to let him go, even though every bone in her body screamed it was a mistake.

  She just couldn’t take the chance that Michelle was wrong.

  “I am going to kick your ass for this later, kid,” she wheezed, a stitch forming in her ribs from running such a distance so fast. “But I’m not stopping you. You are to do what you are told, no screwing around. This is life and death, Nick. Watch your father’s back. Get Nana, Kat, and Blayze out safely and you bring them home. I’m counting on you.”

  She turned to Todd, who flinched as her gaze fell upon him. She could tell he was suddenly unsure that her trip out here had been one of forgiveness and he looked braced to endure further wrath. The others had turned away from them, each finding something more important to do at the moment and giving them their space.

  “I am angrier than I have words for at the moment,” she said. “I wish you had taken a moment or two to pick up the phone and discuss this with me first, rather than make the decision on your own.”

  “There just wasn’t time,” Todd said, his voice pleading. “Tucson is burning, your family is in danger, and we have no idea what the land is like between here and there. But the sooner we get going, the better chance we have at survival. We can’t wait. I didn’t want to bring him, but I promise you, I won’t let anything happen. He’s agreed to stay in the Humvee during the entire trip, and I made Joseph promise to kneecap him if he doesn’t listen.”

  “Don’t go dragging me into this,” Joseph scolded.

  Monica sighed. She looked from her son’s youthful, eager face to her husband’s saddened expression and felt that mothering instinct kick into fifth gear. She wanted to tell her husband about her conversation with Michelle, but reluctantly decided against it. If she told him that, he would question every move, and he needed his confidence if he was going to survive out there. She was just going to have to trust in her daughter, trust that this wasn’t a mistake. It was in the Goddess’s hands and she was powerless to change it. It would be best to wait.

  Nick was watching her face while she deliberated. She could tell he was really looking forward to this trip because he was attempting to be poised and calm, but she knew he was mentally shouting with glee. She hated giving in like this.

  “I mean it, Nicholas,” she doing her best to be firm, even though her limbs felt like shaking free of her body. “This is not a game that can be reset when you die. You will do everything your told.”

  Nick barely contained his excitement as he threw his arms around her and hugged her. “I won’t let you down, Mom,” he said in a barely controlled voice. She watched as he walked around to the passenger side of the Humvee and vaulted inside.

  Todd caught her around the waist and crushed her to his chest once more. This was the worst part, she thought. Not knowing how successful this mission would be, knowing that at any moment someone she loved could die. She hugged him back and then kissed him like her life depended on it.

  “I’ll bring them all back safely,” he vowed when they came up for air. “I promise.”

  “You’d better,” she said softly. “Because if you don’t, I’ll use your balls for dice in my own Humvee after I leave your reanimated corpse with that of our child. Keep each other safe and come back to me,” she muttered, shoving him away from her.

  She was breaking apart inside, her grief quickly consuming her. Tears were flowing down the sides of her face as he got into the passenger seat of the Humvee and gave her one last longing look. Her heart broke as the engine started and reluctantly moved towards the gate to let them out. The Humvee came to one final stop, her husband looking at her through the tinted glass, and she put her hand to her lips, kissed her fingers, and pulled her hand away. She signed “I love you” and she watched as he mouthed it back. Then they were pulling away and the two men she knew she couldn’t live without rolled down the road and out of sight.

  Chapter 19

  Whiterabbit.obj

  Ben

  Compound 2

  “I really don’t see why I’m here,” Casey told him. Most of the others were heading upstairs; the day’s chores and training ahead for them. They had even taken Matt, hoping that seeing some daylight might help the man recover faster. Now they were the only two left on this level and his older friend looked eager to join the others above ground. He kept muttering that he had a crop to check on.

  He had already played this mornings uploaded videos on YouTube, displaying the public’s continued ignorance of what was going on out there in the world. He needed to come up with a way to warn the others of what he was going to do and he thought maybe he could kill two birds with one stone. “Just be yourself; rant. It’s what you do best.”

  “I’m not used to working off an outline, mostly I just wing it,” Casey responded. “And usually I have some,” he paused, looking towards the open door behind them, “aids.”

  Ben laughed, “I’m sorry, but you’ll just have to make due.” He motioned for his friend to use one of the adjacent computers to record his podcast and went back to his discussion with the other three compounds. The European ones had gone offline the day before and he didn’t know if that was due to long range communications or if they’d been destroyed. He hoped for the former—but feared the latter.

  In civilization’s last attempt at stabilizing the dying world, some of the countries were turning to drastic measures to fight off the undead hordes, no matter what lasting damage they caused.

  Luckily, they hadn’t begun dropping nukes yet in the States, but he knew it might just be a matter of time. He was monitoring the military bands as much as he could and was saddened by their retreat north. He understood it though. He didn’t get as emotional as some of the others around here and the part of him that saw 1’s and 0’s also saw the logic in the military strategy.

  They were marshaling the rest of their forces and digging in, letting the battle come to them on their own ground rather than fight a losing engagement on the crowded metropolitan streets. Most of the major cities had already gone dark, either from being destroyed or loss of power.

  It was just as well, he hated watching the video feed
s of those overrun streets. Every now and then a lone survivor would dart into view, just to be chased down by a horde of undead and torn apart right on camera. He had tried to distance himself from it, to pretend it was all just a movie, but it was slowly eating away his cool exterior and he had begun to see those terrified people in his dreams; he hadn’t had a good night’s sleep in days.

  “Did they say anything to you before they went offline?” he asked Jenn. She was closer geographically to England, maybe her shortwave systems had picked something up.

  “I was sleeping when the screens went black. I played back the video, but there was nothing there to see. One moment they were there, the next they were gone,” she told him.

  Kate and Brian had similar responses and he felt despair at the fate of their overseas cousins. Casey had begun talking on his right, but he did his best to tune it out. When he was done, he was going to let his friends listen to it, see what they thought, before he uploaded it on the internet. If he did it right, they might pick up on the hidden meaning embedded within the podcast, and hopefully Sean wouldn’t notice it at all. Just in case, the rest of the people had gone above ground, but he had no way of passing it along to the others to do the same, and he prayed that he hadn’t signed their death warrants as well.

  “And this goes out to all the fucking idiots out there making southerners look like complete asshats. You don’t turn if you get bit. With all the new footage just reeling in, I can’t help but think how fucking stupid these people are. Would someone please wake up the inbred motherfuckers that keep killing their friends and make them hear this. Better yet, why not put a bullet in their empty brain pans and save a lot of innocent people in the process. Let’s face it, if these are the fucks that survive to rebuild the Human race, then we are better off just laying down our weapons and let the zombies eat us. I’d rather die painfully than live with a bunch of Honey Boo Boo Hillbilly dumber than oxen fucktards that can’t listen to one simple message. You don’t need a condom to fuck a girl with the clap if you’ve got the clap too. Or better yet, if you get bit by a sheep after you fuck it, clean the bite, don’t kill yourself,” Casey ranted and Ben had to shake his head. Only he could come up with this shit.