Part 24
Mark awoke to a warm beam of sunlight in his face. He tried to brush
it away with his eyes closed but failed. His eyes finally opened and
he sat up in bed. The shafts of sunlight peering through the heavy
dark curtains lit up his short but messy blond hair. He scratched the
side of his hairless cheek and climbed out of bed.
He walked over to his closet clad in a pair of red, silk boxer shorts,
and looked through his collection of pants. Such treasures hiding in
his closet. So many fabrics from so many places. Some of his shirts
alone were things men would kill over. He pulled a pair of linen pants
from its hanger and tossed them over his shoulder.
He glanced through the shirts, found a matching shirt and looked down
at his watch.
11:13 am.
He smiled to himself, he would have just over forty-five minutes to
enjoy himself before the day truly began.
He walked into the bathroom and disrobed, hanging his clothes
carefully on the towel rack beside the towel. He spun both knobs above
the faucet of the bath tub, letting the tub fill with hot water and
just a touch of cold.
Mark ran both hands through his hair and stretched, letting out a
yawn. He climbed into the bathtub and sank into the hot water. Such a
thing was a luxury nowadays. Most people were happy with just clean
water. However Mark had become quite a powerful man in this new
terrible world and as such, he accrued the niceties that someone of
his position deserved.
He closed his pale blue eyes and relaxed, inhaling the steam from the
water into his nose.
It had been a few hundred years since the great crash. Society had
finally crumbled and all that remained were ruins. Few cities remained
untouched. People had ventured off again into the wilderness and
became hunters. Even hunting each other if food was scarce enough.
Over time some gravitated back to the crumbling cities to rebuild what
had been lost.
Mark had escaped the great quakes that tore asunder the earth,
separating the coast of California from the mainland. He wandered back
east with his precious few possessions and found himself in Las Vegas,
or what remained of it.
The town had separated into two territories guarded over by ferocious
gangs with little neutral territory between them. On one side were the
religious cultists, who wanted to cleanse this new world of its wicked
ways. Opposed to them were a nameless horde of bandits, murderers, and
cannibals. At least that's how it was at the start.
Mark's decision was obvious. He had no place with the cultists, he was
part of the wickedness they wished to cleanse.
Perhaps in another life where he had not been transformed into this
blood-thirsting fiend he had become.
As soon as his feet set foot on the strip he felt an irresistible
force pulling him towards the Bellagio, which seemed to be under
current construction and had become a fortress surrounded by and
filled with bandits.
Across the street was Caeser's Palace, which ironically had become the
home of the cultist fanatics. The two would regularly battle
throughout the day, lobbing cannonballs into each other's buildings
and grenades into each other's fortresses.
As he reached the gate of the fortress surrounding the Bellagio he was
stopped by the bandits and interrogated. He was tried and tested but
he could not turn away. He began to hear incessant whispers through
the days and night he spent outside the gate waiting to be brought in.
He grew tired and thirsty. He hungered like he had not hungered in
centuries but the force continued to pull it. He cursed the fates, the
cruel gods, and all around him, but it was futile. He could not turn
away from the gate.
Finally he lost consciousness and dropped to the ground.
He awoke suddenly from underwater thrashing and flailing as he sat up
in the enormous bathing pool. All he could see was blinding white
light. Then a vision came upon him and he heard the whispering voice,
though it was now crisp and clear.
He saw a woman's face, partially obscured by bright white hair with
black feathers laced through it. Two shimmering azure eyes gazed into
his, tearing into him. He felt the power of her gaze like a hand
reaching down his throat and setting his dead organs on fire.
"I have use for you, little boy," the woman's voice rang inside his
head as if it were truly audible.
Suddenly the light went dim and he collapsed on the cold, stone floor.
His eyes adjusted to the light and he saw the woman, clad in black
with silver accents, sitting with her legs grossed on the counter
beside the sink.
Mark shook his head and asked, "Who are you? Where am I?"
The woman only looked at him and he heard the voice in his head again.
"My name is Viveka Speltke and I am the leader of the odd assortment
of unsavory types. I trust you will feel right at home with most of
them. At this moment you are in my bathroom. I had them bring you to
me from the gate, I've been calling for you since you arrived. The
others were not so patient," the voice spoke.
"What do you mean patient?" He asked as he pulled a towel from the
towel rack beside the tub, wrapping it around his waist.
"They broke through the gate and tried to fight through. It was most
entertaining. They didn't know him from Adam and I had neglected to
inform them that he was certainly one of us. You seem to have much
more self-control though, which is preferable. Silly beasts make
terrible generals," the voice said.
"What if I don't want to stay?" Mark asked, though he knew he could not resist.
"You're free to return to the desert and feed off rats like an animal
if you please. However, you can stay, and enjoy the luxuries of power.
I assume that was the first bath you've had in quite a while. You
would also fit perfectly in some clothes I've saved over the years.
You'll also be compensated for your work," the voice said.
"What kind of compensation?" He asked.
The woman on the counter tilted her head slightly, exposing the
arteries that ran along her throat.
Mark shuddered, it had been ages since his last proper meal. Most of
the time he was reduced to feeding off small animals which only left
him hungering for more.
"What do I have to do?" Mark asked, cautiously stepping closer to the woman.
"You would be my assistant," the voice said. "I can call you a general
if you'd like. You would keep me informed on the progress of our
various activities and be my voice among the rank and file. This may
one day cost your existence, but I suppose that is something you may
weigh against the benefits."
Mark remained silent, pretending to consider the offer. However he
knew this would ultimately be his fate.
Mark nodded, "Okay."
He sat up in the tub and quickly washed himself off. Once he was clean
he drained the tub and dried himself off before slipping into his
clothes. He stepped out of the bathroom and into his living room. On
the floor near the front door were his pair of boots, a steel
breastplate, and a leather collar.
He stuffed his feet into the black, leather boots and tied the laces.
Next he opened the hinges on the side of the breast plate and locked
it around his torso. The heavy leather collar buckled around his
throat.
Mark opened the front door and stepped out, locking it behind him. He
trudged down the hallway to the elevator and took it to the top floor.
Secluded at the top of the hotel was Viveka's room. She only left to
give the occasional speech or to meet with advisors. She spent most of
her time reading from her large collection of books and writing in her
large, heavy grimoire.
Outside of her room was a stack of papers, various updates on various
projects that Mark began to look over. He leaned against the wall
beside her door, studying the papers so that he could correctly inform
her. He shuffled through the papers for a while before finally
knocking at the door.
"Come in," the voice rang out in his mind.
He turned the knob and entered the dimly lit room. All around were
candles of various sizes and shapes giving off different smells as
they melted. They mixed with the constantly burning incense to form a
strange but unique scent.
The windows were covered by heavy tapestries with various symbols
woven into them. Mark wandered through the path around and between
pieces of furniture until he came to the doorway obscured by another
heavy tapestry. He pushed past and found Viveka sitting on the floor,
writing in her grimoire.
"I have news," Mark said.
"What news?" She asked as she continued to write.
"We're maintaining control of our portion of the city. Currently the
mines are ours. We've lost a few men on the front line. They've been
put in cold storage for you," he said.
"Have you found him?" She asked.
Mark shuffled through the papers again, although he already knew the answer.
"Our spies have yet to report back," he said softly.
Viveka sighed and closed the grimoire and set the pen on top of it.
"What about the test subjects? Shall we go see them?" Her voice asked.
"They're . . . not progressing well," he said.
Viveka stood up and walked past him, "Then let's investigate."
Mark followed after Viveka, trying to dissuade her as she traveled
down to the basement. Locked away in cells deep in the basement were
the test subjects, the five that came before Mark that she had deemed
unsuitable for his position.
Viveka turned on the lights and the subjects inside moaned and
groaned, trying to shield themselves from the light. They were a
sickly sight to behold, dressed in ragged clothing, coated with a
layer of filth mixed with blood. Their eyes bulged from their sockets
and their ribs were clearly visible. They looked like skeletons with
skin pulled tight over them.
Viveka approached the cage and gripped the bars, peering down at the
closest test subject. The man pawed at the air, incapable of lifting
his arms high enough to reach her as he lay on the cold concrete
floor.
"This is it?" She asked. "Look at them, they're lifeless. Harmless."
"We followed your orders to the letter," Mark said.
Viveka sneered, "Thank you for pointing out my failure, Mark. Since
you're so clever I suppose you can imagine a way to survive without
blood for another week."
"Madam! I did not mean to insult you!" Mark protested.
"A clever man would have thought of that before he spoke. These
subjects are worthless in their present state. Give them to the
doctor, I'm sure he can concoct something interesting for me.
Something other than failure," Viveka's voice said.
Viveka walked back through the basement to the elevator with Mark
following closely behind. They took the elevator up to the lobby where
the masses congregated. Now the numbers truly swelled.
With each victory, Viveka's army grew stronger. Those slain on the
battlefield were returned to the fortress and raised as terrible
undead. Skeletons and zombies and ghouls. Even animals were
slaughtered and raised and all fought with ferocity under her control.
As Viveka stepped into the lobby those inside took notice and quickly
cleared a path for her and Mark. She marched across the lobby to the
kitchen. Inside the kitchen was a massive freezer. Inside the freezer
were three bodies, two of hers and one of the cultists.
Mark separated the three bodies, laying them out flat on their backs.
Viveka drew her dagger from her hip and raised her hands over the
three corpses. Black bolts streamed from her fingers and the bodies
sat up, their eyes now lifeless.
Inside their damaged brains they heard her voice growl at them, "Go.
Devour. Let no one survive."
Each of the zombies stood up and shambled out the door, one after the
other in a line. Viveka slid her dagger back in its sheath. She exited
the freezer and Mark followed, closing the door behind him and locking
it shut with a large lever.
Viveka stopped in the doorway and turned back to look at Mark as he
trudged along.
"Send saboteurs to destroy their siege weapons," she said.
"Living or dead?" He asked.
"First one, then the other," she replied.
This was the daily grind for Mark. He would send the orders down the
chains of command to the saboteurs and they would either succeed or
fail and Viveka would give orders from there.
This had been going on for years. Neither side would fully commit to
an attack, instead there were countless small conflicts between
individuals on both sides.
Vehicles from the other cities would make the trip to Las Vegas and
both sides would fight over who the drivers would trade goods with.
Most of the time the drivers fled at the first act of violence,
thinking they were in danger as well, leaving both sides without
valuable supplies.
Viveka and her nemesis had the unwavering support of their troops.
Even without supplies and on the brink of starvation morale remained
high. Viveka's troops would kill a few of the cultists and eat their
flesh, leaving nothing but the bones behind and she would reanimate
them into a formidable skeletal warrior.
However their enemies were not so quick to dine on human flesh.
Instead they had advanced their technology and were able to call in
small helicopters to bring them aid. Despite multiple attempts,
Viveka's cannons could not shoot them out of the air.
Half the day would be spent with Viveka, listening to her plans. The
rest Mark would spend in the trenches, giving orders to various
commanders and foremen. None of the day was enjoyable anymore.
Viveka would always complain and be disappointed, using him as a
whipping boy to vent her frustration. In the trenches he was choked by
the dust and the sand that whipped through the air, mashed up against
the soldiers who rarely bathed, or the undead who all had a unique and
disgusting smell of decay to them.
However the taste of his new good life in this new terrible world was
too good. He had grown too accustomed to his luxuries and was bound to
stay until nothing remained. Why hunt down rats to devour when you can
have the purest human blood around, even if it is a bit stale. Even if
it means weeks of going hungry. It's all worth it in the end.