Deadland: Untold Stories of Alice in Deadland (Alice, No. 5) (17 page)

Hold on. Ladies and gentlemen, children of all ages, I just
heard something on the radio.

False alarm. My mind must be playing games with me, or maybe
I’ve started to appreciate the musical genius of the Static Brothers.

Day 98. The one-legged man.

I’m beginning to like this writing routine. It keeps me from
just staring at Them down there and gives me something to do. So where was I?
Oh yes, my horny boss. But to get to him, I need to go a bit further back. See,
once upon a time, there was a soldier in the Indian Army who spent more time
than any sane man should sitting in god-forsaken mountain passes looking at
similarly miserable Chinese soldiers. This soldier may have been a grunt but
had a dream of being a writer, and would spend many evenings working on his
book. He had a novel that had accumulated so many rejection slips that if you
stapled them together, they would make for a pretty hefty book by themselves,
but he hadn’t yet given up.

This was back in 2013, when if you remember your history,
there was a fair bit of saber-rattling by politicians on both sides of the
India-China border as they tried to distract the unwashed masses from inflation
and slowing economies. As often happens, the old politicians give speeches in
their air-conditioned offices, and we poor schmucks are left holding the body
bags. Or a severed leg in my case.

Two of my men had strayed across the border. Happened all
the time. At ten thousand feet up, where you see more goats than people, who
knows where the bloody border that some drunk Englishman drew sixty years ago
on a map is anyways? Difference was that this time some Chinese officer took
the rhetoric seriously and killed both of them. They were good men. Men with
families. Killed because some fat fool made some angry speeches and some stupid
officer was mad or drunk enough to act on them.

My men wanted to get even, and I was pissed. I was doubly
pissed when the powers that be hushed up their deaths, since they did not want
‘escalation’. So I did what I should never have done, but seemed to do all too
often. I let body organs other than my brain dictate my course of action.

To cut a long story short, we went after the Chinese platoon
responsible and wreaked some nice havoc. We attacked at night, and I had the
satisfaction of shooting that son of a bitch officer myself. Callous, you
think? Well, I don’t need you judging me. I’m the last man left in this
madhouse, and I’m allowed my bouts of insensitivity.

On the way back, after not getting a single scratch in the
whole battle, I fell down a crevice after a landslide. I lost a leg, we lost
four men, and my military career lost whatever future it may have had. I soon
found relief only in the neighborhood pub. The Army at least paid for the
prosthetic leg, I suspect in part because they didn’t want me to go to the
media. In addition to all the rest, I shortly lost my wife. She walked out
after I came home piss-drunk one time too many.

I don’t think I need to make excuses to you, so I won’t try.
Would I have done things differently if I could? You bet, but there’s no point
thinking about that now. Everyone is a genius with benefit of hindsight, and
everyone’s self-image is always a bit rose-tinted in the rear view mirror. I
have seen too much shit to harbor any such delusions. I know who and what I am,
and now it frankly doesn’t matter if I’m an asshole, because the only ones whom
I can piss off or hurt are the undead shufflers below, and I seriously doubt
they are the sensitive sort.

Back after a break. They are down in the valley, clawing at
some building. I really can’t figure out what they are up to. I am no expert on
this, but I’ve watched my share of zombie movies, and at first sight, that’s
what They seem like. Nothing more than bloody monsters out to attack anyone,
and believe me, I’ve seen them rip people apart. But there’s more to them. I
can’t figure out why they roam around, sometimes turning on each other,
sometimes attacking buildings. And unlike the zombies you may have seen in
movies, they do die. I’ve seen enough of them do that, and I’ve shot my share
in the early days to be sure on that count. It makes no sense, but when they’re
rampaging, I don’t want to take any chances. A few minutes ago, I got the rifle
ready and drew a bead on them. I’m sure I could take out a few from here, but
if they wanted to come up the hill in force, I wouldn’t last very long. But
They never seem to come up the hill. Again, no idea why, but I’m not
complaining. I may be lonely but They aren’t the kind of company I’d exactly
invite over for dinner. Especially not knowing that I was the main course.

CREDITS

Coming up with the
idea for a novel and writing it is often a solitary exercise, but bringing it
to readers as a finished book is always a team effort. I’d like to thank the
following for their help in producing the book you now hold in your hands.
They, and others like them, make independent publishing much more enriching and
rewarding for both authors and readers.

Cover design &
print formatting by Damon

(
http://www.damonza.com
)

Editing by
R.J.Locksley

(
http://www.rjlocksley.blogspot.com
)

eBook formatting by
Rebecca

(
http://www.indiemobi.wordpress.com
)