Jodi Lee - Ante Mortem

“It’s moving,” Gel replied, his voice low. “Whatever is inside these rocks, it moves on its own.”

Napro groaned, walking back to where his son was. “Perhaps your empty belly is causing you to see things.” He stopped, looked down at where his son was staring, frowned and bent over for a better view.

Indeed, the slime was moving of its own volition, slithering over the edge of the rock, down its side to pool on the ground beside it. Napro and Gel exchanged shocked expressions. When Gel looked down once more, he shouted “Look!”

The slime was not just pooling on the ground; it was burrowing into it. Not simply being absorbed, but forcing its way in the same manner an earth worm would.

In fact, though it was clearly liquid, the slime moved very much like a worm; slowly, deliberately, inching its way down into the earth. It moved with purpose.

“It’s alive,” Napro whispered. “Some kind of creature.”

Gel could only nod, staring down at the wriggling slime with something bordering between disgust and fascination.

Napro straightened up once more. “Come! We must find our spears and warn the others.”

Again, Gel nodded, but made no indication that he intended to move from that spot, his eyes glued to what remained of the vanishing slime. Napro grabbed him by the shoulder, shook him hard. “ Now! ”

Shaken from his trance, Gel stood and then chased his running father back to the place they were the previous day when the stones had begun to fall, loping through the woods with an animal-like grace.

When they arrived at the edge of the burial ground, Napro stopped abruptly, causing Gel to bump into his back. “What it is?” Gel asked, vaguely annoyed.

But before Napro could reply, Gel saw for himself why his father had halted: there were people in the burial ground, though to call them people was not exactly accurate. They had once been people. It was completely obvious what they were now: corpses.

Gel’s eyes quickly took in the surroundings, the holes in the ground, all of them near the biggest of the shattered stones. About fourteen of them, all told. Holes which had just yesterday been covered graves.

Napro made a squeaking sound in his throat, backed up a step so that he was standing side by side with his son.

The zombies shuffled around in circles, seemingly unsure of what to do with themselves. Some of them were more decomposed than others. Most of them, however, the father and son could easily recognize. Family members, one of which—a little girl—had only been buried for a season. She had been Zic’s twin and had died after diving from a tree branch and into a river’s shallows. Her neck had snapped like a dry twig and now her head rested at an odd angle, her right cheek touching her right shoulder. She was naked, as were all the others. The clan did not dress their dead, it would never have occurred to them to waste animal skins on people who would no longer be needing them.

The squeaking noise came again and Gel glanced quickly at Napro. Tears streamed down the man’s cheeks, his eyes wide as he slowly shook his head as though he couldn’t possibly be seeing what his vision was showing him.

The corpses took notice of the man and the boy and instantly reversed direction and started towards the two, Zic’s twin leading the pack, dead eyes staring directly into her father’s without showing the slightest recognition. She made a low guttural sound in her throat—a long miserable wail—and then the others followed suit, all of them groaning and screeching as they staggered forward, arms outstretched.

One of the dead dragged a badly broken leg behind himself and Napro could see the dull white of ribs poking out from the thing’s side. Half the creature’s face had rotted away, exposing teeth that were black with decay.

Napro found himself trying to remember who this person might have been, but nothing came to him. He wondered if his mind had frozen in fear, halted any rational thought. He looked from face to face, searching for any indication of familiarity.

Gel grabbed his arm, tugged it. “We have to go, Father,” he said, his voice much calmer than he had imagined it would be.

The distance between them and the zombies was closing, despite the living dead’s painfully slow movements.

“Father!”

Napro looked at his son, blinking in surprise as though just woken from a deep dream. Together, they turned and fled, Gel stopping only long enough to scoop up his spear as they passed it hidden in a patch of tall grass.

Racing back to the cave, it occurred to Napro that Fee must have been right when he proclaimed anger from the gods. Though this seemed more than just anger; this was flat-out vengeance. But for what?

They reached the cave even faster than they had the previous day when they’d been dodging those strange rocks falling from the sky. Bent over, hands on knees and panting, they did not immediately notice the alarmed looks on both Fee’s and Zic’s faces.

When Napro finally looked up at them, he suspected the worst. “Teva and Rani?” he said.

“Gathering,” Zic replied with a frown. Of course her father should know where her mother and sister were. After all, he had been the one to send them to their morning tasks.

Before Napro could reply, Gel was already running back out into the day, his spear at the ready. Napro screamed at him to stop, but the boy ignored the command and disappeared behind a stand of thick pines.

Fee came to stand beside Napro. “What is happening?”

“The gods,” Napro said. “They have cursed us and this place.”

Puzzled, Fee asked, “What do you mean?”

“The dead have been brought back to life. I saw… I saw my daughter.”

“You saw Arbu?” Zic asked, her voice more excited than frightened. “Where?”

Napro glanced down at his little one, his eyes full of pain. Then, to Fee: “Keep her here.”

“Of course, but—”

“I have to find my children,” Napro said. He began searching the cave frantically for another spear. He knew they had several, but most had broken during one hunt or another. But a broken spear would be better than no weapon at all.

He chose what appeared to be the sturdiest, handing another to Fee. “Protect my child,” he said and raced out of the cave in pursuit his family.

Legs pumping, his long tangles of hair blowing wildly, he flew over downed trees while simultaneously dodging others. He knew his forest, his land. He had lived here his entire life, as had his father before him had. He didn’t remember seeing his father among the dead, but the man had been gone from this world for so long that identifying him now would have been impossible.

A woman screamed and he altered his direction just slightly, aiming in the direction the scream had come from. He heard Gel yell and increased his pace. He was running at his top speed when he tripped over one of the angry gods stones and, for a moment, was airborne before he came crashing back down to earth, landing hard on his chest. He felt the air whoosh out of his lungs and thought he heard a crack as well.

No matter.

He scrambled to his feet and continued on, his pace only slightly slowed.

The screaming came again—almost there. Just through that next wall of underbrush…

He burst through it, not feeling the thorns and branches that raked his skin, drawing thin lines of blood over several parts of his legs, face, arms and chest.

Gel stood in front of the female members of his clan, jabbing his spear at what seemed to be the most aggressive of the walking dead: a man, judging by his build, but there was no genitalia to tell for certain. Instead there was only a gray-black pit between the things legs. It lunged towards Gel who quickly stabbed it in the shoulder, a warning shot, perfectly executed and Napro felt a sense of pride. His son was a fine hunter, brave and strong, quick of mind and body, though he knew Gel shouldn’t have been wasting his time with warning shots. These were not some vicious animals protecting their young, a den or a kill. Napro didn’t know what they were exactly, but he did know one thing: they meant to kill his clan. A quick stabbing was not going to deter them. They had risen from their graves in order to end Napro’s bloodline. There was no mistaking their purpose in this— the living —world. And judging by the creature’s reaction to being stabbed, they didn’t feel pain anyway. The spear had succeeded in knocking it off balance momentarily, but then it was facing Gel again and letting loose a garbled roar.