her voluptuous figure. He knew she had been a nude model before the Apocalypse, and had once posed as a Playboy Playmate. The issue had come out the same day the dead had risen; some of the men joked that she had been cause. He still kept a copy, but he hoped some day she would give him a personal showing.
He stared at her with some impatience. "What's the fucking hold up?"
"Whateley's still chanting."
He turned around. Behind him, a chain-link fence had been set up. Beyond it were half a dozen mortar pits, and behind those stood a mausoleum. In front of its closed iron doors a tall, gaunt, hoary figure dressed in soiled rags gesticulated madly as he screamed gobbledygook in a harsh, guttural language. What remained of West's platoon surrounded the old coot, and two grunts held a giant book open in front of him.
He glanced at her without turning around. "We're running out of time."
She shrugged. "He did say it could take awhile--look out!"
He spun around in time to see a couple of dozen cadavers surge over the barricade. The sharpshooters brought six down immediately and four more fell to pistol fire as they reached the ground, before they could close with the troops. As two ran towards him and Kaylee, keening in their monotonous wailing voices, she raised her pistol and fired, knocking one backwards off its feet, as he swung his machete around in a wide arc and cleaved off the top of the other corpse's head as it tried to grapple with him. Meanwhile, a horde of dozens flowed over the barricade in a continual flood.
"We don't have awhile!" He shoved a whistle in his mouth and blew a single long blast, then spit it out.
He started to retreat. "Fall back!" Tapping his ear, he spoke into the microphone next to his left cheek. "Cover us."
Behind him he heard the platoon sergeant shout, "Fire!", and a second later came the pop of mortars going off as the forward squad retreated. Shells screamed as they arced high above, then dropped steeply down on the other side of the barricade. Fragmentation shells went off some twenty-five feet above the ground, while incendiary shells fell to earth. Their explosions lit up the night as the rising fireballs illuminated the surrounding city ruins.
Kaylee had rushed ahead to join her squad, as the two machine gun nests on either flank opened up. Though normally ineffective, their purpose at that point was to slow the macabre advance. Even if a corpse wasn't killed, a .50 caliber slug could still throw it down or tear off one of its legs.
Yet a huge number still got through, forcing the marines to fight the cadavers off before they could retreat further. The snipers fired as fast as they could, and the rest of the platoon had gathered at the fence, shooting through the chain links, but they had to check their fire to avoid hitting their comrades. West stood in the open gate, holding it against any zombies that came near.
"Come on! Move your sorry butts! We don't have all night!"
A few had fallen under the surge of walking dead, but finally they reached the gate, and ran as their friends opened up with everything they had. Kaylee stood off, letting her squad through as she helped cover them. But she wasn't sufficiently armed to hold the cadavers off, and four of them caught her and bore her down. As three held her, fighting and cursing, the fourth began to rip off her clothes, to expose the tender flesh beneath. More dead swarmed around her, and as soon as they had denuded her they knelt and tore into her body with their teeth. Only her head stuck out of the mound of carcasses, and she started screaming as she bent it back. She stared at him, imploring with her sky-blue eyes for help. He hesitated only a moment, but long enough for a corpse to clamp its mouth on her neck, silencing her in a spray of blood. Then several more converged on her head and she disappeared from sight.
Too late, he fired into the grizzly mass, screaming in rage, until his platoon sergeant pulled him behind the fence. One soldier tried to close the gate, but a couple of corpses caught him and pulled out into the mob, but another grunt managed to slam the gate closed even as several cadavers tried to get through.
"Fall back!" the platoon sergeant barked, pulling West with him. The marines complied, and the horde slammed into the fence. It held, swaying under the press of bodies, but everyone knew it would not hold for long.
Regaining his senses, he shook off his top sergeant. "Keep them at it; don't let those bloody zombies press too close."
"Yes, sir." But West didn't pay attention. He focused on Whateley and made a beeline towards him.
Before he could reach him, however, the self-proclaimed wizard made a final, spinning leap, threw his arms into the air, and shouted out a single word. West didn't catch it, but he doubted he would have understood it even if he had.
Whateley closed the book when he reached him. Despite its size, he took it from the marines and cradled it to his chest.
"Are you finished?" He put all the sarcasm he could muster into his tone.
Whateley turned to stare at him. That gaze did not intimidated him as it did others, but the old man did remind him of pictures he had seen of Charles Manson, except his hair and beard were dirty gray-blonde and his eyes were almost black.
"I have just completed the ritual, Lieutenant." His voice sounded strong despite his age and physical condition, and somewhat hypnotic.
"Good, because I really want to tear you apart right now."
"With help so soon on the way?"
"Damn you, we're about to be overrun. We're trapped, with no escape. And I just lost several good men, including Sgt. Summers."
Whateley's expression did not change, but his voice did manage to sound mournful. "A pity; my friends would have loved to make her acquaintance. Oh, well, you have a number of other females that will do as well."
From "Fun 'n' Games"
Sir Differel Van Helsing sat at her desk, filling out another in the endless series of reports she submitted to the Privy Council, when Aelfraed entered with a food tray. She glanced up at him and went back to writing, oblivious to everything except trying to explain a request for more personnel, so it took a few moments for the shilling to drop. When it did, she snapped her head up in wide, pop-eyed shock as her heart stammered.
He wore the costume of a BDSM submissive, what little of it there was.
"What the bloody hell is this?!"
He didn't bat an eye. "Your lunch, Madam." He placed the tray down in front of her, on top of her report, neither of which was appropriate.
She raised an eyebrow, exasperated. "No, I mean your attire."
"Ah, yes, of course, I image that would seem strange. The staff had a meeting this morning and we voted on a change of uniforms."
She frowned, irritated. "Without consulting me?" Then she realized how ridiculous it sounded to be upset about that rather than the result.
"My apologies, My Lady, but it was an emergency. We also came to the consensus that we were entitled to a daily orgy."
She just about had a heart attack. "Orgy?!"
"Yes, My Lady. In fact, today's has already started and I am anxious to get back. You're welcome to join us after you've finished eating. We won't stand on ceremony." And he took the top off the plate.
"Is this a bloody joke --" she began, then cut herself off with a hiss when she looked down, jumping back in her chair. The plate was filled with feces covered in vomit.
"My Holy God!"
"It's a new dish Madam Trumbo and I whipped up. We're eager to see what you think."
This is a bloody nightmare! she thought. "If you expect me to eat this, you're crackers!"
He actually looked disappointed. "I admit it's unusual." He took the fork and cut off one end. "Perhaps it could use a different preparation."
She watched in horrified fascination as he raised the utensil to his face, but just before he inserted it into his mouth, she leapt out of her chair and slapped it out of his hand.
"What the bloody hell's come over you, you git?!"
He managed to look appalled and outraged at the same time. "Really, Madam! You don't have to eat it, but your behavior is most uncalled for! Now, if you'll
excuse me, my Mistresses will be getting impatient." And he stalked out of the room.
She felt too shocked to react. It made absolutely no sense. If she were not certain she was awake, she would have suspected she was dreaming. As it was, it seemed too surreal to comprehend.
Snap out of it, you bloody slag! Looking down, she felt her stomach churn with disgust at the contents of the plate, and she put the cover back on to keep it out of sight. She felt her gut quake with nausea, and she took a moment to light a cigarillo to calm it. She then headed out the door into the hall beyond.
It looked deserted. She could see all the way down to the security gate that closed off access from the central and eastern sections of the house, and there should have been two guards, one outside her office door and the other down by the gate. She walked towards the end where the hall connected with the transverse corridor that ran the length of that wing north to south, and paused to look down towards the offices. There should have been a third guard on duty there as well, and usually a few people were walking the halls or enjoying a smoke out in the west portico, but she saw no one.
Using her security key card, she unlocked the gate and headed up the family passage. She found no one outside in the north portico, but when she reached the door that led into the great hall, she thought she heard moaning and wailing, like a horde of Zombies was on the other side. She