Nightmare of the Dead: Rise of the Zombies (7 page)

May 19th, 1863: The Needs of a Hero

Saul couldn't stop shaking with rage.

You were warned
,
Mother said.

"Stop yelling at me!" Saul shouted with his fists clenched at the bulbous woman who sat beside him in the carriage, her eyes staring at nothing, her chin wet with drool.

"Can't see anything!" the driver called out. "It's too dark! We were supposed to be stopping at that town for the night!"

Saul screamed while the foreigner, Santiago, simply watched with his hands resting neatly on his lap. Although the expression on his face was rendered invisible by the young evening, it was easy to suppose the man sat as if nothing bothered him at all, as if precious material hadn't been wasted, as if an opportunity of a lifetime hadn't been destroyed by his own meddling.

"The Nightmare Collective employed you to complete a task," Santiago began coolly. "It is your fondest wish to join with them, and it's obvious they desire a man of your talents. However, you lack focus. The woman isn't needed to deliver the weapon to Vicksburg. I will deliver it myself, since I'm immune to its affects."

Saul buried his face into his hands. He couldn't resist the low whine that vibrated against his vocal chords. He couldn't give up now, not when he was so close.

"There's so much you don't understand," he said, though he was convinced that it was useless to speak to the ruffian. The project is incomplete. There are things I must change, things I didn't anticipate. I don't want her to simply deliver a canister to Vicksburg, because I have something special for her. Mother doesn't wish to see her dead, you understand…"

"If she were conscious, she would hardly spare that woman's life. Your mother was loyal to the Collective's designs. As one of its most senior members, her word was respected and considered law amongst our brotherhood. She served as my mentor for a short time, but that is past. You would do well to end her miserable existence, yet, your madness compels you."

"Must you provide commentary on everything?" Saul fired at him. "She isn't useless. She wanted me to be a part of the Collective. She had plans, you see, plans within plans within plans, and she needs me to carry them out! You know so little, so little…I can hear her. She speaks to me. She warned me about you!"

The carriage bounced along the road and the lantern carried by the driver in the front swayed. Saul habitually ran his tongue along the edges of his metallic teeth and tasted the memory of his mouth's destruction.

She will never trust you. What happens when she regains her memory? She will never be at your mercy. She will never forgive you. You should have killed her when you had the chance.

Saul sighed and spoke to Santiago. "The Collective wants you to ensure the job's completion. Despite what you may think, you're nothing more than a pawn, as am I. The weapon must be perfected. I no longer possess any more material. Everything has been rushed!"

He could hear the hammer on a revolver
click, as if being pulled
back to
the halfcocked position
.

In his cool, level voice, Santiago said, "You guaranteed she would become herself once again. You said she was naturally a cruel, sadistic person, and her natural instincts would take over."

Saul didn't want to blabber, but frustration needled him. "I don't know! I don't know! She's evil incarnate, I tell you! Mother trained her, made her, and she made me! We don't know that she hasn’t changed back. You should have let me talk to her!"

Santiago shook his head slowly with his gun pointed at Saul.

Fearlessly, Saul licked at his lips and resisted. "I've already had to move my equipment twice. There're no more resources at the hospital camp near the river."

"Are there still wounded men there?"

"Are you asking a question?" Saul always struggled when it came to deciphering the man's tone.

Santiago seemed to weigh his words. "You were gathering parts, but if there are wounded men, it's best that we return. That is where the woman will go to find you. We will wait for her, there."

"You were never supposed to kill her. It was never supposed to be this way! It's against Mother's wishes, and you must obey. You must!"

Santiago was clearly obedient to the Collective, but they were the ones who arranged for the hospital camp with President Davis. Saul had been given military command of an entire hospital near Big Black River; many parties were invested in Saul's weapon.

"We have a very long history," Saul reminded him. "You and I never really got along, and you've known her for a very long time. Why do you want to kill her so badly? Whatever happened between the two of you cannot interfere with my goals."

Santiago fingered the necklace made of human ears that lay against his chest. He disregarded Saul's comments, because there was something more important to discuss. He was still amazed that he hadn't transformed into one of the creatures. Saul's first test of the weapon had taken place in the Shenandoah Valley, and Santiago missed it.  Now, he'd witnessed its power, and began to contemplate his own desires.

"The Collective wants your weapon, and we will scour the battlefields until we have enough materials. But first, you will tell me what we're dealing with. Then, you will tell me about the special mixture you've been preparing for her, because you will give it to me, instead."

May 19th-20th: Damn the River

They stumbled headlong through the darkness, their boots splashing through the soggy Mississippi swampland, their boots slogged with water, their exposed flesh assaulted by legions of mosquitoes.

McPhee fell breathlessly along the edge of a ditch and nearly fell in. He flailed with
windmilling
arms until Bannan heaved him up by his armpits.

"You're too damn fat to run!" she grunted. "But we have to keep going!"

They couldn't stop. The creatures were on their heels, and she couldn't help but wonder what terror the fiends would unleash upon the unsuspecting citizens of the war-ravaged land. It wasn't up to her to hunt them all down and destroy them.

The land around her was a wet abyss; she was running headlong through the cavernous stomach of an angry demon. Animals scurried and splashed away while they approached, and savage growls nipped at their heels. They certainly made enough noise to be found.

Spider webs wrapped around their throats like sticky scarves, and they balanced themselves against invisible trees. Bannan used the stars in the sky as her map—they traveled westward, though her greatest concern was walking in a circle.

"Don't get any of your powder wet," she reminded McPhee more than once.

She considered what they should do. A part of her wanted to use McPhee as bait; she would seek high ground and train her pistols on the spy until one of the creatures lumbered into view. Even then, it was perilously dark, and she could lose the spy before getting off a clean shot. She imagined scenarios that might evolve into pitch-battles in the middle of the swamp, and none of them would turn out well. McPhee might even be stupid enough to flee, and she would have to cut him down. What if she wounded him and he bled for a while in the open? He might die before one of the creatures showed up. And what then?

The bait idea seemed like something she might have done in the past; she imagined it worked for her before. The plan hardly seemed original, and while she grasped at the fleeting memory, she had to believe it was successful before. After all, she was still alive.

But she came up with another strategy.

"I need to stop," McPhee demanded breathlessly. "Let's make a stand. Here."

"We can't even see them. They'll surround us. And keep your damn voice down."

"They're not animals. They're just men, aren't they?"

"We don't know what they are, or what they're capable of. It's useless to keep running, but fighting's also a death sentence. Strip off your gear."

McPhee took a while to process her request. Through ragged gasps, he asked, "For what?"

"We might not be able to outrun them. If we hide or set up an ambush, we have a chance. We can get down into the muck with our guns and wait, but we can't get our gear or clothes wet."

McPhee shook his head. "You're insane."

"Ask yourself if you still want to live," Bannan suggested.

McPhee cursed her several times and began to do as she asked. "Disease? Bugs? How're we going to sleep? How long do you want to wait?"

"You can keep running through the swamp," she replied, "but not with me. You're too slow. They'll bleed you like a pig."

He grunted more curses while removing his clothes. "Don't tell my wife," he said.

"There's a ditch just below us. We'll get down there with our guns and wait until sunrise. We'll pile our clothes together and hide them in the brush. You have a loaded cylinder in that pistol?"

"Yes, ma'am. Though I must confess, I'll do my best to observe my manners in this situation, although you'll do wise to keep your own desires in check."

"You won't have to worry about me. If your hands so much as accidentally touch anything…" she let her threat hang in the air for a moment while they undressed through a moment of awkward silence.

Their bodies shone with slick sweat against the pale gaze of ethereal moonlight. They found a place for their items and covered them, and they went down into the murky ditch
,
she with a gun in each fist, he with a single revolver.

"I'm grateful I can't see anything, lest I go blind," she chided him.

"We're going to die here, like this," he replied.

"Don't be a damn fool."

"The water's not even cold. We'll get sick here. If those things don't see us, we'll get sick and die, anyway."

"Shut your trap before I shut it for you."

"Is there a way to kill them?"

She thought for a moment, and replied, "Headshot brings them down. You need to be a damn good shot."

They listened for a while to the night creatures, until he finally said, "Pardon my manners, ma'am. I suppose we're past the point of good propriety. I'm sure you've seen your fair share of hell. I was given reports on the Nightmare Collective, you see, and I was told this Santiago fella was one bad man. Never suspected I'd come across you.

"You see, we were rustling up some loot in Cedar Rock. We were waiting
because
of that doctor, but a few of the fellas started to get a little restless. Figured we'd hit this town and blame it on Yankees. The locals were pretty surprised to see us there. Didn't take too kindly to strangers, see. We had on blue jackets, and they were none too kind to us. Everyone's loyal to Davis down here in this swamp-hole.

"Every man got a bullet in Cedar Rock. The children…Santiago did that himself. As for the women, well, forgive me, ma'am…"

"Go on. You've been rambling long enough. Finish the story."

"He said there were no innocents in a war. Everybody fights, and anybody can die. Women get something else; they're the spoils, for a little while, anyway. We're supposed to take what there is. I took. Would have shot me down if I didn't. You see, I had no choice…"

"There's always a choice."

"Not like you think. You can't always see his eyes. It's like they become black, or sometimes they become white, but he's always looking
inside
of you. I did what I did because I feared him. With the children, he… had to be the one to do it. It was as if there was no other course, as if it was something he simply needed to do. Like it was his job."

"You should have killed him. You knew what he would do. A man with morals would have taken a shot at him."

"Your memory… is it true what Santiago said?"

She began to grow suspicious. Who was he, really? How could she trust him? Here was a man who'd raped and pillaged alongside a band of outlaws, and he wanted sympathy from her? He was attempting to disarm her guard, but he could still be useful. It was, after all, the reason why she decided to drag him out of Cedar Rock.

The silence was allowed to swallow his question. They listened closely for a few moments. She wrapped her arms around his heavy shoulders to keep the guns out of the water.

"Don’t get ahead of yourself," she said. "We could be here for a while. You should turn around and put your arm around me. Can't get our guns wet."

He turned around and they embraced one another
.
Her toes curled into the mud beneath her feet. A glimpse of moonlight revealed a spider scampering over McPhee's pale shoulder.

"Why didn't we become one of them?" McPhee had to ask.

"No clue," she replied. "Santiago didn't turn, either. Tell me what you know about the Nightmare Collective."

"Not much. Their chief is over in Europe, from what I can tell. The doctor, Lynch, carts his invalid mother around in a wheelchair. She was in some kind of accident, but she used to be one of the top people in the group. They're a bunch of assassins with political goals. Lynch's not included in the group, but he wants to be, real bad. Whatever he's working on is supposed to be his ticket in."