Chapter 29
Rob wasn't sure how long he'd been wandering around lost in these hot, smelly, abominable tunnels. Felt like forever. One tunnel lead into another, and he'd lost track of all the times he'd thought he'd found a new path only to discover it eventually either made a nice loop back to the point he'd started from or outright ended in a dead-end.
What was it that Angelique had said?
Oh yeah: something about not losing the right path.
Well how the freckled heck am I supposed to do that when I don't even know which was the right path to start with? It was insane. The same person who had designed the infamous Minotaur Labyrinth had apparently whipped up this little dousy as well just for kicks. He rounded another corner for what had to have been the eighty-billionth time and found himself staring down another dark passage lit only by the deep primal red glow of the ancient runes carved so lovingly into the walls.
Rob blinked. Something about those symbols--the way they glowed a deep volcanic red, perhaps--was starting to have a kind of hypnotic effect on him. Too long staring at these babies and I'll start seeing pink elephants. At least this path looks a little different than the other fifty. I think.
During the course of his trek through the base of Mt. Hell, he'd came across all sorts of the same glowing images emblazoned on the rough cave walls. He was starting to see a pattern in the way the runes were slapped together, which would have counted for a lot more if he could actually read them or even hope to halfway understand the message they were trying to convey.
Follow the path with the runes...easy for her to say. Rob rolled his eyes at the memory, wondering again why he'd let that wacko witch sucker him into coming down here in the first place. If this relic was so important, why didn't she get off her little witchy butt and find it herself? She should be the one down here. Maybe she could use some magic to translate this garbage to English. That way, should someone care to try and read it, they won't develop dyslexia attempting to do so.
-----
If Steve had been anymore frightened, he would have been dead. Running from a headless cat that could still claw, hiss, and chase after him despite the fact that it shouldn't be able to was bad enough, but meeting head-on with it's big cousin, the giant black...demon/cat/wolf/bat...that looked like it regularly made pudding out of Nemesises and T-2 carriers was just one experience he could have lived without.
The thing was hideous. Downright evil looking, with two balls of raging hellfire in place of eyes and a whole snout-full of crushing teeth and fangs that made the giant crocodile Claire had talked about fighting seem a welcome alternative. He hadn't really gotten a good look at the rest of the creature--he'd been much more concerned with pulling a one-eighty and getting the hell outta there--but he'd been pretty sure there was something wrong with the way it had been proportioned; like it's head didn't really fit on it's body and there was something weird about it's feet. Up until that point, he'd been running from the cat, and, well, once he'd laid eyes on that sucker leering down at him, Mr. Headless kitty had simply gotten trampled.
It was all about the lesser of two evils.
So, like any sensible person would do in his dilemma, Steve's plan of action had been dashing around blindly in the dark and praying to God he'd lose his persistent little buddies before he ended up crashing into a dead-end and thus fulfilling the blood-wall's morbid prophecy of doom. He was in such a hurry that at first he didn't even notice when angry red lines began slashing their way across his skin, as if he were running through an invisible barrier of razor blades.
" Aaaaaaahhh! " It took approximately three seconds for the pain from the inexplicable wounds to sink in. The adrenalin-pumped newlywed looked down to see a multitude of tiny thread-thin cuts weaving crimson spider-web designs at an alarming rate across his arms. The scariest thing of all was that these were wounds inflicted by nothing.
Steve's eyes fluttered in horror, his hands swatting feverishly at an imaginary foe that was, apparently, hovering inches from his face. " What's happening to me! " Does the air have claws now! Is this what that creepy voice meant by 'Your life is forfeit.'?
It wasn't fair! How was it his fault that he'd been whisked away by elfin magic to a 'sacred ground' that felt a heck of a lot more like the demonic equivalent of a Nazi death camp? How was it his fault he'd accidentally stumbled into gym-like area he now dubbed 'the doggy death room'? If he'd known in advance what awaited in these abominable tunnels, would he ever have entered in the first place?
No way!
Whoever ran things around here was being grossly unfair.
" It's not like I asked to be here! " Steve shrieked, his voice rising higher and higher, " It was an accident! I never meant to trespass, honest! Please, just let me go! I'll never come back again, ok? I'm sorry! "
Dead end.
Steve's foot caught something on the ground and he fell, clawing madly at something crawling up his skin. Pins and needles! Pins and needles all over! Burning, blazing hot fire engulfing his body! The skin all along his arms and the back of his neck began to swell and prickle up with goosebumps.
" Hellllp meeeeee! " In a fear-gripped panick, Claire's husband twirled around and struggled to regain his footing. He was too late. No sooner had he risen halfway to his feet than the demonic hellbeast was there; red eyes raging, gaping maw open to display those deadly teeth among which a black-forked tongue darted in and out.
It well have been a hundred degrees in that cave. One look into the face of death itself, however, and Steve's blood turned to ice in his veins. As he looked on, literally frozen with fear, a grimy black skeletal hand reached up from the dark abyss of the monster's dripping throat, groping...grasping...reaching for him.
There was no time to move.
There wasn't even time to scream.
Powerful crocodilian jaws snapped down, taking him up in one bone-shattering bite...
" Are you alright? "
Steve opened an eye. He was sitting up in an awkward position on the floor of the passage, one arm held up defensively in front of his face while the fingers of the other dug into the ground so fiercely they were starting to turn white. He glanced quickly at his arms and was amazed to discover they were completely normal and unmarked with not so much as a trace of blood to commemorate the incidence. Vanished also were the demon-beasts. In their place stood a young man clad almost exclusively in combat gear with dark hair to frame a pale complexion. Aside from being almost as white as a sheet, this stranger looked, in every other respect, normal, and Steve felt his nerves calming.
" Phew, it's just you." The terrified Burnside managed once he'd regained his breath. Words could not express how glad he was to see another human being. His heart was easily keeping pace with the Seattle Slew, and the effects of the adrenalin coursing through his veins had yet to wear off. He gazed at the stranger in front of him through half-lidded eyes, fighting the urge to collapse where he sat. He'd been running for so long that his legs felt like cooked spaghetti and all his body really wanted was a chance to shut down and relax.
" Just me? " Rob--for that was who it was--was confused. " What do you mean 'just me'? " His eyes flickered nervously from side to side, as if he expected the walls to open up any minute and unleash a legion of ghouls, " I don't think we've ever met, but you must be Steve..."
Steve blinked. " How do you know? "
Casually, Rob stepped over to where Steve was half-sitting, half-slumped on the ground and reached down to help him up. The kind gesture was refused, and Steve made a face at the too-pale hand before rising...with some difficulty...on his own.
Taken aback, Rob withdrew. Okay. One of those types I see. Oh boy. Nevertheless, he tried his hand at a friendly introduction. " First I think I'd better introduce myself. Name's Rob. I met up with your friends outside, and that's where I heard of you..."
" You know a way out? " Steve's eyes glistened with hope.
Rob frowned." Afraid not. I'm just as lost in here as you are."
" How'd you find me? " Steve's words were coated in suspicion. Though he desperately wanted to believe this guy, too many close-calls, betrayals, and life or death situations had tempered his trust with caution. He found himself increasingly distrustful of people these days, especially pale commandoes who showed up out of nowhere in a demonic cave.
" You were screaming like a lunatic." The shadow of concern crossed Rob's face, and now he frowned lightly, " Are you sure you're okay? "
Steve made a face of surprise and looked down. He distinctly recalled tripping, only...there was there was nothing to trip over. Now that he wasn't busy running from hellhounds and catbeasts, he could see that the floor of the passage was in fact smooth and even with no rocks jutting up or old dead roots waiting to throw his balance. The only thing he could possibly have tripped over would have had to have been his own two feet. An unflattering thought, but what else could explain his fall?
And what of the nightmare creature that had been ready to chow down on him? Not that he was complaining--he counted opening his eyes to see that gone as truly one of the best things that had ever happened to him--but it was more than a little odd for hellbeasts to just up and vanish.
" You...you didn't see it? "
Rob shook his head, his concern growing. " See what? " This kid's had one too many crack on the 'ol melon. Not that I blame him. Too much more time in this maze and I'll be reduced to a babbling looney. Funny how Angelique glossed over that little part. And what about the 'Guardians' of the mountain? I've been up and down these stupid tunnels at least forty times and haven't seen one.
Steve shivered despite the fact that it was very hot, " The creature. It was huge! " He spread his arms wide to emphasize, as if telling a scary story to small children, " As big as a horse! A big horse! And it was all covered in black fur and had two blazing fires for eyes, and then there was the teeth, and the throat, and...oh god, the skeleton hand..." Steve was talking so fast he was chattering like a chipmunk, and now Rob really had to strain to catch some of the words, " You didn't see that! "
" Nope." Rob admitted, shocked at the vivid hallucination his new companion had apparently underwent, " But the way you tell it makes it sound horrible."
" What about a headless cat? " Surely this guy had to have seen something!
" You're kidding." Rob kept his voice smooth and level. The worst thing you could do was argue with a looney. Hard telling what they might decide to do.
Steve shook his head lively. " No! They were here! Both of them! They..." He looked around, past Rob, and to all sides. Not a trace of monster was visible. There weren't even any tracks in the hard sand floor. It wasn't as if these creatures had simply vanished in an instant, it was as if they'd never been there to start with. For some reason, that fact was almost scarier than the creatures themselves. Are we dealing with ghosts now! God, what in the name of all things holy is wrong with this island!
Steve surrendered a heavy sigh and lowered his head, wiping at the sweat on his forehead with the back of one hand. This was a lot to handle. But at least now he wasn't in it alone.
" You don't believe me, do you? " His words came out defeated and tired.
Rob hadn't the heart to argue with him. The hallucinations were probably very real to him. I'd do best to just play along and take it from there.
" No, I believe you. What do you think happened to them? "
Steve slammed a sweaty palm against a glowing rune on the wall in frustration. " That's just the thing: I don't know. It's like they were never there, yet they seemed so real." He was yelling now, his words echoing off the walls of the tunnels, " It's just not right! How am I ever going to get out of here if I don't even know what's real and what's not? " he jabbed a hand in Rob's general direction, indicating the space behind him, and now Rob could see the true extent of his frustration. The man's eyes were worn and bloodshot, and his whole body was trembling. Sweat dripped in abundance from his forehead, bringing his bangs together in sticky clumps which hung in limp disorder about his face. Amazing he could stand. Everything about him suggested he was about ready to faint from exhaustion at any given moment.
It then occurred to the older man that Steve didn't know about the deal with Veronica, or the Hylen, or the mystical relic that had the power to shift the tide of the upcoming battle in their favor if only they could recover it.
" Listen, why don't we just...rest a minute, and I'll fill you in on what's happening." He dropped and sat cross-legged on the floor, a wordless invitation for Steve to do the same. They may as well recuperate while they talked; neither one of them was going to be of any use too weak to stand.
Snapping up the offer, Steve joined his friend in sitting Indian style on the sandy dry ground. Hot as the atmosphere may be this deep in the heart of a volcano, the sand was refreshingly cool. He picked up a few handfuls of it, loving the feel of the individual granules sifting through his fingers. Sure felt good to relax. I've been on the go for the past...too long to remember.
" So, things have been...happening? "
" Yes." His commando-style companion agreed somberly, " You see, there's this evil sorceress by the name of Veronica..."
There, in one of the many winding passages beneath the base of an angry Mt. Fulcan, Rob proceeded to fill Steve in on all that had transpired.
-o-O-o-
" I feel like we've been wandering around for weeks."
" I'm hungry."
" Let's just forget about this."
" Do you think we'll run into Alan? "
" My hair looks awful."
These were the tired complaints endured by Mitch, the Zombie-Gang's leader, as the group trekked on through dense jungle and overwhelming greenery in hot pursuit of either Rob or Jill; whichever they happened to come across first. Nearly three hours had passed since Olivia's little dilemma, and still no sign of the S.T.A.R.S. member. They'd even wandered all along the riverbank where Olivia swore Jill must surely be dying--what a waste of time that had been.
If Jill was on her deathbed Mitch dreaded to think what she must be capable of at full strength. Then again, there was always the chance she'd been snatched up by some other nasty, which was perfectly acceptable by his standards. One less problem to deal with. The quicker they found Rob and learned what the old fool was after the better.
Then Mark would be happy, Mitch would be happy, and the whole pack could just head on home with a cool two million to be paid in full shortly thereafter. Wasn't exactly my idea to take a vacation on Helljika Island anyway.
Sure, the natives were tasty and the whole remoteness of the place guaranteed them invisibility from the civilized world for at least a little while, but there was too much competition for food now that those rancid T-carriers had moved in and the head count of weird animals that could kill them keep getting larger and larger. When all was said and done, this place was simply too dangerous to serve as a long-term base of operations. And when your base of operations involves killing and eating people in order to survive, you can't be too careful about where you set up camp. Too many people disappearing in one area arouses suspicion. Too much suspicion leads to much unwanted company.
While there was no danger of that happening among a group of primitives--Mitch and team weren't as much worried about getting poked with spears and arrows as opposed to magnums or machine guns--that didn't change the fact the island itself was a kind of hotspot for mystical activity. It was just as dangerous to live here as near a police station in a small town. More so, in fact, because what could be considered as a Royal Zombie's natural enemies lived here.
Mitch's hand tightened around his assault rifle, his ever watchful eyes alert and on the lookout for danger. Stepping over a fallen log and the half-eaten carcass of a monkey, he pushed his way through a curtain of vines and continued in what he hoped was the right direction.
His overall mood was less than cheerful. Not only had he and his gang lost the trail, they seemed to be unable to find it again. He didn't know where they were going. He didn't know where all these strange, powerful creatures kept popping up from. As an added twist, there were still a few questions left unanswered; for instance, where had that blasted Rob gotten off to? More importantly, what if Jill had gotten back and told her team fantastic tales of intelligent zombies?
That would be a very bad scenario indeed. Mitch didn't like to think what would happen if they ended up with Alan on their tail. The rest of the S.T.A.R.S. would be hard enough to deal with thanks to their intense training and experience in life-threatening situations, but as far as he and the rest of the gang were concerned if you had Alan after you you might as well kiss it goodbye. Strong and skilled as Mitch was, he knew he was no match for a T-2 carrier.
" Eeuuuw! " Olivia whined suddenly, wrinkling her nose in disgust as she passed under a branch overhung with mucousy green slime, " Sick! Now I've got this stuff in my hair! "
The rest of the Zombie Gang didn't reply. Over the years they'd long since gotten used to their companion's constant whining and complaining over things that didn't add up to a bowl of brains. Seemed that air-headed ditz always had something to gripe about, no matter what the circumstances. Today it happened to be her hair.
Mitch resisted the urge to grab her by the throat and strangle her. He hadn't said much these last couple hours, but all this constant grousing was really rubbing him the wrong way.
Completely oblivious to her leader's frustration, the pink-haired, body-pierced fem fatale pinched a lock of limp, wet, pink hair between her fingers and held it up to eye-level, grimacing in disgust.
" Look at it. It won't even dry right."
" Maybe it would if you wouldn't dump ten gallons of styling gel into it every day! " David snapped, tested to his limit.
Olivia whirled and shot him a severe look, her glittering green eyes narrowing dangerously. " My styling gel is my business. What does a reject like you know about fashion anyway? I'm amazed you have enough sense to comb your hair each day."
" Yeah? Well at least I don't go around attacking S.T.A.R.S. members, spilling our secrets, and then letting them live! "
" That," Olivia huffed, " was an accident. She got lucky. That's all."
" Heh, well I think we all know it isn't too hard to get lucky with you, Olivia."
" Hey! " Sonya piped up, rushing to her friend's defense, " Like none of us has ever made a mistake. Remember that man that got away from me last year even when I was dead set on ripping his brains out through his nose? "
" That was different," David was quick to point out, " he had a flamethrower. What did Jill have? Nothing but a knife! I could have killed her blindfolded while smoking a cigar with one arm tied behind my back! "
" Then why didn't you? " Olivia jibed.
David's eyes flashed anger. He grabbed a stick off a tree and broke it using only two fingers, " Because I wasn't there, you idiotic T-carrier! " He held both broken stick-ends up for her to see, as if there were swords that would help convey his anger. My god, how does Mitch put up with it?
" It takes one to know one." Came Olivia's snappy retort.
Nacho, who had been hanging silently at the rear, tried to win back the peace. " Look guys, I know we haven't had a very good day, but attacking each other isn't going to help things get better. There are T-carriers, giant snakes, Alan, and all kinds of weird beasts on this island. If we are to survive we must pull together; we have just entered an ecosystem where we are not the top predator anymore."
Mitch looked over his shoulder and gave a half-nod of approval, his pale frame and dark hair contrasting greatly with the lively green hues of the environment. " Well said, Nacho." He turned a disappointed glower on the rest of his little 'family'. " Don't you guys think we have enough to worry about already without fighting amongst ourselves? There's two million dollars--not to mention our own well-being--at stake here. We can't let petty little arguments drain our energy."
" Agreed." Olivia nodded energetically, reminding David of a spoiled little five year old girl agreeing with Daddy just to feel big in front of her siblings, " Mitch, you don't think my hair looks bad, do you? "
Quelling the urge to deck his fashion-conscious liability-of-a-teammate, Mitch took a second to study her hair.
Lost cause. That was the first thought that came to mind. Olivia's hair wasn't just wild and unruly, it was a total mess with gommy gobs of artificial pink sticking out awry at every odd angle from the remains of the now crumpled, soggy hair-spikes. This was a direct result of waterproof styling gel at it's worst. It looked like two ugly birds' nests atop her head complete with bits of leaf, twig, and dirt all rolled in. Beneath that mess, Olivia gazed out at him hopefully, her pallid features marred with a look of delayed disappointment. She looked terrible, and she knew it.
So why does she want to hear it? " Yes," Mitch agreed irritably before turning back and continuing through the vegetation, " It's a complete disaster. But you'll have to wait and worry about that later, being as how we're in the middle of nowhere and there are no beauty salons nearby."
Why did he have to deal with this? Why did his pack act like such babies sometimes? Especially David and Olivia. They were the worst. Constantly bickering...sometimes he found himself envying the T-carriers.
At least in their society there was no arguing. You just did your thing and hoped nobody came along and obliterated you. Then again, your average T-carrier had a life-expectancy of about six months.
The problem with the T-virus was that, while it reanimated the body, it failed to stop the corpse from decaying. Royal zombies, on the other hand, had no such worries. As long as they stayed out of harm's way and got plenty to eat, they could last virtually forever without aging or decomposing. In fact, Mitch reasoned, he and his gang had more in common with the traditional vampire than your standard zombie.
Like vampires, they were the walking dead--deceased, but impervious to age and decay. Like vampires, they enjoyed an added strength bonus over mere mortals. Both vampires and royal zombies preyed on the living for sustenance, but here they differed in the respect that royal zombies ate most of the carcass--or just a few select parts of their choice--whereas vampires had a more fluid diet consisting only of the victim's blood. Another difference between vampires and royal zombies were their weaknesses.
The traditional vampire was usually considered to be deathly allergic to the sun, crucifixes, and garlic. Holy water burned them, and the usual method of killing one was to drive a wooden stake through it's heart. The infamous Vlad the Impaler, a.k.a. Count Dracula, was the best example of such a creature.
Of course, many vampire myths either disagreed on a few aspects or downright contradicted each other altogether. It seemed every writer had his or her own unique take on the vampire lore, and over the years the stories had been garbled so much with people adding or subtracting this or that that there really was no limit to the different breeds of vampire present in literature today.
Case in point, Mitch remembered reading about one very old, very powerful vampire in particular who was immune to all of the aforementioned weaknesses; she'd even narrowly survived a staking. Now there...there was a special bloodsucker. Even the vampires in Underworld would have given her a wide berth.
Naturally, zombies of any type weren't bothered by garlic or holy water. The sun didn't hurt them, nor did they cringe when they saw a crucifix. Getting stabbed through the heart with a wooden stake would certainly be a painful experience, Mitch supposed, but not fatal. Surprisingly, his body healed very well for being dead. As far as he knew, the only way he or any of his kind could be killed would consist of either a high-powered bullet through the brain or extreme mutilation.
So yes, there were definitely a few differences between vampires and royal zombies. Perhaps the most notable, however, was that royal zombies were real whereas vampires lurked only within the dark realms of the imagination.
Or did they?
After all that had happened, the leader of the world's rarest group of zombies couldn't help but to wonder. Just because he'd seen no vampires didn't necessarily mean there weren't any. He'd never actually came face-to-face with a Tyrant monster, but he and the others knew through various documentation and horror stories that they did indeed exist. Maybe the vampires were simply better at staying hidden. It wasn't too much of a leap, considering he knew firsthand that other previously-thought purely fictitious beings existed.
Like sorceresses.
Oh yes, sorceresses were real. Contraire to what certain scientists believed, the entire royal zombie line originated from black magic, not science. Mitch could be credited with starting it all. To this day he could still remember clearly that fateful hike through the woods forty-four years ago, the night he died.
The year was 1960, and his life back then had been an utter mess. He'd just turned twenty, and his parents, in their infinite wisdom, had really been putting the pressure on him to move out. Problem was, Mitch didn't have a job or any semblance of a way to support himself. The trouble was that he didn't ultimately know what he wanted to do with his life, only that he would be miserable doing mundane run-of-the-mill jobs such as fast-food and checking.
To avoid bitter reality, and in an attempt to hide from adulthood and all the responsibilities that came with it, he had spent long hours away from home attending social occasions. Thinking about the future sucked. Partying it up with the few friends he had was much more appealing.
Thinking back on it now, he realized, what he'd been trying to do was remain a perpetual teenager because the thought of being fully independent and having to support himself scared him. In order to be on his own, he'd have to hold a job, and with his level of experience and qualifications the only ones open were all the monotonous ones he'd had nightmares about.
Would good would it do him to have his own place if he had to work his butt off day and night close to forty hours a week at a job he couldn't stand just to be able to afford, what, a tiny apartment? Not that he'd be home much to enjoy it. No--all his hours would be spent at work just so he could afford things like electricity, water, food...the bills were endless.
What kind of a life was that? All work and no play. It seemed a fate worse than death. Unfortunately for the young Mitch, his father had been developing and alcoholic problem over the years, and it was a condition that just kept getting worse and worse. One night around nine the lady of the house had decided to go out shopping to avoid the chaotic day-time crowds, leaving her son and husband behind. All should have been well, except that this night Mitch's dad had been particularly intoxicated. By and by, he happened upon his son reading comics quietly out in the living room; a six-pack of Mountain Dew laying on one end of the couch, and a half-eaten candy bar on the other.
Drunks never use common sense, and intoxication can have all kinds of negative effects on people.
In Mitch's dad's case, it caused him to verbally manifest all his fears and disappointments about his deadbeat son. He called him a failure, a good for nothing lazy bum, and a parasite. In a drunken rage, he kicked his twenty year old offspring out into the street, telling him never to come back.
Severely depressed, and not knowing what else to do, Mitch had ran off deep into the nearby woods where he contemplated suicide. There he spent hours near a raging white-water river, weighing the pros and cons of just casting himself into the merciless current.
That piece of history still lived on in his memory; the darkness of the nighttime woods, the call of the wolves, the way the crisp autumn leaves and twigs crackled and crunched beneath his feet--even the way the moon cast her silvery glow on the white edges of the rapids; giving them a gleaming, mystical appearance. The perfect setting for something truly magical to occur.
Fate did not disappoint. It was only an hour or so shy of dawn when Mitch decided that life was probably worth an attempt at trying to live, and the best course of action would be to go back home and talk to his father now that he was sober. Even more, his mother would be home now and she would certainly be on his side.
This joyous concept brought in a flood of maybes. Maybe things weren't as bad as they seemed. Maybe the tide was turning. Maybe he could sit down with his loved ones and work something out.
It never happened.
Mitch couldn't have started more than five paces back towards home when a haunting female voice rang out from behind him, causing him to freeze in his tracks. Thinking at first that one of the girls he knew had heard of the fight and set out to find him, he turned and faced the voice's owner, a million words racing to his lips. What he saw rendered him effectively speechless.
An insanely beautiful woman with long, raven-black hair, glowing green eyes, and a complexion as pale as the flowing white gown she was wearing emerged from the bush to his side, taking him completely by surprise. This woman, it seemed, knew everything about everything. She went on to tell him that she'd been watching him along the riverbank for quite some time, that she knew of his troubles, and that she could fix them.
Under normal circumstances Mitch's wit would have been sharper. He may have asked her how she knew such things--he hadn't said a word openly along the riverbank, choosing instead to keep his thoughts internalized and private. He may have asked why she cared so much about someone she'd just barely met, or how she planned on fixing his problems. But these were not normal circumstances, and the woman standing there before him was anything but ordinary.
Her eyes had burned with such a supernatural green light that they easily stood out in the dark, mesmerizing their target even as he admired them. This overpowering hypnotic effect overrode Mitch's common sense and impaired his ability to think logically. Completely in her thrall, the only thing his drugged mind was able to make sense of was that this woman before him was clearly an angel and he had no desire to argue with her.
" You've contemplated suicide." The effervescent angel stated, her soft voice a melodic tune riding the night breeze.
" Yes." For Mitch, lying was unthinkable.
The fair-skinned angel tilted her head slightly to one side, and now a hint of playful curiosity gleaned in those enchanting emerald eyes. " Tell me," she walked right up to her spellbound companion until she was standing so near he could feel the gentle warmth of her breath on his cheek when she next spoke, " Why didn't you kill yourself tonight? "
The dark-haired young man blinked like a deer caught in the headlights of a car. There was definitely more to this fair lady than just a pretty face; those glowing green eyes were actually starting to burn into his retinas. At least, that was what it felt like.
To this day, Mitch could still see those eyes in his darkest dreams, still feel that powerful, penetrating stare that was forever etched into his mind.
" I'm afraid to die." Mitch's straightforward answer surprised even himself, " And I think that perhaps I can fix things. Dad will be sober now. He'll listen."
" You don't know that." The enchantress's smirk was full of darkness, " What makes you think he'll even listen to what a worthless freeloader like you has to say? "
" I have to try." Mitch's voice had came out sounding meek and small.
The mesmerizing witch made a soft tsk-tsking. " Even if you did manage to convince him to let you stay, to what ends does this bring you? You'd never amount to anything. A dull, boring life would be all you had to look forward to every day until you died and the earth and worms claimed your decaying body. What a morbid existence. Is that what you want? "
" I have no choice. Everything dies."
" That's not true. There are ways to stay young and live forever. Ways to gain unbelievable power. I can make it so that you never age another day." She leaned in close, whispered softly in his ear, " I can make you a superbeing with the strength of ten strong men. Nobody would ever see you as a failure ever again. You could live the life you always wanted, Mitch. Go where you want. Do as you please. You'd like that, wouldn't you? "
Mitch nodded like a puppet. It sounded really good on paper, as the saying went, yet some small part of his brain that wasn't entirely under the woman's spell cautioned 'there's got to be a catch.'. He blinked, trying to snap out of it.
" What will you ask in return? "
The raven-haired demon-angel laughed, stepping back and tossing her hair to one side as she did so. " Oh, you are a clever boy! I like that. Such a nice change." She smiled pleasantly, and her victim felt the effects of her spell begin to wane. He shook his head lightly, as if awaking from a deep sleep.
The nameless deity waited patiently for him to collect himself. " Are you interested in what I have to offer? " She purred, the hint of a foreboding undercurrent seeping into those words.
Now that he didn't feel quite so dazed, Mitch considered.
The strength of ten men, eternal life, the ability to do whatever he pleased--these were some serious items set out on the table. It was very tempting to just blindly accept, but Mitch was no fool. Few things in life came free, and it stood to reason that there was a hefty price-tag involved. He could still feel the aftereffects of her spelling lingering, the effect that caused him to faithfully believe that everything she said was true.
" Hm, let's see," Mitch remembered intoning, putting on a false charade of being in control, " Strength of ten men, immortality, can do whatever I want. Do you promise? "
Unblinking, the white-gowned woman nodded. Even without using her sorcery, she was still bewitching to mortal eyes. " I will make good on everything I have promised. All I ask in return is your life-force."
The corner's of Mitch's mouth sagged. " My...life-force? What would you want with that? "
" I have my reasons." The witch replied in that same soft, velvety voice, " Life-force is so much more potent when I can get it willingly. One way or another, you will die before sunrise, Mitch Fletcher. It is up to you whether or not you wish to stay dead."
Mitch's eyes widened in horror. " But you promised immortality! "
The deceptive she-devil nodded. " I did. But you don't necessarily have to be alive to be immortal. Put it this way: I'm going to have your life-force with or without your permission. If I have to take it without I'm just going to kill you and leave it like that. If I do have your permission, I'll still 'kill' you in the literal sense of the word, but I'll reanimate your body and endow you with superhuman strength and abilities. You'll still look like a normal person. Your friends and family won't be able to tell the difference. In essence, you'll be the living dead--a zombie. But a special kind that will never decay. Also, contraire to popular belief, you will still retain your wit and memories."
Mitch was skeptical. " Don't zombies eat raw human flesh? "
" Yes, and you must do it as well if you wish to maintain your sanity and regenerative abilities. Really it's not so bad. In time you will get used to it. You may even learn to enjoy it."
" That's it? No more hidden catches? "
" No more hidden catches." The temptress agreed, " But if, after you become a zombie, you are able to find others like you who would be willing to trade their life-force in exchange for the same abilities you have, I would be very happy. Happy enough to Grant you even more power."
" Sounds good to me." Mitch agreed. If he was going to die anyway he might as well choose the path that didn't involve staying dead. The idea of eating raw human flesh was far from appealing, but maybe it wouldn't be so bad. After all, didn't zombies crave raw flesh? And he already had the perfect candidates in mind for joining him in his new afterlife: a few people he regularly hung with around the neighborhood would probably go for the gig, especially if they saw that he had became super-powerful.
" You are willing then? " The wicked angel sounded positively elated.
Mitch had nodded strongly, pretending that he wasn't even in the least afraid of dying. " Let's get on with it. Um, it won't hurt, will it? "
The woman's mouth spread in a broad, toothy grin. " Not much."
Forty-four years later, and Mitch still considered that to be the best decision he'd ever made. Sure, the sorceress had lied--the dying part had not been anywhere near painless--but at least he had something to show for the sacrifice: ultimate power and a thrilling lifestyle he never could have imagined.
Oh yes, once they seen what he could do, it hadn't taken much coaxing to get David, Sonya, Olivia, and Nacho to jump on the bandwagon and sacrifice their lives for this new form of existence. Such a shame about Celina though. Out of all the people he'd exposed his secret to, out of all the people he'd both liked and trusted enough to ask, she was the only one to refuse on the grounds that it was 'immoral', 'evil' and 'sickening'. Such a pity.
He'd had to kill her, of course. Couldn't risk her running her mouth off to the wrong people. The surprising thing was, he'd felt almost no remorse after the act. Perhaps a brief sense of guilt, but it had faded quickly. Killing had turned out to be much easier than he had thought. Those were the days.
The days before Umbrella and their ridiculous T-virus came along and ruined everything. Some people just weren't' worth the oxygen it took to sustain them. Some people liked to dabble in things they had no business messing in.
So now here we are, tracking some dimwit loser for a mad scientist on a dangerous island for two million dollars. Perhaps Mark is right: what kind of zombies are we?
Still, it was pretty hard to spit at that much money, especially since it would help so much with the pack's traveling plans...
A sickening moan from the bushes ahead pulled the lead royal zombie from his thoughts. An instant later and the rancid stench of the T-virus heavily perfumed the air, clearing up all doubt as to what lye ahead.
" I am really, really getting sick of these guys." Mitch moaned, narrowing his eyes defiantly at the tangle of ferns ahead and bringing up his rifle. The plants wiggled, and the whole gang instantly tensed up. Powerful as they may be, no self-respecting royal zombie cared to fight with a T-carrier. One bite, one scratch, and you were done for.
" Um...maybe we could go around the other way? " Sonya suggested helpfully, her unsteady voice betraying a note of fear, " I mean, why walk into a den of T-carriers? "
" Sonya's right," Nacho piped up, his attention firmly fixed on a cluster of giant ferns to his left that were acting just a bit too frisky, " I have a bad feeling about this." Unlike Sonya, there was no fear discernable in his actions; his voice was clam and collected. You could always trust Nacho to keep his cool in a crisis. Unlike...
" Ah! Zombieeeee! " There was no holding her back. In a blind panic, Olivia surged to the side with all the fire of a horse poked by a red-hot branding iron. Mitch didn't have the chance to so much as bat an eyelid before she threw herself into him, screaming like a wild banshee as a diseased T-carrier dressed in tattered sailor's garb missed his mark and hit the ground face-first in the exact same place she'd been standing only moments ago. " It'sgonnagetmeit'sgonnagetmeit'sgonnagetme! "
Unfortunately, Mitch had been anything but prepared when the fear-struck ex gang member had suddenly decided to launch herself into him, and down he went--firing his gun off into space even as he struggled to pry his subordinate off his face.
" Olivia get off! " He hissed poisonously through gritted teeth, " I can't see! "
Only then did the pink-haired zombie realize that her hands were wrapped tightly around his face. Heheh, oops.
" Oh, for crying out loud! " David groaned, bringing his boot down heavily on Sailor Zombie's rotted gourd. The head exploded on impact, coating the surrounding fauna in a truly disgusting spray of diseased gray brain matter. " Would you calm down for Pete's sake? It's just a stupid..." David stopped midsentence.
Sailor Zombie had friends, and lots of them.
Without even realizing it the whole royal zombie congregation had waltzed right into T-carrier Heartland. Attracted in part by Olivia's over exaggerated screams and all the commotion going on, a horrific tide of T-carriers surged forth from almost every direction, plowing through thick vegetation and hardy ferns as easily as if they were nothing more than paper maché props. As was to be expected with their breed, loud moaning accompanied excited bursts of energy as the perpetually hungry set their sights on what was to be today's main course. It hardly mattered that their intended entrées were no longer living--the creatures among them were so good at mimicking life that their charade easily fooled the dimwitted T-carriers.
Not a hard feat. Virtually no intelligence registered in those blank, staring eyes, and whenever they opened their mouths it was either to moan or bite. They weren't easy on the eyes, either. Several of the ghoulish faces were set in disturbing, permanent grins. The only thing worse than the sight of these walking maggot-motels was that godawful smell emanating from their fetid bodies, and Mitch's company found themselves instantly regretting their enhanced noses.
Instantly everything was in an uproar.
One greedy T-carrier with only one eye and a ratty mop of greasy, black hair that made Olivia's look stylish in comparison decided he just couldn't wait any longer. Eager or the first bite, the mentally-challenged T-virus victim somehow managed to summon up an extra dose of adrenalin and lunged for the nearest target: Nacho.
" Uuuuhhhnnn! "
Too bad for Mr. Impatient that his intended victim possessed not only sharp reflexes, but the power of a royal zombie to boot. All he got for his efforts was a hard blow to the face which took his lower mandible right off.
Nearby, another group had their sights set on a tasty-looking Sonya. They were in for a sour disappointment. Ducking her head low, the energetic redhead put her arm out in front of her, charged, and rammed two would-be assailants backwards, using their stocky bodies to bowl over several of their buddies in the process.
David sprang into action and executed a perfect roundhouse kick that took his attackers down before they had even the shadow of a chance of biting him.
It was a good thing Mitch didn't need to breathe, because, as tightly as Olivia was gripping his throat, he wouldn't have been able to anyway. His windpipe was effectively crushed.
Not for the first time since they'd been zombified, Mitch wondered what exactly had been running through his head the day he decided to make her a royal zombie. Maybe eating that old drunkard on thirty-first avenue really had intoxicated his mind.
For all her power, for all her cockiness and self-importance, Olivia was so terrified of being infected with the T-virus that whenever she saw your run-of-the-mill zombie she would totally lose whatever good sense had managed to cling to the back of her thick skull and go on ultra-stupid mode, or at least behave that way.
The others tried to fight when cornered with a threat. Loaded as they may be with the deadly T-virus, T-zombies lacked even a fraction of the strength, agility, skill, and intelligence of their enhanced counterparts. Any royal zombie worth their salt could easily avoid an infection through power and speed alone.
Not Olivia.
For reasons not fully understood to the rest of her company, the wild gang-banger feme fatale's response to a T-carrier ambush was to whine, whimper, carry on, cling to the nearest person next to her, and basically do the royal zombie equivalent of curling up into the fetal position.
With a tiny bit of difficulty Mitch was able to regain his footing, but as long as he had Olivia clinging on him for dear life he couldn't very well pull off a decent shot, much less fight.
" They're coming! They're going to get us! " Olivia shrieked, practically throttling her leader.
" Make that you." Mitch replied with an angry growl. Swiftly, he brought one hand up and pried his comrade's super-strong fingers free of his throat while simultaneously dropping the rifle. Powerful fingers wrapped around the small of Olivia's wrist. Before the terrified she-zombie had time to grab him somewhere else, Mitch flung her forward with the force of a Major League baseball player swinging a bat.
" Heeeeeeey! " Despite her protests at being flung towards the opposition, the less-than-perfect-figured Olivia took three T-carriers down under her weight, crushing them awkwardly into the mud even as she struggled to get back up before they had the chance to bite or scratch her. She turned angrily on Mitch. " Whad'arya trying to do, kill me! "
" The thought has crossed my mind." By now Mitch had recovered his rifle and cracked the butt of it across the face of an overly-eager zombie. Hard. The unlucky undead suffered major head trauma and a broken neck. A tubby gray-bearded zombie seized his chance to rush in and grab a bite of flesh. There was a metallic clang as his rotten teeth connected solidly with the metal barrel of Mitch's firearm.
The tide was turning.
Ten minutes into the battle and the royal zombies suffered not so much as a sliver while their enemies lay dead, broken, beaten, and bloody. Even Olivia was starting to feel a little more secure, barring the fact that her own beloved leader had used her in place of a weapon a while ago. Blow after blow, kick after kick, the royals were proving themselves superior to their virused cousins in every way.
Even though his gun was loaded, Mitch barely had to use any bullets. Why waste them when his foes crumbled so easily under his attacks? Being that most of the T-zombies were already well on their way to the compost heap in the first place, they had been at a serious disadvantage right from the start. Weaklings. We royals are made of sterner stuff. Mitch was actually starting to feel pretty good about the outcome of what had at first had been an uncertain fight.
That is, until it happened.
Unbeknownst to the zombie gang, all the anarchy stirred up by the fight had attracted the attention of bigger, stronger creatures. Indeed, everyone had been so preoccupied that they never noticed the way the ground itself began to tremble beneath them, or the way the birds and mammals swiftly and silently fled the vicinity.
" SNAP! Keeeraack! " A tree was snapped clean in half!
If nothing had worked before, that got the Zombie Gang's attention.
As one, they turned their eyes towards the canopy.
And gasped.
Amazing how a situation could turn from bad, to okay, to a million times worse in a matter of seconds. There, assembled in a sort of odd semi-circle among the trees, was the world's deadliest collection of behemoth monsters.
A gigantic troll with a revolting face and massive fists the size of SUVs stared down dispassionately at the puny zombies below. From the looks of it he was thinking about stomping them.
An enormous serpent with scales as black as tar reared it's ugly head to a height of no less than twenty feet straight into the air. If the science accounts about how to judge a snake's length from the height it could rear up were correct, this giant was at least one hundred feet long. Bloodred eyes burned fervently against black scales, and the creature opened it's mouth to reveal a set of twin pointy white fangs that were as long as a man was tall and glistening with saliva. Or was that venom?
At first glance, the third creature didn't look particularly harmful. The size of large horse, this beastie looked just like an overgrown grayish-blue kitten. It was downright cute in fact, with large, almond-shaped eyes, silky long whiskers, and a cute, innocent baby-face. It looked like it was ready to play a game of 'pounce on the string'. That is, until you happened to notice the ten supersized ice-colored claws--ten on each foot--crackling with blue electricity. There was nothing at all 'playful' or 'friendly' about those, nor the deathly intelligent stare of it's cold, predatory eyes.
The fourth and final giant in the ring was reptilian and looked something like a cross between a crocodile and velociraptor. Crimson red in color, it supported itself on two thin birdlike legs, and it's scaly feet bore the infamous 6 inch killing claw that had made the raptor dinosaurs real badasses of their day. Where this creature differed from a raptor was in it's incredible mass, shorter yet bulkier arms, a very thick, very dangerous looking whopper of a tail that had to account for at least a third of the creature's total body mass, and the exaggerated length of it's crocodile snout. Whereas most beasts possessed pearl-white chompers with which to rip flesh, this bad boy sported several sets of deep red knifelike teeth.
No question about it: these were creatures that could rip a zombie--even a royal one--to shreds without so much as an 'if you please.'
" Oh sh..." David started, panic set in full-throttle. The rest of his words were lost to the trumpeting bellow of the troll.
Then the world turned violent.
