Island of the Dead, page 18
“Nay,” Mathias answered. “It is my countrymen.”
Einar’s eyes narrowed. “It’s our way off this accursed place. We don’t need to build a raft after all.”
“You intend for the four of us to storm the galley?” Fhad asked.
Einar winked. “One step at a time. Let’s start with the smaller boat. Everyone, follow me. And hurry!”
He glanced back at the fighting hordes, verifying that their attention was distracted. Then he led the group into a small hollow between the dunes, where they were hidden from both the ants and zombies as well as the shore party and the sea. They could still hear the battle, however—insectile screeching and enraged moans and wet, splattering sounds.
“I counted six soldiers in the surf,” Einar said, crouching down, “and two slaves strapped to the oars of that rowboat.”
Mathias nodded. “Yes, that’s the usual accompaniment for a landing party.”
“So, we are outnumbered,” Chuy said.
“We’ve been outnumbered since we were first enslaved, and we have done well so far,” Einar replied. “Mathias, you still wear your soldier’s uniform. What are the chances any of those men on the beach would recognize you?”
“Most likely they would only recognize me as a fellow soldier. Due to my secret, I kept to myself as much as possible. And they are all from a different company and galley.”
“Good. Then here is what we will do.”
FIFTEEN
Chuy stumbled weakly atop the last dune, looking bedraggled and miserable. Mathias walked behind him, guiding him onward. They waited a moment, and when the soldiers caught sight of them, Mathias waved in greeting. He did not call out or shout because he didn’t want to attract the attention of the dead. The sounds of the battle still waged behind him, but they were muted now, given the topography.
The soldiers shielded their eyes against the glare of the sun, staring at him. Then, two of them returned the gesture. They conferred amongst themselves for a moment, and then five of them trotted toward the dune, leaving one behind with the boat and the captives.
“This plan is lunacy,” Chuy whispered. “You know that don’t you? Our friend has lost his mind.”
“Easy,” Mathias replied. “I’ll do all the talking. Just keep your hands behind your back and hold the cloth strip in place so it looks like they are tied.”
“Lunacy,” the merchant repeated. “I’d rather take my chances with the dead than be recaptured by these pigs.”
“It may come to that.”
They stood waiting, watching the group of armed men approach. When they reached the bottom of the dune, the soldiers stopped. One of them, bearing the rank of a captain, stepped forward and raised his hand.
“Hail.”
“Hail and well met.” Mathias snapped off a quick salute. “I am glad to see you, sir. I thought myself stranded here forever.”
“Four ships were lost in the initial storm,” the captain reported. “We were ordered back to look for survivors, but that second storm kept us away until now.”
“Aye,” Mathias agreed. “It has been bad.”
Frowning, the officer stared past Mathias. His brow furrowed at the strange noises coming from beyond the dune. Then he turned his attention back to the young castaway. “Who were you with?”
“The fourth regiment, sir.” Mathias raised his voice, hoping to drown out the sounds of the struggle between the zombies and the ants.
“And where is the rest of your company? Is there an encampment further inland?”
“Nay. It is just me and three slaves I recaptured.”
The captain’s eyes narrowed. “I see only this one.”
“The other two are on the other side of the dune, sir. As it is only me, I’ve been marching them one at a time.”
“Hard task.”
“Yes, sir.” Mathias nodded. “It has been, indeed.”
“Well, we’ll give you a hand. Help is here now, and soon...” Pausing, the captain frowned again. “Soldier, what is that moaning I hear from yonder?”
“The other two captives,” Mathias said quickly. “They carry on like that a lot—moaning loud enough to wake the dead.”
Chuy jerked as if shocked.
The captain stared at them both for a moment, and then turned to his men. “Go and collect the other two prisoners. And be quick about it.”
The four soldiers hurried up over the dune and down the other side, where Einar and Fhad sat in the sand with their backs against the next line of dunes. Their hands were seemingly tied behind them with strips of cloth.
The soldiers stopped, fanning out before them.
“On your feet,” one of them snapped. “You lot are—”
“Phinias,” interrupted a second soldier, “listen.”
“What is it, Filo?” asked a third.
“The moaning. And… other sounds.”
“Yes?” Phinias sighed in exasperation.
“It is coming from over the next dune,” Filo explained. “Not from these—”
Einar and Fhad acted fast, grabbing their swords from where they’d been buried in the sand in front of them, and leaping to their feet.
“No, dogs,” Einar growled. “It is not us moaning. But you will be in just a moment.”
Startled, the soldiers fumbled for their weapons, but Einar and Fhad struck first, running their swords through Phinias and Filo’s abdomens, and then jerking the blades up and across. Their guts spilled from the wounds, splattering onto the sand. The remaining two soldiers opted to retreat rather than fight, turning to scramble back up the dune. Fhad dropped his sword, reached out, and grabbed them by the ankles. They clawed at the sand as he dragged them back down. Then he grasped their heads and knocked them together twice until both men slipped into unconsciousness. Panting, he stood staring down at them.
“None of these uniforms will fit me.”
Einar stripped naked and then began peeling the uniform off the closest soldier. “Mathias? Chuy? How goes it?”
“According to plan,” Mathias called.
Shrugging into the soldier’s uniform, Einar hurriedly cinched it up as best he could. The garment was too small in the thighs, abdomen, and biceps, but it would work as a temporary fit. He strode to the top of the dune and peered over. Mathias and Chuy held the defiant captain at sword point.
Chuy grinned. “You make a fine soldier, barbarian.”
Einar nodded behind him. “See if any of those uniforms will fit over your fat belly. And be quick about it.”
“What do we do with this one?” Mathias asked.
“Bring him here.” Einar beckoned, then turned and followed Chuy.
Mathias marched the captain up the dune and down the other side. The officer stared grimly at his fallen men.
“You’ll pay for this,” he muttered. “You slaughtered them like… like dogs!”
“Aye,” Einar agreed. “We did.”
“I hope the pox takes your peckers, you treacherous piles of—”
“We were planning on letting you go free,” Einar interrupted, “so you might wish to mind your tongue.”
The officer blinked in surprise. “W-what? Let me go, unharmed?”
Einar nodded. “We only want your uniforms. Chuy, are you ready?”
Cinching his belt, Chuy looked up. “It’s a snug fit, but it will do.”
“Good.” Einar turned back to the captain. “Once we’ve departed over that dune, you may run the other way. If you do, we won’t kill you. Understood?”
“Y-yes. But if you hope to fool my man on the shore, he has served with us a long time. Through many campaigns. He’ll know you’re not with us.”
“That is not your concern,” Fhad said. “Simply do as my friend here commanded you. Run that way, and we won’t kill you.”
The captain drew a deep breath and shuddered as he let it out. “I understand.”
“Good. One last thing. Give me your sword.”
“But then I will be unarmed.”
Einar tossed his own sword atop the dune. “You may have that one.”
The officer’s eyes darted between the four of them. Einar knew the man was calculating his chances of killing him now that he was momentarily unarmed. Instead, he nodded. Then, with a sigh, he surrendered his weapon to Einar, hilt first.
“Thank you.” Einar eyed the sword with admiration. “It is a fine weapon.”
“It’s worth more than all of your hides.”
Ignoring him, Einar beckoned to the others. “Let’s go.”
As they followed him up the dune again, Einar pointed at the captain. “You may go.”
The officer glanced around warily. “Those noises? What’s over there? It sounds like… a struggle? What’s beyond that dune?”
“Not the end of this sword,” Einar replied.
“Point made.” Turning, the captain began to climb the dune. He stopped halfway, stooping to pick up the worn-out sword that Einar had discarded. Then he continued his ascent.
“Okay,” Einar whispered. “Not too fast, at first. Remember the plan.”
They descended the last dune and stood on the windswept beach. The lone soldier waved at them from his spot next to the boat.
“Good,” Mathias muttered. “We’re far enough away that he only recognizes the uniforms. Should we pretend to have Fhad in bondage though, perhaps?”
“It won’t matter in a moment,” Einar replied.
Behind them, the captain screamed. The noises from the battle ceased. Then, a cacophony of new sounds began.
“They took the bait,” Einar said, tensing. “Run, but not too fast yet.”
The four men began to jog toward the ocean. A moment later, the terrified captain pulled even with them, and then raced ahead, shrieking. He was weaponless, having dropped Einar’s discarded sword in his fright.
“Now,” Einar yelled. “Run, as if the very hounds of hell were on our heels!”
“Are they not?” Chuy panted.
Einar glanced over his shoulder just to verify the situation, and then plunged onward, summoning all his stamina.
Behind them, a seemingly endless wave of blood-crazed corpses and enraged giant ants swarmed onto the sand and gave chase.
The group did not speak as they raced toward the surf, but the beach was anything but silent. Their gasping, panting breath seemed very loud, as did their footfalls in the loose sand. The chitinous clanking of the ants and the moans of the dead filled the landscape. Birds shrieked overhead. The terrified captain shrieked and gibbered, shouting unintelligible orders to the confused soldier and the slaves.
Einar risked another glance over his shoulder. His eyes narrowed when he saw that their enemies were quickly gaining on them. The ants were at the forefront of the mass, but the dead followed close behind, tenacious as ever. The former would catch them before they reached the boat unless he did something. The dead would eat whatever was left. He cast his attention to his companions. Both Fhad and Chuy, already in weakened states, were quickly faltering and lagging behind. Even young Mathias’s stamina seemed to be waning. The captain now pulled ahead of their group, arms flailing. His helmet tumbled from his head, but he did not stop to retrieve it. Indeed, he did not seem to notice.
Einar darted toward him, snatched up the helmet in one hand, and threw it at the fleeing officer. It struck the captain in the back of his head, staggering him. He stumbled and turned, pausing just long enough for Einar to catch up with him. Blood trickled down his neck. Without stopping, Einar swung his sword with both hands, severing the captain’s legs below the knees. He grinned at how much sharper this new weapon was. Screaming, the officer toppled onto his side. The sand around him turned red. He flopped over onto his back and fumbled for his legs, but his grip was too weak to hold them. Instead, mewling, he grasped at the barbarian. Einar leaped over him and kept running.
The officer’s cries turned into one long, warbling scream as the ants fell upon him.
“That bought us a few seconds,” Einar barked. “Push yourselves now!”
The sand grew cool and hard beneath their feet, allowing for easier traction, and their speed increased. Mathias pulled slightly ahead of the others. Chuy began to lag again, huffing for breath. Small crabs scuttled out of their way. The soldier standing by the boat gaped at their approach, his expression a mask of confusion and horror. It was clear that he recognized the uniforms, but not the men wearing them.
“Here now,” he yelped. “Who are you? What did you do to Captain Reve—”
His questions stopped as Mathias rested the tip of his sword against the hollow of his throat.
“Drop your weapon,” the youth warned. “Fast!”
Swallowing, the soldier let his sword fall into the surf.
“What now, Einar?” Mathias asked, without turning around.
The others drew even with the boat and stopped, panting.
Einar placed his hand on the captive’s shoulder. “I offer you two choices but be quick in your decision. My companion can kill you now, but he will spare your life if you agree to assist us.”
The soldier blinked. “W-what can I do to help, sir?”
Smiling, Mathias lowered his sword and stepped aside. Einar moved behind the soldier and shoved him forward.
“Run. You can choose any direction but the ocean. But do it now.”
“B-but those things…”
Einar shrugged. “Kill him, Mathias.”
With a cry, the soldier fled down the beach. Many of the horde veered after him. Others still busied themselves with the fallen captain, who was now just a wet, glistening smear. But too many still bore down upon them.
“Quickly now,” Einar ordered. “Into the boat.”
The slaves cowered, rattling their chains as Fhad, Chuy, and Mathias clambered into the vessel. One of the men was about Mathias’s age and so skinny that his ribs stuck out starkly against his skin. The other was older with a matted gray beard and rotten teeth.
“Can you free them, Fhad?” Einar grunted, pushing the boat further into the water.
Nodding, the big man began to hack at the chains.
“Einar,” Mathias warned, pointing, “behind you!”
The barbarian turned as two ants bore down on him. A pack of corpses followed close on their heels. He sidestepped, raising his sword, and retreated to the rear of the boat. Chuy and Mathias jumped out on the other side and began to pull with all their might. The hull scraped along sluggishly, but then the stern came free of the sand, followed by the bow. All three men quickly clambered aboard. The ants hesitated, retreating from the waves, but the zombies lumbered forward.
“Can they swim, do you think?” Mathias asked.
Before the others could answer, a wave knocked into the dead, sending them sprawling into the surf.
“Fhad and Mathias, take the oars.” Einar turned to the cowering slaves. “You are free now. We mean you no harm. Indeed, until a few days ago, we were like you.”
The younger slave peered over Einar’s shoulder, staring wide-eyed at the dead. “What happened here in this place?”
“It does not matter now,” Einar replied. “Everything on that island is dead. But we wish to live. Do you wish to live, as well?”
The men nodded.
“Good. Then you can help us take that ship and free the rest of the slaves.”
Both men blinked.
“Just the six of us?” The older man shook his head. “There are fifty soldiers assigned to that crew. We were sent to search for survivors from the vessels lost in the storms. It’s a full accompaniment. The odds…”
Einar grinned. “The four of us have faced and survived worse. We will take that ship, with or without your help. If you do not wish to assist us, then you are free to jump out now.”
The old man blanched. “And go where?”
Einar cocked his head toward the island.
“You can count on our swords,” the younger man said.
“He asked a good question though,” Chuy said. “Where do we go after we’ve taken the ship?”
Einar turned to Fhad. “How far away is your homeland?”
“Far, far to the south. I fear we would sail for a very long time. But I will do so.”
“Then we will sail with you,” Einar replied. “I wish to see this place… and to lay eyes upon the type of woman who willingly laid down and bedded you.”
Fhad smiled and then laughed. The others joined him. The sound carried back to the beach, where the dead stood and watched as the boat drew farther and farther away.
“Okay,” Einar said, cleaning his sword with the hem of his garment. “Let us prepare. With luck, they’ll see our uniforms and not challenge us until we are aboard.”
“And if luck is not with us?” Mathias asked.
“Then we will have to make our own.”
The oars creaked as they approached the ship and got ready to fight once again.
Acknowledgments
My thanks as always to Mark Sylva, Tod Clark, and Stephen McDornell; Paul Goblirsch, Leigh Haig, and Thunderstorm Books; Jason Sizemore, Lesley Conner, and Apex Book Company; Mary SanGiovanni; and my sons and my daughter.
About the Author
Brian Keene is the author of over fifty books, mostly in the horror, crime, and fantasy genres. He has also written for such media properties as Thor, Doom Patrol, Justice League, Doctor Who, The X-Files, Aliens, and Masters of the Universe. Several of his novels and stories have been adapted for film.
His numerous awards and honors include the 2014 World Horror Grandmaster Award, 2001 Bram Stoker Award for Nonfiction, 2003 Bram Stoker Award for First Novel, the 2016 Imadjinn Award for Best Fantasy Novel, and the 2015 Imaginarium Film Festival Awards for Best Screenplay, Best Short Film Genre, and Best Short Film Overall.
Keene also serves on the Board of Directors for the Scares That Care 501c charity organization.
He lives in rural Pennsylvania, along the banks of the Susquehanna River, with his wife (author Mary SanGiovanni), and their five cats, thirteen hermit crabs, and assorted deer, opossums, raccoons, bears, eagles, and other wildlife.
