The Dead Travel Swiftly

“The Dead Travel Swiftly” -- Old Walachia proverb made famous by Bram Stroker in his book Dracula .

How far can anyone run during the hours of daylight? Divide that distance in half if you are shepherding children along: Children that you cannot just abandon to their fate even if their own parents have run away. How long can you then stay awake at night listening and smelling for the undead who follow swiftly in the hours of darkness?

My name is Gregory. I never had a family name. Forty seven years I have lived with Gustav's mercenary company, first as a cook boy, then a squire and finally as a true warrior. I remember many crimes we committed and many times we ran away from superior forces. I remember few things that make me proud.

When the arisen dead fell upon us I gave my two horses to my son and daughter and told them to ride away. I told them I would find another horse and catch up, but they knew it was a lie. I hope they got clean away. I hope no desperate men tried to kill them and take the horses. Most of all I hope they live to love and breed me many grandchildren I shall never see.

In the town of Milanot where Gustav's company was quartered I saw scenes of horror, scenes of murder, scenes of cannibalism, but no scenes of heroism. Oh, I suppose there were instances of heroism, but I did not happen to see them. I saw parents abandon children as zombies closed in. I saw the strong murder the weak to steal a horse. I smelled the gut wrenching charnel odor of the arisen dead. I felt the bowel loosening fear the presence of the undead causes in the living.

I, Gregory, the unwanted child, the looter and rapist, the burner of captured towns, did not succumb to fear. Instead I took an axe and cut the heads off zombies, battled a vampire, and destroyed the devil only knows what other types of foul creatures. I held open a path for people to escape from town and run away. All my life I had been a taker and a defiler. Perhaps God had given me this last chance at redemption. Perhaps I simply realized that an old mercenary has little to look forward to except begging for scraps and dying at last in a gutter. When I remember that quarter hour in the main street of Milanot I feel a bit of pride.

Abandoning the lost town, I fell in with a group of women and children left behind by the fleeing townsfolk. A mercenary at least learns the lay of the land, and how to avoid notice. We traveled cross country, hoping that the undead would keep to the road and follow the main parties of refugees. Four days we traveled unmolested, then that night I smelled the rotting flesh of the undead. We ran till dawn when we reached the river that runs south to the capital city and hopefully safety.

That morning as I fell asleep in the sun I dreamed that God, or Jesus or Moses or an angel visited me. All I could see was a robed figure etched in blinding light. “You did well old mercenary,” the figure told me. “The devil was sure that no one dared to resist his army. You proved him wrong. Now there is just one more horrible challenge to overcome, one last test of courage to endure. Send the children on to follow the river to safety and hold this narrow path against the undead who pursue them.” The figure faded away and I fell into the first relaxed and restoring sleep I had known since the horror began in Milanot. Of course, I knew deep inside that I had not received a message from an angel, or from God. It was a hallucination brought on by lack of sleep, and an attempt by my mind to fashion meaning from my own death. Still, it was a comfort to me as I waited for the undead to catch up with me once again.

First I saw the minions she had brought with her to slay and devour. I could not look at her yet. There were my comrades from Gustav's mercenaries, wearing their old uniforms and carrying weapons. Beetles had begun to eat their faces away. There were children I had failed to save, with blind eyes and little hands that reached out to me imploring me to save them.

Then I forced my eyes to see the monster who commanded them. It was a lamia, a she bitch from the lowest circles of hell, a bride of Satan. The monster had the face and breasts of a gorgeous woman. The lower half of her body was the skeleton of a dragon like creature ten feet long with a scorpion's stinger. I knew a horror and loathing far greater than that which the zombies and vampires had sent ahead of them.

“You are not real,” I told her. “No thing on this earth or in Dante's circles of hell could be so loathsome!”

“I have come from a lower circle of hell than even Dante dreamed,” she responded.

“You killed my vampire,” she went on with a bit of pique in her voice. “That vampire was the commander of my army. You destroyed my best tactician and enforcer of discipline. It is only fair that you take his place as commander of my army.

“Really got your panty hose in a twist over that vampire,” I responded. “It is not the first faster and more powerful creature that I have fought, and I am still alive. The secret is simply that I go with my strengths and do not worry about what tricks the creature I am fighting may pull. That is a simple strategy to maximize my staying alive. It may just translate into a worthwhile strategy for running an army. After all, did not General Grant say words to the effect of, ‘Stop worrying about what General Lee may do. Let him worry about what I am going to do'?

“So what are the perks that go with the job of commander of hell's army? Do I get my own level of the Abyss to rule after I die? Can I use this army to settle a few scores of my own? Most important, I refuse to kill children. That is non negotiable. Let all the children escape and you can harvest the men and women, except for a very few gorgeous women I get to keep for myself. Naturally, you will want me to sign my soul over to you. That is fine by me; my soul is bloodied and shop worn, and I doubt God wants it anymore.”

“You confess to the sin of Angelism,” the lamia responded. “That is a fitting sin for a lord of Hell. You may use this army as you see fit, to exact revenge, gain power, or gain wealth. You may even carve yourself a notch in the hierarchy of hell. But I alone say who is to die, who to live and who becomes undead. When I say I need children to turn into undead minions, your only question will be how many.”

“No deals then,” I laughed. “Come on ugly bitch from hell, lets rock and roll!”

She was faster than I and twenty times more powerful. She could squash me flat with one giant claw, but that would be letting me die too easily. I calculated she would impale me upon her stinger with its paralyzing venom, then slowly devour me alive. I rushed forward right between her claws and she let me through. My axe was aimed to crush her skeletal rib cage.

Instead of completing my attack, I fell down flat upon the ground. Her stinger missed my back by a hand span and buried itself between her gorgeous breasts. A scorpion is not immune to its own venom. She screamed in agony and horror. I sliced off the point of her stinger, leaving it embedded in her body. Then, her claws ripped open my back and sliced off both my feet.

We were both dying. As my brain began to shut off from loss of blood, I had a vision of thousands of undead sinking back into the earth. The flow of necromantic power from the lamia was dying as she died. All the undead she had created were sinking back into the peace of true death. “Even if this is just a hallucination, at least it is a comforting one.” These were my final words before I let go and moved toward the white gate that opened above me.

The End

Author's Note: The sin of Angelism is rejection of God from your life. The most famous example is found in Milton “Paradise Lost” when Satan declares “Better to rule in Hell than serve in Heaven”.