APOCALYCIOUS: Satire of the Dead (24 page)

             
Hito wasn’t sure how historical knights wielded steel, but the four of them had managed to cut down about thirty of the corpses in the past eight minutes. Most impressive to him was the fact that they didn’t have to take the time to reload. They just kept swinging. The shortest one, who wore a football helmet instead of the gleaming, steel of the others, cleaved another head from its torso and did some crazy victory dance.

             
They were amusing to watch and he almost didn’t want to kill them, but he had a job to do. It wasn’t anything personal; it was just business. He wanted to rid this world of the pestilence called man, and then there wouldn’t be anyone left to betray him again.

             
He thumbed the safety off and focused on the knight furthest from him. He always took the hardest shot first. He exhaled, held his breath and slowly squeezed his index finger. The loud crack echoed through the city even as one the knights crumpled to the ground, knocking his helm off and revealing a mane of blonde hair. Zombies immediately converged upon him, tearing at his armor, chewing through the leather straps that held the steel plate in place and ripping flesh from bone in bloody chunks. They were ravenous and strong and desperately needed to feed and to spread their infection.

             
Hito pulled the bolt back ejecting his spent brass and slammed it forward chambering another round. A knight that had long black dreads spilling from beneath his helm rushed to his fallen comrade’s side and began to slice at the zombies that were gnawing ravenously on his friend. Hito again took aim.

Crack.
The Samaritan with the dreadlocks went down atop the pile and another group of zombies piled on top of him. Hito heard screams, but he felt nothing. He chambered another round and took aim.

Crack.
  The dancing knight with the football helmet spun sideways with the impact, dropping his sword, then his knees buckled beneath him and he collapsed onto the pavement. For a moment, the remaining knight, who was head and shoulders taller than the rest, seemed to stare right at his rooftop position, but with the visor down Hito couldn’t be sure. He heard the final knight scream in rage and began a frantic slaughter of the undead, sometimes felling two with each strike. Hito watched, impressed, but he did so as he chambered another round. He peered through the scope and set his cross hairs on the knight’s torso, as his finger began to squeeze he heard something behind him.
Too many shots from one position,
he said to himself. The sound had drawn the company of his unaware allies. A pack of about twelve of them had found their way through the maze of the building, and lumbered at him, much faster than he would have expected.

             
The knight below finished off the remaining swarm and cursed into the air, waving his sword. He sheathed it and unafraid, began to drag his brothers-in-arms to the sidewalk, where he removed their armor and decapitated them. He did not hide his sobs and apparent grief, as he ensured that they could not transform into the same blasphemy that they had defeated. The knight saluted them with his sword hilt to his forehead, then gathered their weapons and armor and hauled them away, leaving his brothers for the crows.

Hito dropped the rifle beside him and drew out his side arms and fired from both hands. “Next time
...” Hito muttered as he fired at the approaching dead; it was only business.

                                             
Chapter 24 - Here There Be Giants

Parkersburg
, West Virginia 

             
Mick was anxious to get back to the mine with their truckload of supplies so he could relax. He was unrecognizable with his battle gear on. Every square inch of his flesh was unexposed; his father had taught them a common sense approach before he had died.

             
Dressed in black and covered in military armor, he wielded the razor sharp machete with deadly accuracy as decomposed arms flailed at him through the doorway. The dead heaped in a decapitated pile in front of him and reinforced his cover as more undead bodies and severed limbs hit the floor.

             
“Mickey, we are going to be late for dinner if you don’t stop playing,” Mia said in her soft, feminine voice. She sat in the room behind him sharpening her fingernails to deadly little points with a nail file. She believed that everything about her should have a purpose even if the odds of using them were slim to none, including, but not limited to the oriental hair pins that held her hair in place. They were ten inch surgical steel hair pins. She had never had to use them, but it was good to have a well-rounded arsenal, just in case. She had been helping him eliminate the dead, but as the bodies started stacking up at the end of the narrow hallway that led to the large, open room where Mick fought, she found that there was really only room for one.

             
“Well, maybe if you would give me a hand…” Mick’s voice trailed off with a grunt as he loped off another head and it rolled down the pile and into the hallway, its glazed eyes locked on him in unrestrained hatred. He kept swinging, and even though it was a chilly July morning he was overheating in all his black covering.

             
Mia seemed completely unconcerned, she knew that Mick, or Mickey, as she liked to call him, was more than capable of managing a handful of the dead that were bottle necked in the doorway. “I’ve been thinking….”

             
“Thinking that you should maybe give me a hand here?” Mick shouted over his shoulder.

             
“No silly boy. I’ve been thinking that we should have a baby,” she said with a smile dancing upon her full red lips.

             
“Are you
kidding
me?” he shouted back as he hacked a zombie’s shoulder that shot puss all over his chest. “You want to have a baby with a veritable apocalypse going on?”

             
“Mickey, this has been going on for months and we seem to be doing fine. Besides, you’ve been my boyfriend since we were in the third grade. I think it’s about time.”

             
“What? We were like eight years old. I didn’t even like you back then,” he said, as the last zombie hit the pile. Mick wiped the gore from the wide blade with one Kevlar gloved hand and sheathed it. He walked over to Mia.

She looked up at him and smiled, “Deny it all you want, but we were destined to be together. You have goo on your shirt.”

              Mick gave a long suffering sigh and shook his head. “C’mon, Mia, we need to get home and check on Nan.” he said, offering her his hand. She slid hers in his and he hoisted her to her feet with ease. Even with her armor on she still didn’t weigh more than a hundred pounds. She had always been the most beautiful thing he had ever laid eyes on and even if he didn’t admit it he had always loved her. “No babies.”

             
“We’ll see,” she said, as they walked to the other door that led outside. Mick unsheathed the 12 gauge from his back and cocked back both its exposed hammers. Mia pulled her facemask down leaving only her eyes exposed. Mick noticed that even that much of her exposed was enough to make his heart skip a beat. She jacked a shell into the chamber of her Mossberg pump .12 gauge.

That’s my girl,
Mick thought.

             
The front doors were clear, but they always exited a building with each covering the other. The sky was crystal clear with only a couple wisps of clouds that drifted in the vibrant blue. They made their way to the truck. It was such a beautiful morning that they forgot themselves for a moment and marveled at the quiet beauty. From behind they heard a rasping scream. They spun on their heels raising their weapons, but it was too late. They watched as the zombie that had snuck up on them was cleaved in half before their eyes. Both halves collapsed upon themselves, spilling long, tangled ropes of entrails with a wet smack as it hit the asphalt of the parking lot. Mick and Mia looked at each other in disbelief. Standing behind the carnage of the halved zombie was a huge man in gleaming, steel armor, still brandishing his sword.

“The name good sir and M’Lady is Regeliel.
Sir
Regeliel, if you please.” The knight in shining armor stuck out a gauntlet to Mick. Mick, somewhat in a state of shock, slowly raised his hand and shook it politely as Mia removed her black ski mask. Then Sir Regeliel knelt down and took one of Mia’s delicate killing weapons. He raised his visor exposing a ruddy complexion above a full red beard, and a long jagged scar ran from the top of his right eye across the bridge of his nose and ended beneath the whiskers of his mustache, he kissed the top of her hand lightly and said. “I am your
humble servant.” Mia looked back at Mick. He recognized that even with her battle armor, she still presented a striking silhouette, her body curving in perfect athletic lines.

“Oh my,”  she managed to say as her face flushed subtly in shades of red against her caramel colored skin that only enhanced her beautiful face.

              Sir Regeliel stood again and looked proudly upon his blade as the putrid juices dripped down its edge. “I happened upon the two of you as you first entered the building. I was curious to see if you were military or not. Even though you look the part and are skilled in weaponry, I do not believe that to be the case.”

             
“Yeah, we’re not military,” said Mick suspiciously.

             
“Excellent,” Regeliel exclaimed. “Then from where do ye hail?”

             
Mick narrowed his eyes “Not from this town.”

             
“Parkersburg is not my hamlet of origin either, but I have survived here for some time now. I see that you have helped yourselves to supplies,” he said gesturing toward their truck.

             
Mick felt his body tense. “That’s right,” he felt Mia lightly touch his forearm. She wanted to take it from here.

             
Mia removed the pins from her hair and shook her long black hair out of its bun. Mick saw Regeliel’s face pale and his pupils dilate.

“Sir Regeliel, we didn’t come here to offend you or to steal from you, we only wanted to re-supply on ammunition, and a few other things,” she said placating, her voice pleasant and sweet.

              “M’Lady, I was not implying that you were stealing. On the contrary, I had but hoped to go with you, as I am alone and in desperate need of companionship.”

             
And psychiatric help,
thought Mick.

             
Regeliel continued. “My knights have all been killed and I have been left to defend myself against these rotting hordes while remaining hidden from the military. It seems that my armor is no match for large caliber weapons. Please…I beseech you to allow me the privilege to be of service to your clan.”

             
Mick rolled his eyes, and then looked at Mia with an expression of disdain.

             
“We would be honored to have you join us,” Mia said, as she looked at Mick with a raised eyebrow. Mick didn’t like it, but he had learned to trust his wife’s instincts.

             
Sir Regeliel looked as if he was going to burst into tears. Instead, he removed his helmet and chain mail coif, revealing a cascade of long red locks that matched his beard; he raised his sword to the sky and in a thunderous voice yelled. “By the God of All Heavens I swear my allegiance to …” he stopped suddenly then he lowered an arm and whispered to them, “What were your names again?” Mia noticed that a huge, discolored hematoma about the size of a golf ball graced the side of the knight’s head.

             
“I am Mia and this is my husband Mick,” she said with an amused giggle.

Mick mumbled, “Oh brother,” under his breath to which Mia jabbed him in the ribs with an elbow.

Regeliel seemed oblivious, as he again shouted to the heavens, “I swear my allegiance to the Lady Mia and her most fortunate husband Sir Mick…” Regeliel thought for a moment then continued, “Allow my steel to protect them against all enemies.” He slammed his sword into his sheath and looked at them. “My van is parked over there. I will follow you.”

             
“That would be perfect,” said Mia trying not to laugh. The idea of a knight driving a van had simply struck her funny. Mick could tell that she loved this, her playful nature was one of the things he loved about her, and his annoyance at it was merely an act.

             
They slid into their armored delivery truck. “Why do you hate me, Mia?” he asked, and she snuggled up to him and kissed his neck giggling.

“I could never hate my Sir Mick, M’Lord.”

              “You’re retarded,” he said as he put the truck in gear. Sir Regeliel drove behind them in his powder blue, 1978 Chevy van, with its painted mural of a knight slaying a dragon on both sides of it, as they traveled the thirty-some odd miles back to the mine.