Nightmare of the Dead: Rise of the Zombies (3 page)

"What'd you say?" he asked his mother. "Well, we won't know the results until Santiago finds her. I'm sure she's very much alive, of course. I know how much you admire her use of the gun. Don't remind me! I tried so hard to please you, but I could never attain her level of courage or violent
disposition. Yes…I know exactly how you feel about my own development. I promised I would never fail you. This war will end. Mr. Davis will give me the money I need to complete the project, and then, everyone who laughed at you will know…it's not impossible!"

The woman didn't move. He sighed and ran his tongue along the chunks of
silver, which
were substitutes for the teeth he once had.

Mother always judged him! Why didn't she understand that he worked hard—he
tirelessly
worked day and night to produce the weapons
the Confederate
President
, Jefferson
Davis
,
required for
the troops that were under siege
at
Vicksburg?
The
damnable,
drunk Union general, Ulysses S. Grant, would soon overwhelm t
he Confederate stronghold
unless Saul delivered the precious weapons.
He
preferred to
work for the Confederacy;
Davis was a
man with a glorious
vision
for the human race
, unlike the tall, gangly president of the Union, Abraham Lincoln.
Saul understood Mother's need to hold a high standard for him, but no matter how hard he tried, he could never replace…
his sister.

A butterfly drifted among the weeds. He strained his hearing to listen for the distant sound of battle. Was that a trumpet in the distance? The war itself hardly mattered. Its causes would be forever
debated;
the rationale for the bloodshed lost in the confusing politics and stately philosophies that history would forever interpret and twist.

The back of his neck grew warm. Mother's incessant voice shouted at him,
Saul! Look at me, Saul! I grow impatient. You've wasted years of my life to play your little games. You won't ever be anything like your sister.

"No!" he lashed out and stomped his feet in the grass. "Her blood will allow her to resist the transformation! I swear it! I don't know if her memory will ever return. Don't be upset with me! I protest that your derision is not deserved
in this matter!"

He shouted at the cerulean heaven that stretched over the serene landscape. Why didn't she trust him? After all this time, she must have faith that he would fulfill his destiny. It was only a matter of time before everything fell into place. Even if the Confederates couldn't hold Vicksburg—if the project somehow backfired—he would still be one step closer to uncovering the secrets of the interminable void.

Saul would conquer death.

The Collective will never grant you membership,
Mother chided him.
You rely too much on Santiago. When the others come, they will see how weak you are. You're easily expendable. 

"Leave me alone!" Saul cried, and more than a few faces glanced in his direction.

He entered a large hospital tent with the wheelchair in front of him. He surveyed the young men who were wrapped in bloody bandages on cots
that had
been sat on by men who were already dead. Wounded young men sobbed as nurses left their side—those who were gut-shot were already doomed, though their deaths would come slowly. Morphine and opium might ease their journey from the world of the living, but even the precious drugs were in short supply, now.

Their eyes followed him. He knew what they were thinking, but they didn't understand. He was a good son. He loved his mother, and he would never leave her side. They paused in their despair to empower themselves; they might be on the verge of death, but they still had pride
.
They were nothing like
him
.

What did they see? What were they looking at? He could feel their eyes crawl over every inch of his skin. He was a shriveled, slender man, hardly the gun-toting warrior who could give his life to preserve a man's right to own another man. His sagging jowls suggested that he was hardly a youthful far
m boy who'd marched away from home with a song in his heart. They had to be staring at the thin ropes of hair which traced the length of his peanut-shaped skull.

Surgeons gazed at him while he pushed his mother between the rows of desperate, sobbing men. Their eyes wilted as they watched him pass—they knew what he wanted, and they were ashamed. Who were they to argue with a man who had the president's approval?

Saul pushed his mother to the blood-spattered dissection table. Upon the floor was a collection of severed hands, feet, arms, and legs. He clapped his hands and bounced on the heels of his feet.

"Delightful!" he exclaimed.

Near the table, a bearded officer sat on the floor, his head hanging dejectedly upon his chest. His red eyes searched over the scientist's face as if attempting to remember who he was. A long wooden peg had replaced his left leg. In his
fist,
he clutched a bottle of amber liquor.

"Sergeant Buford," Saul saluted the mangled officer. "It seems that your prediction came true. Yesterday, you were in extremely boisterous spirits, but I recall the wound that you so gallantly chose to ignore. I see they've added one of your own dear limbs to the pile. I hope this doesn't affect our relationship."

"The hell you want?" Sergeant Buford growled.

"Well, materials, of course, as per our arrangement. This couldn't have happened at a better time! Don't you see? The Confederacy will be able to win a major
victory.
The
recent siege of Vicksburg will be lifted!"

Buford spat and seemed to ignore Saul completely with inane ramblings. "Champion Hill was nothing. That bridge over the river…goddamn Pemberton waited for Loring to come back. Waited and waited…and now I'm just waiting. He waited, and now I'm waiting."

Saul knotted the fingers of his hands together and pulled at them. When was the officer
just
going to give him what he needed?

Buford continued, "You know how many I've seen on that table? How many boys
, c
ut down by that heartless bastard, Grant
?
Now they've got Vicksburg under siege. I don't need to go anywhere. The war's over for me. All over."

"You're quite drunk," Saul ventured. He was never very good in social situations.
Mother detested that weakness in him
.

"Maybe. Maybe not. Damn Yanks let us take our wounded south, and here we are holed up next to the bloody river that has chunks…no, it has souls…of
good
men. Good
boys
. We're cut off. No way out." Buford swallowed mightily and gasped as the sweat on his brow slipped through the black bristles of his unkempt beard

His red eyes locked on Saul. "We were fucking
ordered
to come here to this pit. I was told that you were in charge, on special assignment from Davis himself. But you're a godless freak. I oughtta shoot you myself."

The sergeant's head appeared to be growing larger upon his shoulders. His eyes were filled with an incredible amount of blood. Saul couldn't help but think about gangrene; this disenchanted soldier was going to die! He could still be used for the war effort. Saul couldn't let such a good specimen go to waste. He needed to connect the sergeant to the apparatus and drain the man's labored, painful gasps from his lungs. The man's rotting body could contribute to another jar of the precious weapon!

The sergeant rambled on, but Saul didn't hear him. Saul had the power to solve the greatest riddle of all, if only he could perfect his powerful creation. He'd been extremely lucky
that
the war had dropped right into Mississippi, and he was even more fortunate that Vicksburg was under siege. There were dying, suffering men everywhere.

Saul suddenly interrupted the man. "These right here will do nicely!" he pointed at the disconnected limbs. "I require the usual, Sergeant Buford. Men suffering from gangrene are preferable, you understand. The advanced stages of decay will satisfy my current haste."

Buford spoke, but Saul could no longer hear his words. Mother's own voice overwhelmed Buford's as it always did when she spoke over the inconsequential words of others. Her desires were paramount; she understood her son would do anything to make her happy.

Another fool who doesn't understand your vision. How can you make him understand? He sees the failures of his patriotic ideal and is angry that he no longer knows why he's dying. Out of ignorance and spite, he will kill you, or at least have you killed. Tonight. You won't survive this place.

Saul strained to hear Buford's words. The man was insulting him, spitting thick curses through his teeth while his head seemed to shake from the effort. His scarlet eyes bulged.

Just like the others. He doesn't understand you. He's mocking you. You won't do anything about it. You're a coward. You'll hide behind your experiment, and it's going to fail, anyway. You keep running away…

The scientist waved his hands in the air and screamed. Mother's relentless assault continued. He slammed his palms against the side of his head. A ritualistic engagement designed to shatter any semblance of confidence established by his gift for experimentation upon corpuscular
flesh;
his Mother never let him forget that he could never rise to his sister's heights.

They're all watching you, now. They hate you, and they're plotting to kill you. One of them will surely do it, tonight. Even if you survive, the Nightmare Collective will never allow you to be a member of their group—the project will fail. When President Davis is gone, the Collective won't have anyone else to manipulate. When you fail, the Collective will lose its power in this country. You...

"Let them plot!" he screamed into her pale, expressionless face. He whirled back on Buford and pointed a gnarled finger at the suffering soldier. "While I appreciate your concerns, it is my duty to remind you of the importance our esteemed president has placed on my mission. Whether or not you agree is hardly worth consideration. Consider the ruminations of Aristotle or
Pythagoras
regarding the matter! The flowers in the garden can grow only by the light of the moon. The glow…the glow…you must see as I see, feel as I feel, to know my pain. Do you laugh at Mother? Why would you laugh? She's the most beautiful woman in the world…"

The sergeant's mouth remained open while Saul continued to rage. The scientist seemed to slide around the bloody table as he spoke, dancing nimbly over the scattered limbs decorating the floor.

Tonight, they will kill you.

Saul roared. "Tonight, I will meet with Santiago! We will see the fruit of our labors! Deign not to persecute this humble flesh! Let the Collective see! The prodigal child hath come, arisen upon the air in a chariot of bone and mottled flesh, demoniac wings beating at a burning sky. Such is the art of war! Sergeant! Deliver the materials unto me! Allow for the commencement of peace on Ea
rth…"

He seemed to wither beneath the weight of his own rage. His energy subsided, and he crouched at the feet of the wheelchair until finally sitting down among the appendages.

Rocking back and forth on his haunches, the infamous battle song raced out of his mouth
, “
Our flag is proudly floating on the land and on the main…"

They're laughing at you. They'll always laugh at you, and you deserve it…

May 19th, 1863: Long Night of Day

She'd saved the last round in the cylinder for the train's conductor.

When the fight was finally over, she stepped off the train and sat for a long moment on the tracks, allowing the locomotive to shade her against the sun's light. The fresh air was a welcome relief to her lungs. The adrenaline crashed through her system, and she nearly forgot to change the cylinder on her gun. As if she'd been shocked by an awful truth, she quickly reloaded her gun and sat with the freshly-loaded weapon on her knee.

While her heart drummed against her rib cage, her ears felt incredibly hot. Her eyelids were heavy, and her eyes resisted all movement. Her tense muscles locked her body into a rigid posture.

The words escaped without a thought, though they were given
form,
"I'm awake. This is real."

That's it, then. She didn’t know who she was, or where she was. According to Carter, they were somewhere in Mississippi. The war was easy to remember, but why couldn’t she remember anything else?

Who was the man with the metal teeth
who had
spoken to Bill Carter?

Neasa Bannan. The name was as good as anything else. It might even be suitable, considering how
she had
been able to stand up to those hellish creatures. And what were they?