Chapter 35
Sara had prepared extensively for John’s execution. It was an opportunity to make a point, to turn the favor of the citizens her way. She needed this victory, capturing a Martyr, to show she was in control. After her speech, after her careful framing of the situation, Tenochtitlan would come running for her protection.
The city square was packed with people waiting for the event. People waved the city’s flag, a green circle in the middle of a blue background. It symbolized the island they lived on. Some fights broke out, but the constables managed to maintain order. She had recently established a police force comprised of Tenochtitlan natives. Some skillfully chosen incentives overcame their scruples, and they grew increasingly loyal to their new income source.
It was a few hours after the sun rose over the square. Birds chirped exuberantly, and the people were aflutter with a hushed excitement. It was almost execution time. Sara stood near the exit to the balcony overlooking the city center. Dalbec was at her side, fidgeting. He had provided many of the talking points for her speech, as well as bribes to hundreds of citizens for their attendance. A very uncomfortable General Page was also on hand. He wasn’t partial to politics, although he was better at it than any of his predecessors. His preferred mission was working to re-establish order and discipline in the Academy Army. Traveling, the herd, leadership changes, and occupying a city had all undermined stability. He looked forward to restoring that stability. He dreamed of well-organized marches, sharp uniforms, improved rank structures. This gave Page hope for what Sara’s speech could accomplish in terms of calming the populace. Page wasn’t interested in putting down rebellions.
As the sun hit nine o’clock Sara stepped out onto the temple balcony. The rumbling of the audience quickly quieted. Sara looked down on the crowd, surveying its composition. How many were against her? How many would cooperate? How many would die to stop her? This speech would determine all of that.
An interpreter came out beside her. He had been chosen because he had the loudest voice. She had worked with him before and he seemed honored to interpret this historic time for the city. He was ambivalent towards politics and Sara considered that a point in his favor.
As she readied to speak, she could feel the attitude of the crowd. They despised her. That was not a bad thing. That meant they still cared. If she could steer that anger for her own purposes, then she’d won.
“People of Tenochtitlan!” she began decisively, and the interpreter dutifully echoed the words in Spanish.
The crowd was dead silent.
“I understand your anger. I have felt it, too.” She placed her hand over her heart. “Where I come from, our people were oppressed by outsiders as well. The Brothers of Tenochtitlan despise and attack you. Outsiders oppressed my people as well. They devoured the fruits of our hard work and then protested we weren’t giving enough. These Brothers resent the capitol yet happily thrive off its protection and resources. When the herd came, where did they run? Into the walls of Tenochtitlan. They claim you exploit their resources, but it is they who drain your resources!” She scanned the crowd while pausing to let the interpreter catch up. The faces looking back at her were inscrutable. “Everyone knows that their traders come to Tenochtitlan in search of your daughters, to lure them back to the brutal countryside as wives. Do your sons choose wives from the countryside? No. Your sons don’t want to be burdened by the lazy outlander mentality. Your daughters are being tricked. The Brothers say you oppress and take advantage of them, but they take full advantage of you!”
The crowd was now murmuring, considered her words. They were still angry and suspicious, but they couldn’t deny the truth in her statements. It had been a long time since a leader had spoken to these grievances. She had struck a chord.
“We have an opportunity here,” Sara continued. “An opportunity to start with a clean slate. This new alliance between our people has no blood on its hands. No pointless wars or children lost to the whims of a monarchy.” This statement drew hisses from the crow. They couldn’t believe she would deny her kidnapping and turning of their people. “I’ll address that in a moment. But first, something important, for the benefit of your people must happen. You gave me the title of ‘Queen.’ I renounce it. Instead, I am your helper, your ally, your servant. Together, we will become a guiding light for those who live in the darkness around us. No city matches the beauty and culture of Tenochtitlan. The Brothers writhe in jealousy and attack you for it…I know the turnings pain you, but we must take the long view in our defense. We must be deliberate in defending the ideals your former king took for granted. While he was lost in the fantasies and vanities of his power, you all suffered. While he feasted, you paid huge prices to get simple foods from the countryside—foods you were entitled to. While the Western Government attacked, he faltered and put his army in the hands of traitors like Quintana. This is not your legacy! You deserve better than this!”
Some shouts of agreement rose from the crowd. Whether those shouts were attributable to sincere emotion or Dalbec’s bribe she didn’t know. It didn’t matter. The mood was infectious.
“I know you are angry at having family members taken to be turned into the undead to rebuild our army,” Sara said, at which the crowd began to hiss and shout insults.
“Hold on, hold on…Let me finish.” She paused for the crowd to quiet down. “When I arrived here, I discovered the damage the Brothers had done. The temple library is full of impressively detailed records of outlander abuses, but your king never did anything with them. I counted almost 20,000 Tenochtitlan men, women and children dead over the past few decades because of the Brothers. I sent an envoy to them—to ask for reparations. I asked them for one person for every one they had killed. I would build our zombie army with them.” The crowd was surprised by this new information. Surprised their queen had argued on their behalf. “Of course, they refused. They said they owed Tenochtitlan nothing. They called the city a ‘whore’ that offered itself up to anyone. They would never give their people to a ‘whore.’” Sara paused.
The crowd was still angry, but now with some doubt as to the target. She was lying freely here, but it might turn the tide.
“I looked at Tenochtitlan and saw a war-weary people. I counted the cost of extracting the necessary payment from the Brothers. It would have meant war. It would have cost countless more lives. Instead, I chose the sick, weak, and criminal among you to build the necessary walker army. It was an act of mercy compared to the alternative of a long, drawn out war with a savage enemy.”
The crowd erupted in shouts and terrors she couldn’t understand.
“Wait, wait…Perhaps I was wrong! Perhaps I was wrong!” she shouted. The interpreter repeated, and the people shouted in agreement. Sara had prepared for this moment. She counted on it. “Do you seek reparations from these ‘Brothers’ who have offered no reparation for their evils?”
The crowd roared again in affirmation.
“Then let us begin today.”
Obevens was in his cell. It was in the basement of an old government building next to the square. He strained to see out the broken out window with bars across it set near the low ceiling. He could hear the shouting. He knew a Martyr was supposed to be executed that day, but he couldn’t hear what was being said. He sat back down on his cot and put his face in his hands. He had to get out. To get to Ellie. He hoped the men he’d spoken with honored their end of the deal.
“Bring forth the ‘Brother!’” Sara bellowed. She had come down from the balcony and was standing on the steps in front of the church temple. Her guards had set up a perimeter around her.
The soldiers dragged John toward the foot of the church. He was bruised up and bleeding. The guards had made sure there was nothing left to admire in his visage.
Sara pointed, and six men moved a flat concrete slab aside to reveal a hole in the ground about four feet deep. A shallow grave. Next to it was a large “X” made with wooden poles stuck into the ground and stan
ding upright. John was taken to it, and his hands and feet were tied to the ends of the “X.” John stared through swollen eyes at the crowd. He heard a distant rumble, their shouting. Little else penetrated the pain. All he wanted was for it to be over. If they wanted him dead, he would oblige.
“I’m coming home,” he mumbled through a bloody, swollen mouth.
One of the guards saw his mouth move and struck him in the face.
Sara came to stand in front of John. She put her hand under his chin and lifted his face to hers. He saw her lips form some words but they didn’t register. She removed her hand from John’s face and waved a command to her guards.
He lifted his eyes and saw them bring four biters on tethers. All the biters were women. He wondered briefly at the choice, but immediately lost his train of thought. His mind kept wandering to Martha and Mark. Had they felt this way before they died?
He turned his head to look at the edges of the crowd. He searched for Tock, Carla, Lee…He couldn’t see anyone.
Then a strange man was in his face yelling. He looked familiar, but John couldn’t place him. The man held out small red rocks and stuffed them in John’s mouth. John tried to spit them out but they bound his mouth. He tried to cry out, but it was fruitless. He struggled to breathe through his bruised and clogged nose. The tears began. No help was coming. This was the end. He’d thought he would welcome it, but here it was and he wanted free. He wanted to hold Aaron in his arms and tell him he loved him one last time.
He looked again to the crowd for help, any help. There had to be Brothers in the crowd. The faces all looked ugly and angry, though. Were they angry at him? He couldn’t tell.
They beheaded the zombies in front of him and then brought more out to behead as well. They tied the heads together in the shape of an “X” the same size as the one he was tied to.
Sara stood in front of him with her back to him. She raised her arms, and the crowd noise grew louder through John’s numb head. The guards picked up the heads by the rope ends and carried the device toward John. A guard cut John’s gag and fished the rocks out of his mouth. Sara wanted the crowd to hear him beg.
“No, please,” he sputtered, but it was lost in the noise of the crowd.
“Beg!” Sara ordered him.
“No!” he said louder, but no one could hear him. The heads were closer now. The men were readying to affix it to the wooden poles. They were going to affix it to him.
Something rose in John. At first he almost laughed at the foolishness of it. It struck him, though. A story that Cesar had told him while in the mountains. An ancient story from long before the outbreak. According to the story, northerners were attacking Tenochtitlan and winning, but a group of them deserted and joined the city’s defense. He struggled to remember their name. What were they called? Then it came to him.
He said the name. But he was too quiet. He struggled to get a deep breath and lifted his head. The crowd was shouting at him, angry at all his people had taken—both as a northerner and one of the terrorist ‘Brothers.’ John opened his mouth with torment. The crowd hesitated and grew quiet for a moment. Curiosity at what the doomed man would say overtook them. They expected one last plea for his life, or a defiant insult or a curse. That was not what came out of his dry, haggard throat, though. His words hung over the square. All fell completely silent for a moment. Had they heard him correctly? What had he said? They passed the words back and forth to each other. But they all knew. He had spoken the words that condemned them.
The heads were tied on to the “X” and began their task. John cried out in pain from the mouths biting into his flesh. The audience now looked on in revulsion, as if suddenly awoken from a daze and seeing with fresh eyes what was before them. They were ashamed. The criminal had pointed at them and accused them. And he was right.
Sara stood in front of John triumphantly. She had heard him cry out, but his words, spoken in Spanish, meant nothing to her. She wasn’t paying attention to the crowd, missing the turning mood. Voices were crying out for her to stop it, to end his suffering. She couldn’t understand it, though, as it was in Spanish.
She ordered her men to put him in the ground. They removed the heads and cut him down. He would turn in about five minutes. They cut him loose, and he fell to the ground. Sara’s men picked him up and carried him to the shallow grave. They dropped him on the ground in front of it and unceremoniously kicked him in. John couldn’t hear the horrified cries of his fellow Martyrs, who’d arrived, too late, to the edge of the square, just in time to see it all happen.
The soldiers slid the concrete slab over the hole, sealing John alive in the grave where his undead form would now reside for another hundred years.
Sara finally turned to look at the crowd, expecting to see their pleasure. Instead, they were furious. She turned her ear to them to make out what they were shouting. All was discordant for a moment, and then the rhythm solidified and they were chanting in unison over and over—the same thing John had said. The interpreter ran to Sara’s side.
“We must go! This is bad,” he said.
“What are they saying?” she asked, but then she figured it out. She heard it now, thought she had no idea what it meant. Her blood was beginning to boil. For all her words, he only said four and turned the crowd on her.
The crowd began to throw rocks at her and her men. She rushed into the church as her men fired rounds into the crowd before barricading the doors. The cryptic phrase still rang in her head. Four simple words that effectively ended her rule: “Batallón de San Patricio.”
Chapter 36
The Canadian cruise missile glided gracefully through the air, a shadow over the peaceful landscape.
The missile used a radar system to ensure it was on track based upon what its computer knew about the terrain below. Despite the last hundred years of turmoil for the human species, the hills, valleys, and mountains remained unchanged.
The missile had a conventional warhead, not nuclear, designed for precision strikes. Like this one. Stored in its computer memory was an overhead image of the Hoover Dam, compliments of Sal’s imagery.
The missile made a slight course correction over what had been northern Nevada and began dropping in elevation for its final approach.
In the year 74 A.Z., a cartel in the mountains near what had been Las Vegas had the idea to herd zombies into the Hoover Dam. It no longer served to store water, as years of neglect had resulted in a hole at the bottom of it, so it was a perfect storage site. The Colorado River still flowed through, but now prodigiously through a gap in the concrete at the base of the dam. That meant the large land area that once held water was now bone dry. This engineering marvel of a former age was now a steep sided bowl with 700 foot walls for storing the undead. Tens of thousands of walkers were still trapped in it.
Not long after they completed this feat, the local population was nearly eliminated. Little thought had been given to the effects this storage system might have on the water supply downstream –having rotting bodies in this manmade watershed. A few survived and migrated to other settlements to the north, but the rumors about what really happened there assumed some underhanded plots, so the survivors never mentioned where they were really from.
The zombies held in the dam remained, though. Sal knew this through rumor and eventually visual confirmation on imagery. He was convinced this would be an ideal site for Dav to strike. Sal was sad to see penned-up walkers freed, but he had much to gain from the act. Spewing zombies across the area would generate fear. Fear would play into his plan. Once word of this Canadian threat got out, these westerners would be putty in Sal’s hands.
The missile verified the last portion of its journey and made a sharp descent toward the target. Some of the walkers looked up at the streak in the air but most paid it no mind. It had been years since they’d seen any viable food.
The cruise missile violently struck the base of the dam. It sent an explosion of concrete shrapnel through the nearby walkers, minc
ing them to pieces. This got these dormant walkers’ attention. Once the dust settled, a thoroughfare now presented itself for them to begin their mass exodus. Just as Sal had planned.
A week later, Ellie confirmed on imagery that the missile had succeeded. This signaled it was time to begin their “tour” of the Western Government territories.
“Your missiles did their job,” Sal said into the radio.
“Yes.” Dav replied. She was strangely quiet.
“Once they know a god isn’t doing this, they will change. It is the right choice.”
“Mmm,” Dav hummed ominously.
There wasn’t much else to talk about, and Sal walked away from the short conversation hoping his calculations were correct. Dav’s silence was unnerving. Was she suspicious? Sal shook it off. He had to stay focused. He would use this event to build a coalition against the Canadians. He just hoped the coalition was more powerful than the people he was betraying. He had to betray them, though. It was only a matter of time before they figured out Los Alamos was a bunch of breeders.
Chambers, Ellie, Sal and ten men departed Los Alamos early in the morning. Ellie got a sinking feeling as Sal, once again, began reminiscing about this being a renewal of the “good ol’ days.” Ellie’s horse grunted, too, as if in response to Sal’s sentiment.
As they passed the outer defenses of Los Alamos, they weren’t paying much mind to their surroundings. Even if they had been, they probably wouldn’t have noticed the glint of binoculars in the distance. The group continued on, unaware.
The binoculars belonged to a team of three men, unfamiliar to the emissaries. These three were only interested in the girl, though. They were the three Sara had sent to track down Ellie.
Chapter 37
Nighttime covered Tenochtitlan, but there was no peace. Riots clogged the streets. Furious citizens hurled rocks and debris at Sara’s riot police and screamed insults at them. Her men fired into the crowds. Zombies were used as barriers. Sara holed up in the church as the square below her was overrun with violent crowds.
100 A.Z. (Book 2): Tenochtitlan Page 24