The Cold Beneath (32 page)
He spared me so that I might warn you, dear reader.
He saved me so that I could set this tale to print. He let me live just long enough to record this account, write these very words and warn the world of Geraldine and her wickedness. The compound is destroyed, I saw to that, but the components still exist in the world. Somewhere, someday, a clever unwitting soul will stumble upon the same mistake that she made.
God forgive you if it should be you.
I know that Geraldine was not alone in her pursuit of forbidden knowledge. All across the world, mankind consistently seeks ways to cheat death. We search for the Holy Grail of immortality more than we seek salvation for our damned souls. Please, I warn you, give up this dreadful task and let nature take its course. Take this dissertation to heart and beware! Take heed of my tale of woe. Death is, and should be, final. No one should witness the terrors I have known. To see a flicker of unholy life in a corpse’s eyes? To hear it speak when you know there is no breath? To feel the dead clawing at your skin, seeking your heat, craving your very life? It is a horrendous thing, to be certain, and one I hope never happens to another living soul upon this Earth again.
After I set up my fortress, I set upon my task. I have been writing now for three days straight, unsure of the time of day or even the day of the week. I sleep little, eat even less, and all the while I grow colder and colder. The boilers ceased functioning within a few hours into my account, taking with them the heat and light. I have written most of this by lamplight as well as under the weight of many clothes and blankets. I pray that Geraldine’s compound has worked its way from my veins, but there may still be a chance of my return upon death. To be sure that this doesn’t happen, I will sacrifice myself to those things at my door after I finish my work here. Once again, I hope they consume me whole, leaving nothing to return.
I am sure you wonder why I have not dispatched those few revenants left. Surely I could have found another weapon, could have finished the job set forth by that iniquitous woman, once again sparing my own life in the process. I have not, for two reasons. First I choose to leave proof of my account. I might be delirious; I might be fevered, hungry and weak. But I am not so far gone as to assume that whoever reads these passages will take them at face value.
I do not expect to be believed!
I know the depths of madness to which my story sinks. I also know that in order to find this journal, you must have first found the revenants. You have already seen their grotesque nature, have already discovered their tenacity and seeming immortality. If you took them down without event, then bravo! But if you have lost comrades along the way, then I am very sorry. I hope you will find it in your heart to forgive me for leaving those creatures behind. I had to, you see, for there is a second reason I didn’t finish it. The only real reason I didn’t find a weapon and end all of this is so very simple.
I am, and always have been, an unabashed coward.
Our Father who art in Heaven, please forgive this coward and his final act.
~ Philip Corinthian Syntax, on or about the middle of May, 1880
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This last testament of Philip Syntax was discovered amongst the remains of several frozen male corpses. The remaining bodies of the crew were found scattered about the ship. All of the recovered corpses were frozen, and all suffered from injuries ranging from deep lacerations to eviscerations to gunshot wounds. Several corpses were ‘torn to pieces,’ just as the narration suggests. It is interesting to note that despite the insistence that a woman accompanied the crew, a female corpse was never recovered.
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Tonia Brown is a great lover of weird fiction, coffee, and Victorian dead things. She has cranked out several novels, including
Lucky Stiff: Memoirs of an Undead Lover
and
Badass Zombie Road Trip.
Her work appears in a variety of anthologies and periodicals. When not writing, she fights crime with her husband of many years under the code names “Doctor Weird” and his sidekick “Butternut.”
You can find more about Tonia or read more of her sordid scrawling by visiting:
http://www.thebackseatwriter.com
http://www.facebook.com/backseatwriter
http://steampunktrain.blogspot.com
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Philip R Rogers, pusher of pixels, lives in the frightening wilds of western North Carolina. His wife, Janet, constantly inspires and encourages him. They share their home with a passel of cats and one skeleton affectionately referred to as “Mr. Bones.”
To contact him or to see more of his work go to:
Other Works by Author Tonia Brown:
Jonah has seven days to find his best friend’s soul after losing it to Satan, or risk losing his own. Before it's all said and done, he drags a zombie across the country, picks up a hitchhiking stripper who has an agenda of her own, and is pursued for a crime he didn’t commit, all while dealing with the occasional visit from The Prince of Lies himself.
2,000 miles. Seven days. Two souls. One zombie. And Satan.
It's going to be a hell of a trip.
Lucky Stiff: Memoirs of an Undead Lover
Meet Peter Lyles, a young man unremarkable in life but unforgettable in un-death. After he accidentally overdoses while on spring break, Peter's friends do him the dubious favor of bringing him back to life. Or rather, they turn him into a zombie with the help of a little old fashioned Voodoo. Peter's journey through the unlife takes him from the homebrewed sex magic of a mysterious swamp-dwelling Madam, to bouncing from bedroom to bedroom all across the globe, and finally leaving him with a career as the hottest gigolo not alive. All the while, he must deny his hunger for human flesh while sating his passion for, well, human flesh. At turns humorous, at times touching, but always sexy, sexy, sexy.
"Lucky Stiff" will leave you wanting more Peter. He's just that good.
Railroad is a weird western steampunk story of gadgetry, gunplay and grit!
Join us as we follow the strange stand-alone train known as the Sleipnir; eight cars of free traveling steam powered might. Able to lay her own tracks, as well as pick them up again, the train is a marvelous feat of engineering, and as an unbound entity she can travel anywhere her master desires. The only trouble is the trouble she attracts.
Enter Rodger Dodger, dead-eye marksman and all around vexed soul. At the request of a restless spirit, Dodger takes on the work of security for the train, straps on the biggest guns this side of the Mississippi and soon finds his life will never be the same again. (Which is just fine with him because he didn't like the one he had anyways.)
On a train that can go anywhere, anything is bound to happen!
The Great Undead Uprising of 1870 devastated the western frontier and destroyed the Indian Nations. Though the Army was able to contain the menace before it could devour the entire country, the United States lost claim to her western territories as the survivors fled to the relative safety of the east coast.
Samantha Martin is among the rare folks traveling west, seeking asylum within the infected territories. Running from a past that threatens to consume her, the young Sam dons the mantle of a male and hides in an all boys’ workhouse that borders these Badlands. From there she is thrust into the service of the skin trade; the terrible deed of trapping and skinning zombies for profit. The work is grueling and perilous, but along the way she finds out what it takes to be a man, why she misses being a woman, but most of all she learns what it means to be human.
Can Sam keep her masquerade up long enough to flee the Badlands, or will the outlaws that rule the western frontier find out she’s female before she can escape?
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