The Price of Life

by T. M. Nienaber

  “Please,” Alexander exhaled the word and rolled his eyes. “Maybe you’re just losing your touch.”

  “What purpose would necromancers serve on the street. We can’t raise every dying homeless drunk from the depths of their hell.”

  “We realize this isn’t a charity.” Alexander put the phone away and walked over to Lucian’s desk as menacingly as he could.

  “Well then.” Lucian stood up and stared down the once young acolyte with the power of every life and death he had controlled flashing in his eyes. “Tell me what it is.”

  Alexander backed down, out of date as he thought Lucian was, the old soul was still intimidating. “Kristopher wants us to scare them.” Alexander was now slightly hunched over and looking intently at the floor. “He thinks it won’t take as long to mark our authority if we’re having a necromancer lead every patrol. It would just be for show. They wouldn’t do anything.”

  “Hmm.” Lucian nodded slowly then shook his head. “No. Kristopher can have his soldiers lead themselves. But I will make him a deal.”

  Alexander looked up and nodded, looking much more like the acolyte than before, not wanting to get involved in a war between two immortal leaders.

  “Send him to me and we can discuss it.”

  Alexander swallowed, nodded, and left.

  Lucian sat back down and leafed through his book. It really was a good idea, and Kristopher wouldn’t be able to say no. It also made the lines clear. Lucian knew, politically, he should mix his men with Kristopher’s. This would be more fun though.

  Kristopher was not nearly as amused by Lucian’s attempt to influence his guard, but he needed the necromancers, so he followed Alexander to Lucian’s lab with every intention of saying no.

  “What the hell do you want, Lucian, honestly, there’s an entire nation outside that door waiting to fall apart and we need to keep it in check.”

  “Doesn’t anyone ever knock anymore?” Lucian swiveled around in his chair and without a pause was standing up and facing Kristopher. “How can I help you?”

  “You know damn well how you can help me, but instead you’re dragging me down to what is obviously the most god forsaken circle of hell to play a game you know you’ll never win just to waste my time.”

  “Well, that’s one way to look at it.” Lucian smiled. “But I do actually have a suggestion for you. Would you like to sit down?”

  “Absolutely not, Lucian. You want to waste my time fine, but do it as quickly as possible.”

  “I don’t think sending my necromancers out with your soldiers is the best way to scare the people straight.”

  “Of course, and you obviously think you have a better idea.”

  “I think you should send them out with my undead patrols.”

  Kristopher took the chair Lucian had offered him before and sat down, unwilling to admit it was a brilliant idea.

  “Is that a yes, Kris?” Lucian smirked.

  Kristopher managed to nod.

  Citizens were already scared of the undead army Lucian was building, but the whole ‘initiative’ as Kristopher called it, had been kept under wraps so the public hadn’t seen any of Lucian’s ‘children’. The first night of the official patrols would be the citizens first introduction to what Lucian could really do. It was perfect. Lucian would gain back some power while it looked like Kristopher was getting exactly what he wanted.

  ***

  “Alright, one necromancer to every ten undead soldiers.” Lucian stood in front of a horde of his undead and directed his acolytes around. He had spared six acolytes for the patrols in his area and he’d be escorting a group himself. In total there would be seven groups and eighty undead soldiers, as Lucian would be taking out twenty. More proof that he was regaining his power.

  The acolytes all looked a little nervous surrounded by creatures that didn’t make sense to them. They rose to the challenge in robes that didn’t seem to fit right, instead of Kristopher’s suits, and looked the part. Each of them had been taught how to control the zombies and was handpicked by how well they were able to consistently cast and control their rituals. Lucian, however, felt the part. Everything about him said power, and his undead soldiers seemed more menacing than anything the war had brought yet. The acolytes moved their troops forward haltingly and with wary confidence, not sure what they were leading or where they were going. Lucian’s troops marched forward in perfect harmony to a supernatural beat, and everything about them seemed to be split between the world of the living and the dead. Just like Lucian when he wore his robes.

  Even in the short time Kristopher had control everything about the city had changed. It wasn’t that things weren’t safe, in fact, petty crime had been eliminated almost completely. Things were just strange, like the world was slowly morphing into the kind of future Vonnegut or Huxley would have considered familiar. The “war” Kristopher claimed to be fighting still hadn’t made it to the home front, but it felt like it had. Kristopher had put into effect a mandatory curfew one hour after sunset and all local authorities were expected to follow it to the letter. Any and every crime was punishable by death because that was the only way for Kristopher to keep his quota, and Lucian was no longer allowed to kill at night, but rather, had to perform public executions. It was just another way Kristopher tried to humiliate him. Kristopher would make rounds periodically to make sure every area of his empire followed the new rules, and if any were found to be lax they were wiped out as brutally as possible. It didn’t take the nation long to realize living in fear was their only option, and very few people actively or publically spoke out against Kristopher. The communes were seeing a massive increase in numbers, and their private, eccentric way of life was becoming the best alternative to the nightmare of the real world.

  “You!” Alexander shouted and his face contorted into a grin of corrupt authority. Neither Kristopher nor Lucian wanted Alexander to control one of the patrol troops, but once Lucian said no Kristopher had no choice but to fight for it.

  Two teens turned guiltily around and looked at Alexander. They weren’t doing anything wrong other than sneaking home after curfew, one boy held an old Xbox and the other had been looking out for patrols. It was likely the two were going over to someone’s house, the thrill of sneaking out past curfew more exciting than whatever game they’d actually play when they got there.

  “And what are you two doing out so late?” Alexander stepped closer and had his zombie troop circle the boys with skill almost equal to Lucian.

  “We were just going over to Ryan’s house.” One of the boys shrugged as if that made everything all right.

  “Yeah! To do homework and stuff!” The second boy chimed in, hiding the Xbox behind his back like that was the crime they were about to be punished for.

  “Of course you were.” Alexander spoke with the sick grin still plastered on his face and he walked into the circle, closer to the two boys, while his troops closed the space behind him.

  “Look, man.” The second teen was starting to realize he wasn’t dealing with a rational adult, and things were going to get bad quickly. “We weren’t gonna stay out. Just trying to get from here to there as quickly as possible. You know?”

  “And that couldn’t have been done before dark? Laws are here for your safety, and you don’t seem to have a death wish.”

  “No, no, not at all. Just trying to get home, man, that’s it.” The boy dropped the Xbox and put both hands in the air even though Alexander hadn’t pulled out a weapon.

  “And what about your friend here? Does he have a death wish?”

  The friend had been oblivious until this point, but now he was starting to look worried, and took a few steps away from the advancing Alexander.

  “I’ll take that as a no, I guess. But that’s all right. We almost never get what we want in life, do we?” Alexander’s smile widened and the two boys, no more than fifteen, suddenly knew this was the last night out they would ever have. Alexander, having finally produced the desired ef
fect in his victims, turned to face his circle. “These two broke the law and must be punished.” He nodded curtly and walked out of the circle as his zombies advanced.

  Three of them grabbed one boy and carried him over to where Alexander was casually watching the show. He would be brought back alive for Kristopher to kill later, forced to watch as his friend was left to the mercy of the undead. The creatures weren’t violent by nature, but took on the traits their commander expected of them. Lucian hadn’t worried about that being an issue, but Alexander was strong. The painless and quick deaths Lucian had taught his army to go to instinctively were forgotten. Alexander willed them to rip chunks out of living flesh. Every time the boy screamed Alexander’s smile widened.

  25. Miriel and William

  “Processing this way!” William called over the din of the crowd. A line of people desperate to get inside and away from what was now being called a 21st century reign of terror was forming out past the gates. The processing all had to be legalized now, like immigrating to a new country, otherwise all hell would break loose. The process itself wasn’t difficult, but the time it took to get a new citizen into the compound took ten times longer than it had before, and due to the increase in people the selection process had to become much more brutal. Luckily, William was good with bureaucratic work and the process went as smoothly as it could have, but it still took months to file paper work on all the original residents alone. The new influx to the small society had been much greater than anyone expected. Miriel and the other women were forming makeshift campsites outside the walls where refugees waited for their applications to be approved and their paperwork processed. While there the women of the compound tried to train them in the ways of their offbeat society. Not only did it save time when the refugees were finally processed, but it also weeded out people who were unwillingly to play by the rules of a new society.

  The patrols almost never bothered going that far out, but when they did things were bad. Anyone trying to get into a compound was considered a defector and a traitor, and therefore fair game for execution. Unless you were safely behind the locked gate, you weren’t spared. Those who weren’t eaten alive by the zombie troops controlled by Alexander were herded off to wait for Kristopher’s death sentence. Miriel and William had been using this to their advantage at first, pulling their numbers up even higher in their ongoing game, slipping bodies outside with the rest of the casualties, but William put a freeze on the game for everyone. It was necessary for every founder to spend their time keeping up with the immigration paperwork, and trying to find a way to deal with overflow. Even Miriel was able to rise to the occasion and turn into an angel of mercy, using the nursing skills she’d learned, rather unorthodoxly, during the course of her career. In addition to her nurse duties she helped Madame Perkins and the other women train their new citizens in the rules of dress and social conduct.

  “And where are you from?” Miriel asked as pleasantly as she could for the hundredth time. It was amazing how far some people had traveled to get to a safe haven. The undead patrols had spurred people into action, they were getting out in any way they could, willing to leave behind their lives to escape the Kristopher administration and Lucian’s zombies.

  “The inner city.” The woman being addressed started to shake, just as all the others did when talking about where they came from and why they left. “My son. His patrols got to my son.” The woman shook her head and started to cry.

  Miriel put a hand on the woman’s arm and tried her best to look concerned instead of bored. “I’m so sorry, I’ve heard awful things about Kristopher’s patrols. I’m just glad I got out when I did.”

  The woman let out a hallow laugh, “Kristopher? Oh, I wish it were just Kristopher!” The woman was yelling shrilly and some of the people in line started to turn and stare, several nodded along with her. “It’s the other one. That silent leader of the devil’s religion. Acting like he’s saving our soldiers and keeping us safe with his evil, dark connections with whatever devil wanders out of hell. Kristopher would never have gotten so far without that monster and his tricks. They ate my son! His army of undead, saving-our-military soldiers just ate my son like our lives have turned into something out of a horror movie. He might be able to put on a good show with those, those things. But they’re evil! And they have minds of their own, he can’t control them like he promised us he could! And they fucking ate my son! My son!” The woman’s scream was so piercing it was hard to understand exactly what she was saying, but Miriel had heard all she needed to. Whatever Lucian was doing it was getting out of control, but Miriel couldn’t believe that’s what he meant to happen. Lucian was usually so clean about his murders. Miriel put her arm around the woman as she sobbed. When Miriel was finally able to escape she made sure to put the woman’s name on the list for ‘no admittance’.

  “Miss, wait!” A voice called out from the middle of a throng of people.

  “Did she say those, those,” the voice paused. “Things ate her son? Like, actually ate him?”

  “Who are you?” Miriel stared at the crowd trying to pinpoint the voice. Sometimes Kristopher would send his spies into the hordes of refugees to find those few people who were willing to criticize his command out loud before their immigration papers were signed. Miriel had no compassion for the people before her, at least not any more than she needed to keep her cover looking acceptable, but she liked seeing Kristopher win even less. It was better to kill the spies first.

  “A simple enough question, not sure what who I am has to do with any of this.” A smug sounding young man, still a child as far as Miriel was concerned, stepped out into the open.

  “The woman was hysterical.” Miriel sized up the speaker. “No doubt the patrols were doing their job but you have to allow a mother her grief.” Miriel’s eyes narrowed. Something about this boy looked too familiar, he had the same haze of not quite being alive that covered Lucian’s acolytes when they first started playing with death. The young man returned her gaze of semi-recognition, but as his eyes locked with hers they lit up. He’d recognized her first.

  “Of course you’re right.” He broke the gaze and turned around before Miriel could recognize him and level the playing field. “I apologize for bringing it up, I’m sure you have more important things to deal with.” He made sure he was deep into the crowd before he turned back around to get a better look at Miriel.

  “What do you know, Lucian’s assassin did survive after all.” Alexander muttered to himself. Kristopher would be pleased. They’d spent a long time trying to track her down.

  Miriel watched the boy walk away and knew the poor mother would be found dead in the morning. If she was found at all. Poor woman. Kristopher’s people hated bad press. Miriel had been thinking about killing her anyway, at least then the woman could be with her son, but it wasn’t worth fighting one of Kristopher’s people. Miriel looked out at the line, it was still growing, plenty of people to pick from.

  “Elle, help!” William called from somewhere by the wall and Miriel turned to follow the voice. She thought playing nurse would have gotten old by now, but it hadn’t. It was a shame the pandemonium wouldn’t last much longer, then she’d be back under William’s thumb.

  “We need to get her behind the wall and prepared for surgery.” William had the body of a woman on a makeshift stretcher as Miriel rushed over to take the other end.

  “What about her papers?” It seemed too heartless for Miriel to bother with the question, but playing by Kristopher’s rules was the only thing keeping her alive.

  “Don’t you know who she is?”

  Miriel looked down at the body and shook her head. There was a chunk missing out of her arm and her face was covered with blood and matted hair.

  “It’s Emily. At least that’s what her ID card said. It’s our Emily,” William said after getting the woman secured onto one of the cots in his office. William tossed her the wallet.

  Displayed inside a clear pocket, where only months ag
o anyone would have expected to see a driver’s license, was the girl’s mandatory ID card. Kristopher had started the ID card program recently, but it had been going on longer for his employees, which was what it stated Emily was. The card displayed the name of the citizen along with their religion, political affiliation, and place of birth. The religion stated whether or not the citizen was a cult member or if they were in a religion which required they not be brought back to life after death. It sounded considerate, but anyone with a ‘do not resurrect’ card was turned into an undead soldier, and that was the biggest controversy anyway. The political affiliation simply stated whether the citizen got priority when it came time to resurrect them, and kept them from being turned into a zombie even if they had refused their resurrection privilege. Anyone who helped Kristopher gain power was supposed to have a more experienced necromancer bring them back, but as Lucian hadn’t agreed to the law there was no telling who would be sent.

  The promise of immortality was bringing out the worst in people. War or not, the citizens were hardly united to keeping their own safe. Everyone was looking out for themselves and the cities were turning into death traps. People had started going out killing, rioting, and looting just because there was no real penalty if you were on Kristopher’s side, and if you weren’t it didn’t matter what you did anyway, the end would be the same. People were getting bolder and more destructive. The “good” people were getting themselves to the outlying compounds as quickly as they could. Then there was the issue of the undead army. The more bodies they added to the collection the fewer necromancers there were to control them, and undead attacks were getting worse and more frequent.