Blood of the Serpent, Ch. 1
I’ll have more of this madness posted soon. Hope you enjoy it.
Tales of a Shaman’s Apprentice
Part 5: The Blood of the Serpent
Chapter 1
“Hold on a second. Look at that.”
The man pointed down the narrow street. Out of a side alley emerged a shambling figure, head bowed slightly. The woman came toward them slowly, limping slightly. The pace seemed somehow unnatural, as if the body was pulled along against its will. Only one arm was visible, and it was impossible to tell whether the other was missing or merely hidden. With each step, the body of the woman rocked back and forth, and they could hear a low groan escape from the lips. Then her other arm appeared from behind her, holding a bottle of whiskey. She brought the bottle slowly to her lips and took a long sip.
“Ah. Welcome to the French Quarter, friends. C’est la vie.”
The man seemed relieved as he spoke with a slight grin, and they watched the aftermath of the previous evening. Several people came stumbling out of the neighborhood bars and alleys, greeting the new day with loud complaints, incoherent grumbling, and the occasional bout of wretching. Tourists. Two men walked side by side, keeping an identical pace. One of them was mumbling about the price of shots and wondering aloud where the hell his hotel was. The second man, a pale man with a severe limp, didn’t say anything. He turned toward the muttering man and held out his arms. The first man smiled and welcomed the embrace with a slight stumble and a laugh. The laugh turned into a scream as the pale man sank his teeth into his throat and tore out a chunk of ragged flesh.
“Hmmm. That doesn’t seem quite right.”
“Vamos. Let’s work.” ‘Connecticut’ Smith walked out in front as they approached the two figures. The bitten man was already beyond hope, his blood pouring onto the pavement and down a nearby drain. The pale man seemed invigorated, feasting noisily upon the tender flesh of the other’s neck. He turned as the three strangers approached, and a growl escaped from his blood-soaked lips. Smith nodded to the others and they stood back. He uncoiled a long bullwhip and watched impatiently as the pale man began to amble toward him.
“Come get some.”
Connecticut Smith let the tongue of the whip lash out and wrap around the man’s neck. He yanked hard as he took a few steps forward, drawing a long machete. The pale man stumbled forward and started to fall, blood pouring from his slack jaw. Smith ducked low and came up with a vicious slice of the blade. The pale man’s head flew through the air for a split second until Smith grabbed it by the hair. The body collapsed to the street and did not move again. Smith turned the head in his hand and stared into the glassy, lifeless eyes.
“This, friends, is a zombie. If there was anything of the vodoun traditions involved in its making, it seems they have been utterly corrupted.”
“This has been our assertion, Smith.” Jim Crow appeared to be both satisfied and saddened. He had never before seen the zombies of which he had heard so much. Their existence seemed so tragic and evil, even in comparison to the virtual slavery of some of the Haitian zombis.
“According to our intelligence, the zombies have been created by a single individual,” said the third man. He had joined Crow and Smith upon their arrival in the Crescent City to serve as their contact and inside man. His name was Enoch. He had been in the city for just over a week, and had witnessed zombie attacks on four occasions. He had also managed to gather some information, mostly from hearsay, about the man responsible for the creatures. A dark sorcerer of great power named King Da, after the spirit of the Serpent.
“So you think that this King Da has been employing some sort of vodoun techniques in creating these zombies?” Smith was quite curious about this man, and wanted to learn as much as he could.
“These creatures are not a product of serving the loa,” asserted Crow. “Whatever methods have been used, they are more akin to the dark voodoo of bad movies. There is only black magic here, and it is a power that I am not familiar with.”
Smith stared at the frozen face on the head he held in his hands. He would have to study it further. And he would need a larger sample size. They would need to find more of these zombies.
“That won’t be too difficult,” said Enoch. “I’ve seen increased activity in the Marigny over the past week. There are more of them than ever before, but they seem to disappear during the day. I’m still not sure where they disappear to, but I figure that’s our best bet.”
“Yes. We will need to find where they hide during the day. It may lead us to King Da. Beyond that, we have our orders. I believe ‘with extreme prejudice’ were the words used.” Smith’s expression turned to stone as he continued to examine the decapitated head of the zombie. “I suggest we get some rest. Tonight we begin.”
_____________________________________________________________________
The pain shot up her leg as her ankle twisted violently. She had stepped into the deep pothole as she ran down the darkened street. She swore loudly as she saw the shapes coming from either side. Everything had been going… so well. She had been fast enough to stay out of reach, and now she was almost clear. Almost. But now the pain would slow her down, and they were everywhere. She took out her only weapon, a curved dagger. A gift from her mother, a matching weapon had been given to her twin sister. Tears welled up in her eyes as memories joined the pain. She had never wanted it to end like this…
Dendra Bates willed herself forward and loped down the street. Safety lay four blocks away. If she could get to the alley, she could disappear. As long as the alley was clear. She limped along, the sharp pain in her leg numbing her senses. She could hear the ragged breaths around her. They were slow, but there were so many of them. More than before. She felt a hand grasp her sleeve with an inhuman desperation. She spun and drove the dagger into the hand. Black blood poured out and the hand relaxed. She tore free and kept on, adrenaline pumping through her body. She had to keep moving. Keep moving.
She was a block away now, and they were all around her. She pushed past one with all her might and drove her dagger into the neck of a second. The low, constant groan of the undead woman turned into a strangled gargle as blood flowed from her jugular into her throat. Dendra tore the dagger the rest of the way through the neck, and the head flopped backwards, barely attached as the woman collapsed. Dendra focused all of her attention on the entrance of the alleyway as she pushed onward. She was almost there, and the way was still somehow clear.
Oh god, no!
Her desperate grasp on hope slipped as she watched the three figures suddenly appear out of the alley. As if they had been waiting just for her. There was no way she could get around them. They came toward her. So quickly. How could they be so fast? The first figure came up to her and she thrust at it with her dagger. Her blade was knocked aside and a grip of iron clasped her throat. A shadowy face stared into her own for a moment that lasted forever, and then she was released. The figure stepped aside, and with a flashing glint of metal decapitated the hissing man who had been a mere two steps behind Dendra. One of the other two figures stepped toward Dendra when the first spoke with an icy tone.
“Not that one. We’ll bring her in for questioning. Remember: just take the heads. Don’t damage the samples, or they’ll be useless.”
“You don’t want body parts?” Jim Crow unsheathed the blade from his cane and sliced through another zombie neck, sidestepping the spray of blood.
“Interesting point. The head seems to be paramount, but the connection between the head and the torso seems important as well. Bring along two active specimens for inspection.”
“How do you propose to do that?” Enoch gave him a curious look. “They might be… reluctant to cooperate.”
“Incapacitate them. Like so.” Connecticut Smith sounded impatient as he walked up to a slavering zombie with outstretched arms. He stepped to the side and sliced off one of the arms. The other arm was taken off before the zombie could react with a tortured moan. Next came the legs, and the zombie was lying in a pool of its own blood, the mouth still working furiously. Smith shoved his boot under the body and pushed it onto its belly.
“Rope.” Enoch tossed him the coil of rope, and Smith fashioned a body harness that he tied around the zombie’s convulsing torso. He wrapped a few coils around the jaw and tied it shut. He glanced up at Jim Crow. “You mind getting this?”
“That’s pretty fucked up.” Crow shook his head, then grinned. “Yeah, I got it.”
____________________________________________________________________
Dendra Bates stared at the line of lifeless heads on the long table. Nearby, under a bank of bright lights, the tall man was cutting into another skull, the black blood draining onto the floor. One of the other men walked through the door of the warehouse, carrying the head and torso of a zombie that was still struggling and moaning through its tied jaw. He heaved it onto another surgery table, brightly illuminated.
“Here’s the second, Smith. What do you need?”
“Nothing for the moment. Please take our esteemed guest into the side room. I will finish up here and join you for a little conversation.”
“Fine. If you would come with me, please, ma’am?”
“My name is Dendra. Who the hell are you people?”
“We will discuss this. My name is Enoch. This man here is Smith, and Jim Crow is getting some additional supplies. Now, if you would please accompany me…”
Smith watched them leave and turned back to the specimen. This would be the third, and would confirm his suspicions. He had already subjected the heart of one of the active zombies to chemical analysis, and had found trace amounts of the tetrodotoxin and ouabain that he had expected. Slightly increased saponin concentrations, physostigmine, and other toxins as well. The poison used was no doubt related to the Haitian formula, but with obvious differences. Since the head seemed to be the focal point for the vitality of the zombies, it seemed the logical site for testing. The last two skulls and brains had also registered faint traces of the powder constituents, but also something rather intriguing. He had isolated traces of bone fragments within the brain. A simple screening protocol had shown that the fragments did not match with the host. He took a sample for electrophoresis. They didn’t have a mobile PCR unit, so this would have to do.
The results were back as he took samples from the third brain. The traces from the previous two were indeed unique from their hosts, and in fact matched one another. Bone shavings from a single source had been introduced into two separate individuals as part of the zombification process. It seemed that the ingredient of human bone was in fact instrumental in manipulating the outcome of the powder’s effects. Smith put the last sample into the gel and turned to the second active zombie, just a torso and head restrained on the operating table. He would have to check the heart again. He cut into the chest as the zombie’s head feebly strained against the belts holding it down. As he had seen before, blood flowed through a still heart. Removal of the heart did not result in the cessation of the zombie’s movements. Only severing the connection between the head and torso or destruction of the brain tissue would accomplish this. That would come later. Smith put a heavy layer of gauze as he removed the heart for testing. The eyes of the zombie were wide open, staring at him with a look of horror. Was it possible that the undead could feel fear? Smith smiled as he held the motionless heart up for the zombie to see.
“This will only take a minute. Then it will all be over.”
To be continued…
Tales of a Shaman’s Apprentice
Part 5: The Blood of the Serpent
Chapter 1
“Hold on a second. Look at that.”
The man pointed down the narrow street. Out of a side alley emerged a shambling figure, head bowed slightly. The woman came toward them slowly, limping slightly. The pace seemed somehow unnatural, as if the body was pulled along against its will. Only one arm was visible, and it was impossible to tell whether the other was missing or merely hidden. With each step, the body of the woman rocked back and forth, and they could hear a low groan escape from the lips. Then her other arm appeared from behind her, holding a bottle of whiskey. She brought the bottle slowly to her lips and took a long sip.
“Ah. Welcome to the French Quarter, friends. C’est la vie.”
The man seemed relieved as he spoke with a slight grin, and they watched the aftermath of the previous evening. Several people came stumbling out of the neighborhood bars and alleys, greeting the new day with loud complaints, incoherent grumbling, and the occasional bout of wretching. Tourists. Two men walked side by side, keeping an identical pace. One of them was mumbling about the price of shots and wondering aloud where the hell his hotel was. The second man, a pale man with a severe limp, didn’t say anything. He turned toward the muttering man and held out his arms. The first man smiled and welcomed the embrace with a slight stumble and a laugh. The laugh turned into a scream as the pale man sank his teeth into his throat and tore out a chunk of ragged flesh.
“Hmmm. That doesn’t seem quite right.”
“Vamos. Let’s work.” ‘Connecticut’ Smith walked out in front as they approached the two figures. The bitten man was already beyond hope, his blood pouring onto the pavement and down a nearby drain. The pale man seemed invigorated, feasting noisily upon the tender flesh of the other’s neck. He turned as the three strangers approached, and a growl escaped from his blood-soaked lips. Smith nodded to the others and they stood back. He uncoiled a long bullwhip and watched impatiently as the pale man began to amble toward him.
“Come get some.”
Connecticut Smith let the tongue of the whip lash out and wrap around the man’s neck. He yanked hard as he took a few steps forward, drawing a long machete. The pale man stumbled forward and started to fall, blood pouring from his slack jaw. Smith ducked low and came up with a vicious slice of the blade. The pale man’s head flew through the air for a split second until Smith grabbed it by the hair. The body collapsed to the street and did not move again. Smith turned the head in his hand and stared into the glassy, lifeless eyes.
“This, friends, is a zombie. If there was anything of the vodoun traditions involved in its making, it seems they have been utterly corrupted.”
“This has been our assertion, Smith.” Jim Crow appeared to be both satisfied and saddened. He had never before seen the zombies of which he had heard so much. Their existence seemed so tragic and evil, even in comparison to the virtual slavery of some of the Haitian zombis.
“According to our intelligence, the zombies have been created by a single individual,” said the third man. He had joined Crow and Smith upon their arrival in the Crescent City to serve as their contact and inside man. His name was Enoch. He had been in the city for just over a week, and had witnessed zombie attacks on four occasions. He had also managed to gather some information, mostly from hearsay, about the man responsible for the creatures. A dark sorcerer of great power named King Da, after the spirit of the Serpent.
“So you think that this King Da has been employing some sort of vodoun techniques in creating these zombies?” Smith was quite curious about this man, and wanted to learn as much as he could.
“These creatures are not a product of serving the loa,” asserted Crow. “Whatever methods have been used, they are more akin to the dark voodoo of bad movies. There is only black magic here, and it is a power that I am not familiar with.”
Smith stared at the frozen face on the head he held in his hands. He would have to study it further. And he would need a larger sample size. They would need to find more of these zombies.
“That won’t be too difficult,” said Enoch. “I’ve seen increased activity in the Marigny over the past week. There are more of them than ever before, but they seem to disappear during the day. I’m still not sure where they disappear to, but I figure that’s our best bet.”
“Yes. We will need to find where they hide during the day. It may lead us to King Da. Beyond that, we have our orders. I believe ‘with extreme prejudice’ were the words used.” Smith’s expression turned to stone as he continued to examine the decapitated head of the zombie. “I suggest we get some rest. Tonight we begin.”
_____________________________________________________________________
The pain shot up her leg as her ankle twisted violently. She had stepped into the deep pothole as she ran down the darkened street. She swore loudly as she saw the shapes coming from either side. Everything had been going… so well. She had been fast enough to stay out of reach, and now she was almost clear. Almost. But now the pain would slow her down, and they were everywhere. She took out her only weapon, a curved dagger. A gift from her mother, a matching weapon had been given to her twin sister. Tears welled up in her eyes as memories joined the pain. She had never wanted it to end like this…
Dendra Bates willed herself forward and loped down the street. Safety lay four blocks away. If she could get to the alley, she could disappear. As long as the alley was clear. She limped along, the sharp pain in her leg numbing her senses. She could hear the ragged breaths around her. They were slow, but there were so many of them. More than before. She felt a hand grasp her sleeve with an inhuman desperation. She spun and drove the dagger into the hand. Black blood poured out and the hand relaxed. She tore free and kept on, adrenaline pumping through her body. She had to keep moving. Keep moving.
She was a block away now, and they were all around her. She pushed past one with all her might and drove her dagger into the neck of a second. The low, constant groan of the undead woman turned into a strangled gargle as blood flowed from her jugular into her throat. Dendra tore the dagger the rest of the way through the neck, and the head flopped backwards, barely attached as the woman collapsed. Dendra focused all of her attention on the entrance of the alleyway as she pushed onward. She was almost there, and the way was still somehow clear.
Oh god, no!
Her desperate grasp on hope slipped as she watched the three figures suddenly appear out of the alley. As if they had been waiting just for her. There was no way she could get around them. They came toward her. So quickly. How could they be so fast? The first figure came up to her and she thrust at it with her dagger. Her blade was knocked aside and a grip of iron clasped her throat. A shadowy face stared into her own for a moment that lasted forever, and then she was released. The figure stepped aside, and with a flashing glint of metal decapitated the hissing man who had been a mere two steps behind Dendra. One of the other two figures stepped toward Dendra when the first spoke with an icy tone.
“Not that one. We’ll bring her in for questioning. Remember: just take the heads. Don’t damage the samples, or they’ll be useless.”
“You don’t want body parts?” Jim Crow unsheathed the blade from his cane and sliced through another zombie neck, sidestepping the spray of blood.
“Interesting point. The head seems to be paramount, but the connection between the head and the torso seems important as well. Bring along two active specimens for inspection.”
“How do you propose to do that?” Enoch gave him a curious look. “They might be… reluctant to cooperate.”
“Incapacitate them. Like so.” Connecticut Smith sounded impatient as he walked up to a slavering zombie with outstretched arms. He stepped to the side and sliced off one of the arms. The other arm was taken off before the zombie could react with a tortured moan. Next came the legs, and the zombie was lying in a pool of its own blood, the mouth still working furiously. Smith shoved his boot under the body and pushed it onto its belly.
“Rope.” Enoch tossed him the coil of rope, and Smith fashioned a body harness that he tied around the zombie’s convulsing torso. He wrapped a few coils around the jaw and tied it shut. He glanced up at Jim Crow. “You mind getting this?”
“That’s pretty fucked up.” Crow shook his head, then grinned. “Yeah, I got it.”
____________________________________________________________________
Dendra Bates stared at the line of lifeless heads on the long table. Nearby, under a bank of bright lights, the tall man was cutting into another skull, the black blood draining onto the floor. One of the other men walked through the door of the warehouse, carrying the head and torso of a zombie that was still struggling and moaning through its tied jaw. He heaved it onto another surgery table, brightly illuminated.
“Here’s the second, Smith. What do you need?”
“Nothing for the moment. Please take our esteemed guest into the side room. I will finish up here and join you for a little conversation.”
“Fine. If you would come with me, please, ma’am?”
“My name is Dendra. Who the hell are you people?”
“We will discuss this. My name is Enoch. This man here is Smith, and Jim Crow is getting some additional supplies. Now, if you would please accompany me…”
Smith watched them leave and turned back to the specimen. This would be the third, and would confirm his suspicions. He had already subjected the heart of one of the active zombies to chemical analysis, and had found trace amounts of the tetrodotoxin and ouabain that he had expected. Slightly increased saponin concentrations, physostigmine, and other toxins as well. The poison used was no doubt related to the Haitian formula, but with obvious differences. Since the head seemed to be the focal point for the vitality of the zombies, it seemed the logical site for testing. The last two skulls and brains had also registered faint traces of the powder constituents, but also something rather intriguing. He had isolated traces of bone fragments within the brain. A simple screening protocol had shown that the fragments did not match with the host. He took a sample for electrophoresis. They didn’t have a mobile PCR unit, so this would have to do.
The results were back as he took samples from the third brain. The traces from the previous two were indeed unique from their hosts, and in fact matched one another. Bone shavings from a single source had been introduced into two separate individuals as part of the zombification process. It seemed that the ingredient of human bone was in fact instrumental in manipulating the outcome of the powder’s effects. Smith put the last sample into the gel and turned to the second active zombie, just a torso and head restrained on the operating table. He would have to check the heart again. He cut into the chest as the zombie’s head feebly strained against the belts holding it down. As he had seen before, blood flowed through a still heart. Removal of the heart did not result in the cessation of the zombie’s movements. Only severing the connection between the head and torso or destruction of the brain tissue would accomplish this. That would come later. Smith put a heavy layer of gauze as he removed the heart for testing. The eyes of the zombie were wide open, staring at him with a look of horror. Was it possible that the undead could feel fear? Smith smiled as he held the motionless heart up for the zombie to see.
“This will only take a minute. Then it will all be over.”
To be continued…