Empire

34 Like Moths…

Baron Tetch caught a snarl of fencing around his pickaxe and tore it down with a roar.

At the swamp's edge, he and his remaining afterdead had nearly opened up all of the west wall's vulnerable areas, the places where there was no concrete; the ferals would soon be entering the city from all sides. Addison's explosives, old as they were, had been even more effective than Tetch had anticipated. The doctor's journals suggested he'd collected the dynamite in hopes of loosing more energy from within the ground. Everything to Addison had been a surgical procedure, hadn't it? Flaying away flesh and earth in search of answers. All his tools could never have found the knowledge that Tetch now possessed.

Simeon was helping him in this area. He saw the rotter eyeing his flesh with furtive glimpses. "Are you hungry?" He asked. Simeon nodded.

Tetch held out his hand.

Simeon stared, confused, though he was gnashing his teeth behind closed lips. Hesitantly he reached out, took hold of the hand, and opened his mouth.

Tetch jerked it away and slapped him across the face with resonating force. Simeon staggered back and fell over the fencing.

"Without me, you never eat again. Do you understand? You don't know how to hunt, and even if I taught you, you'd forget. No, I bring you the meat! Without me, you'll simply waste away. Is that what you want? Or are you patient?"

Simeon understood maybe half of the words, but he got the message, and nodded. He could wait to eat.

Tetch was still hoping that Sawbones would come back with something for the others — he was tougher than any of them were, and maybe he'd stayed back to field-dress his victims — but as the storm abated and the sun began to descend, hope faded with the light.

He wasn't concerned at all about the survivors' presence in the city (not anymore), but he was preoccupied with thoughts of Lily's dark man. He had strong suspicions as to who the spectre was, or at least what it represented — but its motives were unclear. Perhaps it had targeted Lily because it could exert no influence over Tetch.

"Simeon," he said suddenly, "go back to the house and check on your sister."

The rotter licked his lips. Tetch threw down the pickaxe. "Never mind! I'll have Prudence do it."

Back at the manor, Lily sat alone in the foyer. She stared at the door. It was locked, as they all were, but she knew how to get out. It was just a matter of having the courage. She'd believed that she did, but here she was, sitting and staring.

She wished the man in black would come back and take her, but he didn't seem to want her. No one wanted her — not her parents, not Daddy Addison, not the man in black, no one but Baron. And Baron…he had taken notice of the fact that she was growing up. He kept telling her that she was becoming a woman, and the way he said "woman" made her uneasy. There was something about the word when it came from his mouth, as if to Tetch it were a key that opened the door to a very bad place.

The doorknob rattled. She ran to the staircase and knelt behind the bannister.

Prudence entered, a husk of a woman with spindly legs that looked as if they could barely carry her along, thin as her frame was. Her face was sunken and empty, searching the foyer, the rotter waiting expectantly for Lily to emerge from a room or come down the stairs.

The girl stepped slowly into view. Prudence's head on its twig-like neck turned in the shadows and settled on her. The afterdead didn't move. "Here I am," Lily said uneasily. Prudence had a large house key in her fingers. It pointed accusingly at Lily, who had been thinking of running…still was…

She ran. She ran at the towering zombie whose weight was probably equal to her own, and hit its body with a thud, and there was no resistance. Prudence slumped to the floor with a papery sound. Lily stumbled over her and out the door.

It was hard to see and she braced herself for the grasping hands of the others, of Baron, but she heard nothing — no one else was there! Lily ran for the gates, praying Prudence had left them open.

She had.

The child ran free into the swamp.

As the sun's light bled from the clouds and sank into darkness, her feet plunged through lush grass, soft earth. She scraped her palms pulling herself along on gnarled trees and stubbed her toes on huge roots jutting from the mud. She didn't care. Exhilaration overtook Lily and she ran even faster.

Soft glows began to emanate from the trees — clusters of fireflies, some of which lit into the air and whispered past her face. There were so many! She'd never seen such a thing. A few stars became visible overhead, and though the sky was smoky, she could see tree branches threaded through one another and birds scuttling through them. The swamp seemed so alive, in stark contrast to the house and its inhabitants.

A bird landed on the grass before her with a soft slap. She stopped in her tracks and peered down at it, able to discern its pointed beak and glittering eyes. Lily knelt. "Are you all right?" She rolled down one of her leggings and pulled out a cigarette lighter she'd concealed there. It had been Daddy's (she'd taken it from the study), and sometimes she'd use it to navigate the corridors of the house in the dead of night. Now she could see a bird up close for the first time, one that wouldn't take off and leave her trapped inside the gates. Lily thumbed the flint and a small flame sprang up.

The bird's breast was wet. Touching it, her fingertips came away red. "Oh, no-"

Several other birds flew toward her, squawking dully. Their wings beat at her face and she fell back with a cry. They descended voraciously on the fallen one.

"No! Stop it!" Lily swatted at them, losing the lighter. She felt through the grass for it, wincing as she heard the weak cries of the victim.

There! She found the lighter and struck it. One of the birds looked up from its feeding, beak crimson, eyes black; feathers and flesh were missing in patches from its body. She could see the tiny bones in its thighs, pushing through well-worn holes in dead flesh as it stamped its feet. She'd led it and the others like it right to the wounded bird, to their living prey. Screaming, Lily kicked them all into the darkness.

A man pushed through the trees and groaned at her.

He was dead. A chain dangled from his hand. He had no lips, and his bare genitals were flayed away. He clicked his teeth at her and advanced.

Lily ran a wide semicircle around him and continued through the trees. She just had to get out of the swamp, to the city. There were people like her there, she knew that now. She knew Tetch had tried to kill them. He was a liar and a bully and if there were people in the city that he hated that much, then they must be nice people.

But, emerging onto a paved road, she saw only a few scattered rotters, and when they saw her they began running.

She looked down a side street and spied something beyond the swamp's silhouette: a huge bonfire. That was the source of all the smoke. There had to be people there! "HELP!!" Lily screamed, pumping her legs until they were numb, until she felt like she was about to pass out. She stole a single glance over her shoulder and saw the rotters gaining. The one with the chain was using it to knock the others back. He wanted her all for himself, like Tetch. "NO!!!"

Lily careened breathlessly over a sand dune and came to a stop at the edge of the burning landfill. A foul odor swept into her nostrils. She nearly threw up, but then she saw the other rotters milling about the flames.

The chain man grabbed her shoulder, then pain rang through her skull. He brought the chain down on her back; she pushed away from him, turning, and was hit in the chest. The world spun and roared around her. Sand was in her nose and shoes and the other rotters were coming. A fierce heat came off the burning garbage, making it hard to keep her eyes open. The chain man swung and missed. THUMP. He gathered the chain up and prepared to strike again. She ran into the fire.

There was a smoke-filled path between the mountains of refuse. Her lungs about to burst, she couldn't help it — she inhaled deeply and was wracked with crippling coughs. The chain man, stepping through the flames, watched dumbly as his legs caught fire. He spied Lily and resumed his shambling pursuit.

She ran again. Slammed into something solid: a wall, a shed. The door was open. She fell in, pulling the door behind her and grappling blindly with the deadbolt. Something brushed her legs and she shrieked through a throat scorched raw, but it was only a cot.

The chain crashed against the door. Her mind stopped working then.

Outside, Gene watched the ferals swarm over the flaming hills and writhe as they began to be consumed. He knew what the fire could do, both to himself and to the child-meat — he also knew that there was a place in the landfill where the child might think herself safe.

Starting forward, he searched through his pockets for the key to his shed.

"She's going to die."

Voorhees tried to take Jenna out of the stairwell but she pushed him off.

"Didn't you hear what I said, O'Connell?"

"I heard. I'm staying."

A blanket of coats had been placed over Lauren, and she lay on the landing near Thom's corpse. Her glazed eyes stared at nothing. Her lips moved, but she wasn't saying anything, at least not that Jenna could hear.

"Yes, I can hear you." Death said. He knelt beside Lauren and studied her face. "Not long now."

"I don't…I don't want to die." She whispered.

"It won't hurt anymore."

Tears welled in her eyes. "I know. But Jen…she's going to be alone. She needs me."

The woman in question was standing on the stairs; a young man with a bandage around his leg embraced her. The spectre realized something, though he wasn't sure what it meant, and looked back at Lauren. "It's you that needs her."

"Yes."

"Do you love her?"

"Yes."

"What does it feel like?"

Lauren met Death's black gaze. "It…hurts." He thought at first she was talking about her wound, but she could no longer feel that. She was slipping away, a pinprick of flame sputtering in a pool of wax. "It's an ache. A beautiful ache. God, I love her…please take care of her. Just…just don't let her suffer."

There was nothing he could say. But he did. "I will," he lied.

The light in her eyes went out and didn't come back.

Jenna buried her face in Mark's shoulder. Voorhees grimaced, pumped his shotgun and walked out. Reverend Palmer stepped silently past the couple on the stairs and whispered a prayer over the departed. Death wondered if there was anyone who heard such things.

Maybe they did, and maybe they lied too, telling humanity "I will."

He had to return to the outside and hold off the undead. It was the only thing he could do. The Reaper melted into the shadows.