Butcher Rising

by Brandon Zenner

  The doctor stood beside the couch, briefcase in hand. Karl limped over and sat, picking up the pillow he had slept on.

  “Greg,” Karl said. “Go to the back door. Wait for us, we’ll be there in a moment.”

  Greg didn’t move.

  “That’s an order. Go now. Doctor, I need your assistance.”

  Greg turned and left.

  Each second that passed was filled with an anxious dread, thinking that at any moment the door would be kicked in.

  When Karl and Doctor Freeman joined Greg, Karl was dressed in Aubrey’s cleaner pants and boots. He limped even more with his toes cramped together, but the boots were in reasonably good shape.

  “They’re two houses away,” Karl said, and began explaining what they needed to do. Greg swallowed visibly and wiped the sweat from his eyes.

  “Why don’t we just leave, hightail it away?” Greg asked.

  “For one thing,” Karl said, “once they come in here, see Aubrey on the ground, the bloodstains on the couch, the ruffled blankets, they’ll call in reinforcements. And, in case you’ve forgotten, I’m not in the position to hightail it anywhere. Does that make sense to you?”

  Greg nodded.

  “Is this going to be a problem?”

  “No. No, sir,” Greg said.

  Karl explained the plan, and when he was done, he said, “Ready?”

  They nodded and opened the back door.

  Chapter Twenty-nine

  Scouts

  Karl clutched at the wound on his chest with his left hand, his right gripping his pistol as he led the men to the side of the neighboring house, closer to the oncoming patrol. Twice his feet gave way, and the doctor grabbed on to his elbow, but it did little to keep him from stumbling.

  The enemy scouts were two houses away, and they would be exiting at any moment. Karl led his men behind a large, rectangular central air conditioner with a puff of hedgerow that blocked it from view of the road, and then he collapsed to sitting with his back against the house siding. Doctor Freeman and Greg stayed crouched low, not daring to look out over the top of the brush.

  The gentle sound of footfalls came from down the pathway leading to the neighboring house, growing louder as the scouts neared. Hinges creaked. A quiet voice said, “Ready?” and then there was a crack and a thud as the door was broken and pushed open.

  Karl looked up and over his shoulder, to a window several feet above him. He held his pistol in his right hand and unsheathed his knife with his left.

  A flutter of birds flew overhead, landing on power lines connecting the properties. Their melodic chirping drifted over the breeze.

  Karl closed his eyes and leaned his head back. His mind was swirling, like he was on a roller coaster with the scenery soaring by.

  Hinges creaked … footfalls from down the steps … ruffling grass.

  Karl opened his eyes. Greg was trembling, yet ready to pounce, the long blade in his hand wavering. The doctor remained motionless, yet ready to leap forward. He too held a combat knife, the blade long and thin.

  Greg inched to jump forward, but Karl reached out and put an arm in front of him, shaking his head back and forth.

  They heard the footfalls of the two men before they came into view from the front of the house, cutting straight across the yard to the next property, where inside lay the deceased Aubrey. Their heads appeared over the brushy hedge, then after a few more steps their backs were to them. Tall men. Wide shouldered, and covered with instruments of warfare.

  The man to the right held the pry bar over his shoulder. One of them was whistling a quiet tune.

  Karl removed his arm from Greg and displayed three fingers in the air …

  … two fingers …

  … one …

  … a fist.

  Greg and Doctor Freeman sprung to their feet, and Karl aimed their only rifle upward from his sitting position.

  The two scouts were a few feet away and jolted at the sudden activity. The one on the right half turned before the doctor reached out, his left forearm going over the man’s face, pulling up, all the while hammering down on his neck and collar with the knife. Each stab was as meticulous as his skill would allow. The man grabbed at the doctor, trying to reach for his head, face, anything to hold on to.

  Greg attacked the other man before he could turn, jabbing the knife forward at the base of the soldier’s head and his back, but the soldier turned around, the pry bar swinging before him, his mouth making noises like, “Don’t-don’t …”

  Karl had the man dead in his sights, watched him grab at his rifle in the sling, but he was unable to do so while swinging the pry bar and stumbling backwards. The rifle slid down the man’s arm, and when he tried to grab the handle, the gun fell from his grip.

  Greg surged forward, slashing with the knife, hitting the pry bar with the clangs and scraping of metal on metal. Blood appeared on the scout’s neck and forearm as Greg lurched and leaped, his mouth set in a growl.

  The pry bar caught Greg in the arm, sending him reeling. The soldier backpedaled and turned, his free hand grappling for a pistol or maybe a radio, when Doctor Freeman swooped in to his side, ducking low. The other soldier lay unmoving in a pool of blood. As the guard turned and swung, the doctor rushed in, ramming his blade into the soldier’s armpit.

  The man howled and dropped the metal bar. Greg was fast to grab it, and commenced to beat hell down on him.

  “Enough,” Karl said, then louder, “Enough! I need his clothes.”

  Greg stopped, hunched over and panting. He dropped the pry bar and looked at his bloody hands, then beat his palms against his pant legs.

  A rush of satisfaction enveloped Karl’s senses at seeing the nearly decapitated man on the ground. You’ll all suffer … by my own hands; I’ll kill the lot of you.

  The doctor bent and grabbed his knife handle, the blade still planted deep. It took a few yanks until the knife came free, and he stood wiping it with a cloth and licking at his fingers.

  “Come on, bring ’em over here,” Karl said.

  Greg stared down at what was left of the scout’s head and face, rubbing his left arm where he’d been struck. Then he turned and doubled over, vomiting up strings of bile while falling to his knees.

  “Oh, for fuck’s sake …”

  “W-why didn’t you shoot?” Greg asked between heaves.

  “You want more of them coming this way? Pull yourself together, and help Doctor Freeman.”

  The doctor grabbed the ankles of the first soldier and pulled the dead man behind the small hedge and air conditioner, then went back for the second.

  Karl began removing his own frayed and battered shirt, his face set in agony as he attempted to pull the sleeves down his arms.

  “Hold on.” Doctor Freeman rummaged through his briefcase for a pair of scissors and began cutting away Karl’s rags. As the doctor undressed one of the scouts, he pulled a canteen from the soldier’s belt and took a long drink before passing it to Karl.

  Karl drank long gulps. He sighed, water trailing down his face, and he tossed the canteen to the grass next to Greg, who was still hunched over.

  “Drink,” Karl said, and reached for the dead scout’s feet, examining the larger boots. “Then come over here and help us gather what we can. We have to move out.”

  It took a moment for Greg to stand, and when he did, Karl and the doctor had already stripped off the weapons, ammunition, and backpack—containing some smoked meats, apples, and stale bread—and had outfitted themselves with whatever they needed. Karl turned to Greg. “Here,” he said and tossed him his rifle, then inspected the slide and mechanisms of the slain scout’s machine gun.

  The naked torso of one of the guards shined pale in the tall grass, and Karl caught Doctor Freeman staring down.

  “No time,” he told him. “We got to move.”

  The doctor didn’t budge.

  Karl rolled his eyes.

  “No time.”

  The doctor nodded and reached
down for his briefcase. “I’m aware,” he said.

  Greg finished drinking from the canteen and wiped his mouth with a sleeve.

  “Come on,” Karl said.

  As they neared the edge of the house, with Doctor Freeman several paces behind, Greg whispered to Karl, “What did the doc want to do back there?”

  Karl shook his head. “An arrangement we have,” he said. “It doesn’t concern you.”

  Chapter Thirty

  Landsville

  Twice they had to stop and hide in the brush when they heard engines far off on the highway. Now, they stopped once more after hearing voices, and saw through the thicket a group of maybe a dozen armed men marching on the shoulder of the road.

  After the soldiers passed, Greg said, “We’re never going to make it.” He clutched at his shoulder where the pry bar hit him. Doctor Freeman had examined him earlier, and the bone wasn’t broken; but the bruise grew so large it was difficult for Greg to mobilize his arm. He shook his head. “They’re spread everywhere.”

  Karl didn’t answer. He was fairly certain the stitches on his leg had burst open, and the wound on his chest caused his breathing to become labored.

  “They’ll find us sooner or later,” the doctor said. “More than likely, they’re following our tracks now, after seeing what we did to their men back there. It’s only a matter of time until they catch up.”

  Karl turned to him. “Would you rather we give ourselves up?”

  “No.”

  “We’re going as fast as we can, given the situation.” He glanced at his legs.

  “Do you know what they’ll do if they find us?” Greg said. “They’ll skin us alive, crucify us … leave us at the mercy of the wild.”

  Karl huffed a slight laugh. “Skin us? No, no. Greg, these men are bleeding hearts. They’ll either shoot you in the back of the head or hang you from a lamppost. No torture. Doctor Freeman and I, we’ll be brought in for questioning. Probably endure a bit of torture.”

  Greg gulped, his Adam’s apple going up and down. “What exactly is this safe place in Landsville? Are more of our people there?”

  “No,” the doctor answered. “The place … it’s sacred to me.”

  “Sacred? Like a church?” Greg asked.

  Greg was becoming bold with his questioning, causing the heat in Karl’s chest to rise. If it weren’t for the circumstances, Karl would reprimand him.

  “In a manner of speaking,” the doctor said, and patted his pocket for his folded map. He traced the paper with a finger and said, “Here. We’re getting close.”

  Greg leaned in, despite already having been shown the location.

  “What’s so special about the place?” he asked again.

  “History,” Karl said, and patted Greg on the back, a bit hard. Greg flinched and grabbed at his arm. “The good doctor has invited us to his home.”

  Greg opened his mouth to speak, but Karl hushed him down. They remained quiet, squatting in a bramble of vines, listening to the wind rustle the leaves overhead, and then Karl said, “All right. Let’s move.”

  ***

  Karl tripped and stumbled many times, and after several hours of walking, Greg told him, “We got to take a break,” but Karl replied, “Life before comfort. No break.”

  Five miles outside of Landsville, another procession of Alice or Hightown’s men were seen going door to door in the town of Ashland, and the men had to hide in a wooded section.

  Karl sat with his back against a tree and closed his eyes. Doctor Freeman and Greg peered out through the brush, watching the scouts fan through the street. They were far enough away that the din of the enemy’s conversation was barely audible, and Karl rested his head back against the rough bark. He thought that when they would have to stand again, he would not be able to do so.

  He listened to the low murmurs of voices and the rattling of far-off engines. He listened to the gentle trickling of a nearby stream that cut through the narrow strip of littered woods they were hiding in.

  Then he felt hands on his shoulders, movement, and his eyelids snapped open, blinking raw against his eyes.

  “Karl. Karl, wake up.” It was Doctor Freeman.

  “How …” He swallowed against the dryness of his throat and looked up to the sky for an indication of how long he had slept, but was offered no clues from the gray overcast.

  “Move,” the doctor said. “We got to move. They’re sweeping the area.”

  Karl scanned the brush and could see blurs of movement. The enemy patrol was heading off the road, toward their position.

  Greg grabbed his hand and pulled him to his feet.

  Karl attempted not to groan as he stood, and looked around for the boat oar he’d used as a crutch, then realized he hadn’t used it since they’d left the house. Greg and Doctor Freeman moved to either side of him and grabbed his arms, helping him maneuver through the woods.

  The trees offered little protection, being that the area was residential and developed, and before too long the thicket ended abruptly at the side of a road. Across from them was a large, open field, with the horizon stretching on for miles.

  A rumble caused the three men to turn to the right, and although they couldn’t see it from around a bend in the road, the sound was undeniably an engine.

  “Christ,” Karl said. “Left—go left.”

  He didn’t dare turn to see how close the enemy was behind them, but by the absence of troops shouting and firing at them, it was safe to say they had not yet been spotted.

  Karl was pulled and pushed faster than his legs would allow, and at times his feet swept over the pavement as Greg and the doctor lifted him in haste.

  “Where, where do we go?” Greg said.

  No one responded, and yet he continued, “Where, where—”

  Then the solution presented itself as they reached a turn in the road, and the wooded section that they had been hiding in moments ago ceased, replaced by a long iron fence, extending over a block in length. Flowers had once been tied all along the posts, and some dry stalks and twigs could still be seen. Photographs, cards with written words, and hundreds of mourning candles were scattered all over the sidewalk and road. The papers were half-decomposed and bleached by the sun, and many of the candles had melted to dry blobs.

  Behind the black fence, the tops of tombstones could be seen in various places, with the majority of the grave markers buried under the thousands of corpses that had been brought to the cemetery and piled in heaps and mounds. Some orderly, placed with care and affection, and others dumped in haste from the backs of trucks, to form jumbled piles of intertwined limbs.

  The men stopped short at the sight, and Karl said, “Go—let’s go.”

  They followed the fence until they came to the entrance, and passed under the ornate arched gateway. Karl tripped as the bones beneath his feet moved and buckled, making crunching and crackling sounds. He looked over his shoulder, and could just see the front of an approaching truck from down the road.

  “Down,” he said in a whisper, and fell to his stomach, fighting through the pain to crawl over the decomposed wretchedness.

  Despite the majority of the bodies being nothing more than bones and dried skin, the stench was still thick, and swarms of flies engulfed them as the men pulled themselves across a narrow channel. The sound of the engine neared the front of the cemetery, and Karl turned and rolled the last few feet to hide behind a wall of bodies. He lay panting, Greg and Doctor Freeman beside him. Greg was trembling, holding his knees tight to his chest, his eyes squeezed shut. He appeared on the verge of a breakdown, and if he made any noise at all, if he began to cry and moan, or shout out in anguish, Karl would surely kill him.

  But Greg didn’t utter a sound as the rumble grew louder. Karl nudged his way to the top of the mound, his shoulder slipping under bones and sinew. A contorted face stuck out from the mass, its voided eyes staring back at him, its mouth stretched open in a silent, dramatic scream.

  On the road, over two d
ozen armed men followed behind the pickup truck, their assault rifles attached to tactical slings. Most faces looked to see the spectacle of the graveyard, but a few turned away, indifferent.

  Karl stared up at the overcast sky. The clouds were foreboding rolls of gray, and sections looked dark enough to unleash rain at any given moment. A sharp bit of ribcage poked his side, and the smooth roundness of a skull matched the nape of his neck. The near-blinding sky forced his eyes closed, and when they did his mind felt as if it was tumbling over and over. He listened as the engine grew quieter, and let his mind blink out of consciousness.

  ***

  An undetermined amount of time had passed, when again he felt a hand on his shoulder.

  “Karl,” Doctor Freeman said, shaking him awake. “Wake up. They’re gone.”

  The doctor put a canteen in Karl’s hand.

  “We got to get on. Only a few more miles.” He placed the back of his hand against Karl’s clammy forehead. “You’re burning up.”

  Karl turned to see Greg already moving fast over the crunching bones. Doctor Freeman took Karl’s hand and helped him to his feet, then held his elbow as they maneuvered over the sea of bodies.

  Once outside of the cemetery, the doctor found a thick branch to use as a crutch, and they made their way over the memorial sidewalk, trampling on bundles of dried flowers and photographs of happy, smiling people. Whole families, children, and the elderly stared upwards from the pictures. The happiness in their faces, the backdrops of beautiful homes and flowered gardens, days spent at a picnic … those things seemed to never have existed at all.

  Karl’s boots trampled the smiling faces, and after the first block, his legs loosened up a bit. The smell of death lingered heavy from his clothing, soaked into every pore on his body. He was one of them already, he thought. He belonged to the departed.

  A mile went by, and then another. They reached the outskirt of Landsville near sunset. As they cut through the tall grasses of a Vietnam memorial park, they spied a row of dark figures ahead. Corpses, no doubt, and as they neared, it became apparent they had recently died.