Squib Ep.32 - Dead-Un Things
(Start at the beginning here)
The swamp was a nightmare. Bandana hadn’t dreamed of it getting any worse and yet somehow here she was. Wet, knee deep in mud, taking the most circuitous route they could possibly find, surrounded by walking corpses, the unnerving dread of the necrotic stalking the recesses of her mind like a clawed hand walking the air just above her spine. She’d been hunted before, for more years than she’d like to admit, but this was different. Before there’d been a reason, a purpose, she had something someone wanted and they’d chased her to that end. This felt different. Now she felt like she was being chased purely because she was alive, and that not even for the purpose of a meal. Something seemed to stalk her soul, malevolence was its name, and like a cup whose purpose was to extinguish a flame it sought nothing more than to snuff her out.
“This way, we run now,”
Running, Bandana’s ribs had enough of running. Hobbling had become her main mode of transport and that largely done with the assistance of Herule. The Lizardman’s strength seemed to know no end, and his resolve in the face of danger without exception. It gave him a true bestial veneer to Bandana’s eye and would have made him easy to categorize had it not been for the continual sneer he held in contempt for the risen dead.
The undead threat was closing in. Deep in their midst, the plague had been creeping slowly forward ever since they pushed beyond the breaking of their line. As their guide, Squib had managed to keep the party from any conflict but even his skill had its limit. He darted off ahead, assured the glade would be their refuge, but Bandana could not see how it could be any different. The swamp was overrun, come alive, taken over, and they were as good as the other creatures now running for their lives within it.
Herule cursed after Squib, a sharp, hissing, grating sound full of vitriol and malcontent. Its meaning might have been a mystery to Bandana had she not heard similar cusses before. He trudged forward, cautious to mind Bandana in her plight, but clearly agitated by the burden. She was not confident of the Lizardman's thoughts or feelings over the situation but given her own predicament, instinctively feared her abandonment. “Don’t leave me.” She pleaded, looking up and catching his eye. The two rarely spoke directly, the communication at best only able to go one way, but despite his not understanding, Bandana thought she could see a decision made in his eye.
It hurt, god it hurt, and she was tired. It took everything out of her to trudge through the swamp on a normal day. Squib disappeared into the gloom, the surrounding trees growing more sparse in the distance. The sound of sloshing water surged heavily to the right while behind and to the left figures ambled toward them and the clearing. Herule clutched his spear in his right hand, his head continually pivoting as he assessed his surroundings. The party were discovered and given enough time the undead would catch them. The sodden earth was slick and muddy, the nearby pool dark and murky, the branches of the trees so laden with logged water that the ends hung low enough to whip Bandana in the face. The groan of a bloated figure preempted its rounding of a tree, and with a squeak Bandana and Herule sidled away close to the water's edge. Splashes behind as two more zombies staggered half in, half out of the pool. Chattering teeth clapped as hands pawed at the air, and a train of undead began to form in a line behind. Herule hissed, cursing a phrase that held no meaning to Bandana despite her comprehension of the tongue. She did catch the word “Sorry,” however as the Lizardman suddenly dragged her off her feet to carry her at a quickened pace. After everything else it was like a punch to her wound and a dull, throaty cry gushed from her throat. Their speed doubled but Bandana buckled, the agony causing her to lose control of her body. Most of the strength went out of her arms, her legs, and more rag doll than girl she flailed amidst Herule’s one great arm. She began to slip.
“Squib!” Herule screeched into the gloom. The putrid, rotting corpses at their backs were closing. Herule clumsily brought in his other arm but with the spear balled in his fist found himself struggling to hoist Bandana into his embrace. She sagged in his grip, her legs tangling around his own, causing him to stumble and skip a stride. She cried again, a screech of agony as the jostling shot white hot pain through her chest. Her eyes lost vision as stars pricked at light only imagined. There was a clamber as Herule grunted and launched himself with Bandana into the air. The mud came forth to meet them, a squishy wet smack both cold and inviting at the same time. Bandana lay still for a moment as the rain pelted her face and the noise of bodies moved all around. Bodies, one of which was Herule’s, and the others belonging to the undead.
She knew she had to move, to survive, or at least spare herself the grim death that pursued her, to die more peacefully in a quiet, dry place. She rolled onto her front and began clawing at the earth, dragging herself away, Herule's great tail whipping over her as he reeled around to face their enemies.
“Get up, run!” Herule urged her but for all the fear and pain she was just glad to be moving. She looked ahead, saw the way was clear, and told herself to move. With Herule at her back she had a chance, time to scramble, collect herself, and make for wherever Squib had skulked off to.
The water erupted in the pool beside them, a great weight of some monstrous four legged creature, all blackened leather and teeth, lifting into the air. Herule spun, more flinch than anything resembling intention, and caught the bulk of the creature on one arm. It took him to the earth, leaving the great shape of a Lizardman impressed into the mud. The two thrashed wildly for dominance becoming entangled in a deadly affair. Bandana looked back as she crawled, tried to take a footing and slipped, stumbled to her hands and knees and continued on as such. The undead marched on ready to fall on Herule but the beast he was engaged with slid back, descending into the pool and dragging the Lizardman with it.
Just like that Herule was gone and now all that remained was Bandana. “Herule!” She yelled but to no avail. She looked to the fore, “Squib!?” The undead were approaching her now, stopped only momentarily by the distraction of the absconding Lizardman. Bandana took her time to get to her feet and unaided began a slow staggered march toward the clearing trees. By all appearances she might have been a zombie herself, walking half hunched and broken, appearing a ragged visage of a person living, and half as slow for all her desire to live. The three corpses closed easily, the stomps of their footfalls coming quick on her heels. She got as far as a willow tree and stumbled around its exposed base. Using it as support she drew a dagger, took a few heaving breaths and painfully straightened herself out.
If she ran any further she’d die without chance. If she stood ready to face them, she could take her chance in a fight. Hardly odds she liked but something was better than nothing. The first rounded the tree before her, it’s footing on the awkward slope of the willow bringing it slow and stumbling. It reached with one arm stupidly, its fingers grasping at the air while its other was forced to prop itself up on the trunk to keep from toppling. Bandana saw her chance and brought her dagger down as the monster dipped, puncturing its skull, and dropping it to lifelessness. The dagger was forgotten, the handle stripped from her hand, lodged as it was.
She drew another from her bandolier in time to see the next zombie come shambling around the tree. This one had gone wide to avoid it’s companion, taking the easier route and not causing its feet any fuss. It came on at a rush, arms out and ready. Bandana made a wide punching swing but it caught her arm on an instinct, her other hand coming up to wrestle with its opposite as the full weight of the thing slammed into her. More pain, another cry, but there was no room for stars. Bandana went down, the monster on top of her, the dagger somehow lodged in its chest with the hilt now grinding into her broken ribs. Its rotten face hung gnashing over her own. One eye socket was empty, the other a yellowed watery orb, what remained of its flesh flapped freely in shreds, the teeth of its jaw present through the gaping holes in its cheeks. Bandana struggled feebly but was pinned, caught up in a contest of strength she couldn't possibly hope to win. To make matters worse the third zombie rounded the tree from the other direction, caught sight of the struggle and lurched forward with hands eager to claw at her face. It went suddenly limp, crashing to the earth, the sound of a whistle catching Bandana’s ear. She looked up, a figure appearing high above her, the glowering face of Squib glaring down from behind the zombies head. In his hands the full drawn length of a bow was drawn, an arrow pointing squarely at the back of the zombies head. Bandana craned her neck to one side, screwed her eyes shut, heard the twang of the string and the thud of the shaft as it struck into the earth beside her. The struggle stopped, the force of the zombie became little more than its weight. Bandana felt all the strength wash out of her as the need to oppose it disappeared. She opened her eyes, looked up relieved, smiling even, happy to see the unhappy face of Squib looking back at her.
“I said when goblin run, you run like goblin!” He shook his head, scoffed, and jumped from view.
(Continue to Ep.33)
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