Nightmare of the Dead: Rise of the Zombies (18 page)

Thousands would die if she didn't.

May 28th, 1863: The Good Doctor

The rebel hospital camp was nothing more than a collection of silent tents and discarded garbage. Letters written to loved ones, sepia-toned pictures, empty tin cans that had already been picked clean by birds and flies: the refuse that decorated the hospital camp, where Confederate soldiers who'd fought at Champion's Hill and Big Black River had come to lose their limbs or die from infection.

But those battles had taken place several days ago. The tents would have been taken down, and the rebels would have cleaned up their mess before leaving for home to suffer their fates. The Confederate spirit remained strong against Lincoln's well-organized and well-supplied army, but the casualties on both sides would leave fields fallow, and wives without husbands. The men who returned home would never forget the boom of cannon fire or the screams of their dying, gut-shot friends.

The two remaining creatures that had been born from evil out of Cedar Rock remained in chains, their eyes roving, their mouths opening and shutting in an attempt to eat the flies that flitted about their blood-dried, fleshless skulls. Bone protruded out of black, disintegrating muscle tissue. While they seemed impossible, their gait suggested they were nothing more than costumed men; but these were real corpses with a penchant for murder and pain. Would those terrifying monstrosities cannibalize anything in their path? Did they represent the awful doom Doctor Lynch wanted to unleash upon the world? Where they the secret Confederate weapon McPhee was supposed to find and stop for the sake of the Union?

Their hunger for human flesh was boundless.

Neasa closed her eyes and hoped that God and Heaven were real. She couldn't bring herself to believe in these things, but she hoped she was wrong. She would never see her again; she could never tell her how she felt. Even with remnants of memory and identity, her need for Ambala dominated her thoughts.

There wasn't enough time! It wasn't fair, or right, that she was taken from her. All she had left to her was the moment in the valley and their three-day hunt for Saul. They shared a lifetime of love and desire in that little bit of time, but it wasn't enough.

She squeezed her eyelids shut against the threatening tears. Ambala would have wanted her to be strong and kick some ass, but it was hard. She'd been reduced to a piece of meat with that creature shoving chunks of her flesh into its mouth. Neasa had to watch, and all along, all she had to do was say the magic words before it happened. That chance was gone.

She needed to be strong, now more than ever.

The outlaw group stopped within the camp and brought Neasa down out of her carriage, her hands and feet once again bound. Santiago approached her from behind and tested her bonds. She watched him do it, and he walked away from her wordlessly.

The last person she wanted to listen to was McPhee, who seemed to bounce along on the balls of his feet, his belly a tight ball of fat clad in a brown duster that was too small.

"They don't make outlaw clothes in your size," Neasa remarked.

McPhee giggled. "Taunt away, little girl. I'll live to hear a lot more of those."

"I was trying to do you a favor. I figured maybe I'd save you some heartache. If you can't dress the part, then how will anyone know you're a cold-blooded killer? I guess you could brag about it a little, seeing as how you're good at running your mouth. I do remember a certain red-bearded man pissing himself in the swamp, but that wasn't you. Outlaws are fearless, after all."

He squinted his eyes and looked into her face without blanching. He managed to hold her gaze for a long time without speaking. The other men waited patiently as the tense silence was broken only by the snorting of the horses.

"No amount of money is worth your life," McPhee turned and spat. "The Yankees gave me enough money to put food in front of my wife's face, but that's all it was. There's something else, you know. You used to know it. Santiago showed me. There's only one way to live, and I'm going to do it."

"How does it feel to be weaker than a woman?"

"I saved your life!" McPhee stomped into the dirt like a petulant child.

"You left me to die. There's a difference, I think. Are you going to do something, or you just going to stand there? I think you could give these gentlemen a show if you tried to rape me. That's what you want. That's what you wish you could do. Have your way with a weak woman. But you couldn't do it to anyone else, could you? I wouldn't be the first woman you couldn't conquer. It isn't so easy. These men with you are hard bastards. They’ve done it all before. They've worked in their gang and they've shed blood. Women don't live on this fucking planet to bow down and kiss your boots, McPhee. They resist, and they fight. Can you do it, now that I've called you out in front of them? They won't accept you if you don't try."

"Shut up!" he shouted and slapped her hard across the face, rocking her face to the side. "Shut your damn mouth!"

"The best you can do is hit a defenseless woman. Could you hit me if I could fight back?"

McPhee fired his heavy fist into her stomach, causing her to double-over.

"We'll all have a turn with you after the doc is done giving his speech!"

Neasa shook her head. Why wouldn't he take the bait? A man's ego was a predictable thing, but something else was holding him back. Whatever they wanted her for, it must have scared the hell out of the failed spy.

"There she is!"

She didn't realize how much she wanted to see his face again until he appeared from out of one of the tents. Ever since she discovered that this madman was actually her brother, his presence took on a new significance. Not only was Saul the one who robbed her of memory and identity for the sake of his own sadistic goals, but they'd been rivals for years. They'd tormented each other when they were kids, and their paths had not diverged—they were linked.

Saul was nothing more than a bag of bones clad in tight skin, though a layer of baggy clothes added substance to his stature. He seemed to be decades older, with wrinkled skin stretched tightly over his high cheekbones, and sparse strands of gray hair slicked backward over his egg-shaped head.

He adjusted his spectacles and smiled with metallic teeth,
then said,
"I apologize if my friends aren't as hospitable as they should be. They do not understand the elements of decorum and modesty as you and I do. Oh, my! I've waited so long for this moment. I wish you could share in my excitement, I really do!"

"You're my shit-heel brother," Neasa's knees cracked while she stood with her hands behind her back. McPhee stood aside, his fists tightly clenched. Santiago stood near the carriage, though his gaze seemed to be looking beyond the camp.

Saul tilted his head. "You have some of your memories back? Do you remember everything?"

"I remember enough. I almost killed you in the Shenandoah Valley. You had those things with you, but you weren't using a gas."

A strong gust of wind played with the strands of hair in front of her eyes.

"There is so much I want to share with you!" Saul clapped his hands together several times. "I will answer your questions, because I need you, now! And there is someone you should reacquaint yourself with. Please, come with me."

Saul ordered McPhee to remain outside with the rest of the men; Santiago alone led Neasa behind her brother. She felt the wind against her neck and face, and smell that she immediately recognized as human waste and rot nearly caused her to pause.

A tunnel had been dug directly beneath the large tent, and as Neasa was led into the darkness, she couldn't help but think she was walking directly into the rotting corpse of one of Saul's twisted creations. She stepped down into the cool darkness, and the smell became more pungent.

"I really hope you like the place," Saul said. "What? No! She isn't upset at me! Well, of course she wanted to kill me before, but she doesn’t remember…well I wanted to kill her, too! The feeling was mutual. Now, you wanted to see her again, and I can just leave her outside. We can forget the whole thing!"

Before Neasa could ask, Santiago's voice in her ear answered the question. "You will see in a moment."

"Who dug this tunnel?" Neasa asked.

She wasn't sure who was going to answer her question. Saul's loud, shrill laugh grated against her ears.

"
I've been very fortunate to have the undying friendship
of
Mr. Jefferson Davis, who just happens to be the
Confederacy's
president!
" the
mad
doctor replied.
"
Mr. Davis is
a very kind and generous man!
Very generous indeed! He wants to win the war so very badly. He will make any sacrifice for the sake of the dream that he shares with his people. There are planets and moons that sing and dance while we kneel and pray, kneel and pray…but the Collective, you see, they pay for things, and the President makes it happen because he believes. Faith and life and light and song! Yes!"

The doctor had clearly gone mad. His words seemed to be directed at another person who wasn't present

Santiago clarified. "When the war first came to Mississippi, men were hired to dig and build, here. A hospital camp was set up, and we were lucky that so much action happened close by. After the Battle of Big Black River, the wounded were ordered to come here. President Davis has been a very generous man."

When they finally stepped into the massive chamber at the end of the tunnel, Neasa gagged and struggled to breathe. Flickering lamplight revealed slabs of flesh hanging from meat hooks suspended from the ceiling and against the walls. Stacks of severed limbs were piled near two tables, where odd machinery was hooked up to dead soldiers. Bloody surgical instruments were scattered upon the chamber's floor and on the tables.

Santiago pressed a cold surgical instrument into her bound hands. He winked at her and walked toward one of the tables, where he folded his arms across his chest and waited for the show to begin. It was obvious that he wanted her to escape, to find her own way, but why would he give
her
the chance?

"Don't worry!" Saul said. "I've got two more of my machines already packed up—they're relatively easy to rebuild if they're destroyed, but they're cumbersome to travel with. These will be left here, although I can't take all the credit for their design."

In the corner of the room sat a woman in a wheelchair whose head hung limply against her shoulder. The woman drooled upon a stained shirt, and her unwashed, clumped hair hung over her face like a wig made of seaweed.

Despite the macabre scene, it was the woman who captured Neasa's attention and made her pause. Who was she, and what she doing there? The woman was clearly alive, and her unmoving eyes seemed to rest on Neasa, who shivered and tried to look away. She could still feel those eyes upon her skin, and when she looked back, the woman was still staring.

Saul stretched out his hands. "I am proud to announce that we are now on the third variation of Transmortification! You have seen the first two, of course, and I hope you liked them very much. First, there was the injection in the Shenandoah Valley, which is really kind of hard to do because when you think about it, it's just not that easy to get close to so many people. The second phase was the gas, and I firmly believe in my heart of hearts that this will be the weapon that will end the war for our lovely president. I will unveil the third to you, now."

Neasa couldn't help herself. "What the hell are you doing? What do you gain from all of this? Is there a point? This is why I wanted to kill you, isn't it? Damn
it;
give me back what you've taken from me! Give me back my life!"

Saul shook his head slowly. "Dear, dear sister. It isn't as easy as that. I want to share my creations with you. More than anything, I've always wanted you to accept me and love me, as I love you. I can't imagine what my life would have been like if I never knew you. In a way, the whole human race should thank you! I'm going to give them eternal life! But first, we have life after death!"

He danced around his tables, and nearly tripped over a rotted hand. "I need infection and pain. I need human waste and agony. I've added a hallucinogenic component, and the recipe for eternity is really quite simple. Yes! They are the living dead, creatures who lust for pain and terror. They are a weapon of war! They function on a primal level, with only a few functions available to them. This is the secret! The road to immortality!"

The doctor crouched
down, picked up two rotted legs,
and held them. "These are just pieces of the ultimate puzzle. All my life, I only wanted you to care about me. I wanted your acceptance. I took away your memories to bring you back into the fold, but you've resisted. You changed—you weren't the woman Santiago remembered! He's very upset with me over this…I've done so much to make you happy, but you've never wanted me. And here we are! I have crafted zombies, undead monstrosities, to please you! Once the Collective sees what I have done, they will reward me! I will be on your team, finally! Santiago here has already reported back the initial results. Now, after we deploy the weapon at Vicksburg, the entire world will see!"