Knight of the Dead (Book 4): Realm

by Smorynski, Ron

  He stumbled forward nearly rolling. He used whatever strength he had to keep on his feet. He fumbled to get his sword out. The ghouls bashed and yanked him to and fro. He couldn't run free of them, and more leapt to subdue him. They knew to keep hold of his arms and limit his ability to grab his sword and swing it, as more came to tear and bite ravenously. They sought, deftly, between the steel. He could feel jabs of pain as they bit into his padded garb and joints. He ran up against a car to keep balance, then circled his shoulders violently to shake them, but the sheer weight of them held and exhausted him.

  They had done this to him before, wrestling and pinning him. He was able to reach and break through a car window and start the damn hybrid. But not this time, as car batteries were dead or dying, having been over two months since this began. He knew he had to use his strength to free himself but he couldn't. He pushed and growled, “In the name of Jesus!” he groaned, but he couldn't and was losing strength quickly.

  Then the big one came and grabbed at him. Only it did not grab him, but a ghoul and ripped it from him. It ripped the ghouls off of him as he nearly collapsed from exhaustion. It's own blood lust ripped away the ghouls, freeing Dad. It then grabbed Dad and he saw as it reared a mighty fist. It came down upon Dad, ringing his steel in some crazy damaging thud. Any giant would feel the bone crackling pain in its fist from hitting steel but this muscle bound behemoth battered again and again.

  Dad fell several feet back, falling down and rolling. He saw the ghouls and ravenous zombies all around, flung to the ground and reorienting themselves.

  Dad had to quickly get up. He was dizzy and uncertain which direction was up.

  Then Steve and several survivors opened fire. They fired at the ghouls and at it. Dad stayed down as they fired. Other survivors ran past with supplies, many so weak they could only hold small items, and their running was disjointed and painful. Steve came out of the smoke with one of their police issued assault rifles and fired, first taking down the big one.

  Dad crawled away from the line of fire. Steve opened up on the bunched up ghouls, ripping them apart. “This is my castle mother fuckers!” he yelled with a crazed growl.

  Dad then saw Steve aim the rifle at him. Dad could see a crazed glare flash in Steve's eyes. Demonic. Dad knew that look very well. Dad held his breath.

  The Horde swelled behind Steve. He blinked out of whatever moment he had and turned to see it. He then waved Dad to go.

  Dad rushed to his bike. He was wobbly but pushed himself on to survive.

  “Go! Go!” Steve yelled as the survivors limped back with their measly supplies. “Get your ass back to the station now!”

  Steve rushed up to Dad. “Lead it away again, got it?”

  Dad nodded. “This is it. I'm leaving!” Dad said, coughing, weakened.

  Steve stopped a brief moment, looking at Dad through his helm. “Just lead it away! I got shit to do!”

  Dad rode off. He tried to look back to see Steve rush into the sheriff station, through the gated entrance. A few zombies ran up. Steve blasted them through the opening. Dad thought he could hear Steve laugh sadistically. He wasn't sure. What about the bit guy? Dad forgot. He clenched his teeth and wanted to turn around to warn him. But the zombies were converging.

  Then he saw Steve wave goodbye. The motion felt positive, affirmative, a thank you and goodbye. Dad fretted, but knew the wounded guy wasn't going to turn immediately. Steve would see the wound. Steve would now have life and death in his hands. Steve would now fully understand the weight of it. Dad hoped for the best. God please guide him. Dad drove off as a swarm of zombies rushed into the area.

  25. Hillside

  He drove around again to gather them up, and felt his strength and agility were weaker than before. His joints ached and had not recovered from the exhaustion. He tried his able motorcycle skills like the ride before but he couldn't pull it off. He knew he had to drive carefully. He did not have the adrenaline boost of excitement to make split second moves.

  He rode up the hill toward Sunset. The mass of zombies slowly lumbered up with him. He led whatever he could away from Steve and his new home. He drove up the hill and felt the warming noon sun, even through his sweaty stifling armor.

  Zombies were all about but the hill gave him some chance. He pushed the bike's engine as the zombies trudged up the roads, streets, and alleys. He drove into the hills, into the forested Hollywood hills. There was some slight greenery after the rains.

  The area became a sudden cloister of trees and densely packed homes and apartments nestled into the hillsides. His motorcycle's engine noises were muffled, and he throttled it only enough to thrust up the slope, again and again. He felt a calmness as he felt veiled amidst the Hollywood bungalows, apartments and homes.

  His strength was returning. He peered about at the small homes, narrow alleys and the curving road. No one was about, no zombies that is. He got off his bike, removed a gauntlet then searched for but realized he did not have his bag. It must have fallen off or was torn away. He took his helm off to listen.

  He did not hear barks or growls, the telltale signs that a a horde was coming up the street. He had gotten far enough away from them and was now hidden in this tight nit area. Around him were thick foliage, high fences, and cluttered homes. He'd easily find something to drink and eat within. He went to a home and kicked open the deco door. Within, a white ambient like home with flowing drapes and white rugs felt like a quaint sanctuary.

  He walked to the adjacent kitchen. He noticed the screen doors were open and a gentle breeze swayed the curtains. He opened the fridge, knowing most everything would be rotten within. He was used to that. Water bottles were there. He took one and uncapped it, drinking fervently.

  Next to him stood an emaciated zombie. He spit out the water and unsheathed his sword. She rambled toward him in loose robes, partially naked, skeletal.

  She groaned.

  He slashed easily but at the last second missed her knowing. She was human, not zombie. She touched him, tapping gently, confused. Her vision was probably blurred. Her face was sunken.

  “Are you okay?” he blurted, water dripping.

  “Uhhhnnn...” she sounded zombie.

  “Are you alive?” he said, readying his sword. Perhaps she was a zombie, just in some different way.

  “Why,y,y... are... you?” she finally sang. She touched his steel, her fingers weakly tapping and touching his armor. “A knight?”

  “Yes, I'm a knight, a man in armor,” he said. “There are survivors. I can take you back.”

  “Do you know my husband?” she asked.

  Dad understood and did not want to answer her. But he had to. In her feeble mind, she needed an answer. “No, I do not know your husband.”

  “He went to the school to get our daughters. He'll be back,” she said. She swooned and tears welled.

  Dad caught her. She was incredibly thin, emaciated. Dad put the water bottle to her lips. “Drink some water.”

  The water gurgled in her mouth. She didn't really swallow. Her tongue and lips were dry. The inside of her mouth was swollen. The water swelled out of her mouth and ran into her eyes, filling the sockets. She did not blink.

  “Please, are you okay?” Dad said, trying to hold her up, dropping the water bottle and letting it spill out. Her limbs went limp. He quickly swung her, scooting toward the small living room area. He laid her on a white sofa. “What's your name?”

  “Their names are Cynthia and Mandy,” she said, smiling in her distraught state.

  “What's your name?” Dad said.

  “I'm their mother,” she said. “I'm Melany. Can you find them?”

  “I can take you back to my home where there are people,” he said. He looked at her. He wasn't sure he could take her. She was so weak. She wouldn't hold up.

  “I'll wait here for my husband,” she said softly.

  A shadow crossed his face. It wasn't a shadow but more a darkening of the space. A figure stood at the back door brea
thing that typical growling sound.

  “It's my husband,” she cooed.

  Dad turned quickly. He mindlessly put the sword on the kitchen counter when he realized she was okay. The zombie was a ghoul. It was intelligent and aware.

  Dad readied to punch the damn thing when it charged. She weakly sat up. The ghoul looked from Dad to her. It was a fast zombie in all appearances, but not in expression. It wasn't just hungry and robotic, it snarled with an evil malice.

  Dad didn't care. He wasn't perturbed by their one point of IQ, by the demonic possession. He knew who would win in the end. Dad was ready. His muscles held the electric pulse, ready to flash across his muscles and smash the demon's head in.

  The ghoul stepped back and howled.

  Dad recoiled from the realization. The ghoul was alerting others, to draw them there. Dad reacted by going for his sword. He then rushed to slay the beast but it leaped away.

  He stood on the balcony, peering out. There was too much foliage. Even without his helmet on, his head exposed, seeing clearly, he could not see where it went. He feared it was above him. The roof was not high. He turned flashing his sword too late. He shivered, for nothing was there. He hurried back through the defenseless bungalow.

  “Help me,” she finally said.

  Dad grabbed another bottle of water and quickly gulped it down, tossing it aside. He stomped out, putting on his helmet and gauntlet. He got to his bike and started it. The engine roared as he heard the horde roaring a distance away. Barks alerted others as they converged. He saw none but knew they were coming.

  He twisted the throttle, alerting them to his exact location. They responded with distance growls. He couldn't move.

  He got off quickly and walked back into the home. He looked at the petite figure lying on the couch. She lay languid, beautiful in her emaciated nudity yet sickly. She looked like something sold in Hollywood films of late, except she was hairier.

  Dad ripped down a curtain and threw her in it. He rolled her up as she yelped in pain. He easily dragged the wrap out the door to his bike. Ghouls stood between him and the bike now. He dropped the curtain. He was ready and swung his sword, slashing the neck and hands off many, bashing them away. He sliced down on fallen ones and ripped their grip and limbs as he circled in his steel form. They may be ghouls, faster and more intelligent, but the zombie bodies they possessed were still weak and rotting.

  He pulled her wrapped form across the bike. It wasn't going to work. She'd flop and get caught by the tires. He unwrapped her quickly. She screamed in hysterics. He growled in frustration. More zombies were coming, searching the hillside and charging up the street. He wasn't even sure if he could get off this hill going up and over.

  He couldn't safely put her on the bike. Her nude form was too gangly and weak. She was delirious. He then noticed her garage. “Where's your car?”

  She fell to the ground. “My curtains,” she cried, grabbing them up, and realizing she was naked and exposed to the afternoon sun.

  He had to hurry. He rushed over. It was partly open. He yanked at it but it wouldn't budge. The growls were imminent, echoing. Another zombie ran up the driveway from the hillside hedges.

  She screamed. Dad turned and ran, thrusting his blade through its neck. It contorted and flopped next to her.

  “Oh my God!” she then focused and realized there were corpses all around her. She leapt up and rushed back into the house.

  “Fuck it!” Dad said. He ran to his bike. “Damn it to hell!!” He leaped on but the zombies were upon him. Ghouls leaped and tipped the bike over. Dad stumbled, trying to leap over it and the fallen. He fell down on his fours, feeling the pains from earlier jolts going back into his joints. This time he crawled hurriedly, knowing they were going to leap on him.

  His sword got stuck in something. He had to let go of it. It lay close but he had to get up first. There were trees nearby. He rushed to them, to block their charge and give him something to grasp and leap up with. It helped.

  He pulled himself upright as the ghouls crashed into the tree and him. He bashed them quickly with his gauntlets, hammering and ripping as he punched away.

  They growled in hatred. He smashed one's face in, then pushed it against the others bowling them over. It gave him room to grab his sword and slash up. Zombies split in two, limbs twirled, necks severed as Dad fought fiercely. But more were coming, all alerted to this small alcove driveway. His bike was swarmed by ghouls who knew to guard it. He was going to cut his way through, even as zombies came pouring in from both sides and over the house’s fencing.

  The garage doors suddenly jolted and cracked. Dad didn't really notice them at first. They then weakened and shuddered. Then a screeching sound from within rose and the garage doors, of decorative wood and glass, broke outward. The fender of a fancy silver Range Rover broke through, but not enough. It jolted again, reversing.

  Dad slashed and slashed, twirling about. He ran to the doorway of the house to give his back some cover as he kept an even pace to his swinging and bashing. The zombies came on. He did not know what to do. He could use the house's narrow corridors to blockade them and go out another way, but the area was swarming. He figured if he fought through the home, he might find a way out from this maddening hell.

  The Range Rover finally broke through, flopping large chunks of wood as it raced out of the driveway. It drove smashing up and over his bike. He growled in anger at the loss. At least several ghouls were smashed under it.

  The woman driving, Melany, looked quickly to and fro and saw Dad in her doorway. She wailed as if crying, staring at him. He realized she was waiting or calling for him in her state of delirium.

  He fought his way to her passenger door. She unlocked it. Even in her delirium, she could do things. He yanked it open, fighting off zombies pushing at him in rows of four or five. He stepped up but before he was seated, she took off.

  26. Rover

  Dad had to tighten all his muscles merely to hold on. He was using his elbow on the frontside, bracing himself, and his grip on the backside, while having one foot in and the other dragging on the road.

  “Wait!” he tried to yell through incredible strain.

  “Ahhhhhhh!” she screamed, barreling through zombies. She took a sharp right turn which gave him a saving momentum, enabling him to push himself onto the passenger seat. He wasn't seated as much as kneeling, facing her and jammed.

  “Wait!” he yelled again, stuffed against the seat.

  “Ahhhhhhh!!!” she screamed as she continued smashing zombies and scraping against cars, trash bins, and walls.

  Dad felt his foot get pushed in as the door slammed against him. It was damaged enough that it didn't swing in properly and swung in and out, slamming against him repeatedly. If he hadn't had armor on, the repeated slams would have burst his flesh. Now it was merely pushing him in further. It was helpful.

  He finally forced what strength he had left to turn, ripping her seat up as he plopped on his side. He had to hold on for dear life as she turned to and fro. He felt several times he was going to roll out of the passenger side. The door on his side swung a few more times then was gone in a screeching of metal and stucco. She careened alongside apartments, fencing, cars, and plenty of zombies as the large Range Rover plowed through them.

  They weren't going to get far. Sunset was a mess of jammed cars.

  “It's all blocked down there!” he yelled through his helm, through his exhausted breathing.

  “Oh my God, oh my God, they're everywhere!”

  “Turn around. Do you know a back way?” he yelled through his helm.

  She stared to and fro, seemingly more aware. He wasn't sure. Looking through his helm everything was disjointed, especially discerning facial awareness and its subtleties in a careening vehicle.

  "A back way? Oh I know every way! This is my hill!" she growled.

  She suddenly turned sharp to her left smashing full on into a parked car. The alarm on it went off. Dad nearly flipped out on hi
s side. He caught himself. He rolled up as his arm screamed in pain. He felt he ripped his bicep, his shoulder, his back, probably all of it. His upper body suddenly leaned way out of the car. He barely hung on.

  "Damn animals! Leave me alone!" She reversed and turned the wheel as a zombie bashed her window, leaping at her. She floored the gas, not considering using the breaks at all. The Rover smashed a dozen zombies between her and the car behind her. Dad flopped back and up inside. In great pain, he braced himself using his armor, so he wouldn't be jolted out the door again.

  She then twisted the drive dial into some all terrain mode. "Oh, we are going! We are going!"

  Dad wasn't familiar with the fanciness of a Range Rover. She gunned the gas, pushing it through row after row of zombies as she drove back up. She now drove straight and careful.

  It wasn't slow enough for the zombies to rush in and pull Dad out, but it seemed like it. Zombies rushed up, grabbing at him, but easily falling over and tumbling away, smashing into other cars or scraping along the asphalt.

  She seemed focused, driving up, then taking a turn, and another turn. "I know where I'm going! I know where I'm going."

  "Okay, just try not to hit everything," Dad replied, murmuring in his helmet. She probably didn't hear it.

  She hit a small Prius blocking the way. She then turned to one side of it. On Dad's side, the wheels scraped along the deep slope. Dirt showered Dad causing dust to plume within his helm. He coughed. On her side, she pushed the Range Rover hard against the Prius and other cars. Her Rover scraped through and they plopped back down on the road.

  She let out a small whoop!

  Dad grimaced. He was in great pain. His muscles felt ripped. He wasn't sure he could fight. He wasn't sure where she was driving. It wasn't far for she was driving slowly. But she kept going up and up around tight tree covered bends. There wasn't any traffic up here. The zombies may have been following but they were far behind now.