Baltazar was chatting jovially with Liam when Jaco and his men came thundering up the road in front of them. As Jaco reached them he pulled up on the reins hard, and his horse came to a skidding halt a few feet in front of the column, “A horde is coming! We must flee!”
Baltazar immediately yelled, “Halt! Get the wagons turned around.” He turned back to Jaco and asked, “How long do we have?”
Jaco replied, “Minutes at most. They spotted us on the rise overlooking the Yarmouk Valley and gave chase.”
Baltazar sighed in frustration, “Those bastards would probably keep pursuing us until they wear their legs into nubs.”
“Aye, I suggest you get your men on the wagons. You can’t outrun them on foot for long.”
Baltazar turned and saw that they had done a much more orderly job of turning the wagons around on the road than their last hasty attempt at the beach battle site, “Two men per wagon. Once we’re loaded up, drivers we will need to ride hard for several hours.”
Baltazar jumped on the last wagon along with Nasir. Within an hour the sun began to punish the horses with an ever increasing onslaught of heat. The road ahead of them simmered with the mirage of water. The drivers pushed the horses as much as they dared in the unrelenting heat.
After two hours of hard riding, the beasts were covered in sweat, and their breathing had become labored. Riding alongside Baltazar’s wagon, Jaco said, “I think we should stop and water the horses. With the heat of the day upon us, they won’t last much longer without a drink and a few minutes to catch their breath.”
Baltazar peered behind them and tried to see if there was any sign of pursuit through the dust that the group had kicked up. Not seeing anything, he nodded and said, “Aye, ride alongside each wagon and instruct them to stop and let their horses drink their fill.”
Jaco nodded in response and rode up to each wagon in turn. Once he reached the lead wagon, it slowed to a halt. Each wagon behind knowing this was coming did the same. The guardsmen hopped out of the wagons, stretched their legs, and took care of nature’s call. Baltazar stood up on the wagon he had ridden in as the horses were unhitched and led to the river. After several minutes of watching there was no sign of pursuit.
“Maybe they gave up?” Nasir asked hopeful.
“Perhaps so,” Baltazar responded, with a less than convincing tone.
With their thirst slaked, the drivers worked to hitch the horses to the wagons. As they did so, Baltazar instructed each driver in turn, “Let’s proceed at a walk through the heat of the day. We don’t want to kill any horses.”
The guardsmen climbed back aboard their assigned wagons and the convoy got underway again. They rode at a walking pace for about an hour. During that time Baltazar kept glancing backward trying to discern any sign of pursuit through the dust kicked up by the group as they traveled north back toward the Sea of Galilee.
A second hour passed with no signs of pursuit. Baltazar began to relax, and his backward glances became less frequent as the constant motion of the wagon began to lull him to sleep. He nodded off for a few minutes and was startled awake when the cart hit a hole in the road. He glanced behind them and exclaimed, “Christ have mercy!” The southern horizon had a barely discernable cloud of dust.
Baltazar yelled to the nearest of Jaco’s riders, Cornelius was his name, “Ride up to the lead wagon and tell him to increase to a gallop for as long as he thinks the horses can take it. The horde is in sight again.”
“Yes, sir,” Cornelius responded and took off north toward the head of the column at a gallop.
Jaco saw him coming and turned his horse to meet him, “Have they caught up?”
“Aye,” Cornelius responded, his voice sullen.
“Damnation!” Jaco cursed. He turned his horse and galloped to the lead wagon, “The horde of the damned is catching up. Push your horses at a gallop for as long as you think it’s practical without killing them.”
The driver nodded in response and cracked his whip over the two horses pulling his wagon. They responded immediately, hooves thundering on the paved surface as they galloped. The other wagons in the column followed suit to keep pace as Cornelius spread the word about the horde.
Baltazar kept a constant eye on the southern horizon. As the column increased speed, the dust generated by the multitude slowly slid from view. The column was able to maintain a gallop for about an hour before the lead driver thought it would be prudent to slow down to a trot. The sun was beginning to lose its bite as the column slowed further to a walk. They kept this pace for the rest of the day. As the sun set, Baltazar gave the order to halt and water the horses.
“How much time do you think we’ve bought, Jaco?” Baltazar asked.
Jaco’s brow furrowed in concentration for several seconds. He then replied, “An hour maybe two at the most if the damned maintained their pace.”
“There is no way that we can keep up this pace for the three days we would need to get back to Damascus,” Baltazar said with an edge of frustration in his voice.
Jaco let out a sigh, “No, the horses will be long dead before midnight unless we maintain our current walking pace.”
“If we can’t outrun the horde, and we certainly can’t attack it, what do we do?”
“The only thing that’s left to do. Get out of the way,” Jaco responded.
Baltazar smiled, “Too bad Tuba is still more than a day’s ride away. That would be a perfect position from which to watch the horde go by. Are there any walled cities to our west?”
“There is one that would suit our purposes. An ancient town, its walls have been around since the time of David. The city sits on a plateau. Like Tuba, there is only one narrow path to access it. Unlike Tuba, it has some size to it. The town is called Sigoph.”
“If we maintained our pace at a walk, how long till we reach the road?” Baltazar asked.
“Perhaps two hours,” Jaco replied. He smiled, “They have a garrison.”
Baltazar asked excitedly, “How many Skutatoi?”
“Maybe fifty.”
“Not nearly enough,” Baltazar said, disappointed.
They rode in silence for the next two hours. As predicted, the road to Sigoph appeared on their left at the predicted time. The well-traveled road was not paved and snaked its way into the hills to the west disappearing around a bend in the distance. As they rode, the silver rays of the moon cast a warm glow onto the road lighting the way.
“How long before we arrive at the city?” Baltazar asked.
Jaco pondered the question for several moments and said, “About an hour.” He pointed to the bend in the road, “Once we round that bend we’ll be able to see the plateau the city sits upon.”
As they rounded the bend, Baltazar looked back and saw the tell-tale sign of the horde, dust on the horizon. Turning forward, he looked and saw the plateau. The city of Sigoph atop it, faintly outlined by the light of the moon, “Did you say the city was on top of the plateau?”
Frowning, Jaco replied, “Aye, why aren’t there lights in the city?”
The lead driver screamed, and the column ground to a halt. Jaco’s riders converged on the sound drawing their Spathas as they rode. Over the sound of his horses’ hooves striking the packed earth of the road, he heard yells, and then another scream. As he covered the last hundred feet to the lead wagon, he saw several figures atop it, too many figures.
Cornelius was surrounded by the damned. He swung his Spatha desperately trying to keep them at bay. As Jaco arrived and removed the head of one of his attackers, Cornelius failed in his efforts and was pulled from his horse. The night air was pierced by his screams as they bit and tore at his flesh.
Jaco could hear Baltazar yelling from behind him, “Form shield wall you louts!” They noticed him now and came for him. He glanced over at the lead wagon and saw a man using his spear in wide sweeping swings to keep the damned at bay. The man’s eyes locked with Jaco’s just as one of the damned grasped his calf and sank its teeth into it
. Screaming the man fell forward into grasping arms and biting teeth.
Jaco swung his Spatha at one as it came charging in, grasping for his right leg. The man was dressed in the rotted rags of a peasant. The blade of the Spatha connected with the top of the thing’s head, and it exploded like a crushed melon sending brain matter everywhere.
Another came in from his left, and he turned his horse to point down the road toward Baltazar’s advancing shield wall. Again, his Spatha connected with the damned before it could sink teeth into his flesh. This time the blade cleaved through the neck and the head tumbled to the ground.
He dug his spurs into the side of his mount and yelled, “HEEYA!” The horse leaped forward. Glancing to his right, he saw another of his men pulled from their horse. He couldn’t tell who in the dim silvery light of the moon.
Jaco glanced to his left. One of the damned had leapt at him just as he kicked his horse into a gallop. A weight hit his right side dragging him to the ground. A wave of pain lanced through his left side from the impact. As he struck the ground, he dropped his Spatha. The Spatha hit the packed earth with a dull thud. Ignoring the pain, he rolled onto his right side and reached for his dagger, as one of the damned scrambling on all fours toward him, emerged from the darkness.
He reached up with a hand and touched wetness on his forehead. As he did so, his world tilted back and forth. He felt as if he were on the deck of a ship pitching violently during a storm. He had one chance with his dagger to stop his impending doom as it scrambled toward him in the form of yellow teeth and fetid breath.
The snarling damned launched itself toward Jaco. He brought his dagger down toward the head of the creature as it sailed through the air. Time seems to stand still as the blade slowly made its way downward. The damned’s mouth opened in anticipation of the taste of flesh, his flesh. He smiled as he realized that the dagger was in a perfect arc to stab it right in the top of the head, He was going to live! A weight crashed into his right arm, “No!” he yelled.
Jaco lost his grip on his dagger as he was pushed onto his left side by the unexpected new weight. That side of his body exploded into agony upon striking the ground. The intense pain coursed through his body. Then he felt teeth on the fingers of his right hand. The hungry teeth pierced his flesh then his bones and mercifully his hand went numb.
Jaco screamed as his vision filled with the face of another. His sight still ebbed and flowed as if on a ship at sea in a violent storm. He beheld a young boy no more than ten years of age. He reached out to him with his left hand and with the last of his strength begged, “Please help.”
Help the young boy did, as he grabbed Jaco’s head pulled it toward him. The boy then sank his teeth into Jaco’s face. As the child pulled a piece of flesh from Jaco’s cheeks, the sound of his screams echoed off the hills.
Back on the main road she heard the sound, Someone is feeding. She dropped to the ground, crawled on all fours, and sniffed. The smell of the living flesh didn’t continue up the ribbon of stone she had been following. Instead, it turned into hills. They have changed direction!
She stood, turned to her left and followed the scent of the living flesh into the hills. As she ran the screams of dying men and horses filled her ears. Not wanting to miss out on the feast she quickened her pace. Not far now.
Baltazar looked to his left and his right. The guardsmen had formed a nice and tight shield wall. He yelled, “Begin advancing!”
The guardsmen began moving forward into the melee step by step. Lael, Rafal, Rinor, Liam, and the others stabbed at the damned as they hurled themselves onto shields and waiting Spathas. The figures of the undead running down the road toward them caused dancing shadows in the moonlight.
Baltazar and the guardsmen continued their advance until they reached a point on the path that was bordered by cliffs. With the wall stretched across the road from cliff to cliff, the guardsmen were able to stand and slay dozens of the damned without the danger of being flanked. Despite the loss of Jaco and his men, Baltazar was beginning to think that they would be able to fight through this latest challenge when he heard her.
Baltazar whirled around as he heard the sound of her scream. The noise was like the maleficent screech uttered by the unholy union between a harpy and a banshee. He brought his shield up just in time as her weight struck it. He lowered his left shoulder and pushed into his shield with all of his strength. The shield hit her in the face causing her nose to explode into a purple mess.
The unexpected attack caused her to stagger back several feet. Baltazar swung at her with his Spatha, but she ducked away from the strike. It was then that he saw the horde behind her, “Holy Mary Mother of God.” he muttered.
“Form Testudo!” Baltazar yelled.
Liam thought to himself for a moment and yelled back, “What in the nine hells is a Testudo?”
Cursing to himself Baltazar replied, “Starting with the man on the far left, every other man about face and engage the targets to our rear. Then close ranks and fill the gaps.”
It was difficult, but the guardsmen were able to comply with the order without losing anyone. Baltazar swung at one of the damned in front of him. His Spatha struck the former skutatoi’s helmet with a clang, slid down it, and found the flesh of its neck. The blade traveled through the neck severing the head. The head and the body fell in a heap in front of Baltazar.
Baltazar then glanced back to see how the rest of the men were doing. They had formed two lines. One facing to the west and one facing to the east. He saw that both flanks were uncovered and that at any moment the damned would figure this out and seek the opening in the line. “Good job. Now the last man on the line facing to our rear on the far right turn to your right. This will plug the gap between the two lines. The man facing forward on the far right of that line do the same thing.
Baltazar felt hands grasp his right calf muscle. Without thought, he swung his Spatha in a downward arc in front of his legs. The damned, a young boy in tattered rags stained with blood, screamed in frustration as the sharp blade sliced through his arms and they fell to the ground. The sound of those tiny arms striking the parched earth was drowned out by the cacophony of screams from the living and the dead.
Baltazar kicked the boy right in the face snapping his neck. The force of the blow caused his small body to fly through the air for several feet before impacting with the packed earth of the road. The boy disappeared under the charging feet of the horde.
The horde crashed into the eastern line. The guardsmen held them at bay and began to slay them one by one with their weapons. Baltazar withdrew his Spatha from the mouth of his opponent and stole a glance down the road to the west. He noticed that the numbers of damned facing them from that direction were thinning.
The stolen glance almost cost Baltazar his life as a female, shrieking, was nearly upon him. He brought his shield up just in time, and she crashed into it. Her thin arms tried to reach around the metal barrier and grab onto him. The smell of her is especially bad. A cross between a two-week-old corpse and fish that had been rotting in the desert sun for a week. He brought his Spatha up in a thrust that pierced the bottom of her chin, continued through her head, and burst out of the top.
Baltazar took a breath and yelled, “Men facing west, if you can advance, do so. We won’t be able to hold them long here.”
Lael looked to his left and looked to his right. Only half of the Skutatoi on the western line was engaged with the damned, “You heard the man, advance!”
The guardsmen on the west line aided each other and quickly dispatched the remaining damned facing them. As they moved up the road, an occasional damned would come hurtling out of the darkness, and quickly meet its end.
“Begin fighting withdrawal!” Baltazar yelled.
Confused one of the guardsmen on his line, he didn’t know which, asked, “What is a fighting withdrawal?”
Cursing under his breath and realizing in the haste to get to Yarmouk, he never taught them how to execute a fi
ghting withdrawal, “Keep facing and killing the damned but take a step back between opponents. At the same time never take more than one step back from the line, or it will break, and they will have us for dinner.”
Baltazar took a step back and then told the guardsmen on his left and right, “Now you two take a step back.”
They each complied with the order as soon as they dispatched the opponents facing them. One jammed his Spatha into the eye of a man in the vestments of a priest and the other slew a fat man in what appeared to be a colorful silken robe. The colors of the robe have been dulled by blood and the dust of the desert.
The guardsmen slowly retreated up the road as the damned continued to hurl themselves into the fight. Several guardsmen fell in battle creating holes in the line, but luckily the road narrowed as they climbed. Occasionally a damned would randomly topple over dead. Baltazar wasn’t sure why.
She had feasted. The delicious taste of the flesh had filled the gaping hole in her gut at least for a few moments. She must have more. The hunger was back and worse than ever now that she knows what it feels like not to have the appetite, if only for a few moments. Is there anymore? She felt around on the ground hoping to find a piece, any piece. A piece of sinew, ligament, or muscle, “ANYTHING!”
She cried out in despair. There was nothing else here! She came to her feet and looked west up the road. Thousands of her kind were pushing forward against a thin wall of meals. The road was littered with the fallen. Her dim consciousness registered the fact that fewer meals were opposing them, Someone had eaten without her!
She found this to be unacceptable. Wasn’t it she that had brought them together to feast? Surely she was entitled to a share of every meal? Anger coursed through her body. For a moment the hunger was forgotten. In that moment pathways in her brain began to fire for the first time in this new version of her.
The pathways opened up doors in her mind, and the doors led to memories. Her mind was flooded with images. Pictures of life that seemed totally alien to her. Yet familiar at the same time flashed by her eyes. The images were filled with meals. No wait, they weren’t meals. They were her friends and family. The images moved from scene to scene containing smiles, triumphs, and tragedies. When the mea- no when her family looked at her, they seemed to make the same sound over and over.
Byzantium Infected Box Set Page 47