The Age of Zombies: Sergeant Jones

by Rockow, B.

  Boul was equally taken back. He reached out for Radoula’s hand. They clasped each other’s hands again, providing comfort to each other.

  “As you know,” Zoruth continued, this time somber with a sense of finality in his words. “The Orobu are set to rise again. We are being guided by powers not of this world. You two will soon become intimate with them. You will know yourselves fully, and guide the Orobu to our rightful ascendancy. You will have unfathomable power, along with deep responsibility, and unthinkable pain. Know that even with this power, you are nothing. The Great Orobu rules all, and always will.”

  Zoruth waded through the pool over to the twins. He rested his hands on their shoulders. “You don’t have much time,” he continued. “You must take hold of the reins of human civilization and guide it into our grasp. Whatever you do, do not kill them all off. We need them more than ever. This is the prophecy, that the human race will live under our guidance for the rest of time. There are no traditions for you to follow anymore. You will not be living in this wretched darkness, this pitiful cave. There are no rules, besides this one: guide the Orobu to our rightful place of power.”

  Zoruth stepped back out of the pool. He walked over to a torch on the wall and lit it with a lighter that was kept close to it. The flames flickered golden light onto his gray body. He stood as a relic, the passage of time had flooded over his body for so long. His power seeped from his pores.

  The twins were in awe. They were drawn to Zoruth like a piece of iron to a magnet. They rose from the pool and stepped towards their master. Their minds were silent. The chatter of uncertainty, of expectations, of dreams were silenced. Zoruth guided them towards him. He was ready to complete the ritual.

  Zoruth prostrated himself on the cold limestone ground. He extended his neck out to the twins. He smiled as the prospect of release was finally upon him. He would no longer need to harbor the pain and dreams of his entire race. The millions of subjects that he commanded would no longer tire his body with their demands. His heart swirled with the mood of his subjects. The Orobu race could sense that the change of power was upon them.

  The twins stood on either side of their master. They looked each other in the eyes and gazed deep down into each other’s souls. This was the moment they would realize their destiny. They had walked on this earth for five thousand years, always together, always wondering when the light of their purpose would shine upon them. That moment was now.

  Boul dug his hand into the flesh on the back of Zoruth’s neck. Boul twisted his fingers into his master’s leathery skin, but couldn’t pierce it.

  “There’s a sword on the wall,” Zoruth said. “It’s the Sword of Serpents. That sword has been used to behead every Orobu leader since the beginning. I used it to hack up my predecessor. You will use it on me.”

  Radoula turned around and saw the scabbard resting on a wooden shelf. She walked over to the scabbard, and ran her fingers along its curve. She took it in her hands, and unsheathed the sword. The hilt was leathery and crude. It was made of some ancient, dried skin. It was scaly and soft. Just by touch, Radoula knew that this sword was hundreds of thousands of years old. It blade, made of a ruby colored metal, was still strong and sharp. Radoula had a hunch that this great sword was not of this earth.

  She walked back to Zoruth, who still had his neck out and ready.

  “You will consume every shred of my flesh,” Zoruth said. “You will boil my bones for the marrow. Nothing can remain. My power is locked up in each of my cells. Once consumed, you will be whole. You will be the hub of the Orobu. You will know our greatest secret. And you will go out into the light, into that world, and conquer.” Zoruth paused, and in a moment of deep reflection, he was overwhelmed with a great melancholy.

  “Conquer we will,” Boul said.

  “Scatter my bones on the western banks of Lake Baikal,” Zoruth said. “It is where my mother birthed me. It is where Orobu will take me back. Back to the land of the flying serpents, the ones that you dreamed of not long ago. That is where I will find my peace.”

  Radoula’s mind went bezerk. She let out a raucous scream that echoed through the chamber and down the tunnel. Her muscles tightened, and she lifted the Sword of Serpents high above her head. The blade was thirsty, and seemed to come alive in her hands.

  Zoruth closed his eyes and patiently awaited the strike. This was his last command: his own beheading.

  The ruddy blade slashed through the air and cut right through Zoruth’s neck. His head lopped off clean and without any resistance. It silently rolled across the floor and stopped at Radoula’s feet. Blackish blood spurted out from Zoruth’s unwhole body. His body gave its last shivers as the nervous system responded to the trauma.

  For a moment the universe seemed to stand still. The entire Orobu race felt the loss of their master, along with the disturbance of the force that bound them together, as the spirit of Zoruth started its wayward journey back to its home. Every one of the zombies that roamed the earth stood still. The mood that blanketed the globe was eerie and mournful.

  Jones felt a disturbance at this moment, too. It came out of nowhere. But it was overpowering. Jones collapsed to the ground and covered his face with his hands. He moaned with sadness, not knowing why.

  Radoula lifted Zoruth’s head into the air. She chanted in the Orobu tongue, sending the spirit of Zoruth on its way. It was time that the twins consumed him, so that the power of the Orobu could enter their bodies. Radoula cracked Zoruth’s skull against the ground, over and over and over again, until his brains were exposed.

  But Zoruth’s brains were nothing but a skull full of worms. They were so white that they almost glowed in the mostly dark, torch lit chamber. The worms hummed with electric ferocity. These worms were the storehouse of Zoruth’s power.

  But not for much longer.

  The twins didn’t waste any time digging in. Within a few moments of consuming the worms in Zoruth’s skull, the twins had received the initiation. The feeling was an obliterating intoxication. The universe pulsed inside them. The dreams and visions of their subjects crashed into their consciousness. They felt like their whole lives had been lived as stone gargoyles, perched atop some cathedral, watching the world go by. Now they were alive. They broke free from the mold that held them back.

  They picked apart the rest of Zoruth’s body. Every scrap of flesh slithered down their throats. After feasting, the bloated twins were ready for the final task. They boiled their master’s bones, and sipped on the broth. The warm liquid put them to rest.

  Their dreams were no longer their dreams. The twins disappeared into the hearts of every Orobu; the ones on this planet, and on that other planet, too.

  Chapter Twelve

  To Live and Die In L.A.

  Jones didn’t feel anything when he saw Wimpy. He was numb. Under normal circumstances he would’ve been elated to be reunited with Wimp, but these weren’t normal circumstances. Jones was heading into one of the most important missions of his life, taking on an enemy that was the toughest he had ever known.

  The men communicated with each other in that silent way that said everything, the way they did back in the forsaken lands of Afghanistan before a mission. They didn’t have to say a word. But it was more than that. Even in that wordless space, the Sarge and Wimpy knew each other’s minds and hearts. Strangely, even though Casper had never spent a day in battle with these two soldiers, he connected with them in the same way.

  The three men smoked cigarettes and hummed along to the oldies the whole way up the mountain. They discussed their plans in sparse detail, mainly by going over what weapons and supplies they had to complete their mission. Night fell, and the Jeep careened up the windy forest service roads without any trouble. Finally, they turned down a road that brought them within a quarter mile of the cabin.

  The area was heavily wooded, and had a spooky look to it. The cabin was run down. They couldn’t see a vehicle, so they assumed that one of the zombies was off somewhere with it. Cas
per parked the Jeep far enough away so the zombies inside the cabin couldn’t detect their approach.

  “What’s the plan?” Casper said, breaking the silence.

  Jones was smoking a cigarette. He tossed it out the window. “We each hurl two grenades at the cabin,” Jones said. “I’ll go first. At the count of three, we’ll each throw another. Finally, after another count of five, we all toss our last grenades. By this time the freaks will have fled the shelter. We just need one of them alive. Kill the rest, they’re a liability.”

  “I’ve got the rope,” Wimpy said. “Once our freak is down, I’ll rush in and hogtie him.”

  “This one’s gonna be tough,” Casper said. “They’re eight feet tall. Probably three times as strong as any one of us. I’ll help you out Wimpy.”

  “And I’ll make sure that the rest of them are dead,” Jones said. “Alright, sounds like the plan’s simple and effective. Hooah on three. One, two, three.”

  “Hooah!” the three men said under their breath in unison.

  Jones hopped out of the Jeep and waited for the other two to reach their positions. Once he got a visual thumbs up, Jones put up his hand and counted down from five with each finger. He pulled the pin and spoon from the M67 frag grenade and tossed that bad apple at the cabin. It stopped right at the front doorstep. Three seconds later, that front door was no more. Shards of wood blasted in every direction. A hole stood where the door once was.

  Wimpy and Casper each activated their grenades and lobbed them at either side of the cabin. Jones didn’t expect a reaction to the first one, as the zombies would’ve been in shock. But he was sure that number two and three would piss off the hornet’s nest.

  He was right. Four giant zombie freaks stormed out of the front entrance. They brandished AK 47s and were dressed in black from head to toe. Their massive bodies also had the added protection of body armor. Jones had already directed his team to lob their last grenades. Their fuse only last a split second before exploding in a flash of light and smoke. The giant freaks dove to the ground.

  Jones steadied his long rifle on an easy target and blasted a round. The bullet cut through the quiet night air and splattered the freak’s skull.

  “Hooah!” Jones shouted.

  His exclamation gave away his position. But that’s exactly what he wanted. Two of the enemies stormed his way with their AKs blasting. Jones ducked behind a boulder for cover. He could hear the boots crush through the underbrush as they got closer. As the giant freaks took each stride, getting closer to Jones, his heartbeat slowed and time seemed to slow with it. Timing it just right, Jones pulled the pin of his last frag grenade and chucked it back over his head.

  It seemed like an eternity before it exploded.

  “Two freaks down!” Casper shouted.

  “Time for our part!” Wimpy followed.

  Jones jumped up from his position to scope out the damage. He had to make sure that his team was safe as they wrangled up the last freak. It was essential that they kept one alive. There wasn’t any room for mishaps or errors, and the Sarge’s role was to keep everything smooth.

  Jones played his part well. The two giant zombies were splayed out on the rocks and twigs before him. Their bodies were ripped apart and mangled in the most disgusting way: teeth and bones and guts sprawled out everywhere. Jones smiled. He loved this sort of carnage. His heart was full of so many contradictions. Ever since he was a kid he knew he was meant to kill. But he never killed anybody, or any thing, that didn’t deserve it. From terrorists to insurgents, to these giant zombies, each kill that Jones racked up in his life made the world a better place. He was one kill closer to finding Emma Jo. He was one kill closer to finding his wife, who sabotaged his loyalty, but who still deserved to live. Even if she only lived long enough to give birth to Junior.

  Presently, a single bullet whizzed by the Sarge’s ear. Time slowed to a standstill. His heart took one hard thud against his ribs. The bullet came from behind him. Jones whirled around and opened fire with his rifle. He wasn’t aiming consciously. He operated out of instinct here. His shouts rang up to the stars and down to the pit of the earth.

  Another bullet was fired. It peeled through the air and cut right across the Sarge’s cheek. A third bullet missed. And another. It careened off the boulder behind him. Three more bangs, but Jones didn’t sustain another hit. He hit the ground and crawled to the other side of the boulder for cover.

  From his vantage point on the ground, he could see Casper and Wimpy struggling with the zombie as they tried to take him down. It appeared that they had subdued the monster. Jones wiped his cheek with the back of his hand. It stung horribly, but it wouldn’t be fatal. It wasn’t the first time he was ever fired upon, but it was the first time he had been hit. His cheek was bleeding pretty bad, so he cut off a piece of his shirt and dug it into the wound. That slowed the bleeding for now.

  Jones shot up and ran over to where the giant was being tied up. “We smoked three of these fucks,” Jones said. “One’s on the loose, and we’ve got one tied up here.”

  Wimpy was finishing up a handcuff knot with the rope. Casper had pulled off the giant’s boots and was breaking its massive toes, which looked like overgrown plums, one by one with a rock. The zombie was still covered from head to toe in black fatigues. The monster moaned as his toes cracked beneath the crack of Casper’s rock.

  Jones pulled out a hypodermic needle from his jacket, and jabbed it into the giant’s neck. “Thought this would come in handy,” he said. “Pure ketamine.”

  “Hooah, Sarge,” Casper said, obviously impressed.

  Just then another bang sounded. Jones hopped up and scanned the scene. He couldn’t detect any movement. Nothing that stood out. His depth perception and his ability to discern color patterns was top notch. From what he could tell, the bullet came from three o’clock. But there was nothing there.

  “I’m gonna scope the perimeter,” Jones said.

  “Get that mofo,” Casper said. “Man, I’m having so much fun. My ass should’ve joined the Marines.”

  Wimpy slapped Casper across the face playfully. “Uncle Sam’s misguided children. It’s a shame.”

  “Exactly my point,” Casper said. “If I was a Marine, I’d be on another level. No longer misguided American scum. The redheaded stepchild of Uncle Sam. Shoulda, coulda, woulda.”

  Wimpy just shook his head and laughed to himself. The joke went way, way over Casper’s head. Wimpy respected the Marine Corps, but loved to poke fun at them.

  Jones didn’t have time for the jokes. There was still a combatant on the loose. He could strike at anytime and from anywhere. The Sarge crept around the cabin like a fox. He was aware of everything around him. His nose twitched with the slightest movement of the wind through the trees. His respiration synced with the rhythms around him. If anything moved, he’d respond without thought, and with laser precision.

  The crescent moon hung in the ink black sky like a shard of broken hope. Jones glanced at earth’s rocky, milk-white satellite. The monsters who were responsible will die, he vowed. Starting with the one that he was hunting.

  He had made it around three corners of the cabin before he heard what he was dreading. A branch cracked, and leaves crumpled beneath a heavy boot. He couldn’t see it, but he knew that the giant had taken his first steps towards Wimpy and Casper. Jones rushed around the last corner of the cabin. The damage had already started. The zombie was hell bent on unleashing carnage on his team. The monster held Casper up high, almost as if he was sacrificing him to the moon, and broke Casper’s right forearm in half. It snapped with the ease of a human plucking a petal from a daisy.

  The beast cracked Casper’s left foot next. Casper howled to the moon like a dying wolf. The pain shot through Casper’s limbs like a village idiot on a school rampage. It cared not for the bundles of nerves and veins that had been torn asunder. The idiot was Casper’s master now. It had become a tyrannical king in his nervous system.

  Jones unleashed the fu
ry of his rifle into the zombie’s guts. As he pummeled the monster, he spewed obscenities straight from his own gut. Jones slammed his body against the dead bulge of the giant. They both fell into the dirt.

  Jones needed to claim his victory. He started by ripping off the freak’s balaclava and digging his thumb’s into the jaundice eyes of the monster. They popped out as two hard globs of meat. Jones continued to smash the freak’s nose until it was completely pulverized. He withdrew his knife and smashed its blade into the zombie’s right ear, until his skull was hacked up so bad that a grainy red liquid oozed out onto the ground.

  Jones realized this liquid wasn’t from a brain. Several pudgy white worms wiggled out of the giant’s skull. Jones immediately put a stop to the revenge he was exacting on this zombie. He felt a tinge of guilt for what he had just done to the monster. He had the sudden urge to scoop up the worms and look at them closer.

  Wimpy stepped in to put a stop to the madness. He wrapped his arms around the Sarge and pulled him off the dead beast. “We’re done here Sarge,” Wimpy said. His tone was somber and mournful. He hated these zombie fucks just as much as Jones. But they all had to fight to maintain their own humanity even amidst the savage consequences of their mission. Wimpy struggled to bring Jones to the ground. The Sarge finally gave up.

  He had managed to grab hold of a few worms. He squeezed them tight in the small of his palm. They tickled his skin as they writhed around. Jones was torn. Half of him wanted to give up and never kill another one of these giants again. It was the same part of him that wanted to keep hold of the worms. The other half of him was in a state of pure rage. The two moods clashed, and a deep sadness overcame him.

  “My damn Emma Jo,” Jones howled. He started to sob. “These monsters have my goddamn Emma Jo. What am I gonna do? My son, Junior. Where is he? I know he’s alive! Why can’t I hold my boy?”

  “Snap out of it, Sarge,” Wimpy said in an authoritative voice. “We’re going to get them back. Just don’t worry. Don’t fail me now, Sarge. We’ll find them.”