Ante Mortem

TO SURVIVE THE BEGINNING Gina Ranalli

The gods were angry.

The man and the boy were in the forest, just past the clearing of the burial ground, when the sky grew dark and the first stone fell from the heavens and shattered against the earth a mere twelve feet in front of them.

The boy looked at his father, eyes wide with fright, spear hanging loosely at his side instead of firmly in his fist and raised to the height of his shoulder. Under normal circumstances, this lack of preparation and grace would have earned him a scolding, but now his father gazed skyward, head craned back as though searching for predators. When he glanced down at his son, his own eyes were more confused than frightened. He opened his mouth to speak as a tremendous crash shook the ground beneath their feet, causing them both to stumble and turn in the direction of the explosion, crouching low, unconsciously covering their heads with their hands.

This time an even larger stone had fallen behind them, directly into the clearing where so many of their family had been laid to rest. Generations of dead, including the father’s father, mother, several siblings and other children he had spawned. His clan had lived in this area a long time—an area lush with vegetation and brimming with wildlife. There had never been a reason to move on. Starvation had not been the cause of any of the deaths. Sickness, accidents, animal attacks, murder. But never starvation.

A deafening crack that the father and son recognized: the sound of a tree snapping, and a moment later, more cracks as it took other trees down with it, then finally the thuds as they struck the forest floor.

The smell of smoke was on the air and the father shouted at the boy, pointed, and then the two of them were running back the way they’d come, shoulders hunched forward, chins tucked down against their chests, sprinting through the burial ground as more rocks fell all around them.

Most of the stones were small enough not to cause serious injury but the two fleeing figures cried out whenever struck by one of them. Not only were they falling at a great velocity, but they were also hot. Hot enough to burn, and strangely shaped, not smooth like most rocks, but jagged in places, bumpy and rough around the edges. Their color was odd as well—not black or gray or even white, but more of a deep dark purple with veins of yellow striping their hides.

By the time they reached the mouth of the cave that was their home, both man and boy were covered with welts, lumps and blisters of various size and severity. The boy wept freely, gingerly touching a bloody gash atop his head, though it was not the pain that caused him to weep: he was terrified.

Just outside the cave stood the women, clutching each other, their eyes wide with fright as they watched the man and the boy approach. The woman—mother of the boy and mate to the man—used both her voice and hand gestures to hurry them on, while her two daughters whimpered beside her.

“Run!” she urged. “Run or be killed!”

She needn’t have shouted because both her son and her mate were already running as fast as they could, spears dropped somewhere along the way, completely forgotten.

They bowled into the cluster of females, nearly knocking them over in their attempt to get inside to safety.

“What’s happening?” Teva cried, grabbing her son by the shoulders to examine his wounds. The boy, whose name was Gel, rubbed the snot from his upper lip with the heel of his hand, trying mightily to hide his tear-streaked face from his sisters. The lip, just beginning to show the first wisps of facial hair, trembled despite his efforts to still it.

Napro stood just inside the cave, looking out, absently rubbing a blister on his forearm. Outside, the stones continued to rain down, some of them still smoking and fire-red. He was amazed that both he and his son had made it through with no more than superficial wounds.

“What does it mean?” Rani, his eldest daughter asked, stepping up beside him.

He shook his head, hands moving slowly, reluctantly. “Maybe the end of the world.”

Rani’s eyes narrowed as she raised her chin in defiance of the situation, though she made no reply.

A shuffling sound from behind caused them both to turn and see Fee, the old medicine man who had joined their clan less than a season past. Napro and Gel had found the old man near the lean-to that had been his home. Fee was maimed after a battle with a wolf, close to death and had not the man and the boy happened upon the scene and frightened away the beast, Fee would certainly have been killed and eaten by the wolf.

Together, father and son had carried the old man back to their cave where Teva had patched his wounds, fed him animal lard and broth and kept his temperature as low as possible. By the time Fee was well enough to return to his lean-to, the clan had discouraged it greatly, insisting that he was far too old to live out in the wild without the protection of stone walls to shield him from future animal attacks and inclement weather.

At first Fee had been stubborn—he had many seasons left, he argued, though that was clearly not the case. He had already seen his fortieth winter come and go and no one had ever heard of anyone living to be as old as he now was.

Fee insisted it was the herbs and roots he made into a thick tea and drank nearly every day that had kept him alive long after the times his own clan had perished.

Now the old man peered over Napro’s shoulder at the falling stones and grunted. Both Napro and Rani stared at him and he signed, “The gods are angry.”

Napro nodded grimly. It was the very same thing he’d been thinking but hadn’t wished to say aloud. “What have we done to anger them so?”

Fee shook his head, his eyes more sad than frightened. Behind them came the sound of Zic, the youngest child, weeping. Zic, unlike her older sister, was sensitive and wept easily. Only nine, she spoke of wanting to leave this place, go somewhere “without so many spirits.” She was convinced the land around them was haunted with the ghosts of the dead and often spoke of seeing specters while out gathering berries near the burial ground.

For the most part, her clan let her speak of such things without much protesting. In fact, they barely listened to the child’s senseless rambling when she went on about such things. Only Fee paid what the child said any mind at all, for he had seen many things in his lifetime that could not be explained away. Sometimes, he suspected the child might be right. Perhaps humans weren’t the only ones sharing the land with animal, plant and insect life.

The next hours were spent with Teva attending to Gel and Napro’s injuries, Zic’s constant sniffling as she clung to Rani’s side and Fee watching glumly as the outside world grew dark.

The stones continued to fall, but only sporadically now. An occasional thump from a far distance and, even rarer, the cracking sound of rock on rock when one clattered against the roof of their cave. They could tell by the thuds that the stones were growing smaller as the night wore on, until finally it sounded as though nothing more threatening than hail was falling from the sky.

Still, no one slept that night, wondering what it could all mean.

The following morning, they were all up before the sun rose, as was their custom, though none of them dared venture beyond the perimeters of the cave until the sun was up and peeking over the horizon.

Without any sleep or their evening meal, everyone now suffered from grumbling bellies and short tempers. Napro finally raised the courage to poke around outside and check to see if all was safe. If so, he and Gel would pick up where they left off the previous afternoon, retrieving their spears and hunting for game.

What he found scattered around the area near their cave was just what he’d expected to find: stones, of various shapes and sizes, some of the larger ones having shattered like shale upon their impact with the hard earth.

Napro crouched, examining one of these split open stones. It appeared as though the rock had been more than just a rock; more like an egg of some sort. The inside of the stone sparkled wetly in the sun, a thin sheen of something almost gelatinous coating the hollowed out insides of the rock.

Frowning, Napro found a nearby twig and poked at the slime. The tip of the twig dripped thick, snot-like fluid and, disgusted, Napro tossed it away before rising to his feet once more.

He picked his way carefully around the fallen stones, giving an especially wide berth to those which had cracked apart. He had never seen anything like them and the sight of that snotty liquid made him wary and nervous.

When he was convinced that there was no immediate danger lurking about, he went back to the cave to summon Gel. Finding breakfast might prove to be more difficult than usual, however, as he suspected the animals had also been terrified of last night’s bizarre storm and had most likely gone into hiding. As it was, Napro heard no rustling within the forest, heard no birdsong, not even the buzzing of insects.

Spooked, he thought. Even more spooked than we humans had been.

But, as far as he could tell, there was no immediate danger and therefore felt it was time to summon the clan and get everyone busy, either hunting or gathering. He dismissed last night’s storm as just a freak of nature, after all. Not the act of an angry god. If it had been so, he suspected none of them would have been alive come morning.

He made his way back to the cave and told the others that it was safe and they could now go about their daily routines. Fee stayed behind with Zic, as his legs ached with the fierceness of fire and he was no good at hunting since he’d been attacked by the wolf.

Teva and Rani disappeared into the woods to search for firewood, berries, roots and later, if Napro and Gel managed to kill anything, the woman and her teenage daughter would skin the animal and cook the meat, salvaging the bones to make tools, weapons and sometimes jewelry.

The man and the boy ventured forth, towards the area they were in when the rain of stones had first begun. As they approached the burial ground, Gel kept his eyes downcast, staring at the fallen rocks with trepidation. Like his father before him, he saw what appeared to be a thick clear slime oozing out from the inside of the larger stones, and, also like his father, he paused, bending down to examine one. “What is this?” he asked.

Napro turned back. “I don’t know, but don’t touch it. It could be poisonous.”

“Maybe Fee could use it in his secret teas,” Gel laughed. “Maybe he already does, considering how awful they taste. Like animal urine.”

Facing forward again, Napro said, “Come, Gel. We must find our spears.” He began walking, but instantly sensed that his son had not obeyed him. Once more, he turned to look at Gel who remained stooped, staring at the rock, all amusement vanished from his face and replaced by something resembling fear.

“What is it, boy?” Napro asked.

“It’s moving,” Gel replied, his voice low. “Whatever is inside these rocks, it moves on its own.”

Napro groaned, walking back to where his son was. “Perhaps your empty belly is causing you to see things.” He stopped, looked down at where his son was staring, frowned and bent over for a better view.

Indeed, the slime was moving of its own volition, slithering over the edge of the rock, down its side to pool on the ground beside it. Napro and Gel exchanged shocked expressions. When Gel looked down once more, he shouted “Look!”

The slime was not just pooling on the ground; it was burrowing into it. Not simply being absorbed, but forcing its way in the same manner an earth worm would.

In fact, though it was clearly liquid, the slime moved very much like a worm; slowly, deliberately, inching its way down into the earth. It moved with purpose.

“It’s alive,” Napro whispered. “Some kind of creature.”

Gel could only nod, staring down at the wriggling slime with something bordering between disgust and fascination.

Napro straightened up once more. “Come! We must find our spears and warn the others.”

Again, Gel nodded, but made no indication that he intended to move from that spot, his eyes glued to what remained of the vanishing slime. Napro grabbed him by the shoulder, shook him hard. “Now!”

Shaken from his trance, Gel stood and then chased his running father back to the place they were the previous day when the stones had begun to fall, loping through the woods with an animal-like grace.

When they arrived at the edge of the burial ground, Napro stopped abruptly, causing Gel to bump into his back. “What it is?” Gel asked, vaguely annoyed.

But before Napro could reply, Gel saw for himself why his father had halted: there were people in the burial ground, though to call them people was not exactly accurate. They had once been people. It was completely obvious what they were now: corpses.

Gel’s eyes quickly took in the surroundings, the holes in the ground, all of them near the biggest of the shattered stones. About fourteen of them, all told. Holes which had just yesterday been covered graves.

Napro made a squeaking sound in his throat, backed up a step so that he was standing side by side with his son.

The zombies shuffled around in circles, seemingly unsure of what to do with themselves. Some of them were more decomposed than others. Most of them, however, the father and son could easily recognize. Family members, one of which—a little girl—had only been buried for a season. She had been Zic’s twin and had died after diving from a tree branch and into a river’s shallows. Her neck had snapped like a dry twig and now her head rested at an odd angle, her right cheek touching her right shoulder. She was naked, as were all the others. The clan did not dress their dead, it would never have occurred to them to waste animal skins on people who would no longer be needing them.

The squeaking noise came again and Gel glanced quickly at Napro. Tears streamed down the man’s cheeks, his eyes wide as he slowly shook his head as though he couldn’t possibly be seeing what his vision was showing him.

The corpses took notice of the man and the boy and instantly reversed direction and started towards the two, Zic’s twin leading the pack, dead eyes staring directly into her father’s without showing the slightest recognition. She made a low guttural sound in her throat—a long miserable wail—and then the others followed suit, all of them groaning and screeching as they staggered forward, arms outstretched.

One of the dead dragged a badly broken leg behind himself and Napro could see the dull white of ribs poking out from the thing’s side. Half the creature’s face had rotted away, exposing teeth that were black with decay.

Napro found himself trying to remember who this person might have been, but nothing came to him. He wondered if his mind had frozen in fear, halted any rational thought. He looked from face to face, searching for any indication of familiarity.

Gel grabbed his arm, tugged it. “We have to go, Father,” he said, his voice much calmer than he had imagined it would be.

The distance between them and the zombies was closing, despite the living dead’s painfully slow movements.

“Father!”

Napro looked at his son, blinking in surprise as though just woken from a deep dream. Together, they turned and fled, Gel stopping only long enough to scoop up his spear as they passed it hidden in a patch of tall grass.

Racing back to the cave, it occurred to Napro that Fee must have been right when he proclaimed anger from the gods. Though this seemed more than just anger; this was flat-out vengeance. But for what?

They reached the cave even faster than they had the previous day when they’d been dodging those strange rocks falling from the sky. Bent over, hands on knees and panting, they did not immediately notice the alarmed looks on both Fee’s and Zic’s faces.

When Napro finally looked up at them, he suspected the worst. “Teva and Rani?” he said.

“Gathering,” Zic replied with a frown. Of course her father should know where her mother and sister were. After all, he had been the one to send them to their morning tasks.

Before Napro could reply, Gel was already running back out into the day, his spear at the ready. Napro screamed at him to stop, but the boy ignored the command and disappeared behind a stand of thick pines.

Fee came to stand beside Napro. “What is happening?”

“The gods,” Napro said. “They have cursed us and this place.”

Puzzled, Fee asked, “What do you mean?”

“The dead have been brought back to life. I saw… I saw my daughter.”

“You saw Arbu?” Zic asked, her voice more excited than frightened. “Where?”

Napro glanced down at his little one, his eyes full of pain. Then, to Fee: “Keep her here.”

“Of course, but—”

“I have to find my children,” Napro said. He began searching the cave frantically for another spear. He knew they had several, but most had broken during one hunt or another. But a broken spear would be better than no weapon at all.

He chose what appeared to be the sturdiest, handing another to Fee. “Protect my child,” he said and raced out of the cave in pursuit his family.

Legs pumping, his long tangles of hair blowing wildly, he flew over downed trees while simultaneously dodging others. He knew his forest, his land. He had lived here his entire life, as had his father before him had. He didn’t remember seeing his father among the dead, but the man had been gone from this world for so long that identifying him now would have been impossible.

A woman screamed and he altered his direction just slightly, aiming in the direction the scream had come from. He heard Gel yell and increased his pace. He was running at his top speed when he tripped over one of the angry gods stones and, for a moment, was airborne before he came crashing back down to earth, landing hard on his chest. He felt the air whoosh out of his lungs and thought he heard a crack as well.

No matter.

He scrambled to his feet and continued on, his pace only slightly slowed.

The screaming came again—almost there. Just through that next wall of underbrush…

He burst through it, not feeling the thorns and branches that raked his skin, drawing thin lines of blood over several parts of his legs, face, arms and chest.

Gel stood in front of the female members of his clan, jabbing his spear at what seemed to be the most aggressive of the walking dead: a man, judging by his build, but there was no genitalia to tell for certain. Instead there was only a gray-black pit between the things legs. It lunged towards Gel who quickly stabbed it in the shoulder, a warning shot, perfectly executed and Napro felt a sense of pride. His son was a fine hunter, brave and strong, quick of mind and body, though he knew Gel shouldn’t have been wasting his time with warning shots. These were not some vicious animals protecting their young, a den or a kill. Napro didn’t know what they were exactly, but he did know one thing: they meant to kill his clan. A quick stabbing was not going to deter them. They had risen from their graves in order to end Napro’s bloodline. There was no mistaking their purpose in this—the living—world. And judging by the creature’s reaction to being stabbed, they didn’t feel pain anyway. The spear had succeeded in knocking it off balance momentarily, but then it was facing Gel again and letting loose a garbled roar.

Napro sprang forward to stand side by side with his son, the females behind them, quivering with fright but not crying. Napro felt the pride return; despite being females, both Teva and Rani had more courage than some men he had known. That was good. He had a feeling they would need every reserve of bravery they possessed before this thing ended for good.

Thrusting his spear, Napro aimed at the belly of the creature Gel had just stabbed, thrusting the weapon deep, all the way to its hilt, before yanking it back out with a twisting motion. The creature stumbled, but did not fall. From the wound made by Napro’s spear came a trickling flow of black blood. The wound should have gushed, would have gushed if it had been on anything alive. Anything alive would have been downed easily; Napro knew a killing shot when he made one.

But the monster only looked down at its stomach, then back up at Napro, screeching at him, its mouth open wide enough to show that its tongue, along with its genitals, had long ago rotted away or been eaten by insects. Insects always consume the soft spots first.

Napro stabbed at it again, once more aiming for the stomach. Still, though he drove the spear with all his might, twisting and jerking it back and forth, the creature did not fall. Beside him, Gel had turned away to face another monster that was approaching from the right. It seemed that the surrounding creatures were growing braver once they saw that the humans could not hurt them.

Pulling his spear free of the monster’s belly, Napro groaned when the thing’s rotted intestines spilled from the ragged hole he’d created. Behind him, one of the females screamed. The dead man didn’t even glance down at his own entrails, but marched forward, fingers gray with decay wiggling as he reached for Napro.

“Run!” Napro yelled at the others, thrusting his spear at the zombie’s face. He didn’t understand how the thing could even see out of its milky white eyes, but some how it could. Unless it was relying on scent…

He dared a quick glance behind him and repeated his command, louder, with more authority. “I said, run!”

His wife and daughter did just that, giving a wide berth to the group of zombies Napro and Gel were trying to fight off. A few of the monsters lurched in the direction the females had run, two actually giving pursuit, but they were slow and clumsy and Teva and Rani easily outpaced them.

Napro raised his spear over his head, both hands gripping it tight enough to make his fingers ache. He darted to the left, as though to follow the women and as the zombie turned towards him, Napro sprang back to his original position, slamming the spear downward at the creatures face. His aim was true, the spear impaling itself in the zombie’s right eye socket.

The thing screamed, tried briefly to grapple with the weapon, yanking on it at the same time Napro twisted, its good eye rolling skyward, and then it crumpled to the ground. Napro kept hold of the spear and grimaced at the slippery wet sound it made as it withdrew from the thing’s skull.

He stared at his kill for a brief moment, amazed that the zombie lay unmoving and seemingly dead. He felt a pang of pride, having defeated what surely must be a servant of demons, if not a demon itself.

“FATHER!”

Napro’s spun towards his son’s voice and saw him struggling with four zombies, his spear lying uselessly at his feet. Two of the things had him by the arms, while the others clawed at his face and chest. Gel tried to twist out of the grasp of the monsters, but they held him fast and seemed to be—Napro could not believe his eyes—they seemed to be trying to bite him.

Crossing the distance between them, Napro charged forward, his spear pointed towards the one who held his son by his left arm. With all his strength, he plowed his weapon forward, straight into the monster’s ear, hard enough to cause the lance to snap in half.

The zombie howled, immediately releasing its grip on Gel, and fell first to its knees before flopping onto its side, dead.

One of the zombies clawing at Gel’s chest turned to face Napro, Gel forgotten. It clambered forward, thrashing its arms at Napro. Napro ducked, tossing away the useless stick he now held and bending for his son’s spear. Grabbing it, he shoved upward, catching the thing in the neck, just beneath its Adam’s apple. Dark blood oozed from the wound sluggishly, thick as animal lard, but the creature did not stop fighting.

Gel screamed and when Napro turned, he saw one of the dead things ripping into his son’s throat with its teeth, pulling out a chunk of flesh, blood spurting across its face as it reared back, chewing.

The man felt his soul collapse as he watched the life fade from Gel’s eyes and the boy drifted like a feather to the ground. No longer able to scream, Napro did the screaming for him, shoving past the zombies to kneel beside his son. His cupped Gel’s head in his hand, yelling, trying to get the boy to focus, and then he was being yanked away, pulled by countless hands, heads bending towards him with gnashing teeth.

“No!” Napro wanted to remain with his dying boy, did his best to jerk free from the gripping hands, but there were too many of them. He felt teeth sink into his shoulder, his forearm, his cheek. The pain was searing and Napro’s vision grayed around the edges. He wanted to give up, let the monsters take him. It would be easy. Just relax, lie beside his son and close his eyes. He knew it would be quick.

But still he fought. Not for Gel, who was already gone, two zombies shredding his body, tearing the skin from his bones with a fierceness and glee that Napro had never seen before, not even in the most frightened and starving of animals.

He fought for his mate and the rest of their offspring. He knew if he died, they would have no chance.

Crawling now, he managed to shove one of the zombies back with a quick jab of his elbow into its face, but even as he did so, he felt more teeth clamp onto the back of his calf. Fumbling, he searched for the fallen lance, found it, kicking frantically to get the monster off his leg. He rolled to his back, spear pointing upward, stabbing at the decayed faces while tears trickled from his eyes and into the wound on his cheek. The stinging barely registered. He knew now to aim at the faces, the eyes. Get the spear to penetrate the skull and he might survive long enough to warn the rest of his clan.

Zombies blocked out the sky.

Napro stabbed when and where he could, but quickly realized he was vastly outnumbered. It seemed more of the monsters had gathered for the slaughter—the feast—and Napro was destined to die this way. Eaten alive, just as his son had been.

He wanted to take out as many as he could while he lived and continued to thrash, thrust and kick, his scream a constant now, like his agony, like his spilling blood…

Closing his eyes against those rotted faces, he prayed to all the gods in heaven, prayed for his family and for—

A deafening high pitched whine drowned out all other sounds and he opened his eyes, amazed to see the zombie straddling his legs on fire and screaming. Napro craned his neck, saw a flash of brown skin and dark tangled hair: Teva.

She had come back with the only weapon she could find—a torch—and now was systematically touching the flame to all of the zombies heads, what little hair they had left the only thing on their bodies that would easily catch fire.

The monsters rose up, making sounds neither Napro nor Teva had ever heard before. No living creature could have shrieked the way these things were shrieking now. It was a sound exclusive to the dead, dying once again.

Napro was finally able to struggle to his feet, though he immediately sank to his knees again. He cried out in pain and used his spear as leverage to help him stand once more.

Teva kept the zombies at bay. The ones who were not already burning were clearly frightened of the flames and Napro thought he could see a war between fear and hunger raging in their eyes. Teva rushed to him, scanning his body with her gaze and he saw her wince at the sight of his injuries. Their eyes met knowingly and Napro said, “The cave. Help me back.”

Teva nodded, her wild hair framing her face as she wrapped her free arm around Napro’s waist and waved the flame at the zombies who dared to get too close for her liking.

Walking backwards, they moved slowly in the direction of their home, Teva constantly whipping her head around to be certain no zombies approached from any side. Whether or not she’d seen Gel’s body, Napro didn’t know. If so, she’d made no reaction. She was concentrating on the task at hand, battling the undead and half-dragging her mate to safety. Napro was certain that if she had seen their son, the sight had not completely registered with her and when it finally did, all the fight would leave her body, as it had almost done to him.

The closer they came to the patch of land where they lived, the thinner the forest became, the rockier the terrain and there were several times when Teva tripped, unable to pay full attention to her footing, and almost brought them both down.

The zombies continued to shuffle along after them, grunting and groaning their displeasure at the dangerous fire she threatened them with when they dared to try to close the distance between them.

Although Teva was strong for a woman, her muscles firm against his body, Napro felt them tighten even further when another scream reached them. Their eyes met, bright with terror. There was no mistaking the screamer: Rani.

Together, they tried to move faster.

When they reached the cave area, the first thing they saw was a dead zombie near the spot where Napro had hung animal skins to dry. The monster was burned black, barely recognizable as human.

“Rani had a torch,” Teva said. “I told her to protect Zic.”

But the girls were nowhere to be found. Perhaps they were huddled and hiding deep within the cave? Maybe buried beneath bedding and skins? Or had they run back into the forest?

Their questions were answered when Rani screamed once more and they hurried in the direction of the scream, around the far side of the cave where the stream gently gurgled.

What they found made Teva gasp and forget her mate, rushing towards their daughter and letting him fall to the ground. He shrieked in agony, but his eyes never left Rani, perched in a tree and brandishing her torch at the zombie beneath her. Terror and anguish seized his heart when he saw that the zombie was the old medicine man they had taken in.

Fee clawed at the tree in an attempt to reach Rani, his fingernails ripping off his fingertips as they scratched down the bark. He didn’t seem to notice, but continued to howl in frustration, his prey just out of reach.

Napro saw the old man’s throat had been chewed open, a ragged red hole gaped on the left side, just beneath his jaw. He must have bled out quickly but then what? It was the first time it had occurred to Napro that they were in danger of turning into one of the undead themselves. His thoughts turned to Gel, back there in the woods. Would he come shambling out, torn to shreds but still filled with bloodlust? Napro didn’t understand how this could happen, but clearly it could. The evidence stood before him, trying feebly to climb a tree and devour his middle offspring.

Teva raced towards Fee, jabbing her own torch at him. He caught fire easier than the others had, his scraps of clothing and long, greasy hair bursting into flame instantly. The zombie that had been their friend careened around, almost as if he were engaged in some ancient tribal dance, slapping at his head and then his face, as his beard also began to burn.

Sobbing, Rani clung to the trunk of the tree, her eyes wider than Napro had ever seen them, sitting on a thick branch that was several heads taller than Napro himself.

The three of them watched Fee prance, screaming unintelligible words, until at last he fell forward on his face, knocking his head hard against a jutting rock.

The flaming zombie’s screeching had encouraged the other zombies to keep their distance from the family but now they found their bravery again, venturing forth from the edge of the forest, rounding the side of the cave and moving forward as though of the same mind.

They seemed to be focused on Teva—perhaps the one they perceived to be the biggest threat. She shouted, wielding the torch once more, demanding they stay back, but the torch’s flame was not as strong as it had been, and continued to weaken by the second.

The monsters also seemed to notice this and advanced on her the way Napro had seen packs of wolves advance on a lone bear. The wolves had known there would be injuries or even loss of life, but that had not dissuaded them in the slightest. They would have their prey regardless.

From his vantage point on the ground, Napro watched the zombies surround Teva, just as they had surrounded Gel and when she began to scream, he began to scream right along with her, oblivious to the fact that Rani was also screaming.

It was when her mother’s head was separated from her body that Rani lost consciousness and fell from the high branch directly into the mass of feasting undead below. If she awoke at all when the first set of teeth sunk into the soft flesh of her young throat, she made no sound to indicate it.

Napro, his own vision beginning to fail, finally stopped screaming, noticing for the first time how cold he’d become. He shivered against the ground and did his best to ignore the wet tearing sounds coming from the circle of zombies that enclosed the remains of his clan.

Eventually, the sounds stopped and he was grateful that it would now be his turn to die. The only thing he regretted was not knowing what had happened to his youngest daughter, little Zic, and what it was that had made the gods so angry to befall such a punishment on them.

To his astonishment, he awoke briefly to get at least one of his answers.

Perhaps the zombies had assumed he was already dead and went in search of fresh meat. All he knew was that the world was quiet for a time. He gazed up at the blue, blue sky for he didn’t know how long, until the sound of shuffling feet tore his attention away from all that gorgeous empty space.

He turned his head a fraction and saw Zic’s twin approaching him, so small and fragile looking. And so very dead. Letting out a long heavy sigh, he waited for her to reach him, giving thanks to all the gods that it would be she who finally finished him.

Barely able to hold his eyes open, he was uncertain when he saw movement behind the dead child. He blinked several times before he became convinced that what he saw was real and he knew that it would be the last thing he ever laid eyes on: tiny Zic, her own eyes dark and feral, sneaking up behind her dead twin, an impossibly huge stone clutched in her little hands and held high above her head for a fraction of a second before coming down fast, instantly crushing a tiny skull the same size as her own.