A Mixed Bag of Blood (7 page)

The creature was some kind of abomination, this he was sure of. When it came within striking distance, Kenji drew his weapon; the blade hungry for a kill. He sliced diagonally across the man’s chest, before sinking the blade into the sternum, piercing the heart. He withdrew the blade, wiping the weapon clean before placing it back in its sheath.

The dead man stopped for a moment before moaning loudly, then reached out for Kenji. With eyes wide and mouth agape, Kenji drew his weapon and sliced off the creature’s arms. They fell to the ground, but the dead man hadn’t flinched—showing no sign that he cared—and kept coming. Shaken, the Samurai backed away, sword held in front of him. What kind of demon was this?

He gritted his teeth, found the strength deep within his gut, then took a step forward, and sliced at the thing’s neck, severing its head from the body. As the head tumbled to the ground, the body followed; both pieces lay unmoving, dead. Kenji wiped the blade, returning it to its resting place.

He examined the body using his sense of smell and sight, but did not want to touch the thing. It had been a man once, but no longer; its blood not flowing properly, but more like cherry syrup. He didn’t want to think about it, but knew his brother must have had something to do with the creature. With his cheeks defining themselves in anger, he headed onward to his brother’s house.

The cottage was nestled in a nook of thick bamboo. It was aged and weather beaten. The front porch clanged with moon-shaped wind chimes. Twin, Fu-Dog statues guarded the entranceway. Black smoke bellowed from the chimney and a horrible stench came from the open windows. Crows cawed, like bad omens, from the branches of oak trees—Kenji’s sense of dread rising.

He stopped before placing a foot onto the first step of the house. Gathering himself, getting his gin up, he continued up the stairs, and knocked on the door.

“Brother, I knew you’d be coming,” Makito said from inside. “Enter.”

Kenji slid the door to the side and stepped in. The odor was worse inside, his eyes tearing. “What is that smell, Makito?”

Makito appeared from the doorway of another room. He had long greasy hair and bags under his eyes. His robe was tattered and stained with red smears. The samurai sword he received from Master was sheathed at his side and appearing very much out of place; as if he had stolen it.

“Come in. Come in,” Makito said, turning and disappearing back into the room he had come from.

Kenji closed the door behind him. He removed his sandals, not that Makito had such customs, but to show respect to another’s home.

Kenji took a seat on a cushion on the floor in the living room. His brother returned with tea and biscuits before taking a seat across from him.

“It is good to see you, brother,” Kenji said.

“You as well, Kenji.”

“Our teacher is dying,” Kenji said. “You need to pay your respects.”

“He and the rest of the town are dead to me,” Makito said, waving his hand dismissively.

Kenji’s eyes narrowed as he ground his teeth. He said nothing in response.

“They side with the Emperor; the one you serve.”

“Makito, I have not come to debate politics. I have come because our master requests it. He tells me you are dishonoring our name and village.”

Makito laughed, coldly.

“He speaks of dishonor? Brother, you’ve been brainwashed by the nobility, but no worries. I have plans to bring down the Emperor.”

Kenji stood, placing his hand on the hilt of his sword. “You are my brother, Makito, but to speak of the Emperor like that will surely be the death of you.”

Makito rose to his feet, venom in his voice. He showed no indication of wanting a fight, his hand away from his sword’s hilt. “And you brother will die by his side if you return to him.”

“Was that your abomination I ran into on my way here?” Kenji asked.

“Oh, you met one of my test subjects, did you?”

“What have you dabbled in now? The black arts? They are forbidden by law.”

Makito walked away, turning around before entering the kitchen. “They are your laws to obey and follow. I live amongst the wild; I bow to no emperor.”

“He is a just and righteous man. He brought prosperity to our lands, and peace among our villages.”

“He’s a rat, and a coward.”

“You will come with me and stop messing with the spirit world.” Kenji took a step forward, reaching out for his brother’s arm. Makito pulled away and kicked him square in the abdomen, sending him sailing backward. Kenji stumbled over the table splintering it to pieces. When he looked up, Makito had vanished.

Kenji stormed through the rooms of the house, but his brother was gone. He found a trapdoor hidden within the floor of the kitchen. Lifting it cautiously, he descended a set of wooden stairs leading to an underground crypt-like room.

Lit torches lined the walls. Undead men, like the one Kenji had killed earlier, were chained to the walls, moaning and reaching out for his flesh. Makito stood in the far corner behind a table crowded with vials full of strange liquids, and jars containing rare herbs and animal parts, and a demon stone used to raise the dead.

“Makito, what have you done?” Kenji asked, his face wrought with horror.

“My soldiers,” Makito said, waving his arm proudly.

“Behold, brother,” he declared with open arms. “The start of my army of undead.”

“Makito, you’ve gone mad,” Kenji said, drawing his sword. Makito started laughing. “This must be stopped.”

“Stopped?” It’s already in motion, you fool.”

“What are you talking about?”

“Have a drink of water lately?” Kenji’s face paled as the blood ran from it. His brother had pierced the armor of his soul. “The water supply is tainted with the contagion. Right now the change is taking place within you brother. And did you really think our master was ill from natural causes? I poisoned him and a bunch of other fighters first. I had to test a batch of the substance on them, making sure no one would stand in my way. My undead soldiers will pass the disease onto everyone they bite, growing my army to immeasurable numbers once they get beyond the village.”

“You lie,” Kenji growled, lunging forward, but Makito was prepared, and disappeared behind a stone door set into the wall. Kenji screamed in anger, pounding on the door, but it wouldn’t open. His brother’s cowardice and betrayal was too much for his soul to bear. He fell to his knees, tears rimming his eyes. “Makito . . .,” he yelled. He knelt in silence, the zombies chained to the wall moaning and clawing at the air to get at him.

The villagers were doomed, infected by Makito’s poison and would become members of the undead. Kenji looked at his hands. They were clean, but soon they would be stained with the blood of people he cared for.

Kenji gathered his will, focused his energy and rose to his feet. Eight zombies were chained around the room. He approached the first, slicing its head off with a single strike. Then, within seconds, the rest were decapitated—the cellar floor littered with rotting heads and splashes of gore. Sheathing his sword, he climbed the stairs to the house. Makito was nowhere to be found. His master would soon become one of the undead. He needed to get to him before the town was crawling with zombies. How many had drunk the water? All?

Kenji took a log from the fireplace upstairs, touched it to the thatched roof outside, and set the place ablaze. Everything would burn to the ground including the corpses in the cellar.

He sprinted to his room at the inn, dressed himself in his samurai armor, and went to see his master. On his way, people were screaming and running about in the center of town. Two members of the undead had a woman in their clutches and were gnawing at her stomach, yanking out her intestines and devouring them. Kenji ran over, pulled his sword out, and removed one of their heads with a quick stroke before running his sword through the other’s skull. Both dropped lifelessly to the ground.

He stood as people watched him from shop windows and the homes above. A man ran up to him, shaking. “Great Samurai,” the man said, bowing. “What is happening in our village?”

Kenji gazed upon the man, then at the people standing along the street. They all looked sick, with pale skin, emaciated bodies, and gaunt faces.

“I need a rider to deliver a message to the Emperor,” Kenji yelled to the crowd. He put a hand on the man’s shoulder. “Please, sir, go with your family to your home. Lock the door and stay inside.” The man went running off.

The dead woman, that the zombies had been eating, began to stir. Kenji jumped back, amazed at how she was able to reanimate even in such dire condition. Makito’s work was far more damning than he imagined. She sat up, reaching out, and tried to grab Kenji’s leg. He drew his sword and quickly dispatched her back to the grave by removing her head.

Kenji looked around at the growing crowd; people creeping out of their homes and shops.

“Someone, find me a rider,” Kenji demanded. “I need to deliver a message to the Emperor.” A scream broke out from within a shoemaker’s shop. A man, blood seeping from his neck and drenching his clothes, stumbled from the store. Kenji ran over to him. Looking through the shop’s doorway, he saw a female zombie dressed in a shiny, red kimono coming out of the store. With lightning quickness, Kenji sliced off the top of her head, from the ears up. She twitched violently before falling to the ground. Upon impact, the other half of her brain tumbled out of her skull and fell apart like stuck-together gray noodles.

Turning upon the bloody and infected man, Kenji swung his sword, severing the man’s head from his body. The crowd screamed.

“People,” Kenji declared, replacing his sword to its sheath. “There is a contagion amongst us. These undead things carry a disease. Do not let them bite you. Go to your home and stay inside.” Chaos broke out as people grabbed up their children and valuables before fleeing to their homes. He knew most of them were already infected from the water, but maybe some of them had a chance.

“Samurai,” a voice said from behind him. Kenji turned around to see a young boy standing before him. “I’m a rider, sir.”

The boy appeared normal, his skin wasn’t pale and he looked well-fed. “Come with me,” he said, leading the boy into the shoe shop. Inside Kenji wrote a note to the Emperor, sealing it with wax he found on a table. “Take this note to the Emperor, show it to the guards at the gate.” Kenji handed the child a medallion that only he would have, indicating to the Emperor that the message was truly from his trusted warrior. The young boy departed from the store, heading for his horse.

Kenji left the store and looked around. People half his age were hobbling like elders. His brother had infected almost every villager. Only a few lucky ones, like the young boy, hadn’t drunk the water. The shame could never be forgotten or erased. His soul weighed heavily on his body as he traveled to his master’s house just outside of town.

“Kenji,” Ari said. “How goes it with Makito?”

Kenji hung his head in shame. He could barely look at his master, knowing what he was to become. He sat by his teacher’s side, telling him everything he knew.

“This is not your fault or shame to carry. Your brother . . .” he stopped, coughing up phlegm mixed with blood, before continuing . . . “your brother has disgraced both of us and the entire village. He is a lunatic and a mass murderer.” Ari took Kenji’s hand. “You must stop him. Our village was only the beginning. No one must be allowed to leave.”

“I know, Master.”

“Then you know what must be done?”

“It is already in motion,” Kenji said, a tear falling down his cheek.

“It will start with me, my warrior.” Master Ari held out a shaking arm. Kenji’s face faltered with terror.

“I cannot, Master,” Kenji cried.

Ari’s pale face reddened with anger. “You will. I command it.” He lay back on the pillow, straightening his long white beard. “I am ready, for there is no defeating this demon that rides in my blood. I’ve been fighting it for some time, thinking it was cancer. Now that I know, I can die easier.”

Kenji took out his tanto, handing it to his master. Ari would perform seppuku, a ritual of suicide reserved for samurai, allowing him to die with honor instead of by his enemy’s hands. Ari held the bladed weapon, tip down, to his stomach. “Goodbye, my noble warrior,” he said and plunged the knife into his gut, ripping it across and shredding the intestines. He let out a gasp, shuddered a moment, then fell still. Kenji cried out, plucked the tanto from his master’s stomach, and placed it back in its sheath. The master’s white robe lay torn and bloodied.

With tears running down his cheeks, Kenji saw the old man’s eyes open. He drew his sword, hesitated a moment, then lopped off his master’s head.

Outside, screams erupted.

He ran out to see zombies walking with their arms out and attacking villagers. One was coming up the stairs at him. He cut its arms off before removing the head. Some of the villagers had pitchforks and swords. “You must destroy or remove the head in order to kill them,” he yelled to the villagers.

From his right he heard a whistling in the air, and managed to duck out of the way of an arrow. Turning, he saw Makito holding a bow, readying another arrow. “Hello brother. Is the master dead yet?”

Anger coursed through Kenji. Growling, he sprang to his feet and drew his sword, calling upon all his samurai abilities to help him through what must be done.

The next arrow sailed past him as he charged at his brother. Makito drew his own sword and raced forward; a horde of undead behind him.

The brothers’ swords met with a clang of metal. They parried, each one taking swings at the other. Nicks and gashes lined their bodies within seconds. Zombies came at them, trying to eat their flesh. Makito looked bewildered. The zombies were attacking him as well as his brother. Upon dodging a zombie attack, Makito slipped up; Kenji’s blade came in and sliced off his sword arm. Blood spurted from the limb as he screamed in agony. Makito fell to the ground as Kenji cleared the area of zombies. Finally, when the last undead fell, Kenji stood over his brother, and rested the tip of his sword against Makito’s neck.