Book and Blade: Book One of the Hand of Perdition (9 page)

With rage and hellfire almost blinding him, Christopher tore into the mass. Fingers clawed at him, teeth chomped, and he could only hope that zombieness didn't spread like it did in the movies. He ripped off heads and other limbs, it seemed the only way to stop them was to literally tear them apart.

Fingernails, like long claws, ripped open his skin across his chest and back. It healed quickly, but the pain was the same.

He might have been able to deal with them quickly, but his movements were hampered by Hamlin. He had to keep an eye on him. He had already gone through one magazine and Christopher was not sure how many he had left.

Luckily it was only the handful of graves that Rath's blood had touched and they weren't dealing with a cemetery full of these monsters. He estimated there were twelve or so of these things.

Corpses latched on to both his arms, their preternatural strength enough to slow him down.

Hamlin screamed in pain as a mouth clamped down on his shoulder. Christopher's own cry joined in when one of the zombies on his arms bit into his bicep.

There were too many of them. No way could they kill them all. Their only choice was to run.

Suddenly, Hamlin went down under a pile of the corpses. Throwing the body of a dead old lady off of his back, Christopher dove into the pile.

He could feel teeth and nails cutting into him as he made his way through the mountain of bodies. Hamlin did not look good. Blood streamed from dozens of cut and bite marks. He was out of ammo and was using the butt of his pistol as a club. Christopher could tell he was weakening, feeling the drain of so many of his own wounds even though they did heal fast.

They wouldn't last much longer. With a final lunge Christopher threw back the closest corpses. He grabbed Hamlin and held him.

The creatures swarmed in when he bent over to pick Hamlin's limp form off the ground. Gathering his power around him he jumped, sending rotting corpses flying everywhere. He landed twenty feet away and started running for the car. He was still carrying the detective.

Behind them the zombies chased after, not at all slow like the movies.

Fast zombies suck
, thought Christopher.

"Can you drive?" Christopher asked Hamlin.

"I can fucking drive out of here," Hamlin said.

Hamlin was covered in blood, most of it his own, but Christopher did think he could drive. He could see it in his aura. Hamlin was pretty beat up, but he would survive. If you asked him, Christopher couldn't tell you for sure how he knew that, he just did.

Christopher set him down by the car.

"Get going, I will slow them down,” Christopher said.

Hamlin ran to the driver’s side. "I'm not leaving you here, kid."

"Go! Now!" Christopher said. A part of the power inside of him crept into the command. Hamlin blanched.

"Okay, but I'm waiting at the end of the street," he said and got in the car.

Christopher turned to face the creatures barreling toward him. He charged straight at the first two. He slammed into one, sending it careening into the other. Before they could get their footing back he grabbed and tossed them into the mass that came charging up.

The front rows fell back, but the ones behind just trampled over them as though they weren't there.

Hamlin had turned the car around and was racing down the cemetery street. It was now or never. He jumped just as the zombies swarmed the spot he had been standing moments before. He was not sure of the limits of this new power or that he could make that jump.

He found the limit. He landed almost directly in front of the car.

Hamlin slammed on the brakes and the car screeched as it slammed into him. He flew up and over the hood. His ribs shattered and his arm broke. He cried out in pain as he tumbled off the car onto the hard pavement.

Hamlin was out of the car but not moving too fast himself.

"Holy shit, kid! I didn't mean to hit you. You okay?"

Christopher looked behind them. The creatures were still chasing after them. He struggled to get to his feet. His bones already started to knit together, but not fast enough. Hamlin tried to help, but winced at his own injuries. Christopher waved him off.

"Just get in the car, we don't have time," Christopher said and ran to the passenger side.

The power was weakening inside of him already, he guessed it had decided he was in the clear. He let the shadows go and was once again in his suit, now torn and bloody. Hamlin had seen everything, no point in hiding his identity now.

They hurtled down the road, exiting the cemetery as fast as possible. Behind them Christopher could see the zombies starting to slow and fall to the ground. Their purpose complete, they were returning to their natural state.

"What the fuck just happened?"

"I wish I knew," Christopher said.

"That guy from last night? That was you wasn't it?"

"Yeah, it was me."

"And you killed those two guys that came to kill you?"

"Yes," Christopher said.

"You know my mother said I needed to quit this job. Why the hell didn't I listen?"

"Look, I'll tell you everything. But I just need to think for a minute."

Christopher looked over at Hamlin. "And we need to get you to the hospital ASAP."

Hamlin nodded. "Yeah, yeah. But you’re going to tell me everything, kid. I mean everything."

Christopher nodded. But he knew he would not tell Hamlin everything. He couldn't. Hamlin would never believe him, and in the end there were some things you had to bear alone. In this case, the less Hamlin knew the safer he would be.

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

Christopher dropped Hamlin off at the emergency room before heading home. At first Hamlin had protested saying that Christopher needed even more help than he did, but by the time they reached the hospital, Christopher's wounds had mostly healed, leaving him with bruises and a body that ached like he had just completed a triathlon.

When he saw Christopher moving with a lot less pain, his eyes had narrowed.

"Yeah kid, we need to talk. There is a lot we need to discuss. Like how you should be half dead by now."

"Yeah, I know. Call me when you’re patched up and we'll talk," Christopher said as they wheeled Hamlin down the sterile white hallway of the hospital.

On the car ride to the hospital, Hamlin had called in to find out why the patrol officers that had been stationed at the funeral had left.

Dispatch said they had no idea, in fact, it looked as though they had just disappeared. None had checked in yet.

Christopher knew what happened to them. Rath had happened.

Hamlin didn't mention the zombies, he was no idiot. He would be the laughing stock of the department if he had. He would wait until they both had a better understanding of what was going on.

Back at his parent's house. My
house now
, Christopher thought,
I have to start getting used to that
. He wanted nothing more than to take a nap. Just a moment to crawl under the sheets and pretend none of this had happened.

He felt cheated. In just over a week his life had fallen apart. He hadn't even had a chance to mourn his family’s death. His body had been beaten, broken and even shot at. In one week he had gone from a world of academic bliss, to shady underworld hitmen, to fighting creatures straight out of a horror movie. He needed a moment to catch his breath, to try and figure things out.

But he couldn't, he had too many questions. Questions that could mean life or death for him and who knew who else. And there was only one place where he thought he might get the answers.

The Book and Weapon were right where he had left them on his bed. He stood there in the room staring at them. The first time he had used the book it had been out of desperation. He had no idea what it truly was, what it meant, or how it could change his life.

If he opened it now, he did so knowing full well what was going to happen. He knew what doors it unlocked. He might already be too late, but he felt that opening that book knowing what would happen was a final acknowledgment. Whatever power watched over it would know that he was on board. But in the end, Christopher was not even sure what “on board” meant. The nightmare had already started and he had no choice but to see it through.

He made himself comfortable in a chair, he wasn't sure how long he would be. Then, with a sigh, he picked up the book and opened it to a random page and read.

The words 'WELCOME BACK' were written on the on the page.

When the words began to blur and shake, Christopher was ready for it.

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

The Librarian had been right. The second trip was a lot less traumatic, which was good. The memory of the first time was burned into his mind. He did not need a reminder.

As the world came into focus, he found himself once again standing in the Library. The gloomy castle-like setting, combined with the dark mahogany woodwork in the shelving and chairs, seemed somehow comforting after the day he had just had in the real world.

The Librarian appear from behind the stacks and approached Christopher.

"Welcome back. It looks like you survived your little altercation," he said.

"Well that is one way to put it. I think of it as two homicidal maniacs who tried to torture and kill me, but 'little altercation' works also."

"I see you have been bloodied. That is good, that means we can get to work," the Librarian said.

"Wait a minute dude. A lot has happened since I was last here."

"Ah, I see. Then let’s talk," the Librarian said.

He gestured towards the study area they had talked in before. Christopher could have sworn it hadn't been there a moment ago.

Christopher sat while the Librarian continued to stand, and Christopher told him everything since he last left. He wasn't sure he could trust this Librarian, he wasn't even sure the guy was human, but he had little choice. It was one thing to have mortal hitmen trying to kill him and quite another when zombies start attacking.

When he was done, the Librarian turned and started walking off into the stacks.

"Follow me. It is time for you to see something," the Librarian said.

"Um. Okay," Christopher said and got to his feet a little slowly. Apparently his subconscious took his injuries with him when he came here, though by now he was mostly healed. Fast healing was the only good thing about what had happened to him.

The Librarian took him through a door and into a hallway that stretched off into the distance. Doors lined the hallway and passageways led off in different directions. The Librarian was right, this place was vast. Even the hallway, in between the doors and passages, had books and papers stacked on shelves.

The Librarian took a series of passages, twisting and turning several times before stopping at a large door.

It was several times bigger than the other doors they had come across in the hallway, and it was solid black. No designs, wood grains, or even paint could be seen on it. The door just seemed to absorb the light around it, like it was an endless black hole. Christopher felt vertigo just looking at it.

The Librarian stopped and stepped aside. He gestured to the door with one robe-cloaked arm.

"I cannot open this door, only the Master of the Book and Weapon can open it," he said.

Christopher stepped up to the door and took a closer look at it. That was a mistake. He felt dizzy, and for a moment he thought he might fall into it. He reached out a hand to steady himself and accidentally pushed on the door. It swung open effortlessly and he stumbled through the doorway.

It opened into a large room, not as large as the one with the stacks of books or with the study area in it, but large none the less. It was a round room surrounded on all sides by tall, curving bookshelves.

Thousands of identical black leather-bound books, each about two inches thick, lined the shelves. It looked like the world’s largest encyclopedia collection. In the center of the room stood a large stone pedestal, a single volume lying open on it.

"This is the assignment room. This is where you will find a list of the current Black Souls that have escaped hell and need to be retrieved. Your prey, so to speak."

Christopher slowly walked around the room, running his fingers across the spines of each book he could reach, purposefully avoiding the open book in the middle of the room. He could feel the emanations of fear that radiated from it.

"The books along the walls reflect all of the souls retrieved since the beginning of time. Well, since the establishment of hell that is," the Librarian said.

"So many," Christopher said in wonder.

"Yes. Remember, hell has been around for a long time."

"And that book on the pedestal?"

"That is the current book. A hunter's journal, so to speak. It lists the names that you are meant to track down. When you have retrieved all of the souls, a new book will appear and that one will join the others on the shelves.

Christopher pulled a book off a shelf and flipped it open. It looked like each name was a chapter. It started with the soul’s name and a fairly detailed drawing of what the person looked like in life, followed by a much less detailed drawing of what they looked like now. Most of the time the two drawings looked nothing alike.

"When the soul escapes, it has little time to be picky," the Librarian said as though he had been reading Christopher’s mind. "Sometimes they can possess a person similar, but very different, to a demon. Sometimes they have to use what stolen power they managed to bring with them to form their own bodies. Often they have spent so much time in hell they have forgotten what they looked like."

"Demons? They exist?" Christopher asked.

"Yes. Although they can be dangerous, they are far less so than the dark souls you are charged with retrieving. They have their own agenda, and pure evil is not necessarily on it."

The rest of the chapter on the dark soul seemed to be filled with some details about them, their past, and how they had been hunted down and retrieved.