RISE OF THE LIVING CORPSES
by Jeff Provine
“Josiah? What’s that?”
“I didn’t hear anything, Eustace.”
“I know I heard something.”
“Quiet. All I want to do is get this maneuver over with and head home.”
Josiah Cooper, volunteer with Allen’s Green Mountain Boys, lowered his Kentucky long rifle and snapped another shot at the mouth of the nearby cave. The two men were sitting on an outcropped rock, keeping the redcoats at bay till Allen gave the call to withdraw. Aside from the thunderous blasts of black powder from his rifle, it had been quiet. Only the whooping of birds and the distant sound of ecstatic patriots looting the British supply train filled the air.
Then, Josiah heard a horrid cry echoing out of the cave’s gaping mouth.
“I heard it again,” Eustace said, his blue eyes wide under a furrowed brow of mixed confusion and fear.
Josiah scratched at his short beard, two weeks rough since a good shave. The sound was like a moan or a scream, too human to be a bear, too horrible to be human. In all his days in the pine-studded wilderness, he had never heard such a cry.
“The redcoats probably wounded a puma or something,” Josiah told his compatriot. “Keep your guard up. We don’t want them to get up the courage to charge out of there.”
Josiah handed his unloaded rifle to Eustace, picking up a fresh one and taking aim. He stared into the shadows of the cave, carefully looking for anything in the darkness that might be a soldier. The raid had been like any other in the deep forest trails of the New York colony. Supplies for the British Army were marched toward Burgoyne, bringing much needed provisions to his beleaguered soldiers kept from rest by Patriots fighting for independence. Ethan Allen and his boys had lain in wait only an hour before the wagons passed, and the firefight had lasted less than a minute. They had hidden in the brush, yelling and shooting from all directions to make their numbers seem doubled. The British had no choice but to abandon the train in the indefensible clearing and dash to a nearby cave with little more than the red shirts on their backs.
While the other volunteers ransacked the supplies, Allen put Josiah and Eustace in charge of guarding the cave entrance. It had been nothing out of the ordinary, just another maneuver. Now there were howls. Strange ones, soft at first, but growing louder and denser. Josiah lowered his rifle and peered into the dark curiously.
The latest howls were followed by muffled screams and shouts, and then by the loud discharge of guns. The thunderous blasts, screams, and moans echoed out of the cave’s mouth, mixed in frenzy and confusion.
“What’s going on in there?” Eustace asked breathlessly. He was staring at the cave as he rammed the fresh powder and ball into the rifle in his arms.
Josiah only shook his head unknowingly.
The two sat for a moment, listening to the horrid screams and fighting. The thundering sound of gunfire ended first, leaving a softer din of growls, muffled human shouts, and the sharp clink of sabers against stone.
Josiah’s curiosity wandered back to thoughts of his childhood, sitting at his grandmother’s feet near the fireplace. Every cold, winter night, she would spin tales of ghosts and ghouls that lived up in the forbidden mountains of the backwoods of New York. Men knew not to tread there; even Indians didn’t go alone. The tales of specters chilled him deeper than any frost ever could, and he only wished to hear more. They were just stories, of course.
“Maybe it’s a bear’s den,” Eustace suggested.
Josiah listened again to the moaning, guttural cry. “That’s no bear.”
The two fell silent and listened to the strange sounds belching out of the cave. Steadily, the moaning grew louder and the sounds of fighting went quiet. There was a loud shriek, shrill and human, followed by a chorus of ghostly moans. Then the frantic breaths and stomping feet of a running man resounded on the damp rocks.
A white-faced man in a torn red jacket, missing his hat and rifle, leaped out of the shadows. He ran a few steps before slipping on the rocks, landing face-first into the hard ground. The mysterious groaning became louder, as if it were following him out of the darkness. Josiah narrowed his eyes.
Eustace raised his long rifle and took sight. Before he could squeeze the trigger, Josiah put a hand over the barrel.
“He’s unarmed,” Josiah said. Eustace paused and looked up, his brow furrowing at the strangeness.
“It could be a trick,” Eustace mumbled.
Sitting up a little on the rock, Josiah looked down on the man. He was trembling as he lay in the light, his hands covering his head. If it were indeed a trick, the British were much better actors than jokes gave them credit.
“Ho there, Red!” Josiah called down to him. “Hold where you are!”
“They’re coming!” the redcoat shouted back, his voice just audible over the growing loudness of the moaning spilling from the cave.
“Who’s coming?” Eustace yelled. Readying his rifle again, he added, “Maybe you best get back in that cave there.”
The redcoat cried and struggled to his knees. He raised his hands high. “Don’t shoot! I surrender!”
“Nobody’s shooting anybody,” Josiah said firmly to both the redcoat and Eustace. “Now what’re you talking about?”
Before the redcoat could answer, a long and anguished moan rang out from the cavern. The redcoat turned in terror and slipped again on the rock. He struggled to crawl away, but it seemed all he could do was stare back into the cave.
Josiah followed the redcoat’s gaze back into the darkness, straining his eyes to see what was the source of the horrid cry. Steadily, slowly, a faint outline of a man came into view as he crossed out of the shadow. He looked wounded, barely able to stagger and keep his balance. His clothes made him out to be a British captain, but they were torn and soiled worse than any captain would allow. His flesh seemed gray and drained of its lifeblood. Gaping purple wounds speckled his arm and neck, but no blood seemed to flow. The man’s eyes were wide, set in an expression of unbearable agony atop his gaping mouth.
“What in the name of…,” Eustace began asking, but his words fell away to silence.
The redcoat screamed at the sight of the creature, a response Josiah would have made himself if he had not been forced to swallow down his fear-riddled stomach. The fallen redcoat tried to pull himself onto his feet, but fell back and gripped his ankle. Josiah sat a little higher and narrowed his eyes at the crippled man.
“Maybe we should get out of here,” Eustace suggested. His voice quivered. He pointed at the lurching, gray-faced creature. “I don’t like the looks of him.”
“No,” Josiah said. “We’ve got to help the redcoat.”
Eustace was already pulling himself onto his knees and gathering their ammunition. “Any other day of the week, he’d be shooting at us!”
“That’s for any other day of the week,” Josiah said calmly. He lowered his rifle, took quick aim, and fired at the gray creature that must have once been a British officer.
The ball landed true, tearing into the creature’s stomach and throwing it back with the tremendous force of a gunshot. It fell backwards, tumbling onto his back against the cold, hard rocks.
Josiah made a nod of approval. He did not know what the thing was, but something about the mere sight of it made the hairs on his neck prickle. He was glad to see it fall.
“Now,” Josiah said, handing his spent rifle to Eustace. “You reload. I’m going hop down there to help the redcoat.”
Josiah turned away to grab his bayonet from his satchel behind him. When he turned back, Eustace was still sitting frozen, staring at the fallen gray beast.
Josiah frowned. “Eustace, did you hear--”
Eustace interrupted him, trying to speak but only able to make a dull rasping. He raised his twitching hand, pointing to where the creature had dropped.
Josiah looked back at the mouth of the cave. The gray monster was getting up, its jacket in tatters and its vital organs still lying on the rocks. It sputtered a groan, the same inhuman cry that had rung out from the cave before. No living man or beast could survive a wound like that, and yet the beast crawled back onto its feet.
“Give me a rifle,” Josiah said hurriedly. Eustace’s hand moved slowly, and Josiah grabbed the weapon from him. He pulled the firearm to his shoulder and shot again.
Again the gray-skinned monster fell, losing yet more of its pieces. The creature groaned and rose once more, ever closer to where the fallen redcoat lay, frozen in screaming terror.
Josiah lowered his rifle and stared. “That’s impossible.”
Maybe he had fought one too many battles; maybe he was dreaming, caught up in memories of his grandmother’s nightmarish stories.
A chorus of loud moans spilled out of the cave’s mouth, and Josiah looked up from his fanciful hopes. The creature was all too real, and now more creatures were lurching forward out of the darkness. Their bodies were torn and their faces petrified in the same expression of undying agony as the first. All of the men from the supply train were there: British soldiers in ripped coats, workmen in torn trousers, and the captain, who now walked as a hunched husk of a beast. There was one more creature, its skin shallower and hoarier than the others, and it was dressed in shreds resembling archaic Knickerbocker garb of a black woolen shirt and wide-brimmed hat with a buckle.
Eustace shrieked at the lumbering horde, his voice matching that of the fallen redcoat who lay petrified on the rocky ground. He made a hasty shot, blasting one of the invulnerable beasts in the shoulder. Despite the loss of an arm, it kept walking and moaning.
“The redcoat!” Josiah said with a gasp. He took his bayonet in hand and lunged for the edge of the rock. Just before he leaped off, he felt Eustace’s hand catch him by the shoulder. Josiah pulled against it, but the grip was strong and kept him in place.
“Don’t do it!” Eustace told him, his eyes shaking along with the rest of his body.
“I have to do something,” Josiah replied, crossing his eyebrows angrily. “If I could just get to him--”
Josiah’s words were interrupted by a loud scream from below them. The two looked out over the cave entrance where the redcoat lay. The beasts had overwhelmed the poor soldier and fell to devouring him. The sounds of screaming swiftly died, leaving only the sloppy crunches of mastication. Swallowing against his rebelling stomach, Josiah hurried to reload his rifle.
The creatures quickly tired of the soldier and turned up toward the patriots from their roost on the rock above. They spread out, stumbling and lurching, each going blindly in its own direction. Eustace shrieked and pointed, even though Josiah was well aware of their advance. Finished reloading, Josiah pulled the rifle to his shoulder, unsure where to fire first at the invulnerable mob. Behind the lumbering creatures, the fallen redcoat kicked and spat, then slowly rose gray-skinned like the rest. Death only made them stronger in number.
Lowering his rifle in frustration, Josiah took Eustace by the shoulder. “The beasts will just get up again. Let’s get off this rock!”
The terrified patriot nodded and grabbed up their satchels of ammunition. Just as he turned, he froze and whimpered. Josiah winced at the expression and forced himself to look over the opposite edge of the rock. Some of the creatures had already gotten behind them and were pressing up against the rocks. Their gray, filth-covered hands scraped against the rock in a vain attempt to get to a living meal.
Josiah swallowed again, tasting foul acid in his mouth. The creatures had stumbled around them while the two patriots watched the demise of the fallen redcoat. They were surrounded by a score, maybe two dozen of the monsters. Josiah and Eustace pulled close together at the center of the rock, away from the grasping gray hands.
“They’re going to eat us, ain’t they, Josiah?” Eustace said slowly, his fingers rattling on his own rifle.
“Certainly looks that way, Eustace.”
Josiah stopped and blinked, astounded at himself for saying the words. There had to be hope somewhere and some scheme out of the mess. The other Green Mountain Boys might come soon to rescue them, but the rescue might only end in their demise and more of the gray-skinned monsters pawing for a bite of his flesh. His mind raced. Each idea that lit up inside his head was extinguished, and his heart sank lower.
The monsters moaned and stumbled, their uniforms torn and soiled further as they clawed against the rock toward the trapped patriots. A foul smell wafted up from them, the smell of death and decay. Only an hour ago, they had been living soldiers, healthy and strong. Something had happened to them in that cave, something that Josiah refused to imagine.
One of the gray hands touched Josiah’s right boot, and he shifted leftward with a gasp. The creature had stepped atop one of its decrepit allies, boosting itself by accident more than device. Josiah swallowed again against his heaving stomach and squeezed his eyes shut. As safe as their rock was for the moment, it was only a matter of time before the monsters clawed their way up to them.
A sudden grip took firm hold of Josiah’s left boot. His eyes leapt open from their wince, pulling wide in horror. Pale, yellow eyes stared back at him unblinkingly, up from the horrible gray face with gaping jaw. He fumbled for his rifle in his lap, grabbing hold of it with trembling hands. Without a conscious thought, he leveled and fired, shooting directly into the monster’s gawking face.
As the blast echoed among the trees around them, its head burst into a shower of gray brain and bone. The creature’s body fell backward without a moan.
Josiah panted deeply and quickly, watching as the gray body hit the ground with a hard crack. He waited for it to crawl back up headless and come after him again. The moans and stench of the other beasts pawing at the rock went on, but the fallen monster did not rise again.
“It stayed dead!” Eustace shouted, his voice high with elation.
“It did,” Josiah said, half-laughing. He quickly set his face back into determination and hurried to reload his rifle. “Aim for the head.”
Eustace raised his rifle and fired, blasting off the gray face of another fiend. He made a gleeful cry, which suddenly became a scream of horror. Josiah felt Eustace’s body pull away from him, and he turned in time to see the flailing patriot disappear over the rock’s edge. One of the creatures must have caught him by the back of the shirt and dragged him down with gray claws.
Josiah froze and watched where his screaming compatriot had gone. His mind raced with his racing heart telling him to stay where he was safe in the center of the rock while his conscience told him to go after Eustace’s scream. Self-preservation and duty fought inside him, till at last Josiah shook his head and spat out a decision.
Taking his bayonet in hand, he lunged toward the opposite end of the rock. Josiah searched the gathering tangle of gray arms for Eustace, who was brawling fiercely with the creatures as he cried out curses on their sunken eyes. With a deep breath and a prayer of courage, Josiah leaped after him. He struck out with the bayonet as he went, finding any target he could. Josiah caught its point in the skull of one of the beasts turned away from him and kicked with his feet, knocking a heavy, dull body out of his way.
Josiah grabbed Eustace by the collar and dragged him out of the writhing mass of vicious creatures. He pulled him against the edge of the rock, where Eustace sat panting with his hands still in fists.
Josiah turned back to the mob, and his stomach quivered. The beasts seemed to be closing in from every direction. They had scarcely been safe atop the rock, and now they were more than certainly doomed. Dark fears attacked Josiah from the corners of his mind, cursing him for attacking an invulnerable mob of God-forsaken creatures. If he had not leaped into the fray, at least one of them might have survived. Now neither would, and the monsters would roam out into the world to feast.
He was surrounded, moaning gray bodies all around him with groping hands and gnashing, hungry mouths. His back was to the rock wall, trapped with a dazed Eustace by his side. He kicked at the creatures that came first, knocking them away and tossing them onto their backs. The bayonet in his hand landed a few good strikes, but the groaning monsters lurched up again at him unless they were totally destroyed.
As he twitched and shoved, something animalistic seemed to come over him. His motions became fluid and calculated without conscious planning. Josiah struck and dove, kicking the beasts away from Eustace and planting his bayonet deep between their eyes. Sweat soaked his clothes, and steadily the monsters crumbled. He fought on, harder than he had ever fought before against bears, Indians, or even murderous British. They had all been enemies of his own, but these were monsters against all that was holy.
The last standing creature, the most ancient with sunken and leathery skin under its rotting, buckled hat, let out a breathy gasp as Josiah stabbed into its face. It exhaled violently with the blow, letting out a terrible stench of dust and rotten death. Josiah huffed against the smell and left the bayonet where it had struck. The monster staggered away from him, tripping and then falling stiff onto the rock.
Panting for breath after the exertion, Josiah kept his stance, wide-eyed and watchful of the unmoving bodies of the creatures.
“Y-you killed ‘em,” Eustace stammered, his voice shallow and weak. “I’ve never seen anyone fight that many men at once.”
Josiah blinked away his berserk and swallowed. The smell of the creatures suddenly flooded up into his nostrils, and he turned away to vomit the sick he had been battling since first seeing the creatures. After a few deep breaths, he regained himself and turned to Eustace.
“Those weren’t men,” Josiah said. He pulled his sleeve across his lips and looked up at his compatriot. “Are you all right?”
“One of the bloody curs bit me!” Eustace said, snarling and pointing at the shallow wounds along his arms.
“You’re lucky they didn’t eat you whole,” Josiah told him. He wiped away some of the mixed cold and hot sweat on his brow. He had fought for his life with all he had, and he had won.
Josiah slowly pulled his face back into a smile. He was alive, and he had saved Eustace from a horrid death at the hands of these unknown monsters. All his campfire tales of fighting redcoats and stealing supplies seemed pale now.
“Ugh,” Eustace moaned, tearing his shirt into bandages for his arms.
“We’ll get you back to camp,” Josiah said to him and helped him up to his feet. “You’ll be up and about in no time.”
“I hope so,” Eustace said, coughing a little. His hand twitched as if tempted to scratch at the wounds. “You know, I’m starting to feel awfully hungry.”
Josiah ignored him and turned to fetch their gear from the rock. It was over, and, in a few hours, he would happily put the whole thing behind him.
THE END