The Temple of the Dead

Book 2 of Sepulchral Earth Series

By
Tim Marquitz

Damnation Books, LLC.
P.O. Box 3931
Santa Rosa, CA 95402-9998

www.damnationbooks.com

The Temple of the Dead

Book 2 of Sepulchral Earth Series

by Tim Marquitz

Digital ISBN: 978-1-61572-270-9

Print ISBN: 978-1-61572-271-6

Cover art by: Jessica Lucero
Edited by: Lisa Jackson

Copyright 2010 Tim Marquitz

Printed in the United States of America
Worldwide Electronic & Digital Rights
1st North American and UK Print Rights

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced, scanned or distributed in any form, including digital and electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without the prior written consent of the Publisher, except for brief quotes for use in reviews.

This book is a work of fiction. Characters, names, places and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to any actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

Dedicated to the loves of my life, Tiffanie and Lorelei.

Acknowledgements:

To Mihir for his dogged persistence in helping me stay on point.

To Frankie, Isaac, and Jodale.

To my Andress supporters,

thank you all.

The Temple of the Dead

Under the rumbling gray sky, Harlan Cole clutched his swollen ribs, his face a patchwork of graven lines. He circled right as the walker came at him. Short huffs of breath spewed from cracked lips. He looked into the corpse’s blackened sockets to see pools of insect larvae churning in their depths. Harlan fought the urge to gag as a long brown roach skittered from the corpse’s eye and ran across its cheek. It wormed its way inside the walker’s jaundiced ear and disappeared.

Distracted by the sight, shivers rippled his flesh. Harlan barely realized the corpse had swung its cadaverous arm. He slipped just out of reach, his broken ribs setting fire to his side despite the tight wrap. He leaned in and thrust his obsidian sword under the walker’s chin with a trembling hand, burying the point deep inside its rotten skull.

The corpse spasmed once and went rigid. Its possessor shrieked in ethereal rage as it was forced from the dead flesh and banished into the void. The screams dying away in Harlan’s head, the walker crumpled, pulling the sword from Harlan’s hand without resistance.

Every muscle in Harlan’s body gave way in concert and he collapsed onto the wet sand beside the corpse. His heart thundered in his chest, each beat a shotgun blast. Through blurry eyes, he surveyed the other walkers that happened upon his perch. They lay there stiff and unmoving, dead once again, their spirit engines driven out.

As he gasped to draw air, the bitter taste of decay settled thick in his throat. His stomach roiled. He crawled downwind, a raw groan slipping loose as he lay down in the gentle rain. The acrid stench eased by degrees.

As he struggled to catch his breath, a quiet whisper nagged at his ear. He cast his reddened eyes to the side and grumbled. “Thanks, Mother. I’ll get right on it.”

The Professor shimmered into view. The blackened shadows of his makeshift face were drawn in a semblance of frustration.

Harlan sat up, his teeth clenched. “You don’t think I know that? I’m on my way to the hospital right now. Oh, wait…”

The Professor drifted closer, shimmering hands on ghostly hips.

A subtle smiled crept over Harlan’s lips. “No, sarcasm doesn’t help, but it makes me feel better.” His heart settling into an easy trot, Harlan got to his feet. He ignored the sharp spikes that pierced his knees and glanced at the darkening face of the spirit. “Don’t worry. I’ll do what I have to, even if it kills me.”

A subtle tremor flickered along the spirit’s form. The shadows of his face morphed into a scowl. Harlan stared at him a moment, then nodded, his mouth a grim line. He yanked his sword from the fleshy sheath and returned it to its place on his belt before stepping around his guardian. He ruffled the energies of The Professor’s shoulder as he passed, and moved toward the sandy precipice. At its edge, he glanced out over the valley.

A deep sigh slipped from him as the immensity of his task lumbered about before him.

In the distance, the pewter-gray walls of Delphi stood out against the browns and light greens of the desert. The massive structure of the main building stood tall, defiant against the late afternoon haze that blurred the cloudy sky. A scattering of smaller buildings littered the yard. A security fence surrounded the compound. The razor wire that topped it glistened even in the dim light of the passing storm. While mostly intact, sections of the fence had collapsed and lay buried in the sand.

Within its confines ambled an army of walkers. The corpses of humans stumbled in lazy laps around the buildings while motley dogs and coyotes circled their feet. A multitude of possessed animals roamed the yard, from a dozen feral cats to a golden-blond mare, its leather saddle rotting on its back. A mountain lion prowled among them, its natural instincts submerged in the whitewash of the possessive spirit’s control.

Flocks of black-winged grackles filled the sky, wheeling in circles overhead, casting a wavering shadow across the compound. Harlan could hear their spectral voices on the air. Desperation mingled amidst the fury.

A gentle wave of insistence washed over him. He blocked out the birds and focused on the glimmer of energy that prickled his skin. He let it in and felt its essence tug at his spirit. It called to him.

“Can you feel that?”

The Professor drifted closer to the sandy edge without responding. Harlan stared at him and the spirit’s makeshift mouth turned up in a slight smile. He watched for a moment longer, his guardian inching forward as though being pulled. Harlan set a hand upon The Professor’s shimmering arm and the ghost twitched suddenly. He swung his swirling gaze around.

Harlan met his dark eyes. “Soon enough, my friend.” A quiet sigh tickled his ear. “But we have work to do now.”

The Professor nodded, the movement exaggerated, and leapt off the dirt ledge, flinging himself toward the compound. As he faded from sight, Harlan worked his way down the far side of the hill. He circled to come around from the opposite direction. As he neared the bottom, he heard his guardian spirit begin to howl. His frothy rage raised the hair on the back of Harlan’s neck.

The walkers in the compound swung their heads as one, their voices added to The Professor’s. Answering the spirit’s cry, they shook off the lethargy of their endless rounds and made their way toward him. The animal forms were blurs against the sand, the human corpses far slower as they lurched on rotten legs.

Harlan stood behind a tangle of creosote bushes, far enough out that the spirits couldn’t sense him. He waited until the bulk of the corpses had left the yard, then made his way to a hole in the fence he’d spied from his perch. Unconcerned with being seen, the walkers intent upon The Professor, he made a mad dash toward the main building. He wound his way through the maze of outlying portables at a gallop, their exteriors weathered by the elements and the frustrated dead. His side was a serenade in agony, his eyes clenched to tiny slits as he tried to ignore it.

His elbow tucked in tight against his ribs to reinforce the makeshift wrap, he raced between the last few buildings. Just as he cleared the corner, something snatched at his leg and sent him tumbling. The wall of the portable filled his vision and he turned his face away just as the side of his head collided with it.

Darkness washed over him. It was chased away in a burst of pain as he struck the ground. His senses roared to life in the aftermath, the gritty sand in his mouth and nose moist and cloying. He wiped the dirt from his teary eyes as he heard something skitter behind him. He rolled to his side, his hand going for his sword as he confronted the thing that had tripped him.

From beneath the opposite portable leered a grinning skull. Two fleshy arms cleared the loose dirt from around it. The blackened pits of its eyes glared murder as it slipped from beneath the building. Harlan gasped when he saw it and jumped to his feet, ignoring his body’s screaming complaints.

Its hoary arms were joined by another, and then another, and still two more after that. With no torso to support them, each cadaverous limb sprouted from the bottom of the skull like the tentacles of a squid. They raised the fleshless skull up, four sets of knuckles digging into the sand until it stood over three feet tall. The two remaining arms extended toward Harlan. Decayed flesh flaked away from the fingers as they opened and closed like the pincers of a crab.

Despite his familiarity with death, there was nothing in his past that could prepare him for the sight of such an abomination. His stomach felt full of lead as he stared at it, his mind a whirlwind of disgust. Sword in hand, he backed away. He bounced off the portable wall for fear of taking his eyes off the creature that trundled toward him.

Its ethereal voice spewed venom, its skeletal teeth chattering along in time. Grasping hands creaked as arthritic joints ground together, reaching out for him. It advanced, matching its pace to his.

The obsidian blade squirmed in Harlan’s hand, shaking his arm with insistent violence. He struggled to retain his grip on the fidgeting blade as he wondered at its sudden rebellion. His thoughts scrambled from the blow to the head, he strained to clear his mind. He stared at the twisted creature, the empty pools of its eyes giving away nothing of its intent.

He continued backing away in the direction of the main building when at last a stray thought broke through the murk inside his skull. The sword settled.

Just as he reached the far corner of the portable, he took a quick step away from it and spun, his blade leading the way. The obsidian sword arced through the air. Its razored edge cleaved the head from a walker that lurked behind the sheltering wall of the small building. As easily as it had the brittle bone of the corpse, the blade sliced through the aluminum wall of the portable before the spirit had even fled its host.

The sword’s momentum carried through until Harlan once again faced the grinning, six-armed skull, the blade held out front. It sat steady in his hand. Yellow-green ooze dripped from its edge.

The abomination shrieked and scurried forward, its scrabbling hands lending it speed. Harlan took a step right, then dodged left as the creature flung itself at him. Fouled by the misdirection, the thing stumbled as it tried to correct its course. A quick slash of Harlan’s sword ended its attempt.

Its limbs severed, the skull sailed through the air and tumbled into the sand, rolling to a stop several yards away. Its other voice screamed its rage as Harlan skirted the pile of still-thrashing limbs and chased after it. He speared the skull and flung it away as the possessive spirit screeched and fled the touch of the blade.

Certain the other walkers had heard its cries, Harlan ran full out for the main building. Though he didn’t dare look to confirm it, he thought he saw the walkers returning. There was a bustle of activity off in the distance of his peripheral vision. Adrenaline fueled his charge. He clenched his teeth and did his best to ignore the lightning bolts that seared through his knees as he ran. His jounced ribs screamed a blowtorch of agony.

Designed for security, Delphi was built with an abundance of stone and steel, and seemingly little else. The only windows in the building were tiny murder holes set high upon the walls, far out of reach. The entrance was a massive door set above a steep flight of wide stairs.

With every step provoking a muttered curse, Harlan used the handrail to scale the mountain of stairs, arriving breathless on the landing. He stumbled to the entrance where sudden realization enshrouded him. He stared at the door with wide eyes. His hand unconsciously traced the frame where the handle should be. There was nothing.

He glanced to the wall and a saw a tinted dome attached to it. Below it was a keypad, its screen deader than the corpses on his heels. Harlan cast a glance behind him to see the walkers stumbling his way. Several of the dogs were already inside the fence. Low to the ground, they were closing the distance fast. The mountain lion led the charge.

The Professor too far away to trigger the door from the inside, Harlan surveyed the yard, looking for the most tactical way to flee. As his gaze swung to his left, he spied a shimmer of red illuminating his shoulder. He spun about and noticed the glowing dot of life inside the security camera’s plastic dome.

Giving no thought to who, or what, might have activated the camera, Harlan waved and shouted. He pointed to the approaching dead. For several long seconds he stood there frantic, pounding on the door as the walkers grew ever closer. It remained closed. The glowing light teased him with the promise of sanctuary, just out of reach.

Harlan drew in a resigned breath as the possessed animals neared the bottom of the stairs, and turned to face them. His time spent pleading at the door had left him none to escape. He held his obsidian sword tight in his sweaty hand as his thoughts drifted to his family. He didn’t fear death, only failure.

Though it would be the dead that ripped the flesh from his bones, it would be shame that killed him.

As the lion mounted the first of the steps and climbed fast, its wailing entourage of hounds and coyotes at its heels, Harlan heard a muted click behind him. Not daring to hope, he cast a quick glance over his shoulder. His heart nearly burst as he noticed a crack of darkness between the door and the frame. Without worrying what might lie inside, he pushed his way through the portal. It couldn’t be much worse than what he knew awaited him outside.

He slammed the door shut, putting his weight behind it, just as the lion crashed into its reinforced face with a raspy snarl. The impact nearly knocked Harlan off his feet, his boots finding little traction on the slick tile floor. He took advantage of a momentary lull of pressure while the big cat pulled back to hit the door again, and wedged his bare back against the cold steel. His head reeled with the white noise of the rabid animals just outside. He slid his sword behind him and scratched a line along the threshold as he spit out a muffled word.

Silence exploded.

Bile bubbled up caustic in the back of his throat as he sank to a seat. Trickles of sweat cascaded down his face. The rhythm of his breathing competed with the rapid-fire beat of his heart, his chest a huffing locomotive of hot and sharp pains. He stared into the gloom, unable to make out any details of his surroundings. Though he could barely see, and every inch of his body hurt, a smile sprang unbidden to his lips. He was still alive.

The sudden appearance of The Professor materializing through the door, wiped the smile away with a start. Harlan swallowed hard and glared at his guardian spirit, loosening the white-knuckled grip on his blade. He shook his head and leaned his back against the door to catch his breath.

The quiet vibration of the magnetic locks engaging made him jump to his feet. The room suddenly flooded with light. He did his best not to look like prey under its harsh glow. His hands shaking from the adrenaline dump, he wasn’t confident he’d succeeded.

“Sorry to leave you out there so long. The system takes a few seconds to warm up.” Like a country mouse, a quiet voice squeaked.

Harlan shielded his eyes and saw a shaggy young man standing in a doorway across the room. He had on a stained lab coat, its color almost indistinguishable from the brown slacks he wore. His hair was haggard and uneven, as though he’d trimmed it with a hacksaw. His chin was covered in spattered patches of a wild blond beard.

“Walter told me y’all would be showing up. Just didn’t expect you so soon.” He waved Harlan over. “My name’s Cam. You best come inside before the sun sets. It gets a little busy round here.”

Mindful of the risks of trusting anyone, Harlan found it easy to like Cam. Despite the ruin of the world around him, the living dead stalking the yard outside, the man hadn’t seemed to have lost his southern charm, which said a lot about his character.

“You hungry?” Cam asked, leading the way down a dimly lit stairwell.

“I could eat, though if you have something to drink, that’d be even better.”

“Sure. Got plenty of clean water and there’s even some sodas left over if you want something with flavor.”

Harlan chuckled. “I was thinking maybe something a little more, uh, medicinal, if you know what I mean.”

Cam cast him a toothy smile. “Gotcha. Not much of a drinker myself, but we had an old boy here, one of the technicians, who couldn’t have made it through the day without a sip or twelve. He had a few bottles stashed about, here and there. I’ll scrounge one up for you.”

Harlan thanked him with enthusiasm and they traveled the rest of the way in silence. Just the thought of a good stiff drink eased his myriad aches and pains.

At a wide landing, four stories down, Cam yanked open a reinforced fire door and waved Harlan and The Professor through before flipping a switch that plunged the stairwell into inky blackness. The fluorescent lights in the corridor beyond were set low, casting their illumination in trembling flickers. The temperature was noticeably cooler beyond the door than it had been upstairs. The gentle chill prickled Harlan’s skin.

“This here’s where I stay at night.” He motioned to a swinging door at the end of the hall. “While the thick walls and steel doors keep the walkers from gettin’ in, the ghosts ain’t got no problems floating through the walls, like your friend there did.”

Harlan stopped mid-step, growling. “I need to go back up. I can stop that.”

Cam looked at him with good-natured ignorance. “Not sure how you’d do it, but they don’t come down here no ways. They’re too interested in the Oracle to even realize anybody’s around.” He headed off down the hall and held the far door open. “Come on in. After being outside for a spell, you’re going to think you’re in Heaven.”

His hard-earned paranoia difficult to ignore, ingrained marrow-deep by the harshness of survival, Harlan stayed rooted in place. “I don’t think you understand the danger my being here puts you in.”

Cam laughed. “You’re probably right, but Walter told me something about how the dead can sniff you out. He said that won’t be a problem for you here, though.” He pointed toward the ceiling. “There ain’t no bigger draw than home.”

Harlan glanced at The Professor, who hadn’t spoken a word since he’d entered Delphi. He saw the shadows of the spirit’s eyes staring sightless through the roof. He sighed and looked back to Cam. “You’re probably right.”

Almost in direct conflict with the laws of nature, Cam’s smile grew wider, his face barely able to contain it. “Let’s get that food. Walter’s waiting inside.”

Cam shuffled through the swinging door and held it open. Before Harlan even entered the room, he felt the temperature drop again, too cold to be natural. His hand instinctively went to the pommel of his sword as he surveyed the room.

What had clearly been a cafeteria, the room sprawled out for half a football field. An empty, chrome buffet line filled the back wall. Dusty signs hung overtop, advertising various meals, the food illustrated in savory perfection. Despite himself, Harlan felt his chest tighten.

Never much of a cook himself, his wife had prided herself on her culinary skills. She had made it her goal to spoil him until he was fat and happy. Far from either in his desolate condition, he hadn’t eaten a decent meal since the night she died.

His eyes moistened against his wishes and he tore them from the images. He went back to examining the room.

Rows of folded tables and hundreds of metal chairs were stacked behind the buffet in haphazard piles save for one table, which was set up in the center of the room. At it sat a decayed corpse whose empty sockets met Harlan’s stare with morbid confidence.

“I had feared you would not make it,” the corpse told him. Though his voice was lower in pitch than it had been the last time they’d talked, the words punctuated with moist phlegm, Harlan recognized Walter’s inflection immediately; his intellectual lilt rolled flawless off the dead man’s blackened tongue.

The Professor drifted to his side as Walter stood, his bones creaking. Dressed in the tattered remnants of a security guard uniform, it was clear the body’s original owner hadn’t survived the uprising. His sternum had been broken in half as though there’d been an autopsy done. Like jagged teeth, his ribs protruded from the maw of his chest. The deep cavity behind was conspicuously empty except for the desiccated lump of its heart, hung in the gallows of the body’s center.

Harlan shivered, telling himself it was just the cold. “I was a little worried there myself.”

Cam excused himself and left through a door near the back of the cafeteria. Harlan watched him go as The Professor and Walter chatted a moment. He took a seat across from the undead pair and groaned at the simple comfort. Everything hurt.

After a moment of ethereal whispers, Walter turned to Harlan.

“What I had hoped was a simple solution has become infinitely more difficult, my friend.”

Too exhausted to be surprised, Harlan motioned for him to continue.

“Though I had never visited the Temple as a living person, killed as I was before the move, I was able to travel there in spirit, thanks to you separating me from my previous host.” He paused, leaning forward onto the table. “Having seen it now, I’m afraid things are much worse than we could have conceived.”

Harlan sunk into his seat, not daring his imagination to prove the spirit wrong. “How so?”

“Dr. James Hobart, the scientist in charge of the Pythia Project, was a vile and cruel man, capable of murder, obviously, and obsessed with contacting the spirit of his dead wife. Certainly after he killed me for threatening to expose his machinations, I had no illusions as to the depths to which he would plunge to achieve his goal. What I hadn’t expected, was that he would enlist a necromancer to aid him.”

Harlan bolted upright, ignoring the pain that catapulted through his side. “A necro—” A guillotine of realization slammed home. “That bitch. Alejandra.”

Walter nodded. “We originally believed we could simply sever the power to the machines holding the breach open and it would close of its own accord. However, she has taken that option away from us.”

“What has she done?” Harlan felt his face flush as he pictured the possibilities. There were far too many, none of which boded well.

“After a time, Hobart became unsatisfied with just speaking to his wife; he wanted to resurrect her. But no matter how many times he drew her spirit into our world, she would always be pulled back after just a short while. Unable to sever her connection to the realm of the dead, which tethered her soul, Hobart moved the experiment from Delphi to the Temple, where the spiritual nature of the site was stronger. But even there, he met with failure after failure.

“That was, until Alejandra became involved.” The corpse settled back with a gurgled sigh. “She provided the key, the mystical element that freed Hobart’s wife and allowed her to remain in the receiving body. However, as you well know, something went wrong.”

Harlan shook his head, unable to comprehend why she’d help someone bring back the dead at the risk of damning all of humanity. Then it hit him.

There wasn’t a night that went by he didn’t think about what he’d be willing to do in order to bring his family back. His hypocrisy not sacrosanct, he knew then why she had done what she had.

“She’s lost someone.”

“Who has?” Cam asked, returning with a metal tray piled high with warm food. He set the plate before Harlan and dropped some silverware onto the table and a handful of napkins beside it.

“Alejandra,” Harlan answered, his voice monotone, the entirety of his attention on the food. “Where did you get all of this?”

Sautéed beef glistened on the tray, tendrils of steam fluttering from it. The bright yellow of the corn was mesmerizing, set alongside the vibrant green of the spinach piled high and dripping with melted butter.

Though he’d been one of the lucky ones, able to free animals from their possessive host and feed on fresh meat, he hadn’t had the luxury of sitting down to anything resembling a real meal.

“Food ain’t a worry ‘round here. Got a whole couple rooms full of it. This place used to feed a few hundred people a day. Though the fresh stuff all rotted away, I figure there’ll still be plenty of packaged foods left after I’m dead and gone.” He gestured toward the back of the cafeteria.

Harlan whistled and dug in, having to remind himself to use the utensils. He groaned in delight at the first, massive bite. Forgetting his manners, he asked through a mouthful, “How do you preserve it all?”

Cam took a second before answering. “Ah, that’s why it’s so cold in here. Well, Walter helps a little.” He chuckled, smiling at the corpse as though he weren’t sitting there with his chest cracked open and heart exposed.

Harlan forced himself to swallow and slow down. “You still have electricity, but how?”

“The entire complex is powered by generators that are designed to run for decades and that are independent from any external factors,” Walter answered, a quiet laugh slipping out. “Of course, an invasion of the living dead was never factored into the building plans.”

“The generators won’t really run forever though, because they need maintenance I can’t perform, but they’ll stick around for another five or six years, easy,” Cam added. “Probably longer since I’ve turned off all the non-essentials so they don’t wear down as fast. But to answer your question, I’ve shunted the air conditioners away from upstairs so they cool down here more than the rest of the complex. Since most of the food is packaged with preservatives or canned, as long as I can keep the bugs and heat from them, they’ll stay edible.”

Harlan sighed as he took another bite, marveling at the wonders of technology he’d long since discarded as a thing of the past.

“The Temple is powered much the same as Delphi,” Walter stated. “Like the generators here that power the Oracle eye, those at the Temple continue to maintain the breach, with the necromancer’s assistance.”

“What did she do?”

“While I don’t claim to understand it all, a man of science who only recently came to terms with the supernatural—” he smiled morbidly, “I can only tell you what I managed to piece together from the dead who inhabit the area.”

“Oh, sorry, Walter, excuse me.” Cam smiled sheepishly as he interrupted the corpse. “I almost forgot.” He pulled a silver flask from his back pocket and passed it to Harlan.

Harlan sank deeper into his seat, a grateful smile on his lips as he cracked the flask open. He gestured for Walter to continue as he took a sip. The smooth warmth rushed down his throat as if it were a reprieve for a condemned man. He struggled to pay attention.

“Despite the generators at the Temple being able to produce much more power than those here, it wasn’t enough to sever the spiritual tethers upon his wife. Your necromancer, Alejandra, seemed to solve the problem by tying the system into the energy of the ghosts somehow.

“With each spirit that was summoned into the resurrection chamber, a tiny piece of their life force was stolen away and transferred to the system in order to provide more power. When that spirit’s time was up, it would snap back into its own realm and Hobart would summon another and begin the process all over.”

“So the machine that holds the breach open is powered by the spirits that are coming through it.”

Walter nodded, the gentle creak of rigor punctuating the movement. “As the experiment progressed, Hobart was able to keep his wife here in our realm longer and longer, but eventually, she would be drawn back each time.”

Harlan swallowed another mouthful of the fine whiskey, understanding at last what had caused the breach. “So, impatient for results, Hobart sped up the system to draw more power.” It wasn’t a question.

“Quite so. He siphoned more and more energy from the spirits until he tore a rift in the dimensional wall. In so doing, he opened a portal between our world and that of the dead, which was beyond his control. With the resurrection room not designed to hold the dead of countless generations past, the spirits stormed from the breach and flooded into our world.”

“Where they were driven insane by the sudden rush of human emotion,” Harlan finished, chasing his words with one last sip before sealing the flask. “It’d make a hell of a movie.”

“‘Cept there ain’t nobody left to make it.”

Harlan nodded at Cam. “How’d you end up here if they moved the operation?”

“Hobart was in a rush, so he dragged everyone over to the Temple to get to work, but he needed someone here to keep the Oracle open, otherwise he couldn’t see to pluck his spirit wife from the other realm. I got drafted to be his eyes here.”

“What do you mean?”

“You see, while Delphi and the Temple are a couple hundred miles from each other, the Oracle and the breach are just a few dozen feet apart inside Deadworld.”

“The concept of space is radically different in the realm of the dead than in our own. The sites are so close in the other realm you can see the breach through the Oracle eye as though peering from your window into your yard,” Walter added. “That was how Hobart was reliably able to reclaim his wife. He would lure her to the eye, where the dimensional wall is thin enough for his presence to waft through to the other side. That drew her to him.”

“After a while, he figured out he could substitute some of his blood to draw her out while he remained at the Temple to claim her,” Cam said. “I’ve still got a few bags of it stashed in the cooler.” Cam laughed.

Harlan abandoned his plate and stood. “I’d like to see the Oracle.”

Quiet whispers stung his heart. He turned to where The Professor hovered, his temple throbbing.

“I believe Cornelius may well be right,” Walter agreed. Harlan spun on him and the corpse raised his cadaverous arms in a gesture of peace. “If they still remain within the realm of the dead, it will not be just you that suffers.”

“But I can’t just—”

The Professor laid a shimmering hand on Harlan’s shoulder, his shadowed face wrung with sorrow.

Walter stood and met Harlan’s eyes. “Never freed from the shackles of emotion, if you draw them to you through the eye, it will be as though they died once again…for all of you.”

“I ain’t gonna tell you what to do, that’s on your shoulders, but you got time to think about what’s best.” Cam tapped the glowing face of his digital watch. “The suns already down, so unless you’re looking to wrassle a couple hundred ghosts, I don’t suggest you go up there right now.”

Harlan’s glare shifted to Cam, then slid away, the rigidness in his stance easing. He drew out the flask and dropped back into his seat. He eased the lid open and downed what was left inside before passing the flask to Cam.

“If I have to be good, I’m going to need a refill.”

Cam smiled and took the flask. “You got it. I’ll get you a blanket and some extra clothes.”

He headed off toward the back room while Walter wandered off the other way.

“I’ll leave you to sleep, my friend. We’ll talk in the morning.” He ambled away, stopping as he neared the door. “I’m sorry,” he said over his shoulder, then left the room.

Harlan’s gaze shifted to The Professor. “You knew I might be able to see them through the eye?”

The spirit hovered still for a moment, then at last offered a gentle nod. Whispers filled Harlan’s head.

“Don’t you think that should be my choice?” He did his best to rein in the anger that was desperate to seep into his voice.

There were more whispers and Harlan sank lower into his chair, his stomach a hard knot. It sickened him to think his guardian may well be right.

Despite his rapport with the dead, he had been denied the opportunity to see his wife and daughter since their deaths. In his heart he knew they were suffering, trapped amongst the insane spirits who raged on in their unnatural afterlife. It was this image that drove him on, the need to lead their souls to peace so he could lay down the sword and join them. If he could just see them, he could let them know he was coming for them, that everything would be all right. He would bring them hope.

But what if that wasn’t the case? What if they had moved on, forgotten him? Would his using the eye reawaken their sorrow, their pain?

He rubbed at his temples, tears welling in his eyes before running unchecked down his heated cheeks. He didn’t know if he was strong enough to stare them in the face, then walk away to do what must be done. Having already failed them once, could he bear to see the look of betrayal in their eyes and continue on?

He cast his gaze to The Professor, who looked back at him, his shadowed face awash with sadness. “Damn you for being right.” The spirit lowered his eyes and faded from sight.

Cam appeared at his side and Harlan wiped at his tears when he saw him.

“Thought you might need a little extra, to sleep, you know.” He handed Harlan the flask as well as a dusty bottle, which was nearly full, the golden liquid sloshing inside.

Harlan managed a weak smile as he claimed the whiskey, his hands shaking. Cam laid a couple of blankets out on the floor and tossed a pillow on top. He set a small pile of clothes beside the makeshift bed.

“Sorry I can’t offer you something more comfortable.”

Harlan shook his head. “This is great.” He gestured to the blankets and waggled the bottle. “It’s perfect. Thanks.”

Cam smiled and met Harlan’s weary eyes. “I’ll be in the room right over there.” He pointed. “Holler if you need anything.”

Harlan thanked him again and Cam lowered the lights and retired, leaving Harlan alone. Once he was gone, Harlan crawled beneath the blankets and cradled the whiskey as though it were a child. He thought about taking another drink, but couldn’t bring himself to open the bottle. He knew what awaited him above was only sorrow and death, but despite that, he wanted more than anything to find the Oracle; to see his family. He also knew it was the worst possible thing he could do.

The bottle sealed, his willpower was just enough to keep him there, snuggled warm in the blankets. He rolled the whiskey out of reach and closed his eyes.

At last, sleep came to him, but there was no peace hidden in its shadows. His dreams were haunted. He thrashed and moaned as the dead came for him, his wife and daughter spurring them on.

* * * *

Harlan woke with a start and leapt from under the blankets. His side admonished him with sharp spikes of pain. He stared at the unfamiliar surroundings, his hand on his sword, until at last his mind engaged. Remembering where he was, he drew in a deep breath and relaxed.

A little light-headed, he dropped into the chair and waited it out. His side thumped in rhythm to his heart as he peeled away the shirt he’d been using to bind his ribs. The misshapen lump beneath was like a fleshy rainbow. Shades of purple, blue, yellow, and red were interspersed across it. Striations of black were just starting to spread.

Against his better judgment, Harlan felt around the broken rib and hissed at the slightest touch. The Professor appeared before him, worry flitting in the darkness of his features.

Angry at nothing, yet everything, Harlan snapped. “I know, I know.”

His spirit guardian shook his ghostly head and drifted closer, his ethereal voice in Harlan’s head.

“Go ahead. It’s not like more bad news can make things worse.”

Ignoring his outburst, The Professor ducked his head and buried it in Harlan’s unwounded side. His ghostly form slipped inside without resistance.

Harlan twitched. Though he felt nothing, the sight of the ghost’s head disappearing into his torso was disturbing at best. He looked away and counted the rafters, waiting until the spirit at last pulled away.

“Well, Doc, what did you see?” he asked, though he was sure he already knew.

Gentle whispers answered.

Harlan sighed and began to wrap his ribs back up with the dirty shirt. The cold made it hard to get his fingers working. “We don’t have the time to wait it out, Professor. We’ll just have to hope we can make it to the Temple without it going into my lung.”

Neither said another word about it. Both knew the likelihood of Harlan making it two hundred miles without running into a fight was too laughable to mention. Optimism was a bet neither was willing to take.

His ribs tied, Harlan went over and plucked the clean clothes from the pile. Grateful for the button-up shirt, he eased it on to find it fit fairly well. Buttoned at last, he picked up the flask and took a small sip to warm his joints.

The Professor turned to look as Walter shambled into the room. Harlan took another sip.

“Cornelius and I discussed your dilemma last night, once you’d gone to bed. After looking into it, we believe that perhaps it might be best if you were given a few moments with the Oracle.”

Harlan glanced between the two. His eyes narrowed. “What did you see?”

Walter turned away and ambled off, waving as he did. “Come.”

The Professor drifted at the corpse’s back, not meeting Harlan’s gaze.

His stomach roiling, Harlan followed the odd pair as they wound their way through the halls. Up an indeterminable number of stairs, the rhythmic movement of Walter a metronome of creaks and pops, Harlan lost count after the first four flights. Several shots of whiskey fortifying him, he followed without question, though plenty swirled within his head.

Their sudden change of mind disturbed him. Before he went to bed, they’d believed he’d lose his will to pursue the breach were he to see his family in the other world. Now, they were encouraging him to look. That didn’t bode well.

At last, the stairs came to an end and they stepped into a cavernous room. The ceiling arched way overhead. Chromed rafters and mirrored panels filled the room with reflected light, the shine of Heaven glimmering down upon them. The quiet hum of machinery vibrated through him, closed electronic cabinets covering the walls up to ten feet high.

In the center of the room, spindly robotic arms held what looked like video cameras. Sparkling beams of light emanated from them to converge upon a glistening orb that hovered in the center of them. The white bone of the Oracle’s frame was sickly pale under the lights, the skulls decorating it a morbid sign of its intended use. The orb shimmered and rippled with waves of green fog, its lustrous face swimming like the turbulent ocean before his eyes.

Solemn sounds filled his head as he neared the Oracle, the voices of the dead drifting to him through the weakened dimensional wall. Their sorrow was palpable, prickling his skin and plucking a despairing melody upon the strings of his heart. Through the maddening murmurs, he heard The Professor.

Harlan shook his head, reluctant to move closer, never having heard such mournful entreaties in all his years. He wished now he hadn’t seen the Oracle or heard the voices that called to him, the ghosts of lifetimes sensing his presence. His own spirit wailed inside, torn between the need to find his family amongst the crowing dead and fleeing before he fell victim to the plague of sadness that assailed him.

The Professor gave him a gentle shove as Walter waved him forward. On numb legs, he stumbled to the Oracle as though in a dream. The glistening eye reflected his haggard face. On instinct, Harlan looked into the sea of green. Swirling souls, like fish within a tank, swam before his eyes. They called to him, their ethereal voices fluttering with spiritual agony.

Unlike the dead who’d been gone long enough to have lost all sense of their former lives, these spirits had been killed after the rising—or during it. They’d never known the peace of the truly passed, the embrace of emptiness that washed away the memories and eased a soul into true nothingness.

The breach held them captive to emotion, their spirits unable to move on. The fears and worries of life had never left them. Death had only driven them home more sharply, more distinct. These souls cried out to Harlan, begging for an end, a release from the torture of continued existence. They begged for oblivion.

Through this wall of voices, another pierced through the chaos to reach his mind, his heart. Its tones gentle and certain, Harlan focused on the quiet song of it. The voice grew inside his head. Its formless voice took shape in gradual steps, a sound, a syllable; a word.

Daddy.

Harlan’s heart broke. His legs wobbled, then gave out. He fell to his knees, his breath frozen in his lungs. He stared up at the Oracle with tears blurring his vision, his hands outstretched toward it. Again, the voice called out to him as a shimmering face appeared in the ripples of the eye.

“Kiri.” Little more than a whisper, Harlan forced the word out. It was the first time he’d spoken her name since the horrible night she’d been taken from him.

His daughter’s image, formed by her inner turmoil, was frightening. Wide, cat-like eyes stretched across her face while feral, ghostly teeth sprung piranha-like from her mouth. But her essence washed over Harlan, pure and bright, her presence a shining beacon through the horror.

Her ethereal voice came to him in rhyme, the sing-song pattern of Seuss, like the books he’d read to her every night before bed.

His tears turned to sobs as he poured his heart out in gasping stutters, the world around him forgotten. The intervening years were washed away in the moment. He felt numb from the closeness, a spiritual hug that squeezed all the feeling from his limbs. A puddle of weakness, he quavered as he held his hands out, wishing he could hold her in his arms one last time.

After several moments, he at last took a breath. Its bitter reek was a poor substitute for the life he’d drawn from his daughter’s drifting presence. Her form shifted as they spoke, resolving into a closer representation of the beautiful little girl she’d been when alive. It only deepened his despair. He couldn’t look away from her; her spirit so close and yet so far. It was a beautiful torture.

When at last the words slowed, his heart settling the thunder in his chest, Harlan could once again muster a coherent thought. He looked to his daughter and it struck him as odd that his wife was not with her, that she hadn’t shown herself.

That’s when it hit him; the reason Walter and The Professor had insisted he come. “Where’s your mother?” he asked, dreading the question as it oozed between his dry lips.

The semblance of happiness slid from Kiri’s ghostly face, her form once more slipping into its monstrous reflection. Her voice was a dirge.

His almost-dried eyes began to spill tears once more as he listened to his daughter’s words. Fury strengthened him. He got to his feet and spun about to glare at the undead pair. “Alejandra has her. Why didn’t you tell me?” Jagged razor-laced words spewed from his mouth.

Walter spoke first. “We only learned it was so last night.”

Harlan looked to The Professor, who nodded and floated whispered apologies to Harlan’s ears. Harlan hardened his expression as the spirit continued. After a moment it lessened by degrees, settling into steely resolve.

“You’re right, I did ask for this.” He looked back to the eye, to his daughter. “I’ll find Mom and we’ll be together again.” He choked back a sob as he saw his daughter’s form waver, new deformities taking hold in her distress. “I love you, more than anything, Kiri.” He drew in an icy breath. “I’ll be with you soon.”

Her quiet voice wafted over him in gentle wisps. Silver waterfalls ran from his eyes as Kiri slid away from the Oracle and melted into the swirl of spirits behind her.

Sickened that he was losing her again, Harlan felt a cold, destructive impulse growing hard in his belly. Its name was murder.

“I’m going to kill that bitch.” Harlan glared at the undead. “But you knew how I’d feel, that’s why you let me up here.” He stared at The Professor for a moment longer and loosed a deep, ragged sigh as his guardian floated stoic. “She knows I’m headed for the Temple.” It wasn’t a question.

Walter nodded. “There’s no doubt of that.”

“Then I guess I’d better get going.” Harlan spun and stomped toward the door. Cam stood in the threshold.

His eyes moist, he stared at Harlan, soft touches of sympathy staining his face. “Let me help.”

Harlan met his solid gaze. “You don’t know what you’re asking.”

Cam nodded his head. “I know, believe me.” He motioned to the Oracle. “I ain’t got nothing like that waiting for me here, no purpose. All I have is food and the relative safety of the eye until it falls down around me. That ain’t living. Let me help you.”

Harlan stared at him for a moment, but Cam held his ground. Against his better judgment, Harlan knew deep down he would give in. “You’re taking your life in your own hands by going with me, Cam.” He felt obligated to talk him out of it.

Cam smiled, his face splitting wide. “You mean as opposed to my life being in someone else’s—something else’s—hands like it is here?” He chuckled. “I’m just waiting to die, Harlan. I’m just doing it better than everyone out there, but it’s all the same.” He motioned toward the walls. “If I go with you, at least I’m working toward a future. Maybe I can do some good, help you put a stop to the breach. I can die for that, you know.”

From the moment he’d met Cam, Harlan liked him. He couldn’t help it. That made saying yes even harder, but the bones grinding at his side trumped his conscience. He needed the help if there was any chance for him to succeed. Besides, two years on the road with nothing for company but the ghosts of his past and the dead, or soon to be, having Cam along would be a nice change. He needed to be human for a while.

“All right, you’re in, but I can’t guarantee your safety.”

Cam grinned. “I’ll watch my back. I ain’t comin’ along just to die.”

Harlan met Cam’s grin with one of resignation. “Then let’s get to it. You got any backpacks hanging around? We’re going to need something to lug some food and gear in. We’ve got a long walk ahead of us.”

“Ain’t got no packs, but I’ve got something better.”

* * * *

Harlan stared at the big 4x4 pickup and grinned like a kid at Christmas. Painted a hideous mixture of orange, black, and red, the Chevy looked like the after-effects of a bad Halloween morning. Round-eyed lights sat atop the roof and the extended bumper bars up front had been crudely modified to cover the entire grill, circling around the headlights to end just a few inches on each side.

Not daring to hope, he asked, “Does it run?”

“Yes, sir,” Cam answered with a chortling laugh. “I come down here every day and start her up. She’s a beast, but she’ll hold up for the ride to the Temple.” He walked around the back and pointed into the bed where several large, red plastic fuel containers sat, surrounded by sealed cardboard boxes. “Got plenty of gas to get us there without stopping, too. I’ve already loaded her up with food and supplies—some tools, batteries, rope, a couple of tarps and flashlights—so all we gotta do is toss Walter in back, and we’re good to go.”

Not as optimistic as Cam that it’d be that easy, Harlan still felt some of the kid’s enthusiasm rubbing off on him. “This being a secure complex, you wouldn’t happen to have any firearms stashed about, do you?”

“As a matter of fact,” he answered with a laugh.

Cam opened the driver side door and popped the seat forward. Harlan peered past him and grinned when he saw two pump-action shotguns stashed behind the seat along with a handful of 9mm pistols.

“Looks like you were ready to go to war.” Harlan glanced over at Cam. “Packed up and ready, what were you looking to do?”

“To tell the truth, I was gettin’ a little cagey in here. If it hadn’t been for Walter showin’ back up, telling me there was a chance things’d get straightened out, I was fixin’ to head for the hills.”

“You’d have really given up all this?”

“Ain’t nothing to give up, like I said. It’s a prison sentence staying here. Yeah, I got three squares a day, lights, and cool air, but the rest of the inmates are dead folk. We’re all just waiting for me to join them.”

Harlan nodded and glanced around the garage. The rolling doors had been barricaded some time in the past and remained so, with one exception: the door directly in front of the truck. Random building materials lay in haphazard piles off to the side, the door cleared in preparation for a quick exit. Cam had been busy.

Harlan reached into the truck and pulled out one of the pump-actions. “Since I presume you’re driving, I’ve got shotgun.”

Cam chuckled and pointed to the passenger seat. “There’s extra shells under the seat. Ain’t but a couple of boxes, but it should do for a spell.”

“If we need more than that...” Harlan let the thought drift away. He didn’t want to think too much about what lay ahead.

His daughter’s twisted face popping up over and over in his mind’s eye, he took a deep breath in an effort to push it away. Gentle spasms flickered at his side, pinpricks of pain dancing about the wound. Despite the truck, weapons, and Cam’s help, he knew the road ahead would be hard. The streets cluttered with abandoned vehicles, the undead clustered thick along their path, and Alejandra waiting out there somewhere knowing where he was headed, there was nothing easy about what they had to do.

He looked at the truck, then from Cam to Walter, The Professor hovering silent in the background. “There’s no point in waiting, I guess. We’ve already missed the dawn window so there’s going to be walkers in the yard.”

“Unfortunately, the garage leads out right into their path, but once we get past them, it’s relatively clear sailing to the highway.”

Full of nervous energy, Harlan popped open the passenger door and dropped the shotgun in the seat. He and Cam got together and helped get Walter situated into the bed of the truck. The Professor disappeared behind them as they worked. Once the corpse was settled, Cam climbed into the driver’s seat and Harlan went around to the passenger side. He stopped at the door.

“Shit. I need to—”

Cam reached between the seats and lifted the bottle of whiskey he’d stashed there. “Got you covered,” he said flashing a smile. “Wouldn’t be a road trip without refreshments, right?”

Harlan snatched up the shotgun and climbed inside with a laugh. “You thought of everything.”

“I was a Boy Scout once upon a time,” Cam said as he turned the key in the ignition. Without hesitation, the truck roared to life. He held up a small remote labeled with the number 3 that corresponded with the number painted over the garage door in front of them.

The truck warming up, Harlan met Cam’s eyes, his face serious. “Last chance to stay put.”

Cam shook his head, shifting into first. Harlan nodded, then reached under the seat to grab a box of shells. He dumped them into his lap before rolling the window down and propping the shotgun against the frame to minimize the weapon’s recoil. He checked the safety and made sure he had rounds in the chamber. As ready as he could be, he muttered a go.

Cam hit the remote button and the garage door jumped in response, inching upward with a shuddering squeal. As it crept open, a number of decayed feet appeared in the bright morning light beyond. Cam revved the engine as if in a challenge, walker legs coming into view.

Ethereal voices wafted to Harlan’s ears as the door steadily rose, their pitch and eagerness paced accordingly. At last, the metal rolled up to reveal the corpses, frothing to come inside.

The door out of the way at last, Cam gunned it and the truck shot forward. The undead stared straight ahead without fear. Metal met rotten bodies head on, the truck the easy victor.

Chunks of meat bounced over the hood. A walker’s snarling face slapped into the windshield, the disembodied skull rolling over the roof to disappear. Wet red ran down the window as the truck shuddered, bouncing over the fleshy speed bumps sucked beneath the wheels.

Cam mowed down another two walkers as he shot up the ramp that led to the yard. The shrieks of their possessive spirits pierced Harlan’s skull as Cam slowed near the end of the drive.

Drawn by the furious summons of their brethren, a dozen more walkers filed along the driveway and shambled toward them. Dogs launched themselves at the wheels, tiny bumps in the ride signaling their failure. Cam veered right toward the thinner congregation and sped up as he hurtled toward the line of corpses.

Harlan braced the shotgun and fired as they approached, catching the closest corpse in its chest and knocking it backward toward its companions. Harlan’s side vibrated with the shot and he expelled a coughing breath. He set his jaw and prepared to fire again.

Cam slammed into the gathered walkers without mercy. Once more, the metal ram of the truck tore through them without slowing. Bodies and severed parts exploded like a morbid piñata. Yellow bile splashed across the hood. It did nothing to better the aesthetics of the original paint job.

The windshield marred with spots of blood and an array of bodily juices, Cam twisted in his seat to see what lay ahead. Harlan cast a quick glance behind to make sure they hadn’t lost Walter. The old corpse sat calmly, clutching to the rail. Harlan turned back in his seat.

A few more corpses in the way run over without incident, Cam whipped the vehicle right around the main building and raced across the dirt yard heading north, leaving the screaming walkers behind. The truck kicked up clouds of brown dust and tiny rocks in its wake as it bounced along the desert terrain, hopping lightly through a collapsed section of the chain link fence that surrounded the complex. A few minutes later, they slipped onto the nearby road. The crunch of gravel shifted to asphalt in a blur of sounds.

Cam’s assuredness behind the wheel and the glimmer of a smile on his lips, made it clear to Harlan this wasn’t the first time he’d taken the truck out for a drive.

That thought helped ease Harlan’s nagging doubts at letting Cam come along. Unlike most of the people he’d stumbled across in his travels, both few and far between, Cam had a better understanding of what they faced, an unconscious part of it from the beginning. Almost all of those he encountered had been helpless, or close enough, broken in spirit and often flesh. Cam was neither.

It gave Harlan a sense of hope he hadn’t dared imagine before then. Once more, he thought of his daughter, but this time he didn’t push her image away. He saw her as she was. Her little green eyes shone like emeralds in his mind, her smile the rising dawn. He pulled the shotgun from the window to keep from fighting the wind for possession of it, and set it in the floorboard. Staring out at the brown and greens that whipped by, he whispered he’d see his daughter soon.

Cam gave an energetic hoot and Harlan chuckled at his enthusiasm. Harlan reached back and retrieved the bottle of whiskey, setting it between his legs amongst the loose shells. He twisted off the cap and took a couple of deep swallows before returning the bottle to its hideaway.

“Not to pry, or anything, but can I ask why you do that?” Cam gestured to the whiskey. “I mean, I understand what you’ve been through and all, and I’m certainly not judging, but you don’t really seem the type to drown your sorrows in a bottle.”

Harlan looked sideways at Cam, staying quiet for a moment. Deciding there wasn’t any sense in lying to a guy risking his life to save the world, he answered the question. “It helps to quiet the voices.”

“The dead?”

Harlan nodded. “The only times they’re silent is at dawn and dusk, and that’s never long enough.” He sighed. “These days, they’re everywhere, their crazed chattering always in my head. I’ve learned to tune them out some, but it’s not as easy when I’m tired or hurt. My control slips; that’s where the alcohol comes in handy.”

“You should be all right out here, though, right?” Cam gestured toward the open desert that surrounded them, no corpses in sight.

“It’s better, but there’s no escaping them.” He held up his sword, pulling it out just far enough to reveal the blackness of the blade. “They’re here,” he slid the sword home and then tapped his temple, “and in here. The liquor just gives me a little buffer, from a downpour to a trickle.”

Cam whistled and gripped the wheel tighter as he looked out at the desolate highway ahead. “Well, I guess you should just sit back and relax as much as you can. Come hell or high water, I’ll have us at the Temple in a few hours.”

Harlan leaned back in the seat and stretched his legs, his confidence in Cam a strange comfort. His heavy eyes on the desert, the whiskey was a perfect complement to the humming song of the road. He watched the world narrow and dim, then fade altogether.

* * * *

The sense of movement suddenly gone from his dreams, Harlan snapped awake. He fumbled for the shotgun.

Cam reached through the window and steadied the gun. “Easy there. You’re all right.”

Harlan blinked a few times and focused his eyes past Cam. Not certain if what he was seeing was real, he reclaimed control of his shotgun with a grunt, and stepped out of the truck. His knees shouted obscenities as he dropped onto the asphalt, a choicer few exclaimed by his ribs. Not to be left out, his back chimed in with fluttering cramps. Pain helping to chase away the remnant haze of his nap, he stared unblinking.

“You just had to say high water, didn’t you?”

Cam shrugged.

“How far did we get?” Harlan asked as he examined the road. Following the natural lay of the land, it dipped down a steep grade to disappear under a rivulet that was easily fifty yards across. It ran in both directions for as far as he could see. Its slow moving water was murky and green, the highway creeping into sight on the other side.

“We’re only about twenty, maybe thirty miles from the Temple.”

Harlan grumbled to himself as he stared into the dark water. Bloated bodies floated thick in the gentle current, their movement impeded by piled detritus. Several twisted chain link fences were caught up in the depths, catching the bodies and helping to form a rancid dam of bubbled cadavers. The air was rank with wet decay, the smell of death grown moldy and moist. It settled over them like a virulent fog. Every breath was putrid.

Certain the trip around the newly formed river would take them past nightfall, Harlan called upon The Professor. His guardian spirit appeared and immediately drifted down into the water to check its depth. He floated up a moment later.

The spirit’s voice in his ear, Harlan turned to Cam. “It’s too deep to drive through.” He gestured both directions, leading Cam’s eyes with his finger. “And there’s no way we’re going to find a way around and get back on track before we lose the light.”

“So we go across?” For the first time, Cam’s cheerful nature seemed to take a hit. He looked at the water with undisguised disgust.

“Looks that way.” Harlan drew in a deep breath, no more enthused about the idea than Cam. “We can use the fences to haul us most of the way across, but we need something that floats. I’m not exactly interested in adding dysentery to the list of things standing in the way of our success.”

In full agreement, Cam looked back the way they’d come, a thoughtful expression on his face. “I think I saw just what we need on an abandoned tractor-trailer a ways back. Help me get Walter out of the truck.”

The two lifted Walter from the bed and set him beside the road. Cam climbed into the truck and drove off. Less than ten minutes later, he returned, four plywood pallets stacked in the back. Cam drove down to the water and parked the truck at its bank before hopping out.

“Not exactly a canoe, but we can strap these together and attach one of the tarps to the top to help the buoyancy. We’ll probably get our feet wet, but that’s better than takin’ a dip, don’t ya think?”

Harlan agreed and the two set to work on building the makeshift raft. Less than a half hour later, it was ready for its maiden voyage. Harlan tied one last piece of rope to the front as Cam watched him.

“What’s that for?”

“In case we need a tow.” He gestured to The Professor and winked. He then turned to Walter. “Let’s get you settled.”

Walter shambled forward and they helped him to lie on the pallets, face up. The corpse centered, they set the other tarp beside him. Its folded cover an attempt at waterproofing the weapons and ammunition and the few, small supplies they’d be able to carry once they reached the other side.

Ready to go, they pushed the raft into the water and climbed onto it with The Professor lending a hand. Buoyed by the tarp, the pallets sunk a few inches, but stayed afloat despite the weight. Cam smiled wide and Harlan gave him an appreciative nod as he reached out to grab the edge of the fence that protruded from the water.

Hand over hand they made their way across the river, the corpse smell stirred up in their wake. Swollen bodies floated past, bumping with wet thumps against the wooden frame. One slid by, catching a bulbous swelling on the sharpened corner of the raft. The bubble burst and the air was suddenly full of the rank stench of infectious pus and putrefied flesh.

Cam gagged and nearly tumbled into the water as he spun away to keep from puking onto the raft. The sound of his retching roiled in Harlan’s ears and he nearly followed suit. He implored his hands to work faster, to pull them away from the pustulant corpse and Cam’s vomit. The raft wobbled and shook, but stayed afloat as Harlan put some distance between them and the horrid scent.

The smell settled back to its previous noxious odor and Harlan turned to Cam, his heart pounding. “You have to be careful or we’ll—”

The Professor screamed a warning just as a thunderous crack broke the silence. Cam twitched and blood sprayed from his eye in a riotous geyser. A volcano of blood, bone, and brain matter erupted from the base of his skull. He stumbled back in silence, his arms flailing like a severed marionette. Harlan reached out to catch him despite knowing he was already gone.

The sudden presence of the undead screamed inside his head.

Cam fell into the water, upending the raft as he went. Harlan was dumped into the river right after, barely able to catch a partial breath before going under. Walter landed on top of him a heartbeat later, pushing him down deeper. The wrapped guns and equipment dropped beside him, barely visible in the gloom before the tarp slid out of sight.

Walter’s empty chest cavity flooded, the weight bearing Harlan down. Harlan thrashed and reached for his sword as he bucked the body from his shoulders. It sunk fast as Harlan managed to yank his blade free. He thrust with all his strength at the sinking flesh and felt the sword strike home. Though he couldn’t see anything, he heard Walter’s agonized scream reverberate inside his head.

Free of the anchor of dead flesh, Harlan kicked madly and rose to the surface. He gasped and drew in a deep breath of sweet air tinted with rancid water, dogpaddling to keep himself afloat.

His eyes burned from the filth, but he found his bearings and peered across the river to see Alejandra standing on the far shore. She stood rigid, her chanting voice drifting across the intervening space. Her hands glistened with energy as mystical tendrils seeped from her fingertips. Spiritual energy coalesced before her and a ghost form took shape.

A splash behind him drew his attention away from the necromancer. Harlan glanced back to see a bloated walker drifting toward him, its dead eyes dripping with purpose. He spun and made for the tangled fence, frantic splashing doing little to speed his pace. Just before he reached its relative safety, he felt something grip his ankle. He lashed out with his sword. The water slowed his arm and the blade failed to pierce the rotten flesh of the corpse that held him. Before he could swing again, he was dragged under.

Harlan bit back his fury and held his breath. He turned his focus to the walker that held his leg. The glimmering light above sunk fast as they dropped toward the bottom. Harlan spun his sword about to thrust.

From the murky depths, a second walker crashed into his chest and pressed against his face, pinning his arms to his side. Rancid wet flesh oozed against his lips and nose as the walker squeezed him tight. He felt his ribs flex, the injured one giving way with a vibrating snap. He clenched his teeth to swallow his scream. The walker’s ethereal voice reverberated in his mind, raging obscenities and incoherent threats spewed in chaotic bursts.

Harlan’s lungs began to fill with blood and fluid as he struggled against the restraining walker. He couldn’t break its iron grip. His sword dangled helpless in his hand. He released it in a desperate bid, pushing it away as hard as he could. He called out for The Professor as he felt the downward movement stop, the walker attached to his ankle settling on the bottom.

Hearing nothing from his guardian spirit, the roar in his ears drowning out even the rambling fury of the walkers, he felt himself drowning in his own blood. Insane fury welled up in defiance of death, the image of his daughter pleaded for him to live. He bit down upon the wall of flesh that pressed against his face. Its waxy surface burst. Bitter bile and rancid pus exploded into his throat and splattered about his face. He gagged and added black blood and vomit to the noxious mix.

Though his vision was obscured by the swirling nastiness and the walker’s putrid flesh, he could see white spots flickering in the depths of his eyes. He felt his mind drifting. His thoughts waded sluggish through the mire of his head. In a panic, he remembered his blade. He called it to him, extending his hand as far as he could reach.

The blade cleaved through the water in silence. Its pommel crashed into the back of the walker’s skull, careening off to disappear in the darkness. The blow staggered the corpse and sent it tumbling into the murk, Harlan’s ankle slipping free.

Nothing but black before his eyes, there came the sudden sensation of light as the crushing pressure at his ribs was torn away. A leering ghost presence flashed before him as his mind shuddered. Cold and numb, his body giving in to the pain, Harlan floated limp. The vague impression he was moving flittered through his head as whispered entreaties battered against the building wall of insensibility.

Darkness became blinding light, an unexpected solidness replacing willowy softness. Pain screamed to life as something pressed hard inside his stomach. He rolled to his side as fetid water and thick, black blood streamed from his mouth. Hacking coughs ripped chunks of flesh from his throat.

Shouts surrounded him, but the words were lost in the humming drone of his ears. Trembles shook his body as he lay there weak, unable to move. An avalanche of thoughts thundered down the mountain of his mind, their essence slowing and becoming clear as they cluttered at the bottom of the slope.

Rough hands pulled him to his feet, vertigo taking him for a ride. He stared at the whirling blurs beside him until they coalesced and settled on a singular form. Charlie gave him a toothless grin as he held tight to Harlan’s arm. Harlan swiveled his head to see Jebediah at his other arm. Realizing what had happened, Harlan’s eyes went to their leader.

Alejandra stood before him. Her leathered flesh was creased with age, sculpted by the determination within.

“You don’t get to take him away from me, Harlan,” she said, her words tempered in steel.

Harlan lifted his chin, the effort exhausting. “My wife.” His voice could barely be heard.

Alejandra ran her hand over her wiry hair, smoothing it back in place. Her brown eyes stared into his. “She was just another spirit until I stumbled across you and learned the truth. Now she’s insurance against your attempts to seal the breach.”

“Why don’t you just kill him?” Rodrigo paced behind her, his lip curled into a sneer. His waving pistol emphasized his words.

“Be quiet,” Gunther thundered.

Rodrigo stood in defiance. “He’s the reason Will and Alfonso are dead. He deserves to die.”

Alejandra turned and stared Rodrigo down. “And he will in good time. Now do as Gunther said and be quiet.” She looked back to Harlan. “I find myself in a strange position that I must ask for your help to retrieve my son’s soul.” Harlan’s eyes narrowed and she waggled a finger. “Before you dare to challenge me, know that I possess both Cornelius and Sarah. I have absorbed their spirits and will hold them until you help me.”

The sound of his wife’s name was like poison on Alejandra’s tongue. It dripped into his ears and seared through his system, sparking a fury inside. He drew himself up, blood oozing from his mouth, and stared into Alejandra’s eyes.

“I will never help you.” Whispered, the words were like shattered glass, each shard flung at Alejandra’s cold heart. He cast a furtive glance at Rodrigo, then back to the necromancer. A bloody challenge spewed from his lips. “Die, bitch!”

Mustering the remnants of his strength, he threw himself at her, teeth gnashed together, fingers clawing for her eyes. Charlie and Jebediah held him tight as he frothed. They stopped his advance just inches from her face. Alejandra shrieked and staggered backward into Gunther’s arms.

Rage carved deep into his face, Rodrigo stepped around them and buried the barrel of his pistol in Harlan’s eye. Harlan smiled and pressed back against the cold steel.

He never heard the gun go off.

Alejandra’s screech wafted to him through a watery haze. Her wide eyes stared at the howling ghosts that spilled from Harlan’s empty husk. Freed from the prison of his will, their fury unleashed, they lashed out at the living.

Harlan hovered above, setting his will against the summons that tugged at him so he could remain just a moment longer. He watched as Alejandra scrambled back against the swarm of spirits. He couldn’t help but laugh.

Alejandra looked up at the sound, her gaze locking onto his ethereal eyes. He snarled a warning and gave into the pull, the world blurring into a whitewash of light.

About the Author:missing image file

Raised on a diet of Heavy Metal and bad intentions, Tim Marquitz has always been interested in writing, but it wasn’t until about 1995 the urge became a compulsion. However, it would be many years later before the ability matched the interest. Fortunately, the two have reconciled...mostly.

Writing a mix of the dark perverse, the horrific, and the tragic, tinged with sarcasm and biting humor, he looks to leave a gaping wound in the memories of his readers.

A former grave digger, bouncer, and dedicated metalhead, Tim is a huge fan of Mixed Martial Arts, and fighting in general. Involved in the Live Action Role Playing organization, Amtgard, since he was fifteen, he derives great pleasure from bashing people into submission.

He lives in Texas with his beautiful wife and daughter, a neurotic dog and their finger-crippling cat.

Visit him online at http://www.tmarquitz.com

Also from Tim Marquitz:

missing image fileArmageddon Bound
by Tim Marquitz
eBook ISBN: 9781615720019
Print ISBN: 9781615720002

Dark Urban Fantasy
Novel of 70,497 words

Half-devil and miles from anything resembling heroic, perpetual underdog Frank “Triggaltheron” Trigg is the last man standing against Armageddon. As the favorite nephew of the Devil, Frank has led a troubled life, but he’d always had his uncle’s influence to fall back on. Now, with God and Lucifer coming to terms and leaving existence to fend for itself, his once exalted status of Anti-Christ-to-be does little to endear him to the hordes of angels and demons running amok in the Godless world. With help from the members of DRAC, an organization of wizards, psychics, telepaths, and low-end supernatural beings, Frank must thwart the pro-Armageddon forces and rescue an angel in whose life rests the fate of humanity. Better luck next time, humanity.

missing image fileSepulchral Earth
The Long Road
by Tim Marquitz

eBook ISBN: 9781615720767
Print ISBN: 9781615720750

Horror Dark Fantasy
Novella of 12,645 words

Two years after the furious dead rose up to murder the living, the remnants of mankind face a brutal extinction. Wretched and broken, trading humanity for life, the survivors suffer under the inevitable shadow of death.

Aided by friendly spirits, the necromancer Harlan Cole wages war against the merciless forces of the undead. Driven to bring peace to the souls of his wife and daughter, Harlan vows to return the dead to their graves, or join them trying.

Also from Damnation Books:

Merkabah Rider Book 2: The Mensch With No Name
by Edward M. Erdelac

eBook ISBN: 9781615721894
Print ISBN: 9781615721900

Horror Western
Novel of 88,528 words

The Merkabah Rider continues his journey across the American Southwest of 1880 in search of the renegade teacher who destroyed his mystic Jewish order in the 2nd volume of this acclaimed weird western series. As the Rider unravels more of the mystery of the Hour of the Incursion, demons are the least of his troubles.