Killing the Dead (Book 12): Fear the Reaper

by Murray, Richard

  There was another burst of gunfire from the right, so I led my squad left, around the towering steel fuel containers, past the storage sheds and around the corner of a single storey building.

  I swung my arm in an arc, using my steel buckler like a club. It collided with the side of the head of the running Feral and my poignard sank into its skull. Then my squad were beside me, forming a line, using their bucklers to batter away grasping hands and their weapons to good effect.

  The acolytes swept around the sides, enclosing the Ferals and using their knives with a calm skill that I knew they had learnt from Ryan. As the last of the undead fell, the Marines rounded the corner cautiously.

  “Good work,” Manners said as he noted the clump of dead zombies at our feet.

  Gunfire sounded from further south and he glanced back over his shoulder wearily. Without another word, he led his squad off towards it and the rest of us followed.

  We ran into another group of zombies and I held up my hand to stop my squad in their tracks as the undead fell beneath the guns of the marines. One of them yelled in triumph as he replaced the magazine in his gun and I shook my head slowly.

  “What’s wrong?” Gregg asked.

  “Shamblers,” I said. “They weren’t Ferals.”

  “More of em, lass,” Ray said.

  From behind a building a hundred or more, slow-moving undead spilt out and the marines started firing.

  “Oh crap!” I said more to myself than anyone else.

  “What?”

  “Mark, get on the radio,” I commanded, ignoring Gregg’s question. “Tell everyone to fall back.”

  “Yes, ma’am,” he said and immediately set to work.

  “Why?” Gregg asked, grabbing my arm and turning me to face him. “Answer me, dammit!”

  “The gunfire, it’s attracting more of the undead,” I said with a nod towards the group that was moving our way, heedless of their numbers dying beneath the guns of the marines. “The Ferals setting ambushes and now this, we’re about to be overrun.”

  “What makes you say that?”

  “It’s a trap!” I snapped as I pulled my arm from his hand. “A big fucking trap!”

  He gaped open-mouthed at me as I rushed forward, towards Manners and his squad. I waited impatiently for him to finish firing and grabbed his attention as he went to reload.

  “We need to go, now!”

  “Why? These are no real threat.”

  “Don’t you see? It’s just the first wave. I’ve seen it before.”

  “Unless you have an order from the Admiral, I’m still in charge,” he said sternly. He slammed the clip into the base of his assault rifle with a little added force for emphasis. “Now either join the fight or piss off.”

  “Fucking CDF,” one of his men said and several laughed.

  I shook my head sadly and jogged back to where the others waited. As much as I didn’t want to abandon them, I couldn’t just let my own squad die because they were too bloody stupid.

  “Mark?”

  “Admiral’s asking why.”

  “Tell him I’ll explain when I get back, he needs to trust me. We need to retreat.”

  “I’ll try, ma’am,” he said.

  They’d be luring us in. A quick strike and run away, moving further and further away from the river. Then, when we were within range of the Shamblers, they unleashed them. The hundred or so the Marines were dealing with wouldn’t be the only group and judging by the gunfire echoing from all across the shipyard, the other squads were having the same problems.

  “Admiral gave the order,” Mark said.

  I looked down at Jinx, she stared back as though waiting for a command from me. I didn’t know if she truly understood me but I had to hope she did.

  “Lead the way little lady, we need your nose to warn us.”

  She set off at a trot and I followed, my bemused squad close behind. The gunfire behind us slowed as the order was passed along and I could only hope the marines would all make it back.

  We’d barely gone fifty yards when Jinx stopped, her nose twitching as she sniffed the air and a silent snarl forming on her muzzle.

  “Weapons ready,” I snapped as the first Feral rounded the corner.

  Mark and Lars fired their guns, the time for holding back long past. The three Ferals that made it to us were killed by the black-garbed acolytes before I could even raise my weapon to strike.

  They moved with a simple, economical grace. No wasted movement and a calmness about them that I could only admire. Admittedly, it was likely because they didn’t care if they died, but even so, a fight without panic clawing at my throat would be a nice change.

  “Move on,” I ordered as the last of the Ferals fell.

  A scream came from behind us and I hesitated just a moment before gunfire echoed in response. The marines could deal with it without me, I reasoned.

  The second ambush came a hundred metres from the building we’d left the Admiral in. As we passed between rows of stacked containers, Jinx growled just moments before the undead rushed at us from either side.

  One of the acolytes fell, his blood soaking the ground and Lars yelled as he fell back, clutching at his stomach. I rammed my weapon into the skull of a Feral as Jinx leapt on another, her teeth tearing at the back of its neck.

  I stepped up and killed the Feral as it reached for her and as it fell, so did the last of them beneath the blade of one of the acolytes.

  “Help Lars,” I said and both Gregg and Mark helped the wounded man to his feet as one of the acolytes ensured their fallen friend wouldn’t rise again.

  Without another word, we set off. Our destination in sight. I stumbled only when a roar filled the air, seeming to drown out all other noise and sending a shiver down my spine.

  The marines guarding the door ushered us straight in and the Admiral was waiting. He directed a medic to aid Lars with a gesture as he moved to meet me.

  “What the hell’s going on out there?”

  “I know what a Reaper is,” I said and he raised his eyebrows in surprise.

  “Well?”

  “It’s the zombie equivalent of you,” I said with a shudder. “Smart, fast and powerful. It commands an army of the undead and I’ve only known one man to ever kill one and doing that nearly killed him too.”

  “You can’t be serious!”

  “A dozen or more dead marines out there says I can be,” I snapped. “Multiple ambushes and a horde of damned shamblers that were held back to overwhelm us when we were far enough away from the river that we couldn’t escape, says that I can be, sir!”

  He gave me a hard stare but didn’t berate me. He just turned and barked an order to his troops.

  “Everyone back to the boat!”

  I watched him wearily as he turned back to me.

  “Well, I hope your friends have some food we can have because the shipyards are lost to us,” he said. “We need to gain something from this disaster or you might be reporting to a new admiral very soon.”

  Chapter 18 – Ryan

  A grunt of pain escaped me as blackened claws dug deep into my shoulder for just a moment before my short blade slammed into the side of the Ferals head. I looked around for the next to kill, but all the undead were unmoving on the ground.

  “My Lord Death,” Alison said as she approached me cautiously. “You are… well?”

  She looked a sight. Blood covered here almost from head to toe and her knife arm was soaked to the elbow in the stuff. No doubt, I was much the same.

  “I’m fine,” I snapped, not bothering to keep the irritation from my voice at her interruption of what should have been a moment or private pleasure. “Ensure our dead won’t rise.”

  “As you command.”

  She moved away to do my bidding, the other surviving minion joining her with just a glance at me. I waited for them both to turn away before I closed my eyes and allowed the wave of pleasure to roll through me.

  A frantic battle where I might actu
ally die was always a delight. Killing so many Ferals as my comrades died around me was undeniably pleasurable. Killing them so that more of my people didn’t die, was more so.

  Ever since the realisation that I could no longer gain any real pleasure from killing those who would be considered innocent, I had learned what would work for me. Ferals were a joy to kill. So many of them, when there was a chance of my death, just sweetened that experience.

  That pleasure was like a candle flame to the raging inferno that was the death of a living person beneath my knife. So long as that person was suitably ‘bad.’ The raiders, the killers, the ones who preyed on other survivors. They were the ones who gave me the most pleasure as they died at my hands.

  Those that Lily would consider innocent, were worthless when it came to giving me pleasure and I blamed her for that. She had changed me, some would say for the better, but it was a change I had not asked for, nor wanted.

  “My Lord Death,” Alison said, interrupting my reverie once again.

  “What?”

  It didn’t matter, the moment had passed. The waves of pleasure had ended, leaving me feeling emptiness once again. That darkness I carried, sated and still for the moment.

  “The soldiers.”

  I looked back over my shoulder. The officer and one remaining member of his squad were peering over the wall in the distance.

  Pathetic.

  If they were the best this Admiral of Lily’s could produce, I very much doubted their ability to keep their own people safe. Island or not, the undead would never stop their attempts to kill everyone.

  “They can follow if they want,” I said. “Do not expect them to guard your back.”

  Both of my minions bowed low, acknowledging my words. I grunted again and resisted the urge to roll my eyes. They were sheep, needing someone to follow, someone to believe in. It was just fortunate that they were useful sheep.

  They didn’t ask questions as I set off towards the glass house in the distance. They just kept their eyes open and watched for any threats. A roar sounded from up ahead and I almost hesitated, as memory returned.

  Damn! Another of them.

  That could pose a problem. I’d barely survived the last encounter with one of those types of Feral and then only by burning down the building I was in. The glass house didn’t seem all that flammable.

  Made of wrought iron and large glass panels, it covered around two thousand square metres. I guessed from the style, that it had been made in the eighteen hundreds and likely kept in good condition by the city council.

  Nothing to burn and no way of hiding our approach as we crossed the wide-open grass-covered space before it. Anything inside would be able to watch our approach and prepare for us. Though on the plus side, there was only one entrance visible and while there was likely a back door, it did mean that they couldn’t really use the advantage of numbers against us.

  I stopped at the edge of the treeline, standing in the shadows as I scanned the building ahead of us. There was no movement that I could see, not that I could see too much through the dirt-streaked glass. Almost a year in the elements with no one to come along and clean them had left them in quite a state.

  There were no undead wandering through the open area. That was quite telling.

  “Why are you still here?” the officer asked and I didn’t bother to look his way before I replied.

  “To kill the undead, clearly.”

  “We need to head back. I’ve lost most of my squad and you’ve lost half the people you brought.”

  “I could have lost all of you and I would still be headed towards that building,” I said with a dismissive shrug. “There’s a Feral-leader in there and I will kill it.”

  “A leader? What the hell are you talking about?”

  “Your basic zombie is slow and stupid,” I said. “A serious threat in large numbers, but once the food source – us – dropped to a low number, some of them began to change. These new ones were faster with some animal cunning and strangely enough, an enhanced sense of smell to help them track their prey.”

  “We know this,” he snapped. “The few scientists we have, probably know more about them than you do.”

  “Oh?” I actually turned to look at him then. “I would like to speak with them then.”

  “What does it have to do with this?”

  “Simple. The Ferals, cunning as they are, were not the final evolutionary step,” I said with a grin. “Some of them changed even further. They were stronger than the average Feral, faster still and very much smarter. More to the point, they were able to organise the Ferals to do their bidding.”

  “Like a queen in an insect colony?” the other soldier asked.

  “No doubt similar,” I said. “Though I would be hesitant to suggest they had a hive mind. That seems a little outlandish, even when speaking of reanimated corpses evolving.”

  “If you think one of these… leaders is in there,” the officer said. “Why the hell aren’t you going back for more of your people?”

  “We just killed a number of its minions,” I said with a grin. “It’s smart enough to know that it might be time to move. If it does, we could miss out.”

  The officer stared at me, lost for words, his mouth working but no sound coming from him. He looked to each of my minions and shook his head slowly.

  “You’re insane! I won’t be joining you for this madness.”

  “No one asked you to.” I paused as a thought came to me and I couldn’t stop the malice filled grin that formed on my face. “Though, if we die and you head back alone, I have no guarantee that you will be safe.”

  I didn’t bother to wait for his reply but set off at a jog across the open grass. For once, we had no rain and a clear sky, which gave the day a pleasant warmth but hardly helped make us less visible as we crossed that ground.

  The building itself was comprised of two parts connected with a wide, glass covered corridor. The first part with the entrance was a forty-metre-long oblong with the main entrance in the centre. That would likely contain the gift shop, public restrooms and the like. Beyond that, was the glass dome where the majority of the plants would be kept. That, I suspected, was also where the undead were.

  My arm moved in a wide arc as the zombie leapt out of the open doorway at me. It dropped to the ground, my knife embedded in its skull and I conceded to myself that I might have been wrong about the undead being at the back.

  With a little more caution, I led the way inside. Filth covered the floor. Scraps of cloth, old bones and old blood stains were everywhere. Like some animal’s den, the stench was appalling even to those of us who had become almost used to the ever-present stench of the undead.

  I pulled my black hood over my head, it did little to mask the odour but helped a little. One of the soldiers behind me gagged as he entered the room and I grinned behind my hood.

  There was no warning as a Feral pounced on one of my minions, its claws raking his back and mouth clamping down on his neck. My other minion reached it before me, her knife smashing through the skull with a loud crack and the creature fell dead.

  “Bitten?” I asked and Alison slowly nodded as she inspected the damage done.

  “Forgive me, My Lord Death,” the minion said, a tremble in his voice.

  “He might be immune,” the officer said gently.

  “I ask only that you allow me to die fighting,” the minion said as I looked down at the knife I held in my hand, considering what to do as I ignored the soldier.

  “Make your death count,” I said and the minion nodded, gripping his knife tightly to him.

  He reached for the wall to steady himself before looking back at us, or perhaps at me. He bowed low, respectfully, before he pushed through the doors to the main dome.

  The officer made to speak but I looked his way and he fell silent as he saw something in my gaze warning him that to speak just then, would be to die.

  A roar came from beyond the doors, full or rage and hatred for
the living that had dared violate its place. Then came a scream, and silence. I jerked my head towards the door and my minion followed me as the soldiers stared at us in bemused horror.

  “Why…” the officer asked and I paused at the door, just long enough to reply.

  “No one is guaranteed to be immune. The Dead would rather face the release with honour than become one of the undead.”

  I passed through the door, uncaring whether they followed. If I died, it mattered little to me what happened to them and I had no real need or desire to have them fight with me. I allowed my minions to do so, but only because they had proven themselves capable.

  The central dome was a place of death, that was clear as soon as we entered. Bones of all shapes and sizes littered the floor and nestled amongst the dead and withered plants that filled the space. No water, nor power to maintain the carefully controlled climate had resulted in the plants all dying and there, in the centre, pulling thick chunks of flesh from my dead follower, was a Feral.

  It watched us carefully as it chewed, studying us as much as we studied it. Hairless with greying skin like the others, it was thin, skin hanging loosely from its narrow frame. Blood dripped from its chin as it chewed and it seemed to grin obscenely at us.

  Fingers that ended like claws dug into the dead flesh before it and I noted the scars that covered its body. Some from its death, others likely after as it fought its own kind or perhaps, humans. There was extensive scarring where its genitals had been and I couldn’t help but wonder if it had torn them off as it no longer needed them or if they had been lost some other way.

  To my surprise, I noted it’s bare toes were much the same as its fingers and I nodded thoughtfully to myself as I began to traverse the edge of the room to my left, my minion heading right. I swore softly as I focused on its skull.

  Bone growths protruded from the skin there, forming an extra layer of armour where it was most vulnerable. I’d heard of that happening to people, in fact, there was a medical term for it, but I couldn’t shake the thought that for the Feral Leader, it was by design.