Tim Marquitz - Resurrection

Thinking it was maybe one of Reven’s ghouls, I dug around a bit more, clearing chunks of brick and mortar away, pieces of wood and wiring, until I found its head. Or what was left of it. Crushed beyond recognition, what stuck out had the same sickly yellow coloring as its leg, what was left of its jaw was stretched so tight it had no wrinkles.

Despite my inner voices telling me not to, I muscled the hunk of wall off the body’s head, an oozing wetness squeezing between my fingers. Blood and brain matter met me, streamers of gray, red, and yellow peeled away, sticking to the wall piece like a morbid rainbow. The remains of the head lay in a pool of blackish blood.

I knew then it wasn’t a zombie.

It wasn’t human either. Not anymore.

“We’ve got to go, Frank.” Katon waved to me from across the street, motioning with his chin toward the approaching fire trucks.

Grumbling, I took one last look at the body, trying to confirm what I suspected. I still wasn’t sure, but with no time left to examine it in detail, suspicion was all I had.

Prodded by the wailing serenade of the El Paseo Fire Department, I sprinted off after Katon. My head was a jumble of conflicting thoughts, tumbling about like hobbit acrobats. At that moment, there was only one thing I knew for certain as the drift of smoke filled my lungs.

I was in the mood for barbeque.

With no place else to go, Katon and I meandered over to the Triple B Ranch. Situated at the outskirts of the city, its massive expanse butting up against the desert, we had our work cut out for us.

A true ranching tycoon, Beuford Billy Bandy owned tens of thousands of acres of scrubland that stretched from the edge of El Paseo all the way into the neighboring state. Open ranged and uncultivated, with little in the way of markers, it was like looking for a clean needle in a drug den to find something that didn’t either moo or hiss.

“We’ve been out here for hours. Can’t you like, turn into a bat or something and do a flyover? My balls are swimming, man.” The sun was setting but the heat of the day had yet to dissipate.

Katon rolled his eyes. “I’m not Dracula, you Yahoo.”

“But I’m a shit-flinging ape, am I? Well, you’re lucky I only have to piss.” Grumbling I wandered off to find a strand of bushes that looked in need of watering. “You can blah me, Count Blackula.”

Though he tried to muffle it with his hand, I heard Katon chuckle as I slipped behind a wide strand of Creosote growing out of a nearby dune. I wasn’t sure if he was laughing at the joke or at me for being shy. Right then, it didn’t matter. All I cared about was emptying my bladder to get rid of the yellow haze tinting my vision.

A quick zip and yank later, Niagara Falls had come to the desert. Sighing as the biblical flood was reenacted at my feet, a colony of ants swept down the dune, I stared off through the bushes, my eyes on the yellowish-purple sunset. It didn’t get any better than this.

The pressure relieved, I shook a couple of times, then shook a couple more because it felt good. As I packed everything away, a flash off in the distance caught my eye. Pushing the creosote bush to the side, I stared across the desert to where I’d seen the movement, my breath catching in my lungs.

Just a couple hundred yards away, surrounded by scrub grass and molting zombies was Reven, his black cloak fluttering in the light breeze, giving him away. The bulk of his minions stood in a row, lifeless bodies hanging limp in their arms. The others stood over the same type of tubs I’d seen the last time, tearing out throats and draining the bodies of blood.

Suddenly mindful of where I was, I dropped down into a crouch and scanned the desert for Karra. The last thing I needed was for her to sneak up on me. While I had Katon with me, she’d proven far too capable for me to believe his presence was a guarantee of safety. Relieved I knew where she was, though still somewhat nervous, I spotted her on the far side of the zombies, partially obscured by their mass. She was pacing, kicking up dirt at every step, her hand never leaving the pommel of her blade. She looked tense. Can’t say I blamed her.

I guess, sensing my apprehension, Katon crept to my side, mindful of the puddle I’d left in the sand.

“You must be part Irish,” he said, peeking through the bushes.

“Don’t be sneakin’ a peak at me shillelagh.”

An offended twitch rattled his shoulders, his eyes glued on Reven and company. This close to our quarry, he was all business.

“I count sixty zombies. With the necromancer and his pet, we’re going to have our hands full.”

“I’ll handle Karra.” Warm feelings washed over my crotch as I thought about just how I’d like to handle her.

He shook his head. “Stay on task, Frank. Last few times you tangled with her, she handed you your ass. I don’t know how you managed to avoid being killed, but your luck, if that’s what we’re calling it, can’t last forever.” He surveyed the desert landscape as he let his meaning sink in. He knew there was something there between Karra and I, but didn’t know what.

He could join the club.

“You head that way. Stick to the shrubs until you get a clear shot on Reven. The second you do, take it. Put him down.”

“We’re not even sure what he’s doing yet?” My suspicions churned in my stomach.

“Doesn’t matter.” Katon’s voice was cold. “Without a necromancer, Longinus is just another stiff. Threat ended.”

He was right. He was always right, and I hated it. While Katon had no idea who the other players in the game were-as if I did-he knew they all wanted the same thing; power. That meant Longinus. Without Reven to animate him, he wasn’t a factor in anyone’s plans. With a grudging nod, I agreed.

There went my chances with Karra. I was only partially comforted by the thought I probably never had a chance to begin with.

Katon pointed to me and slipped off down the dune, going the opposite of where he told me. Silent, not even rustling the bushes in his wake, he was gone, a shadow merging with the growing dimness.

Disgruntled, I tugged my gun out and headed off like a good little soldier. There is something inherently unsatisfying about following orders when the consequences are unclear. Maybe it was just my uncle’s influence rearing its rebellious head, but I was having a hard time with the idea of putting a bullet in Reven’s head.

It wasn’t because I thought he was a good guy, far from it. You can’t muck about with reanimating corpses and wear a white hat. People had to die so the dead could live. That was just the fact of it. I also wasn’t hesitant because of Karra. Well, not too much. Yeah, shooting her master in the face was probably high on the list of first date don’ts, but I could live with not getting any. Shit, that was an everyday occurrence, or non-occurrence, however you want to say it.

My problem was I felt like I was being played from all ends. Karra had to answer to Reven’s whims and all her talk of the greater good could have been a setup. For what, I had no idea, but I couldn’t just accept her word Reven wasn’t looking to do harm.

Then there was Lilith, succubus, mother of Veronica, and all around snake in the grass. I could take a shit in the woods and hit one of her lies. The problem was, though I knew she wasn’t telling me everything, there didn’t seem to be any logical reason for her to want Longinus reanimated. As a zombie, she’d have no control over him, no influence. He’d be nothing to her. It didn’t make sense.

As I crept around the creosote, my head kept circling back to the body I’d found in Old Town. Baalth had told me it was Reven’s ghouls who’d kidnapped his men, but I hadn’t seen any ghouls around Reven. There’d only been the ones at Calvary, but I couldn’t say for certain who was controlling them. Besides, the crispy critter I’d looked at didn’t seem to be a ghoul. It didn’t look like a zombie either, way too much fresh blood and brain bits. If I had to guess, I’d say it looked a lot more like a gaunt, a human victim of a succubus’s feeding.