We watched from a hillside overlooking a chunk of the compound, a good quarter mile away from their outer wall in a little copse of trees, the three of us looking through scopes or binoculars trying to take in the sheer scale of the settlement. All three of us swore aloud when we witnessed the “parting of the dead” as a convoy of two SUV’s and a commercial box truck stopped before the undead sentries. The massive gate opened, and a man stepped through, appearing to issue a verbal command and then the undead blocking the road parted.
Like some fucking evil Moses parting the undead sea, the security guy’s command was obeyed, and they split to either side of the road, letting the vehicles drive by them and into the compound. Once they were in, the man shouted a command again, and they closed together once more.
“What in all Hell’s name is going on?” breathed Nate.
“Evil Jesus seems to have an Evil Moses on his security detail,” I said aloud.
Um, yeah, I haven’t told Nate and Alicia about my ‘Evil Jesus’ name I used for their First Disciple in my journal, so they both gave me one of those looks.
“So,” I started, clearing my throat. “Captain Evil has an Evil Jesus, who seems to have his own Evil Moses who can part the undead sea.”
“Captain Evil?” they queried together.
“This… force… driving the undead. I had to give it a name. I can’t keep using different words, so I gave the shithead a name. Anyway, this First Disciple of theirs is Evil Jesus – obviously – and we’ve just witnessed Evil Moses do his thing.” I turned thoughtful for a moment, one finger on my lips. “You know, we could do with finding an Evil Judas.”
“Erin,” chided Nate, stopping me going off on a ramble.
“Look, this is undeniable proof.”
“Proof of what?” asked Alicia.
“I’ve always said from the off that this wasn’t natural. The undead are hateful, and not as mindless as they seem. They’re pretty vacant until they get up close, but that look when they do has purpose, and that purpose is killing. They stop biting and eating as soon as their victim is dead so they’re not feeding, just killing. Also, have you noticed that no matter how long they might have been a zombie, they don’t rot? It’s like they’re trapped in a frozen bubble of time from the moment they die, and they only start to decompose again once you pop their melon? We had all the weirdness downtown, and at the builder’s yard, and now this? End of the world cultists who can use the undead as sentries?” I threw up my hands. “This isn’t just an apocalyptic event we’re stuck in. There is something more going on, something bigger than we can get our heads round, and there is a player moving pieces on a board we can’t see, playing a game we don’t know the rules to.”
“That’s a big stretch,” said Nate. “It’s weird as hell, I’ll grant you. But you’re talking about us being moved around a board like the old Greek gods are playing with our lives.”
“Call it God, call it the Devil, call it what you want.” I put on my ‘serious’ face, as I do actually possess one of those. “I choose to call it Captain Evil, because… well… everything it’s done is basically evil. We’re being wiped out, except for this particular bunch of bell ends, who seem to be given a pass. Why?”
“By your logic, that does make them the chosen of humanity then, as that Tucker guy claimed to Dean.”
Nate still wasn’t convinced by my argument. He’s a practical guy, and here I was, sitting on a hillside, talking about cosmic forces fucking with us. Even with all the Lockey-hating zombies he’d seen when that weirdness started and the obvious influence of something on those zombies guarding Ascension’s gate, I still think he’s struggling with the concept of this being… I don’t know… celestial or divine in some way.
“No, it doesn’t, Nate” I said with a firm shake of my head. “The chosen of humanity are killing innocent civilians and kids, like at that little gated community near the church? I’m not having it. Nuh uh. I have to hope that if Captain Evil is one player on the board, then there’s also one batting for our team. If there isn’t, then it means it’s just up to us.”
“Hardly sounds fair,” commented Alicia.
“Life is neither fair nor unfair,” I said. “At best it is impartial. We make of it what we will.”
Nate raised his eyebrow. “Which book have you quoted that from?”
I snorted ruefully. Busted again.
“David Gemmell’s Lion of Macedon,” I admitted. “Doesn’t make it any less true though. One day, I’m going to hit you with a true Lockey mic drop of philosophical wisdom and boom.” I mimicked an explosion around my head. “I’ll blow your tiny minds.”
“Stay on target,” chided Nate.
My mouth dropped open. “Was that a Star Wars reference, Nate? You said you’d never seen it!”
“Erin.” His voice was flat and cautioning.
I sighed. “Look, I know you’ll both think I’m crazy, but you haven’t had the undead get a rotting hard on for you like they have me. I’ve been thinking about this shit a lot because I’ve had no choice but to face it. You lot might be able to shrug and say ‘yeah, that is a bit weird’ and then move on with your day, but I can’t. Something else is going on, and that down there is just the final piece of proof I needed. That, down there, is visible control over the undead. That’s no virus,
