She watched the chaos in the city below through her window. She was enraged with that man, John. Turning to Dalbec, who was with her, she said it might be time to ensure there was still a means to return to Colorado.
“There’s no reason we can’t go to the coast,” Dalbec said, but Sara didn’t respond. He couldn’t understand her logic sometimes.
After more fighting and the use of firepower, the crowd in the square eventually relocated. It was relatively quiet, despite the gunshots echoing in the distance, so Sara sent Dalbec away and collapsed on her bed. She fell into a deep sleep. Her head hurt, and she dreamed of her father. He was a zombie, chasing her. He caught her, but instead of biting her he held her down and yelled everything she’d done wrong. In the dream she was crying like a little girl.
***
Down in the square, after it cleared, a dozen people hiding in the shadows quickly and silently moved to the place where John had been buried. Their eyes nervously scanned the darkness to ensure they were safe before motioning to another group. These additional figures ran to the grave carrying long metal pry bars.
They hurriedly slid the concrete slab off the hole.
One man, a large one from the north, crouched near the hole. The others tried to pull him back for safety. He threw them off and roared, “He needs to see a friend!”
They thought it was madness but weren’t going to argue with Hog.
“John,” Hog entreated into the quiet, shallow grave. As expected, there was no answer. Of course there wouldn’t have been. It had been hours since he’d been bitten multiple times.
Then they heard something from the grave. It wasn’t human, but not zombie either. It started low and then gained volume. They were sobs. Sobs of a broken man.
Hog immediately jumped into the hole. The others cowered back and refused to follow.
They waited. Then Hog lifted John’s limp body onto the side of the hole.
“Help me!” Hog said but no one wanted to touch it.
A sudden explosion flared up from one of the nearby government buildings, shooting flames into the air. They dropped to the ground in the sudden light and stared at the growing blaze on the other side of the square. They weren’t clear on what caused it.
Slowly they stood and looked back to where John’s body was. They all backed up in fear at the sight. Instead of a dead or turned man, they saw the whites of his eyes in the light of the fire. They were the eyes of a human, but with a difference they couldn’t place.
John reached onto the ground as Hog pushed him up and he clawed his way out of the grave. The others in the group called out, “John!” They were the Martyrs.
Tock tried to help John up, but he refused, lifting himself to one knee. Then he pulled himself completely onto his feet and pushed through them before falling back to the ground. He groaned in the night air and tilted his head back to let loose a thundering yell that echoed throughout the city. It ended in a blood curdling moan that sent a shiver down the Martyrs’ spines. What had they released from that hole?
Even while sleeping in her bedroom in the church overlooking John burial site, Sara’s brain registered the awful noise. In her dream, she saw the source of it. It was the bearded man, coming straight toward her. She kicked out at the attacker in her dream before shooting up in her bed, trembling and out of breath from the nightmare. Her heart was going a mile a minute.
She slumped back down on the bed, trembling. After she caught her breath, she got up and slipped over to the window to look down on the square below. It was empty. Her heart sank, and she started shivering. There below, clearly visible in the light of the burning building, was the Martyr’s grave—open and empty.
Her nightmare was nothing compared to what was coming.
She had no idea she’d just unleashed the true king of the undead.
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About the Author
Patrick Nelson wants to quit his day job to write and sail around the world with his wife and two kids.
100 A.Z. (Book 2): Tenochtitlan Page 25