Reagan heard my laughter, and at first he thought I was putting on a brave face to oppose him. It was obvious to everyone present, however, that my attention was directed, not at the blowhard, but at Bloody. That angered him even more.

  “You think Bloody is funny? You *$%^&*...” He trailed off in a line of invective which displayed his poor upbringing and limited vocabulary.

  I told him the simple truth, “I think what she has to say is funny. She tells me she wants to bash my head in, but there she sits in the hands of a puerile poltroon, a churlish childish coward. She hasn’t got the will, the strength of character, or the fortitude, to come over here any more than you have, you worm. I’m tied up and you’re still too weak to face me. You pathetic wretch, your mother must be so proud.” I gave everyone my best smile, feeling the blood from my split lip wash over my teeth.

  Obviously, I had worked my bonds away by then by using the sharpened stud at the back of my belt. I’d cut my wrist bonds off and sliced through my primitive ankle restraints, but was careful to maintain the appearance of still being bound. What I was waiting for was for the fool to come just a little closer so I could kill him. I thought that taunt about his mother would do the trick.

  She was in the crowd, too. Reagan’s mom stepped up to him and spoke urgently into his ear. I overheard her say, “Kill him now! He’s making a fool of you.”

  I don’t think anyone else was supposed to hear her whispered remark but I have a more practiced hearing than most. Not willing to leave well enough alone, I had to add, “I’m not making a fool of him. I already have made a fool of him. If your son weren’t a fool, I’d already be dead. I’ve proven that I can walk through your best like they’re tissue paper and yet here I sit, taking my ease, waiting for him to come over here so I can kill him.” Everyone heard the truth of my words. The two guards closest to me didn’t even try and give me a clout for my impertinence, but merely backed away. I felt like I was on a roll.

  I looked over at each of my guards in turn, “Within three days both of you will be dead. All who have decided to follow that wretched warlord,” I motioned with my chin toward Reagan, “will also be dead.” I looked straight at Reagan’s mom, “Including you. And Hell’s mouth opens wide to receive you all.”

  The mother of the would-be tyrant could see the truth in me. Still not fully understanding, not wanting to understand, she forced a laugh, “How do you figure, *$%^&*?” I could see where Reagan got his vocabulary from.

  Aside from the vulgarity it was a fair question, so I answered, “And the widows of Ashur are loud in their wail,/ And the idols are broke in the temple of Baal,/ And the might of the Gentile, unsmote by the sword,/ Hath melted like the snow in the glance of the Lord.” I couldn’t possibly be any clearer than that!

  My quotation had a strange effect. They all seemed to calm down. I’d lost them, I could tell. Mommy’s laughter had become genuine, Reagan’s grip had firmed, Bloody's whispers were now full of a confident rage. That’s when Reagan finally stepped up to the metaphorical plate.

  It was about time, too. I’ve had to face lazy murders before, but never anything like that. Usually a couple of insults and we were off to the races, but not with those guys. With them I’d had to pull out all the stops. It was getting to the point where I had been about to challenge Reagan to a bout of mortal combat just to see if he’d have the guts to go for it.

  As Reagan closed, I remained relaxed. When he began his round house swing I stepped up and into it. By grabbing Bloody behind her spikes and continuing the arc of his blow, I managed to smoothly pull her away from Reagan. A simple matter, then, to continue the motion already begun until it achieved a full circle, smashing nails through Reagan’s skull.

  Bloody was a fairly standard weapon type among modern survivors. Still, I had no choice but to drop her instantly because of the way she burned in my hand. She was an infernal beast and I just couldn’t endure the corrupting touch of her. Without my own girls, Abby and Polly, I really didn’t feel up to a round two against a horde of hot blooded murderers. So I ducked and ran, using my sudden counterattack combined with the ensuing concern for the fallen to attempt my escape.

  It was kind of funny the way they all looked around in a state of stunned silence while I made a personal best for the nearest cover. Not waiting for the shooting to start before taking evasive maneuvers, I made sure to dodge in and among the groups in the crowd. Those shooting at me, having recently learned the hard way the manifest disadvantages of opening fire into a friendly crowd, allowed me to avoid their sporadic gunfire long enough to work my way across the diamond.

  Once I had bypassed the crowd, I angled my sprint around the dugouts and turned north, towards the nearby forest. Chunks of cheap siding exploded behind me as a number of shooters opted for the spray and pray method of marksmanship. Staying low to maintain the benefits of the cover which the dugouts granted, I made a straight dash for the woods.

  I managed to hurdle the first low fence, but had to climb the second one in order to reach my destination. By then bullets were flying all around me, sometimes even striking sparks off the fence I was in the act of scurrying over. It was good for me that no one had ever thought that it would be a good idea to put razor wire in the children’s playground, or I’d have never made it.

  After passing into the woods I felt that I had made a safe getaway, so I took a breather and got my bearings. I knew from my previous scouting that I was in the northernmost part of the town and already outside of any wooden barricades. My main problem would be having to travel around the whole town of Riverwood in order to make it back home. I decided to go to ground and wait for nightfall. Time, after all, was on my side.

  Another fun thing was how nobody had the courage to come into the woods after me. I’m guessing that after our last encounter in the forest, the brigands of Riverwood knew how that little game of hide and seek would play out. I also kept an ear open for any road traffic but didn’t hear any of that either. Again, no doubt remembering what happened the last time anyone from that berg had attempted to seek me by way of motorcar, no one was willing to brave the open road. All of which was fine by me.

  I climbed a tree and decided to take a nap. I was still so stuffed from all that sweetbread that it was making me drowsy. I’d wolfed down so much that I felt like I wouldn’t have to eat for a week. Next thing I knew it was mid-morning and time for me to see what was going on in town. It had been over twenty-four hours since everyone had ingested my special delivery, and I was anxious to see how much cleanup would be necessary.

  I worked my way around to where I knew the brigands made their homes, and climbed the fence. There was no one in sight, no guards, no nothing. Taking that as a promising sign, I ventured further in, taking care not to leave myself too exposed. I made my way over to the first house and listened at the door. I heard nothing from inside.

  I carefully tested the doorknob and found it to be locked, as expected. With zombies running around and all of one’s best buddies being a bunch of carefree killers it probably was a good idea to keep the doors locked as much as possible. Didn’t slow me down much, though.

  Inside, I began a quick search of the place. As soon as I reached the bedrooms I had the feeling that I wasn’t alone. That was when a zombie pushed the door open and reached out for me. I had to backpedal in a hurry to stay out of its reach. The only weapon I had on me was a rock that I’d picked up in the weald. As the horror closed with me I lashed out and put a sizable dent in its forehead. Quickly backing away, I was gratified to see it fall.

  As I reached down to appropriate the combat knife at the waist of my victim, two more zombies came from out of the same room. For once I decided ‘to heck with it’ and just left. They were the ordinary stumbly slow kind, so escaping wasn’t much of a problem.

  In the next house I found that one of the inhabitants was still alive and puking out his guts. There was another body in the same room as him with a bullet hole in its head. My guess was that it turned into a zombie first and got killed, then the poison began to overcome the survivor. I left him to his misery.

  So I continued. From house to house, picking up arms as my needs required, and killing as it was convenient. There were two ghouls in the mix and two ogres as well, which seemed a disproportionately high ratio, but I’d seen stranger things. Some of my lawful prey were still in the vomiting stage, others were advanced into convulsions; many were already dead. I supposed that by the time someone died in a house all the others in the same household were already sick, making them easy prey for zombies. Eventually, I came to Reagan’s mom and she wasn’t dead yet, just sick as a dog and holding a pistol.

  I said, “Hi, Reagan’s mom. If you’ve ever thought about thinking about eternal consequences, now’s the time.” I had found her in her bedroom surrounded by the bodies of one teenager, a boy, with a bullet hole in his forehead, a woman who also had a head wound, and a two little girls who had obviously succumbed to the poison and not Changed. I’d already found Reagan’s corpse one room over, laying on a bed with an extra hole in its skull.

  “You!” She did not sound very pleased to see me. She clearly would have liked to shoot me but lacked the strength.

  “Who else? You can’t say I didn’t warn you, and ‘fair warning’s as good as a promise’.”

  “How could you? You monster!” What a grump.

  My response was, “As these things go, except for getting caught, it was pretty easy. Fun too.”

  “Their blood is on your hands, devil!” I took her to mean the little kids.

  “If it’s any consolation, they’re better off dead than having you for a grandparent. Think about it. You would have raised them to be human garbage like your son and yourself. This way they die clean, at least comparatively. They got to go to Heaven. You won’t.”

  “What gives you the right? You got no right.” What a ditz. It was like she wasn’t paying attention.

  “Everyone has the right to protect the innocent. You all thought it was pretty fun to play a bunch of murder games, steal from some, enslave others, y’all had a grand ol’ time. I’m your Judgment.”

  “They didn’t deserve this.” She indicated her grand kids.

  “Your right, they didn’t, but that’s life. A murder gets caught and his kids grow up without a father. Or in this case a whole bunch of murderers get killed and their children get caught up in the general punishment. It was foolish of you to think that you could hide behind them.”

  She reiterated, “They didn’t deserve this.”

  “You really don’t have enough time left to be repeating yourself, you know. Tick-tock.”

  “You could have found another way.”

  That made me laugh, “Why would I want to find another way? This way worked fine. What did you think would happen if your slaves ever rose up and rebelled? Did you suppose that they’d take your little ones under their arms and raise them along side their own children? Did you think that they’d rear them, feed them, teach them, love them? When punishment comes, this is the way the children of the heinous die. It’s not pretty, but it is the way of a fallen world. It’s your way.”

  “I’ll kill you!” Wow, what an optimist!

  “Maybe, but that hardly seems likely. Right now you should try and keep your focus on more obtainable goals. Like dying from mushroom poisoning. Remember what I said about the afterlife, it’s still not too late, you know.”

  “You’ll burn for this. You’ll burn! And I’ll be waiting in hell for you! I’ll be waiting!” Her breathing had become ragged and she was trembling, desperate to bring her pistol to bear on me. Of course, I’d seen her trying that move all along, but hadn’t had the heart to stop her until she actually worked up the strength for a passable effort. It was a simple matter to take the pistol from her.

  “Yeah, I’m pretty sure that’s how it works. The guy who puts his life on the line to save thousands of strangers from being robbed, raped, and murdered goes to Hell because the murderers had kids. You’re right about you going to Hell, though, unless you have a last minute change of heart.

  “For what it’s worth, I’m sorry about the little ones, but I’m not sorry to you. I still maintain that death saved them from you. If I could have come up with a way to kill all you murdering filth without involving your kids I would have, but I just didn’t see it. A man like me can’t be expected to allow innocent victims to suffer and die so that the children of their guilty tormentors can live and prosper. Now that wouldn’t be fair.”

  “Why don’t you just kill me? Are you here to gloat?” She made a fair observation.

  I had to think about that one for a minute before answering, “Although I do enjoy a good gloat, in this case I think I’m keeping up my end of the conversation because, since I’ve killed so many people, I just thought it would be nice if there was a story of redemption around here somewhere, ya’ know? I mean, I’ve got the time, and your not exactly going anywhere in a terrestrial, temporal sense. So wouldn’t it be nice if I could talk you into Heaven?”

  Her reply was some vulgar anatomical impossibility, to which I replied, “Then again, I suppose your time in Hell will be that much more horrible when you have to spend eternity knowing you blew your one last chance. So I guess it’s a win-win.”

  Her final action, before succumbing to unconsciousness, was to spit at me. Well, she tried to spit. It seemed that since she’d lost so much strength the best expectoration she could manage was to dribble a big wad of goo down her own chin. It was beautiful in its own way, though.

  She was fading, I could tell. Her convulsions were beginning and I doubted she would return to consciousness. Even if she did awaken I was doubtful for her lucidity. After a bit I got tired of waiting for her to finally kick the bucket, and used her prone form for a little game of mumbletypeg, substituting her ribs for pegs. In my version the object of the game was to see how many knives I could stick in her torso before she Changed. As it turned out, only two.

  Her body rose up as a common stupid zombie, no special speed, no special strength, her Change was altogether typical. I put another of the knives I’d collected between her eyes and went back outside. Down the street a distance I found Bloody whispering in the street, where she had apparently been abandoned by her weilder. I got some gas and lit her on fire, then I poured some charcoal from an abandoned grill all over her. I found her dying screams to be most satisfying.

  Chapter 13

  After I got back home I told everyone that I needed to go back across the state line again, as soon as possible. I had some unfinished business with some perfidious taxidermists. Uncle had always warned me against leaving enemies lying around behind me, though to be fair his advice might have contributed to me getting kicked out of elementary school. Notwithstanding, it was my avowed intention to go back and see how many of the Color Cult were left to make an end of.

  I was careful to time my approach of the mansion to be shortly after sundown. I parked a mile away and made my way on foot with an ever loyal Tracer at my side. As I approached the wall from the west, I noticed that significantly more damage had been done to the place than my one little fire could account for. From my position at the treeline I could see that there were three holes in the wall. Two were the results of explosions and one had been the result of some large treaded vehicle. All the apertures had been formed from the outside in. Over the wall and a few hundred feet inside the acreage, I detected the still standing outlines of various electrical generation windmills.

  Tracer warned me that it was time to start being careful so I made a stealthy approach to the nearest hole. I could still smell the black powder residue lingering on the broken bricks. After a closer examination, I discovered that Gabriela’s (Ms. Green) electrical work to make the wall unsafe to climb had been completely undone. Peeking around the wall’s broken remains, I noticed that the estate’s interior had lost little of its garden-like quality; there were still a wide variety of fruit bearing trees and shrubbery everywhere (which was nice).

  I stayed outside the perimeter and moved to the next hole, the one formed by being smashed through instead of blown up. The tread tracks were fairly large; my best guess was a big tractor, or maybe a crane. From that vantage point the damage inside seemed somewhat greater. Whatever had broken through the wall had not stopped, but had continued to plow its way through the extensive arbor on a semi-straight course toward the mansion.

  I decided to parallel the tread tracks to see what new wonders the night might hold for me. Closer to the mansion Tracer gave a start, alerting me to the presence of dogs. They could be dangerous, so we continued along the trail with a bit less alacrity and a bit more circumspection.

  Eventually we came to the break in the orchard where the main back yard of the mansion lay. It was a lovely terraced stretch with a giant pool and plenty of space for horsing around. The mansion itself wasn’t exactly a charred ruin but it wasn’t exactly the kind of place where one would wish to hang his hat, either. Half of the roof had collapsed, and what was left looked as if it was looking forward to losing its battle with gravity. Much of the interior had been gutted by flame, and there were numerous large holes in the building’s exterior which seemed to have been created by multiple explosions. I felt a swell of pride at the sight.

  I’d had no idea my tiny little fire would ignite such a delightful incendiary event, and I was sorry that I’d missed it. How such a blaze could have spread so efficiently and caused so many secondary explosions was a bit of a mystery to me. It’s true that I had doused the exposed wooden ceiling with stain remover, and done what little I could to ensure a nice blast to get the whole thing started, but due to time constraints, I hadn’t even mixed in anything to gel the combustibles. The crumbling ruin was as beautiful as it was unexpected.

 

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