Chapter Two
Marie sits on her throne, overlooking her fortress with a small sense of indignation. The lower left portion of Atlanta has been stabilized; the infected have been thoroughly neutralized and disposed of. She's waiting for Queenie to give a status report of the lower right portion, and Cordelia of the upper right. Her walkie-talkie stands at attention in case anything else comes up.
Her crusade killing the infected have taken root months ago; Louisiana and Mississippi have been dispatched of, and the last of the witches have been doing the best they could to hold off the spread. With any luck, the entire United States would be wiped clean of the infected in one year. The infection would be the thing of the past, no more mortals would add to the body count.
The Witches would finally be back in control.
Her walkie-talkie sparks back to life.
"Marie, it's Queenie. The Lower Right Portion is stabilized. The Zombies are now guarding the main entrance. How's the center?"
"Infested. I was lucky to clear out half of it with Bastien. I'll dispatch of the rest tonight. I expect you and Cordelia to give me a follow-up by morning."
"Yes ma'am."
"Alright. Disperse."
Click.
Marie sits back, eyeing the ceiling with remote interest. Her mind has been drifting off to that night where she had met that boy. Bastien was lucky to save him when he did; she doubt she could handle another child that turned on her watch. With any luck, Misty should be finished patching him up.
Carl wakes to soft humming. It's soothing and warm, accompanied by gentle fingers combing and stroking his hair. He opens his eyes and finds a blonde woman looking down at him, her smile warm and sweet.
"I'm glad you're awake. Miss Marie was awful worried about you."
Her accent isn't from here; perhaps it's somewhere in the bayous of Louisiana.
Flashes of last night resurface in his brain and he jolts awake, scrambling to find his gun.
"Lookin' for this?"
She holds up his gun holster, eyes brimming with curiosity and worry.
"Boys like you shouldn't walk around with guns. That's how you kill yourself."
"Who are you? Where the hell am I?" Carl demands. The blonde woman looks hurt at the vulgar language, but she masks it quickly.
"I'll answer your questions when I know you'll be calm and you'll sit down and let me finish cleaning your face. You got a nasty gash on your forehead that was a real bitch to heal, you know." She saunters over to him and brushes a lock of hair out of his face. Carl wanted to flinch, but there was something…relaxing about her. Her fingers put his fears at ease with every soft stroke; it reminded him of his mother when she'd patch up his wounds.
"There, there, child," she coos, "I won't hurt you. You look like a very sweet boy. Have you found your tribe?"
He doesn't understand a word she says but he nods his head anyway; her voice is becoming music to his ears.
"I found my tribe once. Your tribe will always have a place in your heart, it will never leave you. Always hold on to your tribe."
He can hear her smile.
"Misty, Misty!" A sharp bark jolts them out of their reverie. The blonde woman sits erect when a tall black woman enters.
"Yes, Madam Marie?" the woman inquires.
"How's the boy?"
"Well, I was just calming him down. He was awful frightened when he woke up. He got a lot of questions."
All eyes were on Carl, rendering him shy. The black woman walks over to him and crouches to his level, her eyes boring into his core.
"What's your name, boy?"
"Carl."
"Carl," she repeats, scrunching her mouth like it's a bad taste, "Such a…simple name. Well, I've heard stranger. Now," She stands up and walks over to a cabinet.
"I believe you're famished. Being out in the wild by your lonesome must be exhausting."
"I'm not alone," Carl interjects, then cursing his big mouth.
"You're not alone?" the black woman asks, eyebrow raised.
"Yes, I'm not alone, ma'am. I have a group with me, a group that's probably looking for me right now."
"They won't get far. You're not in Kansas anymore, I'm afraid." The blonde woman replies.
"You are far out in the swamps of Georgia. No mortal or infected can survive, let alone make it, through these swampy terrains without being eaten, drowning, or suffering Nature's elements all at once."
"Until I say otherwise, you can't leave without permission of Misty." The black woman nods towards her. The blonde woman wiggles her fingers and smiles at Carl.
"You can't leave until I know your wounds are properly tended to and that you didn't suffer any nasty infections. I want you well and healthy for what Madam Marie has in store for you."
"What do you have in store for me?"
"You'll learn in time, child. Until then, tell me of your group. Should they ever stumble upon Misty's swamp, we need to know what we're dealing with. I don't think Misty would enjoy having bullets riddle her shack."
"Yes. I get awful angry if someone harms my home, or Stevie." She holds up a green radio that's playing some song Carl vaguely remembers his dad listen to some eons ago.
"My group is full of good people. We don't want any trouble," Carl begins, "I'm sure they just want me with them safe and sound. I appreciate your kindness, but I need to get going so my dad won't worry."
"He does have a point," Misty looks to Marie, "If you place yourself in his shoes, it's understandable he needs to go home soon."
Marie pinches the bridge of her nose and inhales sharply. She looks at the two and sighs.
"I guess we need to return him to his group by sundown. But be warned, Carl." Her eyes lock onto his. "When the time comes, you'll be by my side. You owe a debt to us that you will carry out, dead or alive."
With that, she leaves.
"Who is she?" Carl looks to Misty.
"Marie Laveau: Voodoo Queen of New Orleans. A woman who just so happens to have cured half the world of the infected."