The Village of Dead Souls
Michael G Wallace
Chapter 1
Scattered voices echoed off the white marble pillars, which surrounded the forum under a cloudless blue sky. Several small groups of citizens in tunics and robes debated various topics, while making grand hand gestures to accent their point. Prometheus stood at the edge of a discussion at the bottom of the bright marble stairs. He noticed a strange scent of dust on the gentle breeze. With the recent rains, the tall Greek man with chiseled features wondered what could be kicking up dust in the city this morning. The elderly man in a flowing robe next to him said, "We have an obligation to remember the dead. We are their descendants and if they disappear from our memories, they will perish entirely. Many of our sons have gone to sea only to have them not return. This is why I give an offering at the Temple of Poseidon each morning." The man noticed his friend did not pay full attention to his words. "Perhaps, the gods will grant us a bountiful catch when the fishermen return."
Prometheus smiled and replied, "Poseidon has favored us for many seasons and I do not see him taking anger with us now. We have built a new temple near the sea, which should only provide him more pride. I talked to good Callius just this morning. He spoke of calm seas and gentle winds for our men."
A woman with long dark hair, wearing a maroon dress, caught his eye as she filled a terra-cotta jug with water from the fountain in the center of the forum. Prometheus stopped listening to his friend and wondered whether he should approach her. It had been many months since he had seen a woman with the stunning beauty she held. Perhaps, he might offer to help carry the jug as a way to introduce himself. He excused himself from the conversation. "I'm sorry, my friend, I must end this discussion for a matter of loveliness has just arisen."
As he turned to walk toward the fountain, distant loud voices caught his attention. They came from several blocks away and sounded like a large crowd in an argument. The yelling seemed to have caught the attention of all in the forum, because the debates trickled to a stop and heads turned in the direction of the noise. The woman, who came for water, set the jug down and turned toward the source of the sound. Prometheus took a few steps closer to her as the voices grew louder. The clink of clashing metal swords mixed in with the commotion. Isolated screams of women and men stood out from the common sound.
A young man from the bakery frantically ran into the forum. Waving his arms, he called out, with panic in his voice, "Spartans! Spartan soldiers are attacking the city."
The people in the forum panicked and ran to the streets, which exited the city center only to be pushed back by the hordes of citizens escaping the advancing army. The city gathering center filled with terrified civilians who ran in all directions, adding to the chaos.
Spartan soldiers burst through the crowd swinging swords and pikes. The unarmed townspeople offered no challenge, and they quickly fell to the army, as their blood trickled across the ground. Several of the men threw rocks at the soldiers, but the military leather and armor simply deflected the useless attempt at resistance. Two Spartans grabbed the woman in the maroon dress next to the fountain. One soldier grabbed onto her long hair when she tried to run off, causing her head to jerk back, as her body slammed to the ground. Running to her aid Prometheus screamed, "Stop!"
He clenched his fist tighter than he had ever imagined. As if it was second nature, he leaped into the air and on the way down, he smashed his fist right between the two face shields of the soldier who held her hair. Blood splattered across his hand and wrist, and he felt the man's nose shatter under his knuckles. The Spartan fell backwards into the fountain. His heavy armor held him on his back underneath the water. A second soldier thrust his xiphos into Prometheus' ribs. Without concern to his fate and with blood pouring from his wound, saturating his white tunic, Prometheus reached down and grabbed the water jug. With a long wide swing, he broke the vessel over the soldier's helmet. As the Spartan fell backward, his sword flailed and it slashed open Prometheus's throat.
The Athenian didn't feel his body hit the ground and the world moved in slow motion about him. The sounds of the battle around the forum disappeared with only the blue sky filling his vision. Into his view, he saw the face of the woman he tried to save. With an expression of deep concern, she caressed the side of his face, while she kneeled over him. As his sight faded to white, another Spartan grabbed the woman by her hair and pulled her away.
Surrounded by nothing but white, Prometheus felt his legs lift him off the ground, but he put no energy toward this movement. He slowly walked through this strange void with confusion racing inside his head. No more pain, no bleeding, and he had the energy of a child which only added to the bewilderment. A few yards in front of him, an image appeared, as if a fog began to settle. He recognized the outline of man in a flowing silk toga. This elderly man with white hair and a muscular build stretched out his hand and said, "Prometheus, come walk with me."
As he moved closer to the stranger, he said, "You know who I am, but I do not know your identity or where we are having this conversation. I would offer gratitude, if you could so kindly inform me of both. Do you know what happened to me by the fountain? I believe my injuries are in need of immediate attention."
The white foggy void settled and Prometheus could see stairs leading to enormous pillars at the front of the largest temple that he had ever seen. It stretched so far into the distance that he could not see the opposite end. Walking next to him, the elderly man replied, "I would imagine with all the temples you have made in my honor that you would recognize Zeus when you met him for the first time."
Stunned to hear those words, Prometheus stumbled through his thoughts to find his next words. "Do you mean to tell me, I am standing on Mount Olympus with the king of the Titans? This truly is a position, I had never expected to be. Perhaps this is only a dream brought about by recent events."
The deity gave a slight smile. "I promise you this is no dream. As you made a valiant attempt to save the maiden by the fountain, you were killed by the soldier who slit your throat."
Prometheus quickly felt his neck where he had been slashed with the blade and found it to be whole, no cuts, and no injuries. The stab wound to his ribs no longer existed. The two beings stopped at the top of the stairs. Prometheus gazed at the elderly man. His mind would not let him believe it could be this easy to stand next to such a powerful god. "I do not feel as if I have died. My condition feels better than it has been in many seasons. The pain in my knees, which has burdened me for years, is no longer present."
With a pat on the back, Zeus replied, "I promise, you have passed from the life, you knew as a mortal. I have chosen you from many who have gone before and after you."
"Your words only offer me more confusion. Perhaps you could offer advice which would clarify my situation."
The ancient divinity smiled and said, "All the gods have come together for a special purpose. It is time to give the human mortals the gifts they need, if they are to continue their growth and evolution. They have reached a point where thought and advanced use of the elements will no longer provide for a sustained existence on your world."
"I see no fault in our existence." Prometheus gazed into the temple and spoke as if he simply debated a friend in the forum. "We have evolved and adapted to provide all we could ever need. Many of our luxuries provide pleasures beyond basic necessity."
"Indeed, you have done well with what you have been provided. However, as you advance and evolve, so does the world that you have yet to discover. Just like the Titan of your namesake, you will take a gift to the mortals, which will help them to inhabit their world. Only this time, it
will be given with my blessing."
"A gift?"
"You will collect and process the thread of life inside your new body. When you have obtained the needed amount, your gift will be immunity to all forms of cancer."
"Pardon my ignorance of what you are telling me, but I do not understand what I am to do and what gift I will offer. You speak in words that I feel only the Behemoths would understand. As you have already referenced, I am only a mortal, but a mortal with many questions. These are questions any human man would ask when given this opportunity. How does Apollo pull the sun across the sky without burning up his chariot? If Atlas is holding the earth, what platform do his feet rest upon? Exactly where does Medusa live? I would not want to walk into her lair accidentally. There have been many occasions, where I have altered my course, due to an unknown cave in my path."
As the white void enveloped him, Zeus smiled, but did not answer. Prometheus closed the distance between him and the god while he rubbed his eyes to gain better focus on Zeus. When he opened his eyes, he saw a world he could never have imagined. All around him, buildings as tall as mountains with mirrors for windows. Streets covered with a black as tar type of pavement. No carts or chariots could be seen anywhere. Instead, the roads filled with wagons made of bright painted metal and they moved along the black roads without the use of horses. They made a rumbling sound like distant thunder of an approaching storm. The wheels did not make much noise and were not made of wood. They appeared solid and black, just like the road.
Prometheus took a few steps toward an area with green grass and trees. With all the confusion in his mind, it looked to be the only familiar site. As he walked, he noticed his body did not move as easily as he remembered. Glancing at his hands, he did not recognize them or his arms, or his legs. His entire body appeared different, as did the strange clothes. He saw his reflection in a window of the building behind him. A person he had never seen stared back; a man with pale almost gray skin. It couldn't be him. He lifted his arms and moved his head as the reflection did the same. He touched his face with his fingertips of both hands. His skin did not feel right and it looked too pale. It felt cold and dry with little elasticity. The people around him walked passed with no concern to his situation. They wore similar bizarre clothing made of bright colors. Both men and women wore pants and shirts. Not a single person had a tunic or a toga. Only a few women wore dresses and even then, the fabric did little to cover their legs.
He turned to a young man, whose dark hair pointed up in a spiked kind of way, and asked, "Pardon me, good sir, could you tell me what city we are in? I feel my conversation with Zeus has left my mind bewildered."
The young man gave Prometheus an odd look as he walked past without saying a word. He tried to ask the next woman who walked by, but before he could finish his question; she picked up the pace of her walk, and gave him an angry stare while she sped past him. Fear built up inside the Greek man. He made a general announcement to all on the sidewalk with him. "I only ask a kind favor from you good people. I have somehow arrived in your city and do not know where I am. Could one of you please offer some simples guidance, so I might find my way home? I live in Athens. Perhaps, you are on your way to the market there and I can join you on your journey."
An older man placed his hand on Prometheus's shoulder and spoke to him in words which sounded like complete gibberish, moans and hissing. As Prometheus tried to respond, the expression of concern on the old man's face, turned to fear, as he retracted his hand and walked away. Paying closer attention to the conversations around him, he realized that they all spoke in this strange language. It did not sound like actual words, but more like grunts and groans. Surely, he would find someone who spoke his tongue. So he decided to walk around the area and listen to the conversations, but all the people spoke using the same incomprehensible words.
On the other side of the grass and trees, he saw a large group of people marching in a kind of parade. They walked slowly, dragging their feet with stiff upper body movements. Their clothes looked torn and dirty and most were covered with blood. Prometheus concluded they must have returned from a battle. Most of they people in this macabre promenade appeared happy, and they carried vessels filled with ale, so they must have won the war. Perhaps, these victorious soldiers would help him get home.
His strange body continued to feel stiff as he moved. He felt as if he walked the same as the people in the celebration. When he finally reached the crowd, he noticed their wounds and blood appeared to be nothing more than stage makeup. They wore costumes making them look as if they were the dead who have come back to life. He concluded it must be a celebration of a long ago victory over an enemy. Music radiated through the area, but he could not see the musicians anywhere. The vocals of the songs were the same type of strange language spoken by those around him. With his hand extended, he asked for help again. Even though, this group spoke in the same grunts and moans, they did not seem frightened of him as the people across the park. One person in the celebration placed a cup full of beer in his extended hand.
Confused, Prometheus sniffed the drink, which he recognized. He could not smell the aroma that he expected. In fact, he realized, he could not smell much of anything around him. The trees and flowers in full bloom offered no fragrance. Trapped in a strange body, where he did not know how to take control of the senses, only added to his overall befuddlement. He took a sip of the beer and could feel the liquid on his throat, but it gave no flavor or sense of temperature. Hoping he could get some kind of sensation, he quickly drank the entire cup. Doing so, seemed to make the young people in costumes happy and someone handed him another beverage. "No. I appreciate your kindness to include me in your strange celebration of the dead." Prometheus downed the second beer. “But I need your help to return to my home. I do not live in this grand metropolis which you inhabit. Would someone offer such a kindness?"
He turned and watched the costumed people in celebration walk past him. They continued to speak in the unknown language, but appeared to be pleased with his stressful situation. Through the sounds of the moans and groans and the loud music, he heard a lone voice speak to him. "Hey Butt Head, that beer isn't going to do much for you, you're dead."
Prometheus turned to find the source of the voice. On the edge of the sidewalk, stood a tall black haired slender man in a dark suit and red tie. His white shirt had a patch of blood around a hole pierced through the pocket. Across his outfit, his clothes had areas of dirt and scuff marks. "Yeah, I'm talking to you," the man said.
Prometheus took a few steps toward the man in the suit. "Finally, someone who speaks Attic Greek."
"I don't speak Greek. I speak American."
"I have not heard of such a word, nor have I heard it spoken. The only languages I speak are Attic Greek and Latin. If I understand your words, you must be speaking in one of those two-"
The man in the suit interrupted, "Awww great, you're another one of those ancient guys."
"I do not understand your words in their entirety. Let me start with a proper introduction." Prometheus extended his hand and stepped closer to the man. "My name is Prometheus. I hail from Athens."
As Prometheus grabbed the man's forearm and patted his shoulder, the man replied, "Yeah, I'm Vic and I hail from Chicago."
"Is the city where we stand right now, Chicago?"
"No, we're in Denver. Ironically, the folks here are right in the middle of their Zombie Festival. This is the big mall crawl where they get dead drunk… Get it, dead drunk."
The Athenian shook his head in confusion. "I do not understand this celebration. Are you in a position to assist me in my efforts to get back to Athens?"
"Look, Mr. Proper Pants-"
"Prometheus."
"Whatever, you're not going to Athens, you're not going to back to your time, and you're not going to finish you're conversation with Socrates or visit Atlantis again. You are a few thousand years in the future and you have a lot to learn before you can get started on yo
ur mission."
"Mission?"
"Yeah, we've all been given a mission. Just follow me and keep your pie hole shut."
"Pie hole?"
"Yeah, that thing you're yapping with."
"Yapping?"
"Stop talking. Keep your mouth closed and start listening. I have to take you back to the safe house. There's a guy there from your time, who will explain things in a way, you can understand."
* * *
Sitting in the center of his lab, scientist, Dr. Daniel Cronsworth, turned from his computer screen and wrote down a few notes in his journal. Occasionally the man in his late forties finger-combed his thick dark hair that had streaks of gray showing through. Hutch, his young undergrad lab assistant, with his own mop of brown hair, walked in the room and placed a file on the table next to the spectrophotometer. "Hey boss, your presence has been requested in the conference room."
Without turning from his lab journal, Daniel continued to write notes as he replied, "And who wants to see me in the conference room. If it's for Monica's birthday party, you can start without me. Will you check the autoclave? It stopped making the beeping sound when it finishes and I don't want to leave the instruments in there all weekend."
Hutch walked toward the door as he gave his answer. "Monica's birthday party was last week. The autoclave is still cooling down and will be doing so for another hour and there's a gigantic military dude waiting for you."
"He can wait until I'm finished with my notes."
The lab assistant stopped at the door, turned back toward his boss and said, "He arrived in a helicopter that landed in the parking lot. There are guys standing guard at the front door. I wouldn't make him wait, but heck, you have fancy microscopes and Petri dishes, all they have are big guns."
Daniel dropped his pen and quickly took off his reading glasses. With a light jog, he caught up to Hutch and exited the lab.
He entered the conference room and saw a six foot seven, light red haired general with a slight beer gut waiting for him. "Dr. Cronsworth," the military man said and stuck out his hand, "I'm General Christopher Brown." The two men shook hands. "I'm sorry for the sudden interruption to your work, but we have a situation that needs your immediate attention. Normally, when something strange like this happens, I call the Collins Institute, but they said you might be better equipped for this situation."
The Village of Dead Souls: A Zombie Novel Page 1