Disclaimer: Twilight and all its characters belong to Stephenie Meyer. Lyrics to The Lamb and The Dragon as well as Save Our City belong to the fuck-awesome band, Ludo.
Warning: Juicy, drippy zombies and violence. This is not a pleasant story.
This is a prequel to Morning in May, which is on my profile. Its also an entry in the Invasion of the Zombies contest on TwiWrite. Go to www . twiwrite . net (take the spaces out) and click on contests.
Thanks so much to my beta, HollettLA, and to LittleMissMionie, for pre-reading and making an awesome banner!
The Lamb and the Dragon
"The wrath of the Lamb!" the martyrs cry
"Break the seven seals, let the horsemen ride!"
The soldiers bear the royal crest and scream into the sky
"He will come, He will come! The Dragon's on the rise!"
~"The Lamb and the Dragon", by Ludo
Fifteen years. It has been fifteen long years since he last saw her alive. And now, he will see her again. He braces himself for landing, remembering the harsh impact of his last one...
The Traveler hears the sound of metal ripping, like Wolverine dragging his Adamantium claws through a chalkboard, before he is violently flung from the battered Volvo, smashing head first through the windshield and landing on something soft and cold.
Relief from having escaped the cave is short-lived as the stench of stale blood and death infuses itself into his nostrils, making his lungs shut down instinctively in self-preservation. He lifts his head to survey his surroundings and wishes he were back in the cave.
The sun is dark like sackcloth. Meteors fall from the sky. The earth is shaking as if fevered and buildings everywhere are burning, ashes falling like snow onto the ground, which is littered with dead bodies. Not even whole bodies just...parts. He hears a soft slurping sound, followed by rhythmic crunching. He turns to find a grotesque figure in torn and bloodied clothes gnawing fervently on his leg, yet he feels no pain.
No, wait...his leg would break this thing's teeth. The leg does not belong to him. He looks down to see that he is seated on the chest of a mangled corpse, the stomach ripped open but devoid of innards. The leg being eaten is attached to hips, which are attached to the very empty stomach.
He throws his head back and cries out in despair. Not because he is surrounded by death and destruction, but because he has failed again. The time machine has not sent him back to her.
Back to that day.
The day she was taken from him.
His cries require him to inhale and when he stops to fill his lungs with rancid air, he realizes that all movement around him has ceased, except for the raging fires and the slight tremors of the earth. Dozens of decrepit creatures stare at him with rapt attention, heads tilted, jaws dropped, bodies oozing the byproducts of decomposition. As they register the intrusion of one not like them, they close in on each other, surrounding him.
He stops breathing again, but the horrid stench is burned into his brain. He does not fear these creatures; they appear to be undead like he is, but the various bodily fluids seeping from holes in their decaying bodies, along with their glazed, hungry stares, tell him that they are no threat to him. Morbid curiosity makes him linger and watch as they stumble forward, dragging limbs and bumping into each other like a fire drill in a bar at two A.M.
He feels something squirming underneath him. He looks down to find the gutless corpse has reanimated and is about to take a bite of his arm. Quite certain that no harm will come to him, he watches with clinical interest as the thing opens its mandibles and clamps down onto his stone arm, its jaw snapping, teeth cracking as it makes contact.
Just as I thought. He rises off the corpse. It is clumsily trying to put its jaw back together. It lifts the bottom jaw up to its face, pushes it firmly against the top, lets go...
And it falls to the ground.
It repeats the motion, only to get the same results. When it picks up its jaw up for the third time, the Traveler has tired of watching its futile attempts at reconstruction and looks away.
The others have reached him now and, without taking heed of their brother's dilemma, immediately swarm the Traveler and attempt to make him their lunch. He stands and watches as broken dead things writhe around his body, trying to get a piece of his stone flesh, and he hears the cracking and crunching sounds their jaws make, then the dull thud as they hit the ground.
"Having fun, are you?" a breathless voice asks.
He breaks through the swarm of bodies like they were declawed kittens and finds a young boy stabbing the stiletto heel of a red Manolo Blahnik into the heads of some similar creatures. A small part of his mind wonders if Alice would be appalled at the misuse of her favorite brand of shoe or proud that it had played a role in such a fight.
He focuses on the boy and realizes that he must be only about nine or ten years old. The boy gracefully pulls the heel of the shoe out of his latest kill, then swipes behind its knees with his foot, sending the creature crumbling to the ground.
The boy turns to him. His posture is stiff and he holds himself ready to thwart another attack. "Are you with the dragon?" he asks, his chest heaving from his previous exertion.
The Traveler stares curiously at the boy. Dragon? The boy is round and soft, cherubic almost, and his gaze makes the traveller feel strangely at peace. The innocence of the boy is juxtaposed harshly against the heavy atmosphere, dripping with death and shrouded in darkness. His white clothing and red shoe look cartoonish amid the black smoke that billows from the city.
He feels a strong sense of protectiveness as he looks at the boy. The strength of the feeling shocks him. It is not something he has felt in a long time -fifteen years, to be exact. The boy is looking at him, studying him as if he can see right into him, and it is only now that the traveller notices that the air around the boy's head is glowing with a faintly golden hue. The boy furrows his brow at the Traveler's stare and turns back toward the gaggle of jawless creatures, brandishing the stiletto shoe high above his head.
He disappears into the horde of resurrected corpses before the Traveler can speak.
People are running chaotically through the streets of the city, some fighting, some fleeing. A man wearing a long purple jacket runs through the throng of walking dead, dodging grasping hands and snapping teeth as he fires bullets into their brains. The Traveler watches with detached amazement as the man deftly maneuvers through the throng of groping hands and gnashing teeth.
The creatures are congregating in groups, whereas moments ago they were wandering aimlessly as individuals. They begin to walk in formation, surprisingly in sync for reanimated rotting humans. He is wondering about the sudden organization among them, when an ear-splitting screech sounds, sending the undead masses to the ground, including the Traveler. The sound carries on, carrying waves of fear to all who hear it. The Traveler frantically tries to make his way back to his time machine, desperate to escape the uncontrollable torment. He had thought that he would never feel fear again, for he has nothing left to lose, yet he cannot control his need to flee as the high pitched keening of the giant beast cripples his senses and steals his capability for logic thought.
He is crawling on the ground, sliding through the mud and rotted flesh on his elbows and knees, when he finds a pile of bodies under which he buries himself. Shame pulses through him like an infected wound, and he tightens his fists in frustration at his cowardice, but he cannot control the wild fear coursing through his body as the feral beast continues its cry. He wonders what has happened to the boy, and that thought alone focuses him momentarily. The boy is innocent, is innocence itself, and the Traveler is loath to allow him to be tainted by the horrible evil that is steadily creeping across the land, destroying everything in its path. He wants to find him, to help him. But an even bigger part of him wants to let the world burn in the hopes that he will finally find peace.
He is tired of caring about what happens to humans.
The horrible cry ceases, and the Traveler regains his senses but does not emerge from the pile of bodies he inhabits. He opens his eyes and stares into dead, chocolate colored eyes. His body jerks at the shock of seeing those familiar eyes just the way they looked when he last saw them, and the pile of bodies begins to reanimate, wriggling and writhing in the everlasting pain of death. The dead brown eyes are locked onto him, and he can't help but reach his hand toward her. The instant his fingers make contact, she crumbles, her body turning to dust.
He buries his face in her dust and screams, a heartwrenching, bloodcurdling purging of emotion that does nothing to ease his pain.
Trying to pull himself together, he rises to his feet and is staggered to see an entire army of the undead, organized into platoons, waiting silently for their orders amid the backdrop of the burning city.
The only sound is the deep, beating rhythm of the dragon's wings and the crackling of the fire as it sends the city crumbling to the ground. He is shocked to see thousands of yellow and red eyes trained on him expectantly.
When the Traveler takes a step backward, one of the creatures turns to him and tries to speak. It is newly dead, so its throat has not yet begun to putrefy, but it still struggles to get the words out. Gurgling and choking, it finally manages to push the air through its hardening vocal cords.
"The King survived, though his throat was cut," it tries to suck in air but it is caught in its throat, "they say he's the chosen one." It succeeds this time, inhaling a wheezing breath and looks confused at the lack of relief. "He leads our men from Babylon, the rebellion's worldly son." He's panting useless breath, and smoothes the front of his purple coat- a rather civilized move for a creature damned to eat the flesh of the living.
"Against the Tyrant, we have joined with him as soldiers." He tells me this while he shakes a bit-he's staring at his gun. The painful sting of flying debris has worn away his flesh and popped his eyes. He has found his voice and, at the blackness, he lashes out and cries, "You cowards and your wrathful God will see what power means when the Dragon comes. His will be done; in the fires you'll be cleaned!" He raises his gun to the sky and stares into the Traveler's eyes. "Oh, let him rise!"
The entire army lets out a deep, throaty moan as the sky turns from grey-black to deep red. The beast is swooping down, then back up in a wide arc, down and up. Its wings beat heavily, sending shockwaves through the air like supernatural thunder, the tortuous rhythm a knell for the destruction of the world.
The irrational fear is back, gnawing on the Traveler's insides like a searing hunger, the need to run fast and far pulling on his limbs like gravity has shifted sideways. He fights against it, using all the restraint he can muster, pulling from deep within him the reserves of immutable self-control that he had built up for her, to stop himself from killing her.
Thoughts of her flood him and the fear recedes. She had once walked on this planet. She had once breathed this air. Her presence had graced this soil, blessing it with her very existence, and now the soil is her tomb. The shrine where she lays.
If this world is destroyed, there will be nothing left of her. No hallowed place left to preserve her memory.
He touches the soil tentatively, envisioning her alive - her brown hair flowing in the wind, her feet touching the earth. His hand pushes down into the dirt, trying to find a clean place, unspoiled by the defilement going on above ground. Trying to connect with the small plot of earth in Forks Cemetery that holds what is left of her body.
If this world is destroyed, so will be the last pieces of her.
The air around him cools and a shadow descends. He looks up to see the dragon hurtling toward him, talons outstretched. At a speed that is only possible for one of his kind, he turns and bolts. He hears a roar, feels the heat of a thousand torches and comes to a jarring halt as a ring of flames at least three times his height surrounds him, blocking his escape.
A voice in his mind tells him to run into the flames and let himself be consumed, but his sense of self-preservation has kicked in and rendered his legs useless. He must stay alive a little while longer, to save what's left of her.
The dragon swoops down, trapping him within its talons. He feels a searing pain in his thigh and realizes that it has been penetrated by the dragon's claw. He is facing downward as the dragon climbs high into the sky, and he sees the blackening landscape laced with thick red gashes, the people running around like ants, and the army of the undead break rank and begin swarming around them, covering the city like a plague of locusts, leaving death in its wake.
The ground is coming up to meet him. He sees a man standing, waiting. The dragon opens its talons to release him, but the Traveler is impaled on its claw. It flicks its leg and he lands on the ground, making a vampire-shaped crater in the earth.
He feels a tingling in his leg as the wound in his thigh begins to heal. The man stands above him and waits for him to rise, staring at him, his face deadpan. He is wearing what could be formal business attire, but the style is not one with which the Traveler is familiar. The man's gaze is beginning to unnerve him. His eyes glow black, and he does not blink. There is a long gash across his throat, but no blood. He is not like the other creatures; he stands straight and his gaze is focused, eyes piercing into the Traveler's like he is reading his every thought and feeling.
The sound of the man's voice sends shivers down the Traveler's spine. "Do you prefer to stay in your crater, Vampire? I had hoped we could converse eye to eye." His voice is a menacing hiss, most of the air escaping out of the gash in his throat. But there is an unearthly ring to it, like the undertones of it are being projected from deep within the earth. From Hell itself. The Traveler shudders, pushes his fear deep down, and springs to his feet.
"Better. Now, I have a proposition for you, my friend." The man's mouth does not move when he speaks. The Traveler shudders again. "You have within you the power to secure my reign on this planet." He makes a sweeping gesture around him, and the traveller sees that they are on a beach. The flames are visible far behind them. The water is calmly lapping onto the shore, leaving smears of red froth as it recedes.
"My army is weak, as you have witnessed. They have been spurned by their God and left here for me to deal with, while He lifts his few chosen up, away from my wrath...my deserved vengeance. Of course He keeps the strongest ones for himself. Bastard." His face twists and he begins muttering to himself. "They're probably having a lovely time, eating cotton candy and having tickle fights..." The Traveler raises an eyebrow at his tantrum.
The man points a long, dirt crusted claw at him. "Don't look at me like that. You don't know what it's like to wait an eternity for something, only to have it within your grasp, then He snatches it away, laughing in your face as your whole purpose in life disappears before your very eyes." He stops his tirade when he sees the look of utter devastation and hatred on the Traveler's face.
Silence sits between them as the Traveler tries to get control of the inferno raging inside of him. "I see." His smile twists up into a sick grin. "You do know."
Unbidden, the visions come. Her limp body lying in his arms, the forbidden nectar that flowed through her veins and gave her life spilling onto the ground around her. The traveller tries to ward off all those old emotions that he had long ago locked away deep inside, but they have lives of their own and before he can stop it he is shaking with grief and rage. Rage at a deity who he had thought paid his soulless existence no mind. When she had first been taken from him, he had believed he was being punished for his evil existence, but he had long ago come to the conclusion that she had been taken from him for her own protection rather than for his punishment. He was not worthy of God's punishment.
But that did not mean he held God blameless.
"You and I could be quite a team, you know," the man hisses, stalking closer to him. "Instead of an army of dilapidated corpses, I could have an army of indestructible vampires. You would be my right hand man, of course." He flicks his hand toward the Traveler. "Think of the destruction! No one would escape us!"
The Traveler is blind in his fury. The voice of his father and mentor whispers in his brain to remember who he is. He tries to hold on to what little humanity is left in him, push the monster down, but his entire being craves the violence this devil is trying to sell him. He needs it like he needs blood. In the distance he hears the screams of the living as they are overtaken by the army of flesh-eating corpses. He pictures them running-little snack packs on legs, crying out for God to save them, praying to the menace that took his love. He laughs darkly, imagining himself upon them, an avenging demon come to take their lives and bring them to darkness. It wouldn't matter if they were pure and marked for Heaven. He would steal them from Him. The monster in him roars to life. He smiles wickedly.
The man's face is triumphant. "Yessss, come to me. Come to me and we will have our vengeance!" The man is laughing maniacally as the Traveler steps toward him. A shriveled, black claw reaches out from the man's sleeve, and just as the Traveller is about to recoil from it, it attaches itself to the side of his face.
Pain sears his face, burning into his skull, tearing away his reason. He screams.
He is on his knees, and smoke blurs his eyes. He gains control of himself and smells his own flesh burning, wonders if this is it, if he is about to combust and ignite into nothingness. He stills, forcing himself to revel in the pain, willing himself to feel every nerve scorch as he embraces his demise.
It does not come. The Traveler opens his eyes to find himself back in the burning city on a set of stone stairs leading to the remains of an official looking building. He looks down into the courtyard below, where living people have congregated, aimlessly milling about, trying to find surviving loved ones. In the distance he sees the undead army. They are steadily advancing, slowly seeping toward the horde of untouched humans as they scramble around in panic and confusion.
A voice like a crisp blast of lightning peals through the air.
"There's a time to pray, and there's a time to fight!" The boy with the red shoe is standing on a balcony overlooking the courtyard, crying out to the devastated masses below him. The confused people slow down and begin looking for the source of the voice.
The Traveler moves into the crowd to see him better. The window behind the boy is covered in deep red splatter, chunks of flesh slowly sliding down the glass.
The boy brandishes the red shoe like a cutlass. "Anything can be a weapon if you're holding it right!" The glow around him deepens as his plea becomes more fervent. The people below stop their panicked scambling, but look fearfully at the approaching army. "Defend what is ours; they will not take our souls! It's time now to rise and fight!" The boy's voice echoes through the courtyard. People gape at the small boy who stands above them, his pristine white clothes stained with sloughed off skin and blood. The boy's gaze pierces into every individual, daring them to join him. Their expressions change from helpless defeat to hopeful courage, and they begin to look around for objects to use in the upcoming battle.
Looking fierce and proud, the boy throws his arms in the air, waving his fists triumphantly. "Save our city!" A cheer rises from the crowd. People are waving bricks, rocks, boards and shovels; an old lady holds a curtain rod at the ready.
The boy disappears from the window and quickly reappears on the stairs. The crowd parts for him as he makes his way to the other side of the courtyard, placing himself between the dead and the living. The people turn toward the army, standing behind the cherubic boy, ready to spill blood. They are ready to fight. A few of the braver ones move ahead, blocking the boy with their bodies.
The Traveler moves away from the doomed mass of soft, living flesh, attempting to fight the monster inside him one more time, trying not to give into his urge to suck them all dry.
It's really for the best, the monster tells him. He squeezes his eyes shut and tries to move away.
You'll be doing them a favor-I'm sure they'd much rather become an immortal vampire with super-human power than a walking corpse. He licks his lips and opens his eyes.
As he has been battling against the monster, he has unwittingly backed into the middle of the battlefield. On one side of him are the seeping, drooling walking dead-on the other, a frightened and desperate mob. The smell of fear is deliciously mixed with the stench of death, making a heady cocktail.
A sudden cry guts the reeking air, and the dragon careens out of the black clouds. This time, the savage scream does not fill the traveller with fear. Instead, red hot hatred surges through him. The dragon looks at him as he soars past, as if willing him to fulfill his mission. They are on the same side now. He is with the dragon.
The Traveler walks backward so he is positioned on the front lines of the undead army. The boy is trying to find a forward position within his own ranks, but people are holding him back, trying to protect him from the coming onslaught. His eyes find the Traveler's, and a single tear slides down the boy's cheek as their gazes meet.
The dragon calls once more, a battle cry that has never been heard this side of heaven or hell. The army and its leader are spurred forward, filled with the need to rip, to tear...
To bite.
Venom fills the Traveler's mouth as he leads his army onward. He wonders how he will manage to create his vampire army when everyone is about to get eaten by zombies. His answer comes when the dragon lets out a long, low growl. Almost a purr. The creatures descend upon their victims, but do not devour. They wrestle. Try to hold. The Traveler goes to the creature nearest him. It holds a young woman with brown hair, her neck bared for him. She struggles against it, taking swipes with a long, rusted scrap of metal. She will be the first.
"Hurry! You need to move quickly. Take them all - they're yours!" The man's voice comes from nowhere.
"She is innocent, Edward. Let her come to me." He hears the boy's soft voice inside his head. The Traveler looks around for him. He is about a hundred yards away, struggling with one of the creatures. Their eyes meet again, and the boy quickly stabs the creature in the head with the heel of the red shoe. He turns and begins walking toward the traveller.
"Come to me, Edward." The boy's voice is a soothing whisper in his mind. The boy's hand is extended, and he moves as though his feet do not touch the ground.
The man's voice cajoles. "Take her. She is yours. Payment for the one you lost. Take all of her - there are plenty more for our army." The Traveler grabs the girl by the hair. Her thoughts are incoherent with fear.
"Think of your love, Edward. Don't let it turn into this. Don't let your love for her turn you into a monster."
The Traveler looks into the girl's frightened brown eyes. But he is a monster. He remembers similar eyes, although he had never seen fear like this in them. Not when he was near. But she was taken from him. He bares his teeth, venom dripping from them onto the girl's face. He is panting heavily, pain searing through him at what he is about to do.
The girl's body is shaking, but her thoughts have stilled; she accepts what is about to happen. In her mind, he sees himself. His eyes are black like tar; he looks inhuman, like the monster he is.
Images of his love flash through his mind. All the times he saved her. He battled for her over and over, but in the end she was still taken from him. Like she was never really meant to be his.
Unbearable pain stabs his dead heart at that thought. He releases the girl, who has become catatonic from fear, and falls to his knees. He cannot bear to think that she was not made for him. It is not possible.
How could it be that he had been made immortal, had waited a century to find her, only to have his one and only love snatched from him?
Death had come for her so many times, and he had fought it off valiantly every time. Was it possible that she was meant to die so she could live forever by his side? Could it be? Could it be that she had been made for him so that they could live together forever? That she was actually meant to become like him?
He had been so wrong.
A hand grabs his hair harshly. "You disappoint me, Vampire. The destruction of the world is imminent." The Traveler feels the hot breath hissing in his ear as he kneels at the feet of the devil. "It always has been. From the dawn of time, this day has been coming. This is my show. I don't need you." He shoves the traveller roughly into the dirt.
The dragon shrieks once more and the fear is back. The Traveler cowers on the ground as he hears the roar of the dragon's flames and feels the heat of the fires that are quickly consuming the city and all unfortunate souls still standing in it. He forces his head up, wills his eyes to open and take in the destruction. The walking dead are quickly consuming those who are not burning. The screams of the living become fewer; those who still have working vocal chords switch to frightened sobs as they run frantically, prolonging their torture, futilely trying to escape their fate.
He sees a flash of red and his eyes lock onto the boy, his face serene as he is held high in the air by the devil, whose hand is wrapped around his throat. The boy's feet are flailing, haplessly trying to find purchase, but when his eyes meet the Traveler's, he stills.
Grief rips through the Traveler as he watches the helpless boy. The red shoe is sticking out of the devil's shoulder; he pulls it loose. Shaking off the paralyzing fear, the Traveler races toward the boy. The devil turns to him just as swiftly and smiles as he plunges the heel of the shoe into the boy's skull.
The Traveler freezes, his face an expression of pure horror. The dragon shoots flames high into the air and screams as the sky descends into the darkest night the world has ever seen. Bright flashes of light fall from the sky, like the heavens are crying meteors. The earth is shaking, all life is being consumed. The devil stands among the chaos, motionlessly holding the boy's lifeless body high above his head like a crazed wrestler.
Wanting his last thoughts to be of the one thing that has consumed his existence, the only thing he has lived for these long and lonely years, he makes his way back to the time machine. Made from the wreckage of his Volvo, it had held her when she died. When he had failed her. Failed to get there in time after Alice's frantic phone call, failed to keep her heart beating long enough to pump the venom through her veins after he had bitten her repeatedly, willing his venom to mend her broken body.
The way to his machine is blocked by slimy corpses, staggering around drunk on the flesh of the living. He barrels through them, sending body parts flying as he single-mindedly flees to the solace of his last earthly connection to her.
He tears the door off the machine and dives inside, frantically sniffing along the driver's side door, searching for any trace of her scent on the place that her blood had fled to when her body could no longer contain it. But all traces of her had dissolved years ago.
He sits in the very seat that had held her body captive as shards of glass and unyielding metal tore into her, robbing her of the eternal death that should have been hers. He watches the world around him wither and die as the dragon releases his febrile breath and those that remain alive are consumed by either fire or ravenous corpses. He is perfectly still as he waits for the final consumption of the world.
A glow on the dash pulls his gaze from the inferno outside. A single light has flickered to life. He thinks back to his many experiments with the machine, to one in particular where he failed to adjust for quantum vacuum fluctuations. The wormhole had become extremely unstable and would have imploded on itself, most likely sucking in the surrounding atmosphere and everything it held for miles around. The light that is now faintly struggling to come to life had been the antidote to that particular problem. It appears to be the only part of the machine that wasn't damaged when he crashed. He isn't exactly sure what will happen if he flips the switch, but he has a feeling it could be interesting.
He feels more alive than he has in years -fifteen to be exact- as the thought of stopping the devil's reign before it even starts takes hold in his mind. He is quite certain that what he is about to do will likely destroy everything living for miles around, including himself, but that is still better than sitting dormant, waiting for the devil to take his due.
He reaches his hand toward the switch, its light becoming solid as though it is taking strength from him. He senses, rather than sees, the devil snap to attention at his treachery - he is still branded with the devil's mark and as such, is still connected to him despite his passive-aggressive stance earlier. A clamor arises from the mouth of the dragon-savage, ferocious, filled with hate-but before it can change course, the Traveler smiles, imagines his wife's beautiful face once last time, and flips the switch.
The familiar sound of the machine whirring to life is short-lived as the Traveler's calculated error takes effect, its parts beginning to rattle, its body beginning to shake as the ignition sequence is interrupted by the damage done to most of the controls in the crash.
All of the controls but one.
The air is pulled from the Traveler's lungs and, although he doesn't need it, the feeling of having his lungs sucked out of him is extremely uncomfortable. A purple glow surrounds the machine and stretches out, spreading further and further until the explosion hits and the traveller is overcome by black, blessed nothingness.
Don't freak out! The next part of this story is posted on my profile. I'm kind of writing this backward. It's called "Morning in May." These stories are based on the album "Broken Bride" by Ludo. Someday I will put them all together.