The Edge of Temptation: Gods of the Undead 2 A Post-Apocalyptic Epic

by Peter Meredith

  Then came more waiting. Jack and Cyn hovered close to the communications room, listening to the reports come in. There were three-thousand infantry men and hundreds of priests in place, ready to spring into action at the first sign that Robert was about to open a gate into hell. Twice there were false alarms and Jack was not reassured listening to the near panic in the voices coming over the radio as army units and untested priests rushed to the different scenes.

  It was fitting that the first real sign that Robert was finally making his move came exactly at the stroke of midnight.

  Jack was lounging on a five-hundred year old baroque couch, with Cyn cuddled to his chest when he felt the first word of the spell. They both sat up and stared at each other, their breath held, pent up in their chests, all their senses at full alert as if it were possible to hear Robert’s actual words.

  But there was no way that was possible, not at that distance. When Robert spoke the second word of the spell, Jack leapt up and ran, sprinting through the cavernous great hall of the basilica. He ran out into the dark and stood panting on the steps. Now, he shut down his physical senses. His eyes and ears were useless. Robert was far, far away, just at the very edge of his ability to sense the necromancy in action.

  Next to him, Cyn was on one knee, her eyes at slits as she too, tried to pinpoint the direction and the range. They were like statues.

  “What is it?” a bishop asked, breathlessly. He had followed them out of the building at a run and was holding his chest with one hand as he gasped for air. “Can you sense your cousin? Where is he? Is he in Rome?”

  “No,” Jack answered, his voice only a ghost of a whisper. “He’s south, far to the south and he’s waking the dead.”

  Chapter 31

  Naples, Italy

  Jack Dreyden

  “I need a helicopter!” Jack practically yelled, grabbing the bishop’s cassock in both hands. When the old man started to sputter something in a mix of Italian and English, Jack let him go and sprinted back inside the basilica, running into the Pope and his entourage almost directly beneath the great domed ceiling four hundred feet above their heads.

  Jack stopped, bowed quickly and then blurted: “It’s Robert! He’s opening the gate right now. I need a helicopter right this second!”

  “Yes,” Romanus agreed, nodding gently. “I can feel him to the south, but how far?”

  “I’m not sure,” Jack answered and then turned to Cyn who had followed him back inside. “What do you think? Forty miles?”

  She shrugged a single shoulder and said: “I can give direction, but not an exact distance, but if I had to guess, it is closer to fifty. The signal is very faint.”

  “That’s why I need a helicopter,” Jack said to the Pope. “I’ll be able to home in on Robert’s location very quickly. You have to trust me on this, it’ll be the fastest way to figure out where he is.” And, Jack didn’t add, it will be the fastest way for me to raise my own counter-army and stop Robert in his tracks. If Jack were lucky, there was a good chance that he would be able to trap his cousin at the scene of his latest crime.

  Romanus seemed to guess Jack’s mind; he turned to one of the younger priests. “Get a helicopter here as fast as you can and prepare Father Bradley’s team.”

  The priest stepped aside and began speaking Italian into a cell phone, the words rapid-firing from his mouth, running together so that it was hard to tell if there were individual sentences in what he was saying or just one long one.

  “Who’s Father Bradley?” Jack asked. “Is he with one of the Raiders?”

  The Pope held up a finger and then turned to another of his assistants and spoke in Italian, gesturing excitedly as he did. When he was done, he explained: “Father Bradley is not part of one your teams. He is extremely sensitive to the nature of Robert’s type of spell work. You might say that he has a nose for necromancy.”

  “That’s good, but I would prefer a priest with some fighting experience to come with me.”

  “You will not be going with the first helicopter,” Romanus said. “Bradley’s team will scout out where Robert is and report back. You will take a later flight. Before you argue, we have twenty-six helicopters fully fueled and ready to go, as well as numerous transport trucks. Depending on where this is occurring, we can have our entire force moved in four hours.”

  “And I can have this fight wrapped up in one,” Jack shot back, his voice growing loud enough to set off a stir of echoes floating above their heads. Cyn gave him a sharp elbow and he quickly added: “Your Holiness.”

  In answer, Romanus murmured something in Italian and before Jack knew it, two of the Swiss Guards that had been hovering nearby were gently pushing him and Cyn away. “You will wait over here for the Holy Father,” one of the guards said. His voice was soft and the push with his free hand gentle, but his eyes were wary and hard, and his finger steady on the trigger of his Steyr TMP machine pistol; which was the Austrian equivalent of an Uzi.

  “Fine,” Jack hissed. “Just watch it with that gun. You don’t want to aim it anywhere near me if you know what’s good for you.” It was all bluff. Yes, he was a powerful sorcerer, however, bullets could still kill him quite easily.

  “It’ll work out,” Cyn said as they were escorted out into St. Peter’s Square. “You’ll see. His Holiness knows what’s at stake here and he’s very decisive and…”

  “And he’s keeping his best chance to nip this in the bud sitting on the bench,” Jack said, interrupting. “We have a real shot at ending this, Cyn! It’ll take time for Robert to dig up whatever he’s after. I could be there in thirty minutes and have an army ready to go twenty minutes after that. Think about it.”

  “Think about what? You said you were going to give him a chance.” That was true, but now that the final battle was in motion, he was regretting saying such a thing. There was too much on the line. Cyn gave him a hard look and asked: “What are you thinking about doing?”

  He hunched in closer to her. “The Pope’s trap has have failed and now I need to get on that helicopter.” He pointed up at a dark, thrumming shadow that was coming down out of the night. It was going to land sixty yards away in the middle of St. Peter’s Square. Nearby were eight men; four of the Swiss Guards and four clergymen, waiting on the descending chopper.

  “No,” Cyn said. “It’s out of the question. They’ll put up a fight and they’re fanatical, Jack, and that means you’ll end up killing innocent people. You could start a war with the Pope and that’s not a war you can win.”

  A part of him wanted to put that theory to the test. Could he win in a battle with the Pope? It was the sorcerer in him. He could feel that part flare up bold and confident…and stupid. There were also two bishops standing above him on the steps, lingering when they should have been off preparing for the coming battle. And there were a dozen Swiss Guards around the square, watching, their hands stiff on their weapons. Jack could take them, he was sure. What he didn’t know was if he could take them and still have the power to face his cousin.

  “People are going to die because of this delay,” Jack said, quietly, his anger dissipating, replaced with the sad reality. “And when he won’t let me have access to the cemeteries, even more will die.”

  “Maybe.” She wouldn’t look at him. Her eyes were on the chopper as it landed heavily, bouncing on its wheels. The eight-person team raced forward, bent at the hip. They climbed in and a second later the chopper lifted straight up and then was gone, thumping into the night. “There is every possibility that his Holiness will change his mind when confronted with reality. If not…then we will do what we have to, as always.”

  “As always,” he agreed.

  They waited on the steps, feeling the spell of Robert’s take shape. Quickly, they were able to confirm that Robert wasn’t raising a single being; he was going to raise another army. Cyn guessed that he was in Naples and was researching everything she could about the city, when more helicopters began to land in the square. They would come in
threes, pick up thirty or so priests, bishops and cardinals and then lift off again within a minute.

  The pope and his closest advisors took the first set. Jack and Cyn were not part of that group. Nor were they part of the next or the next after that. Jack was just about to become irate when he was ushered forward for the fourth set. “Where’s Robert?” he asked the Swiss Guard, leading them. “Where are we putting down?”

  “Naples!” the guard yelled over the sound of the blades whipping overhead. They were crammed into the helicopter with twelve others, an equal mixture of Swiss soldiers and priests. The latter were praying, their lips moving, their words drowned out by the engines.

  “Find me the nearest ceme…” Jack began, speaking directly into Cyn’s ear. She pointed to her phone; she had already pulled up the listings for sixteen cemeteries.

  “Way ahead of you,” she said with a blink of a grin. It was there and gone in the same second and her eyes were wet and quicker than normal to skitter away from his face. A part of him wanted to say comforting things and soothe her; however that would mean screaming over the engine noise. He was sure that his words would lose their impact somewhat.

  Instead, he crushed her to him in an embrace that could be felt, armor or no armor. They held each other as they drew steadily south and, as they did, the wicked spell of Robert’s took shape and became palpable and caused their fear to ramp up. The flight took twenty-eight minutes all told; at the sixteen minute mark, the spell was complete.

  The tinny ring couldn’t be heard, yet it was felt like an ugly ache deep in the bones. Around them, the priests ceased their praying and grew troubled. Cyn began wiping her hands on her pants.

  Jack wasn’t afraid in the least. The hilt of the sword Almacia felt alive and eager. It grew warm in his grip and when he pulled it slightly from its sheath, a bright light had him blinking. Everyone stared, their fears suddenly forgotten.

  The next few minutes flew by. They could feel the evil that Robert had brought forth coming closer and closer, and then they were swooping low over a cemetery, the wheels of the chopper skimming the tops of trees. Below them, the ground was shifting and moving, seeming to undulate as the grass erupted with bony claws.

  When they began to slow and they were still over the cemetery, Jack grew confused. “Where the hell are we headed?” he yelled to the closest crew member.

  In answer, the man pointed straight down. Jack looked over the side of the chopper and saw a hundred thousand strong army of undead swarming from all directions. About two-hundred yards ahead, three helicopters were just taking off from a landing zone that was completely surrounded. In the center, easily visible, like a beacon, or a lighthouse on a dark night, was the Pope, standing with his left hand around a ten foot tall wooden shaft which was topped with a glowing crucifix.

  Jack couldn’t understand why the Pope was just standing there. Where was Robert? Why weren’t they battling it out? Had Robert escaped, and if so, why were they preparing to land in the middle of a storm of undead?

  There was no time for answers. In seconds, the helicopter whomped down with a jarring force. “Stay close!” Jack thundered to Cyn and then leapt out, the sword, Almacia in his hand, blazing a blue-white with the intensity of an arc-welder’s torch.

  The Pope had chosen a small hill on which to make his stand. Around him were the first nine helicopter loads of clergymen and Swiss soldiers, fighting sword and shield against tooth and nail, fire and ice, shadow and fear. They were desperately battling to hold the perimeter open so that more and more helicopters could land.

  It was not a perfect circle they fought in, by any means. In five places it was being stove in, if not outright breached. Jack ran to one of the gaps in the line where the growing darkness was deepest.

  As expected, a demon of great strength was contending with a bishop. The battle between the creature of shadow and bone and the man of flesh and light was even, at least spiritually. Physically, the near indestructible demon held a significant advantage over the old man who was being forced backwards, step by step. The demon raked with his claws as ghouls bit at the bishop’s ankles.

  Jack sped right for the demon and the light of his coming caused the ghouls to flee and the demon to hesitate, his red eyes fixated on the sword. Jack did not strike the beast down; he did not have to. The bishop took full advantage of his opponent’s inattention and drove his sword into the thing’s chest. There was a blast of light and it came apart, like a house of cards. Loose, wet flesh shed like moldy autumn leaves and its bones crumbled in on each other to form a pile of sickening refuse.

  Wisely, the bishop dropped to one knee, pulled out a flask of Holy Water from beneath his robes and splashed the bones, which had begun to quiver, almost at once. He knew that they would soon slide back in toward each other and the demon would be whole once more in a matter of minutes.

  The bishop couldn’t allow it. He crossed himself and declared in a loud voice: “Exorcizo te, omnis spiritus immunde, in nomine Dei Patris omnipotentis, et in noimine Jesu Christi Filii ejus, Domini et Judicis nostri…”

  A long wretched scream erupted from the bones as the demon was slowly driven out of the corpse. There were more screams just like it, happening here and there around the perimeter; however, there were other screams as well; human screams. For every ten of the rotting bodies that were brought down, a soldier or a priest was killed.

  It was a ratio that couldn’t be maintained.

  There were just too many ghouls and too many demons crawling over each other in endless waves and even with the helicopters coming one after another, it was only a matter of time before they were overrun.

  By himself, Jack bought them precious minutes. He threw himself into the heart of the horde, whirling his magic blade like a scythe, cutting down creatures as if he were the reaper of demon souls. It was a world of darkness and ice and fear. The dead were everywhere, deep ranks of them.

  He drove through them, their magical fear washing off of him, their darkness no match for the shining blade, their icy breath, easily dodged by slowing time. He dodged and danced and slew, and all the time he kept his head up, searching for his cousin. Like a whirlwind of terror, he fought, but he could not fight the entire horde. He couldn’t fight even a fraction of it and he couldn’t go too deep into its terrible mass.

  Behind him, shotgun blasts let him know that Cyn was guarding his back. He had fought knowing she would be there. What he hadn’t expected was the thirty or so others who had charged into the darkness after him. They hadn’t been able to keep up and now they were trapped; a knot of clergymen and soldiers, brave but foolish.

  Jack stopped in his tracks, while next to him Cyn hucked air in and out as she reloaded her shotgun. “What are they doing here?” she asked.

  “The better question is: what are we all doing here?” Jack wondered. “We couldn’t have picked a worse spot to land in.”

  Cyn didn’t have an answer. She topped off her load, nodded to Jack and said: “I’m good.”

  He led them through the horde back the way they came until they joined the lone group fighting for their lives. It was a desperate and futile battle. Many, if not all of them, were bound to die as a result of their impetuous charge. They were too far from their lines and facing a thousand-to-one odds. It was a mad fight, one that they were quickly losing.

  Jack did what he could, but he had to conserve his strength; and he couldn’t risk sacrificing his life or Cyn’s for a doomed cause. He fought his way back into the middle of the knot, where he found a man he recognized: Tarisio Onisto, Cardinal-priest of Santi Simone. His olive-skinned face was haggard and pale; his blessed sword was covered in black ichor and notched up and down its length.

  “I fear that I have failed his holiness,” the cardinal said, grabbing Jack’s hand and pulling him close. “It seems that I will be a shepherd no more. Guide them back. Keep them safe.”

  “What do you mean?”

  The cardinal only smiled and then raised
a hand to the heavens saying: “I am the Lord’s wrath. I am the Lord’s holy wrath. I am the Lord’s life-giving light.” His smile began to falter and his jaw twitched. “I would turn away, Mister Jack and do not look.”

  That was an impossible request. The cardinal’s eyes were glowing as if there were a spotlight burning in his head, and there was a glow coming from his mouth that was white and hot and blinding.

  Jack was still staring when, out of the blue, Cyn tackled him, knocking him to the ground and covering his face with her body. Even with her on him, he could feel the light of the Lord burn as it blasted out of the cardinal.

  The dead withered in a vast circle. A thousand of them turned to ash—and so did Cardinal Onisto. His skin became a fine, white powder that blew away to the south and then his bones went next, just so much dust. In seconds, his vestments crumpled to the ground, empty.

  Cyn crawled off of Jack as soon as the cardinal was no more. He had blasted the dead in a great circle and those not destroyed were cowering with their hands across their faces. The soldiers and clergymen wept, some going to their knees and crossing themselves.

  Some glanced at Jack; when the cardinal’s light was burning the night, only he had screamed in pain and only he had clawed at his armor as if it had been on fire. The moment Cyn stood, Jack scrambled to his feet and looked back at where he had been sprawled on the ground, fully expecting to see scorch marks and he did.

  There was a circle of black burned into the ground, a circle of glyphs. For a happy moment he thought that the Mother’s evil gift had been burned out of him, but it was a short-lived moment. The spell was still there as evil as always. The scorch marks were only God’s reminder that he was carrying the blackest sin around in him.

  As if I need the reminder, he thought, unhappily and then yelled: “Back to the lines! Form a square. Fighters on the outside, clergy on the inside. We fight as a team and we will live as a team.”

  It was Cyn who actually led them back to the lines. She was safer in front. The greatest danger came from behind as the living corpses came on, snapping at their heels. They learned to fear not just the Holy sword but also Jack’s avenging fury. The cardinal’s death weighed heavily on his conscience. It had only been a minute earlier that Jack had been unable to sacrifice himself because he was “too important.”