Chocolate chip cookie dough. My favorite.
*****
I love this place. It's a shame I might have to burn it to the ground.
As the locals lead Imago and me to the chief's hut, I steal a glance at the glowing tracker display on the blade of my scythe. The signal from the proto-Christ's unique DNA doesn't move; it's coming from somewhere in this village, and it's staying put.
I lean over and whisper to Imago. "She's waiting."
He whispers back. "Preparing to ambush us, no doubt."
I nod. "She knows what I'll do to her." I give my scythe a meaningful flick. "Same thing I did to the other eleven."
"Yes," says Imago as we bend down to enter the low doorway of the hut.
"Father!" Suddenly, a tiny man with shaggy gray hair and a beard leaps up in front of us. He wears a loincloth like the rest of his people and a feathered cloak besides, all reds and golds and greens against his dark brown skin. "Praise the King, you've joined us for the Feast of Second Cousins Twice Removed!"
"That's right." I throw on a huge grin, though there's nothing at all special about today's feast. The fact is, every day of the year is a holiday in the perfect Kingdom. Most days are doubled or tripled up with special occasions. "Blessed are the second cousins twice removed, my son."
The Chief reaches into a basket and pulls out a piece of Edenfruit. Its skin glitters and swirls with every color of the rainbow, and it sings softly as it changes shape in his hand. This is the stuff that was Adam's favorite in the Garden, the fruit that was once forbidden. Thanks to the King, it grows in abundance everywhere in the world now, all throughout the Kingdom.
The Chief takes a bite and grins. "Will you lead our ceremonies, blessed Father?"
"I'll need a volunteer." I rub the black bristle on my chin. It's been days since I last shaved. "Someone who has come to town recently. Do you know of anyone like that?"
The Chief's eyes flick to one side and then back, and I know he's about to lie. "No one new. Will you settle for someone old?" He grins and spreads his arms.
I look at Imago as I laugh. The automaton nods imperceptibly; from programming and experience, he is able to read the intentions on my face, the inflections of my voice. The fireflies in his stained-glass belly begin to swirl in slow motion.
We both know it's time to find this proto-Christ before she gets away.
"Tell me, Earth Angel." I clamp a hand on the Chief's bony shoulder and give it a squeeze. "Which way to the latrine, please?"
*****
Imago distracts the villagers with a light show while I stroll around town. I know the proto-Christ is here somewhere, maybe watching me at this very moment.
I feel a chill as I imagine her eyes upon me. The eyes of the one creature, according to Biblical Revelations, who could overturn the hard-won Kingdom.
But at least there is only one of her. One person left in all the world, according to the King's astounding Christputer, with the right mix of nature and nurture to become the dreaded Messiah.
Two years ago, when we first ran the numbers, the Christputer gave us twelve names. Imago and I have been on the road ever since, hunting down the likely candidates. Flushing them out and killing them before they could emerge from hiding and mount a revolution. Before they could try to replace the glorious Kingdom of Free Will with their so-called thousand years of paradise.
Maybe I've already killed the right one, the actual Second Coming. It's possible he or she was among those murdered eleven. But how could I live with myself knowing even one proto-Christ was still at large?
And what if she did turn out to be Jesus Christ 2.0?
*****
Soon enough, I give up the search. There are simply too many places to hide in the jungle around Cristobal. I'll never find her like this.
So it's time for another strategy.
Marching back into the middle of the village, I see Imago performing for the villagers, flashing multicolored lights in sync with a playful, piping tune. Brown-skinned children scramble and leap around him, smacking his body as they try to anticipate the flashing pattern.
Too bad I have to break up the party. "Children! Line up!" I point with the tip of my scythe at the ground alongside me. "Right here!"
Imago stops flashing and piping. "Father?"
The half-naked kids scurry over as they were told. When they're all in line, I nod to Imago. "Put me on bullhorn." He nods and spreads his arms wide, facing away from me. The next words I say boom out of his wondrous body, amplified ten times or more their original volume. "Brigid Gideon! Surrender immediately!"
As my words echo over the village and into the jungle, the children look around with eyes wide as Edenfruit. The adults watch in a circle around us, trying not to look worried.
Time now to put this in terms the proto-Christ will understand. "If you do not surrender by the count of ten, I will slaughter these innocent children!" I sweep my glowing scythe over their heads to show I mean business. "Their lives are in your hands! One!"
When some of the adults press in from behind me, I swing the scythe across their path. They trip over each other in their hurry to fall back.
"Two!" Do I like what I'm doing? Of course not. "Three!" But I need to bring her in one way or the other.
"Please, let them go!" The Chief raises his hands pleadingly, flapping his colorful feathered cape. The children are his charges.
He should try being responsible for the fate of the entire kingdom. "Four!"
"Father?" Imago tips his head to one side. His features are expressionless. "Will you do it?"
I scowl at him. "Five!" Imago has demonstrated his unflagging loyalty to me countless times. Since when does he question my actions? Maybe something really is wrong with him.
"Will you?" Imago's face remains expressionless.
He already knows the answer. "Six!" Of course I will. I'll do anything for the King of the World. Anything to preserve The Kingdom of Free Will.
Maybe it's time I demonstrated my devotion. I draw back the scythe, taking aim at one of the children, a little boy. Lopping an ear off ought to show I'm serious.
The parents gasp. I say the next number, "Seven!" But I don't hear it. Has Imago shut off the bullhorn?
Or is it the voice shouting from the jungle that's overpowering it? The woman's voice, calling from the edge of the rain forest?
"All right, all right!" She stomps out of the jungle with purpose, shoving aside lush green leaves the size of elephants' ears. "Enough with the drama already!"
I want to race over immediately and subdue her, but I don't. I let her come to me instead.
She snorts and shakes her head. "You really piss me off, you know that?"
"Lock her down!" As soon as I snap the order, Imago marches toward her with arms outstretched. Restraining cuffs materialize in his hands, courtesy of his built-in transubstantiator.
Brigid whirls to face him, and at first, I think there'll be a fight. She might just win, too. She's a big girl, built like a Clydesdale, over six feet tall. All shoulders and flanks and hocks.
But then she cocks her head and gives Imago a funny look. She stares at him for a moment, as if she's sizing up her chances, and she relaxes. She reaches out and lets him clamp the cuffs on her.
A breeze kicks around the wisps of blonde hair that have pulled free from her ponytail. "You're a Squire-series model."
The robot holds on to her hands a moment longer. "Yes, I am."
I storm forward and push him out of the way. "I usually pray for the souls of those I kill, even the undead." I pull back my scythe, and it hums and crackles with power. "But not this time."
"Don't do it, jackoff." Brigid tips her head back and sneers defiantly. "Biggest friggin' mistake of your pitiful life."
I laugh and tighten my grip on the handle of the scythe. "How so, she-devil?"
"There are lots more where I came from." Brigid nods. "An army of us. Your king doesn't stand a snowflake's chance in the Sahara."
>
Careful. "An army?" The serpent will say anything to gain the advantage.
"Enjoy your day in the sun, jackoff." She chuckles. "Believe me, the clock's ticking."
Before she can say another word, I've got her on the ground with the blade of the scythe at her throat. "Where? Where are they?"
She grits her teeth, and I press the edge of the blade against her windpipe. A fine red line appears between the gleaming metal curve and her pale flesh.
"Tell me!" I kick her hard in the side.
"Screw you!" She hisses it between her clenched teeth.
By the time I'm done with her, she's missing some of those teeth. Along with other things.
But she's still alive. And finally cooperating. She agrees to lead us to the Second Coming.
*****
As soon as we cross the border of the Undead Zone--the UZ--my scythe starts to wail. I shut off the warning signal and keep walking.
But my senses are ratcheted up to full alert. My heart pounds, pushing adrenaline through me like rocket fuel. Because the truth is, we've just set foot outside the Kingdom.
On the surface, it seems no different from the rest of the rain forest, at least not yet. Dense green foliage crawls and hangs and twists and sprawls over every square foot. The air is thick with humidity and a steaming, sweet stew of mingled floral perfumes. Monkeys and tropical birds shriek and leap in the canopy. Insects whine in my ears and flicker over my bare skin, tiny wings and legs skittering through the hairs on my wrists and neck.
It seems no different, but it is very different indeed. It is a foreign land over which the King has no sway, a pocket of corruption in which the wicked zombie undead run riot. They might range far and wide on their unholy sorties beyond the UZ, but this is the heart of their awful territory.
"Tell me where we're headed." I jab Brigid in the back with the handle of my scythe. "What are the coordinates?"
"For the tenth time, shove it up your ass!" Her long blonde ponytail switches from side to side as she shakes her head. "If I tell you, you'll kill me."
I jab her again for good measure, and she cries out. Imago, who is marching up ahead of us, slows his pace but does not look back.
Brigid's white blouse and tan shorts are stained with blood from my interrogation at the village. I pick the darkest spot on her back and stick her again. "There aren't any normals in the UZ." I give her one more jab, and her cry is louder this time. "Are you trying to tell me the Second Coming is undead?"
Brigid shrugs. "Where does it say it can't happen? You can accept a woman as the Second Coming, can't you?"
"The Christputer does not admit the possibility of an undead messiah." The green and yellow tail of a huge snake drops down in front of me, and I duck around it. "None of the simulations yields that result."
Brigid half-turns and looks back over her shoulder at me. "Because none of your precious models includes the undead as a variable, do they?"
I jab her once more. "Forever."
She looks back again. "What's that supposed to mean?"
"It's how long your agonizing death will seem to take if I find out you've been lying to me." I press the blade of my scythe against the side of her head, letting it hum and crackle in her ear.
*****
Soon enough, we encounter the undead. Two of them cross our path near a stream--a male and female dressed in the usual bloody tatters. When they look our way, I see decayed flesh falling from their faces. I instantly key the scythe to maximum power.
I'm already moving as they raise the alarm with blood-curdling shrieks. Flashing past Brigid and Imago, I raise the scythe and spin between the zombies like a whirlwind.
Their heads fly off in opposite directions, one bouncing off a tree, the other splashing down in the stream. Their bodies drop to the ground a second later. Two down.
And three to go. I hear the sound of snapping twigs and whip around to see three more zombies backing away through the underbrush. The most tragic undead of all, child-size, they were transformed at a young age and never had a chance at a normal life. I see two little boys and a black-haired preteen girl. How sad.
I will sing extra prayers for them as I hack them to bloody bits.
Such is my intent, until Brigid charges over and throws herself in my path. "Hands off, jackoff!"
"Imago!" I try ducking around her, but she stays in front of me. "Restrain her!"
Imago marches over and reaches for Brigid's arm. "Come with me, Ms. Gideon."
Brigid pulls away from him. "These people aren't zombies! I won't let you kill them!"
Looking over her shoulder, I see the three children cowering in the weeds. Each is covered with oozing, peeling blotches of rot, swarming with flies. "Of course they're zombies! Look at them!"
Suddenly, Brigid does the unexpected. She steps up to me, gets right in my face, and locks her gaze with mine. "Your King has lied to you," she says. "You are the only zombie here."
With a snarl, I lunge at her. She spins away from me and darts toward the undead children lurking in the weeds. Shooting after her, I swing the scythe so the broad side of the blade will crash into her hip and bring her down. But the blow never connects.
As I run, my foot catches on something. I stumble and fall in the weeds and skid down the muddy bank into the stream.
Looking up, I wonder again if something's wrong with Imago. He stands atop the bank, right about where I took a header.
And he's ignoring me, his master, though I'm clearly in distress. Brigid is waving him over...and he's going.
"Imago!" He doesn't seem to hear me. Next thing I know, he's standing before the three zombie children.
I hear Brigid's voice as she hunkers down in front of them. "You poor babies. You're nothing but skin and bones."
"Imago!" I say it again as I clamber out of the stream, shaking the water from my scythe.
Imago's too busy listening to Brigid. "You can make something for them to eat, can't you?" she asks him.
He pauses. "Yes."
"What would you like for lunch?" Brigid says to the kids.
Human flesh, I'm guessing, but that's not what they ask for.
"Ice cream." The oldest, the dark-haired girl, says it softly as I approach, then clears her throat and says it louder. "Chocolate ice cream."
I gape at her. Since when did the undead crave anything but the flesh and blood of the living?
"Please make her some chocolate ice cream, Imago," says Brigid.
"But they are undead." Imago tips his head to one side. "They are zombies."
"They are alpha-lepers," says Brigid. "If you doubt it, go ask your king."
"Why?" says Imago.
"He made them this way," says Brigid. "Because their families opposed him."
"She's lying, Imago!" I rush up beside him. "All lies!"
Brigid doesn't bother to look at me. Her focus is on the youngest child, a little redheaded boy no older than three or four. "What flavor of ice cream do you want?" she asks him.
"Peanut butter." The child's voice is so soft, I can barely hear it. So soft, so much like a human child's voice, that I hesitate.
I hesitate to slaughter him and the others on the spot as my duty dictates.
"One order of chocolate and one order of peanut butter, please, Imago." Brigid turns to the third child, a blond boy of six or seven. "And what about you?"
"What about them?" The boy turns and points at the jungle behind him.
Eyes wide, they slowly emerge from the brush--more undead children, creeping out of hiding places among the glossy emerald elephant-ear leaves. They shuffle toward us along the bank of the stream, wary and furtive as starving dogs, silently converging.
How many are there? I count six, then ten, then twelve. And they keep coming. Every last one a blight on the face of the Earth, a target for my scythe.
So why don't I slaughter them all right here and now? Is it because I'm hoping they might lead me to the Army of the Second Coming? Is it becaus
e I need to get my prisoner well clear before the bloodbath, given the vital intel she might possess?
Or is it something else? Some reason I can't fathom?
"Yo, Imago! Get a move on!" Brigid spins her index finger in the air like the hands of a clock. "Let's get crackin' on that ice cream."
Imago looks at me, his iron filing features shifting inside his stained-glass faceplate. His expression changes from a confused frown to...what? A blank look. Unreadable.
Turning to the children, he holds out his hands, palms up, cupped. The fireflies dance like tiny fairies in his belly, and a scoop of brown ice cream appears in his grasp.
He hands it to the dark-haired girl, and then he conjures another scoop. And another. And many more after that.
And the undead children keep coming out of the jungle, shambling like corpses with hands outstretched. They mutter the names of their favorite flavors, and Brigid calls them out to Imago.
Not one of those children leaves empty-handed. Some get seconds and thirds.
And not one of them tries to devour the flesh of the living.
*****
As we continue on our way, the undead children surround us. I pray for the strength to keep myself from slaughtering them, even as I wonder if I'm doing the right thing. Will they lead us to a hidden mother lode of proto-Christs unpredicted by the Christputer, or will they lead us into an inescapable death-trap?
"How does it feel?" Brigid asks me this as we march through the mid-afternoon heat. "Knowing that none of those people you've murdered were zombies?"
I try to ignore her. Proto-Christs are always looking to stir up doubt and disharmony with their words.
She shakes her head. "All those deaths on your conscience. All those innocents." She clucks her tongue against the roof of her mouth. "That's a heavy weight for you to bear."
I reach back and swing my black braid around front, letting it fall against my white cloak. A fat red spider crawls along the length of the braid, and I brush it off in Brigid's direction.
She swats it away reflexively with her cuffed hands, without flinching. "I can guess what hurts the most," she says. "Being lied to by your beloved King. Knowing he led you astray for his own purposes."
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