Knight of the Dead (Book 4): Realm

by Smorynski, Ron

  It gave Dad a moment to clear them. It split the zombies. Dad took advantage of the moment. He sheathed his sword and pulled out the claymore. He swiped powerful swings hacking through several at a time. Limbs flailed and flopped loose from their bodies. Dad pushed Lena back, clearing her from the feasting. Dad swung down at the zombies, feeling his blade hit Marcus' naginata and his armor, as he cut away biting heads and gripping nails. His swing of the claymore cleared droves.

  “Marcus get up!” Lena yelled back, unable to fight. Lisa came forth to protect her.

  It was useless Dad knew. He'd have to kill him soon. How would Lena bear it? Even in this hell, his daughter, who he hoped would have a future with a good husband, how would she bear it? Dad had foolishly hoped for her future. He whimpered just a bit, knowing his daughter was losing her love, her future, everything.

  Randall was grabbed by many as he throttled in place, trying to attract more. He got the feel of their grabs, holding on to his bike with firm grips and punching the gas at the right moment. He raced out. It yanked the zombies and infuriated them as they bowled over one another. It worked and drew the converging horde away.

  Steve came up and helped pull Marcus up as Dad cut away at the few trying to fall upon him. Marcus folded upward as Steve adroitly lifted him by his naginata grip, pulling up the pole arm with both hands. Marcus blinked out of it and stumbled forward, drenched in blood. He shook from many wounds.

  “No!” Lena cried as she grabbed him and yanked him back. He fell, slamming into another car, dizzy and in numbing pain. "Jesus will save you! Jesus will! Come on!" she cried hysterically.

  Steve and Dad fought in retreat. Steve did not think to face the way he retreated, stepping backwards as he fought. He fell back over fallen zombies. He yelped in sudden fear. His attackers dropped upon him.

  Dad was there and cut them quickly, swinging in wide berths. Limbs and torsos flopped in pairs, triples and groups. He circled back, to and fro, amidst the dead, retreating. But he always looked through the bottom holes of his helm, glancing to and fro quickly.

  He was used to this in his hobby fighting days. It was an experience he had to learn amidst close fighting. When opponents dropped, they became obstacles on the ground. Dad knew it well and kept moving about carefully and always forward, even in retreat.

  Steve quickly rolled, crawling to get up. He saw several severed zombie heads on the ground by his gloved and protected hands. They were close up, gnashing at his crawling hands and feet. His armor worked he thought gratefully as he saw their infectious teeth bite ineffectively. He shuddered, leaping up and away.

  “Move!” Dad roared, bashing Steve back with his elbow.

  Burning limbs suddenly flew over them, trailing smoldering flames. Tom had gotten a fire going next to the dumpster with dried zombie parts. He and Stu began tossing them. The smoldering parts were working, slowing the oncoming zombies. There looked to be several hundred converging from all sides beyond the barricade of cars and the dumpster that protected their side of the block. It was odd to see such thin trails of rancid smoke work so instantly on the zombies. Before it even got going, they recognized it and turned. And dad was going to take advantage of that moment.

  Dad got them back through the dumpster. Tom and Stu quickly pushed it back in place. They continued tossing parts that smoked. It kept the zombies at bay.

  Randall was off somewhere leading a large group of them away.

  Dad lifted his visor and looked angrily at everyone, at Duanne and Steve. “Get the fuck out of here now!”

  Duanne stared at Dad, unsure if it was to help or was out of anger.

  “You stupid fucks!” Dad roared. He pushed Duanne who almost fell over but used his martial arts to counter Dad, nearly toppling him. Dad was in no mood for fancy wrestling moves. He slammed into a car and then turned with his claymore ready to split Duanne in two.

  Duanne was ready to get to his gun but couldn't since it was looped to his back and stuck from all the pulling and armor. "I'm sorry man. I'm sorry!"

  Dad raised his mighty sword but let out a deep breathe and lowered it. He saw Lena and Lisa crying over Marcus who was sliding down a car.

  “Steve, get them all back. Get Marcus to Benjamin, but have him strapped for when he turns,” Dad ordered.

  “What about Charlotte? What about the faith?” Steve gasped, stumbling over.

  “Get them back!”

  “We came to help you, asshole!” Duanne spat.

  “You came to lose! And die! I was leading them away! Not to fight!” Dad roared back. “Look at them! You want to fight them! Marcus is dead!!!” Dad waved his gauntlet and sword about, as they felt heavy and were shaking.

  Duanne noticed, then looked at the crowding zombies just beyond the smoke. They were amassing.

  “Try your stupid ass plan now,” Dad said.

  Duanne rubbed sweat and grit under his helm.

  “I am the leader! Not you! It was my plan to move along, lead them away. NOT FIGHT!” Dad growled in anguish.

  "Sorry, we just thought you were in trouble," Stu said.

  Both turned to see Steve pick up Marcus. “Are you bit? Are you bit?” Steve asked stupidly.

  Marcus sobbed, nodding yes and sobbing in tight pangs. He looked to Lena, “I'm sorry.”

  “Oh my God, oh my God,” Lena wailed. “Get Charlotte... we gotta go, we gotta go! Come on!” Lena and Lisa rushed him back.

  Dad nodded for Steve to go back with them. “Tie him down. I'll finish him when I get back.”

  Steve nodded.

  17. Sorrow & Praise

  Dad looked to Tom and Stu, ignoring Duanne who finally turned and went back.

  “You gotta watch the area. Move the dumpster when Randall gets back.”

  Tom, grimy and sweaty, saluted. Stu got burning parts and put them in the dumpster to grow a bigger flame.

  Dad went to a car to step over it and go out.

  “I wanna go back and see Marcus,” Stu sobbed.

  “No, stay! You have time,” Dad replied.

  “I'm sorry. I went back to get help,” Stu cried.

  Dad heard but continued forth. He stepped down and into the smoke, walking slowly toward the masses of zombies. He walked into them. They were lulled by the smoke, yet crowded.

  He moved toward his bike. It wasn't far, but there were many zombies between. He didn't want to fight them. A smoldering zombie limb rolled ahead of him. He turned to see Stu nearby, his scarf up, moving the smoldering limbs forward, kicking some, tossing others, to get more space for Dad.

  Tom stayed back, hacking up zombie parts for the dumpster fire. The bigger the flames, smoke and noise of it all, the more the zombies stumbled backwards.

  Dad got on his bike. He heard Randall gunning the gas a few blocks away. Many of the zombies turned and went that way. The zombies seemed glad to get away from the smoke and leave the area.

  Dad waited till it cleared. He drove off quietly looking for the next water supply to drop off. He saw banners above and people on balconies nearby.

  “Can we use fire to draw them off?” one asked from the balcony above, trying to whisper, knowing sound would attract them.

  “Not unless you can also fight,” Dad said, standing under the balcony and tossing up water bottles. They were close enough to catch them. “How many are you?”

  “Ten of us,” an older man said. Several younger men and women stood around him, very gaunt and ragged but finally seeing hope in Dad.

  “Are you the military?” one asked.

  “No. Just a guy with armor,” Dad responded.

  “We want to get out of here,” another said. “Please help us.”

  “You have to be quiet. First, make armor or coverings for your arms and legs. Got it? Use whatever to wrap your limbs up with layers,” Dad said.

  “We have weapons,” a young one said, holding up a hammer.

  “Not good enough,” Dad said. “They'll kill you.”

  “We have two who are
sick. They're not bitten, just sick. They can't move,” the older said.

  “You'll have to figure that out. Make stretchers. You got wheelchairs? Do whatever you can to be ready to move them. I'll plan out a rescue and be back in a few days. Get armor, figure out what to do with those that can't walk, and get sticks, broomsticks or bats, to keep zombies at bay. Like this!” Dad held out his sword holding it at each end. “Just need something to keep them from biting you. I'll fight them. Got it?”

  “Okay! Yes. Thank you! God bless!” they cried out.

  Dad drove on. He dropped off a few more bottles to survivors: a few at one spot, a lone woman at another, at another -- no one came out. It wasn't many. At many of the X's Benjamin marked, there were banners but no one came out. Could have been just days ago. Dad felt frustrated. Or was it for Marcus? Or this whole damn thing? God, why?

  He had to fight a few lone weak zombies left behind as Randall did his job, leading the larger groups away. Dad drove quietly as Randall gunned his gas and attracted them.

  Dad could hear Randall leading them up the hill, up toward Hollywood. The plan was simple, lead them up, draw them away, then coast down quietly through another street. Randall was doing that quite well.

  Dad drove 5mph, just a quiet hum. A few crippled zombies were around. Dad casually drove by, swinging at any that seemed alerted. It wasn't like before with a massive crowd of zombies being lured one direction and more coming in from another to fill the void, at least not yet. Dad could tell that they were coming back into the area. But it wasn't yet the masses, like The Horde he led away, killing hundreds of thousands at least.

  He had led them accidentally, or with angelic blessings, into the vast metro construction pit, pouring over, and piling and piling upon one another. With cans of gas at the bottom, where construction had occurred, flames consumed them and angels blared their holy horns as Dad finished that Horde off.

  So the zombies in the area seemed in disarray, beaten but not defeated. Since then, he had not seen or felt the presence of the bigger ones. He hadn't given them a name, like the abominations, which were the many-limbed crazy beasts or the mysterious Goathead, or the seemingly intelligent ghouls, or the slow normal zombies, or the fast ones. There was an array of monsters, a compendium of zombie types. Big ones? ‘It’ with a capital I? He shrugged. A name for those big ones would eventually come. Then he realized, just big ones. He wasn’t so creative. Maybe he'd save a writer, someone with a creative talent for descriptive words, and he or she could come up with a good naming convention.

  The more aware and intelligent ones he called ghouls. They reminded him of the old Dungeons and Dragons creatures and fantasy undead concepts of ghouls, being more virile undead, more animalistic and rabid. The slow zombies and faster zombies, whether being fresher or just more fleshy, or with less flesh eaten when they turned or not injured, those were just degrees of rotting away. Dad was becoming more aware of these classifications. It mattered how one would fight them and what weapon one needed.

  He'd need more lords, more knights as well.

  The abomination was some horrific gathering of zombies into one giant creature. It was a grotesque compiling of a dozen or more zombies, entangled and working in unison. He wasn't sure if it truly was one giant beast or just the many connected in a mind meld.

  And the other he recalled only in nightmarish visions yet knew he had seen it or them before. They were the tall robed ones, with goat like heads. He knew them to be demonic leaders or fallen angels, the ones condemned to hell and unleashed to do the desires of the Devil. At least that is how he saw it. In reading the Bible, the demons seemed so pathetic, possessed crazed people.

  They were not like this, cannibalistic zombies or some tall robed goat head. Yes Goathead, he'd call them that. Goatheads. He thought it funny, which was good. It gave him a little relief to demean them, no matter how powerful they were, leading and conjuring the undead hordes. Or was it just his frightful imagination seeing the Goatheads beyond, past the hordes, past the clarity of vision. He didn't care. Goatheads they were!

  Again, Dad did not believe in evolution, but he certainly believed in variety, like a wolf to a bulldog to a poodle. He believed there were going to be horrific changes. He felt it was demonic, even if it were at the biological state. God was allowing nature to be consumed by Death, by evil. God was allowing it to have its own mind, to change and evolve. God was allowing evil to reign for a little while, to force those that were left to decide. Wasn't it painfully obvious now to all those who did not believe?

  Dad wasn't sure how this was all supposed to work. Revelations was definitely not clear. Zombies and survival in Los Angeles County, the most populated and vast sprawl in the United States, was more than enough for Dad to try to comprehend.

  He drove back to the dumpster, satisfied in what little he was able to do. He then got anxious about Marcus and his daughter Lena. He pushed through as they opened the dumpster, rolling past the heat and smoke.

  Anxious was not the right word, for soon the weight of it bore down on him. The death of Marcus woud be crushing to his Lena, to her future, and the future hope Dad had for her, in them. Marcus could protect her. He could give her a home far away, in some safe place, as she bore children, the future. But now, all of that hope was gone.

  Dad felt his daughter would now be a lost soul, wandering this land of hell, fighting until she failed, alone and lonely. Dad could only hope she kept her faith. God only allowed one to suffer the amount they could endure, however difficult. But Dad knew this was too much for her. He just knew. Did God not choose her to be saved? He shuddered.

  Tom and Stu watched in calmness, keeping their fire going. The smoke was wafting the area as the zombies kept away.

  “Wait for Randall, then come back,” Dad said calmly as he passed them. He drove quietly and slowly back to the school in a block free from zombies.

  As Dad neared the final dumpster he had to get through, Robert spotted him from the school gate. He came out to help, easily removing its blocks and pushing the dumpster just enough for Dad to ride through and into the school. Dad parked the bike in the closest classroom. It was setup like a garage, perfect for the bikes. They'd need to get more of them for sure.

  Robert returned the dumpster to its closed position, placing the blocks back, and then closed the school gate. The gate was protected by additional salvaged fortification. The small fencing along this backside was recently built up by Ray and Nick, giving the place a real fort like feel to it, in some wasteland road warrior apocalypse. Dad had them do this area first, because it was a smaller array of fencing and quicker to do. Then they could focus on the wider expanse of the south and west side where the parking lot and playground were.

  But Dad was not concerned about that now. He hurried to the main building, passing the destroyed cafeteria with its large chunks of glass walls broken out.

  He looked up to the roof and did not see Charlotte. He knew where she was. Dad walked to the main office. Next to it was the 'Nurse's Office' with beds.

  Past Steve, Duanne, Cherry, Eva, and Trish, he could see Lena and his wife comforting Marcus. Benjamin was in there tending his wounds.

  Charlotte was praying silently, holding Lena. They hugged each other as Lena held Marcus' hand. It had been awhile since he'd seen his two daughters emotionally holding each other.

  Marcus lay sobbing over and over. He wanted to fold and hide his expression. He was already strapped in. Amanda was removing his bloody armor so Benjamin could clean his wounds.

  “Please Marcus, believe in Jesus like Charlotte, please,” Lena whispered, her face hot and moist with tears and snot. Dad could tell she had been saying it a lot while he was gone. There had already been a big emotional confrontation or struggle, and Marcus was now subdued or succumbing, exhausted and ashamed.

  He was black and his skin was very dark. Dad could not discern the black infected veins, the signs of the coming dread. Dad had removed his helm and gauntlets out
side, to come in and look, to see clearly. Was Marcus a believer, a true believer? Dad wasn't sure. He looked to Charlotte to see, but she was emotionally drained for her big sister, for the inevitable. Dad wanted Marcus to be his daughter's husband, her protector. He was big and strong, the perfect choice. But now it was all fading and the world of darkness would get darker and lonelier, especially for his children.

  One by one, Dad realized, they'd keep losing. This World was not meant for them. Why was he fighting to keep them here?

  Marcus was ashamed. He closed his eyes and sobbed, looking away from everyone. He put his head into Lena's bosom as she sat close. Dad worried he'd bite her. He worried a moment, but saw his wife's bleary, teary eyes, and let it be for now.

  Even being a believer was no guarantee of being saved here in this world, left behind as the end days were engulfing everything. Dad had no power to pray or hope, feeling everything was inevitable. Losing Marcus, losing his daughter's happiness broke him. Was God watching or looking away? Did any of this matter?

  Was he to go the way of King Josiah? Who loved God so, but died in battle, and Israel fell nonetheless? Dad sat with his wife, staring sadly at Lena, who could not look at him. She could not look at her father and mother together, as her hope for such a love was dying.

  Benjamin wiped and dabbed at Marcus' wounds. He checked his fever between wiping, checking his delirium. “Give him water.”

  Lena put a cup of water up to his mouth. Marcus drank while shaking, tied to the bed, unable to move much. He was big. When he turned, Dad would have to kill him quickly. A sharp sudden image splashed into Dad's psyche, that Marcus could easily turn into It, one of the bigger ones.

  “I don't see,” Benjamin sighed. “I see cuts and abrasions, uh, maybe from straps, from falling, but I don't see bites.”

  Everyone looked up.

  Charlotte sat up, seeming to come alive.

  “I don't know. How do you feel?” Benjamin shrugged, looking at him.

  Marcus sobbed a little with a shudder of emotion. “I feel hot.”