Empire Of The Undead

by Ahimsa Kerp

  When she looked up, moments or hours later, she heard a great crashing through the forest. Someone was shouting, too, but they were too far away for her to hear the words. She hadn't heard any of the lifeless speak. She leaned and glanced into the forest, looking for signs of another survivor.

  She slowly turned around and crawled back up the branch. Only then did she decide to yell back.

  It didn't take long. Only moments after she shouted, a portly, bearded man ran into the clearing. She peered intently at his face. He had pupils. She was nearly certain that he had pupils. He stopped short as the lifeless beneath her tree registered his presence. The creatures shambled into motion, came towards him.

  “Help,” he cried, “where are you?”

  “I'm up here,” Rowanna shouted. The man was lumbering slowly. His hands were bundled with packages.

  There were too many of the lifeless between the man and the apple tree. One was still crawling from the attack the night before. “They're behind me too,” he called helplessly.

  Without thinking, Rowanna swung down from the tree. She was only ten feet off the ground and she landed on her uninjured ankle, but it hurt badly. She found the spear and instantly stuck it through the back of a shambler. It collapsed jerkily.

  “Come on,” she yelled. “Climb the tree.” Dapyx's body lay behind her, filling her mind.

  “My hands are full,” the man complained. “Help me.”

  She drove her spear through the mouth of an oncoming monster, pushing down on the haft and driving the point up until the light dimmed in its eyes.

  “Drop it,” she yelled.

  “I can't,” he responded, breathlessly, “these are too important.”

  She jabbed at heads and swung into their faces. They were slow and clumsy enough for even an immobile woman to kill them. Three, four, five and more undead fell to the ground. But more came, from other parts of the forest.

  Rowanna used her weapon as a crutch, driving the point into the earth. She pushed back toward the tree and leaped onto the bottom branch, leaving her weapon behind. The portly man followed her, but did not climb up. His hands remained full, with what appeared to be a large leather case.

  “Drop your things,” she yelled. “Climb up.”

  “I cannot. Take them. Take them now,” he said, reaching the case toward her. The creatures were closing in on him. Rowanna leaned down to grab at it, but he was nowhere close enough.

  “If it’s not worth your life, give it up,” she told him. How had this foolish man survived this long?

  The man looked nervously over his shoulder and dropped his things. He scrambled clumsily up the tree. One of the lifeless reached for his foot, but the man pulled himself up the tree in time. He was covered in sweat and breathing hard.

  “My elixirs are gone. They had better stay safe down there.”

  “It doesn't matter. I can kill them,” she said, her voice breaking rocks.

  “I think … I think I can cure them,” he said.

  She stared at him, tough exterior crumbling. “There’s…there’s a cure?”

  He nodded proudly. “I think so.”

  Rowanna didn't cry. There were no tears left. Her eyes closed and she shook, as images of Dapyx flooded through her head and the boy sucking at her breast, taking his first steps, growing into a young warrior.

  Her eyes snapped open. The bearded man was staring at the creatures at the base of the tree.

  “How can this be possible?” she asked.

  “Just look,” he said softly.

  Below them, one of the lifeless was ransacking the man's case. It pulled out a small vial filled with blue liquid. It dropped it into its mouth and bit down on the glass. Even from their high seats, they could hear glass crunching.

  “Ouch,” Rowanna said.

  “Don’t worry. I don’t think it can't feel anything. But look,” the man said.

  A heartbeat passed, then two. The creature, one of the warriors of Sarmizegetusa, dropped to the ground and began writhing. Its skin slowly darkened, and its eyes—shiny and white—suddenly had brown pupils again.

  “By Zalmoxis!” Rowanna said.

  “Friend, come to the tree if you want to live,” the bearded man called to the prone man below them.

  The man stared up in confusion. “What?” he asked. Blood leaked out of his mouth.

  The other lifeless had noticed something unusual however. There were only four left, after so many had been killed, but all four were heading to the prone man.

  “Hurry,” called the bearded man, “they're coming.”

  The man stared stupidly at them. He shook his head, driving away dark dreams, and began to rise.

  The first of the lifeless reached him.

  “Oh no!” Rowanna whispered in horror. She reached for her knife and cursed as she realized she couldn't reach them in time.

  The lifeless grasped the man's head with each hand and lowered its mouth onto the man's skull. He began to scream, but the others reached him. One ate his arm, while two more went for his stomach and tore through flesh to reach organs. His screams did not last long. Rowanna and the man watched the scene in grim silence, both aware that no words were appropriate for the moment. When it was done, and the lifeless had shambled away, the man spoke.

  “I am Zuste, an alchemist from Sarmizegetusa. Apologies for the belated greeting.”

  “I am Rowanna, also from Sarmizegetusa—well, from Cotiso, just outside.”

  Zuste nodded. “I know it well, or I did. There's not much left of it now.”

  “What about Sarmizegetusa?” she asked.

  He shook his head. “There were some people in there. But there were a lot of … those as well.”

  “How did you end up here?”

  He stared into the distance, chewing on his fingernail.

  “I am making for Tapae," he said at last. "It’s a few days' march, so maybe they haven't reached it yet, and it should be well defended, regardless. With luck, Diurpaneus will be there. If anyone can fight these menaces, it will be him.”

  “Do you have more potions in there?”

  “I believe so. If they haven't broken.”

  “You can cure them, and I can kill them. We shall make for Tapae.”

  The decision came easily to them and they set off a few hours later, laden with apples and the intact vials. Rowanna was hobbling on her good ankle. Around them, the forest crawled with lifeless, and behind them, beneath the apple tree, lay Dapyx, his dead body moldering into the earth.

  CHAPTER X

  Rome: 88 CE, Summer

  When Calvinus Plautius rushed into his room, Rufus was in bed with three Iberian women. None of them were wearing clothing and the Senator, at least, was badly hung-over.

  Plautius stopped awkwardly. “Apologies, Senator. But we must talk.”

  With great effort, Rufus opened one eye. “Cocks and cunts, man. Unless Vesuvius has blown again, I think it can wait.” His hands sought out a woman's breast—in the tangle of bodies, it was hard to tell which woman it belonged to.

  Plautius cleared his throat but did not leave.

  “Is it a fucking volcano, Plautius?” Gaius Rufus asked. As he did, a dark-haired woman slipped under the blankets. The blanket near Rufus' groin started rising up and down with the movements of her head. Rufus moaned hoarsely.

  “No, Senator. It's not a volcano. It's just that Proculus has left the city. Hours ago. I only just learned.”

  “Proculus?” said the blonde woman. “That old ass? My friends and I are much more

  fun.”

  Rufus looked at her. “You know who Proculus is?”

  She giggled. “Everyone in Rome has heard of him. Even those who just arrived.”

  “Bugger that old warmonger! Of all mornings, he picks this one?” Rufus sighed and begrudgingly moved the woman's mouth off his cock, and disentangled from the other two. He raised, nude, into the antechamber and forgoing his toga, instead, dressed in an airy tunica. It was the so
rt favored by proletarians, shopkeepers, and slaves. He handed another to Plautius.

  “Get changed.” Rufus tied his shirt up with a simple belt.

  The aide looked at the simple tunic with dismay. “I'll look like a poor equite.”

  “That's the idea,” Rufus said. “No hint of our status must be shown.” Turning back to the women, he said, “Stay here a while. We'll have fun when I come back.”

  After they had moved out of his rooms, Rufus summoned his guards. “Those women inside, they're not to leave my chambers alive. Don't fuck them first either. There can be no chance of them talking.”

  The soldier nodded grimly and moved to the door. Plautius said nothing, but his face showed disapproval. “You presume much,” Rufus said. “The gods have pierced my head with a thousand spears, my balls turn blue from lack of finish, and you come bursting in with a name that cannot be said. There are consequences to actions.” He strode to the door with a determined stride.

  As the two men moved into the city, Plautius caught Rufus up on the situation. A litter would be too conspicuous, so they requested two horses from stables just outside the city. Within an hour of Plautius' interruption, they were galloping north.

  Gaius Cilnius Proculus had risen greatly in favor in Rome during the last year. He had spent years in Britannia, of all places, then returned to Rome to ever-increasing favor. He had even reached the consulship last year. Rufus now understood the indignation he'd been confronted with when he'd been the outsider welcomed into the inner circle, but, he told himself, it wasn't jealousy or spite that guided his actions today. It was hope.

  The slaves were busy harvesting in the golden autumn air. Most of them grew grapes, as wine was far more valuable than food, but they passed farms of wheat, willow plantations, olive orchards, beehives and acorn woodlands. Rufus himself owned a few snail farms that made him a good deal of money, but they were much further north of the city. He realized he hadn’t even seen them and decided to visit them when he had a chance.

  They stopped at an inn for midday meal, where they ate shoulder of hare and drank two flagons of wine. Not long after, the pair exchanged their mounts at the attached stable and rode on. Two hours after lunch, at a crossroads, they turned east. The farms grew larger, more removed from the road. The few slaves they saw were exotic. Thracian, Egyptian, and Parthians worked these fields. These lands, further from Rome, were owned by ex-soldiers rather than Senators, and stocked with slaves they'd won in far-away wars.

  The late afternoon had fully arrived when Rufus slowed his horse and turned to Plautius. “It would be a hell of a ride if we didn't catch him,” he shouted over the hooves beating on the granite roads.

  “We'll catch him. He's riding in a litter, and shouldn't be expecting trouble.”

  “He's a Senator and a consul. He wouldn't be alive if he wasn't always expecting trouble.”

  “He'll have guards,” Plautius said.

  “Indeed. Four of them. Two are mine. One will be delaying them throughout the day, and the other will remember my posting inn when it grows dark. They will, naturally, be an asset when it comes to later events.”

  Plautius nodded thoughtfully. The two men continued to ride.

  They arrived at the posting-inn in the waning hours of daylight. Long ago, it had been a popular place to stop. Then Vespasian had stopped there and suddenly died. It had fallen into disuse, but not disrepair. It still had every appearance of an operating inn, though it smelled of dust and sour wine. Rufus had purchased it through enough intermediaries that it couldn't be traced back to him.

  There was another inn further up the road to Ravenna, which was six or seven hours away. Rufus wondered how his agent would direct Proculus here. “Tie the horses up,” he told Plautius. “And remain out here with them. Do not be seen.”

  Rufus entered the inn and lit the sconces. In the center of the room sat a dusty table. Stacked on the back of the table were several stacked piles of wood. Next to it were two amphorae of olive oil. Rufus sat down at the dusty table, chin resting on his hands. His thoughts had been digesting during the ride, and he thought he had a good idea now.

  Gaius Proculus had left the city early in the morning. He no doubt assumed that no one had seen him. That meant only one thing—Domitian had summoned him to the warfront, to Dacia. Proculus would set sail from the harbor at Classe, just outside Ravenna.

  The situation in Dacia was dire, to be sure. That war had gone poorly. Last year, the Roman forces had been ambushed by screaming Dacian warriors. It had been a massacre. They'd lost their war machines, their flags, and their general was captured and killed. It was the least successful venture by the Roman legions in living memory. Worse, taxes at home had increased and both Domitian and the Senators faced increasingly unhappy plebs.

  Rufus had been against the war. They didn't need anything from Dacia. He had particularly been against appointing that Praetorian buffoon, Cornelius Fuscus as commander of the legions. Logically, when both had gone poorly, he should have received thanks, but logic was becoming an increasingly scant commodity for the Emperor. Gaius Proculus was a war monger and had risen high through his bellicose counsels. Domitian valued his consul with increasing consistency. That had to be stopped.

  Killing Proculus was highly risky. If Rufus was even suspected, he'd be killed, slowly and horribly, but if he could achieve it, he would stifle a dangerous influence to the Emperor, help to end the war, and regain his own position with Domitian. It was a gamble he had to take.

  The sound of hooves alerted him to his mission. The horse was galloping quickly. He remained with his back to the door, but slid his blade out and held it in his lap.

  It took only a few moments. The door cracked open and shut as footsteps behind him sounded. He recognized the voice at once.

  “I saw your horses and had to stop. I bear grave warning--” he stopped as Rufus turned around.

  “Gaius Sulpicius Rufus,” he stammered. The shock on his face couldn't have been more satisfying.

  “Surprise,” Rufus said. He stood, and let the sword swing before him.

  “Listen to me,” Proculus said, his voice shaking. Rufus realized that the old man was terrified. “We must put aside our quarrel.”

  “That would be convenient for you, wouldn't it,” Rufus asked. He stepped closer to the man. “I have a better idea.”

  He raised the blade.

  “You don't know what you're doing. They must be warned!” the man screamed. He turned to the door, but as he opened it, Rufus ran him through the back with his blade. After the body dropped, Rufus turned him over. Blood was leaking everywhere.

  “It's not actually personal,” Rufus said, lowering his head close to the ground. “This is for the good of Rome.”

  Proculus punched him in the jaw.

  “You shit!” Rufus yelled. His sword hand reached down and he cut the man's throat. He watched as life fled from the man, then he pulled the body away from the door. He cleaned his blade on the man's toga before sheathing it. Building a small pyre took almost no time at all. He doused the body and much of the building with oil and pulled out his flint fire starter. It only needed a little tinder for the flames to leap out.

  Rufus stepped from the inn into the cool night air. Plautius was waiting by the horses. Proculus' lathered horse was tethered next to the other two. Steam rose from the beast, rising into the night air.

  “I thought he left in a litter,” Rufus said.

  “He did,” Plautius said, “this morning. He arrived only on this beast.”

  “Alone?” Rufus asked. Plautius nodded. “Where have my guards gone?”

  “He arrived alone. Do you think they suspected the plot?” Plautius asked.

  “Perhaps. Yet he was quite surprised to see me. I believe he did not suspect.” They never do, he thought, thinking regretfully of the energetic women he'd left in his chambers. And of faithful Plautius, hadn't the man realized how the events of this night must end?

  A groan s
ounded behind them. Proculus was dead and burning, and the sound wasn't from the inn. It was from the road.

  Something was wrong. Three men were coming over the road. They were perhaps Proculus' delayed guards, or maybe even travelers, but Rufus didn't think so. There was something wrong with how they moved. They walked not, but instead, shambled with a disjointed grace, as if puppets held by ungainly children.

  “Light a torch, Plautius.”

  The man turned to his saddlebags and within seconds, smoky torchlight lit up the night.

  The three continued to come closer. A night breeze blew, carrying dread and horror. The horses whinnied nervously.

  One was tall, dark, and lean. His face was scarred and he had a sword hilt protruding from his heart. The second was even taller, light-skinned and bulky. Half of his left arm was missing, and his chest was punctured with spear wounds. The third looked Roman, with cruel, patrician features. He did not have any noticeable wounds. His mouth opened and he groaned again.

  None of them had pupils in their eyes. “They're dead,” Plautius whispered, beside him.

  Rufus shuddered. “And yet not. Something terrible is before us.”

  The three creatures crossed the road in eerie unison. They moved with a deadly purpose that was incongruous with their jerky movements. One of the horses whinnied with fright.

  Rufus still had his bloody sword in his hand. “Give me the torch, and draw your blade.”

  The creatures were only moments away. The broad one, with rings and jewels on its pale shoulders and arms, reached out for him.

  Rufus struck out with his blade. It sliced into the outstretched hand, between the thumb and the nearest finger. The thing seemed not even to notice, and Rufus had to leap back to pull his sword free.

  The lifeless creatures advanced. The Senator thrust out with the torch. The fire flickered around the thing’s hand, but it wasn't hot enough to damage it.

  Rufus backed up slowly, flame and blade held before him as a shield. This was a hopeless fight, but behind him were only untamed fields and a burning building.