Perry’s requiem Daniel LaGrave Copyright © 2012 by Daniel LaGrave Published at Smashwords Before the end of the day his life would be over. As he laid dying thoughts floated to the fore front of his mind, would Patricia and their unborn child be safe? Would this damned war ever end, and had it been worth his life? What would become of his beloved bookshop sitting in Boston’s heart? Amid a field filled with snow and the nameless dead he resigned himself to his own dying, but every clouded breath that felt like his last came followed by another. Damned red coat hadn’t even had the kindness to kill me quickly, Perry thought, struggling against the pain burning through his guts. After another agonizing moment he failed, he screamed. It was a terrible sound which filled the silent valley. Finally the darkness that had crept into his vision, closed on him. Across the field another set of eyes opened, awakened by the primal shriek. A raven haired man sat up with a groan, and looked about at the mangled corpses searching. “Come now show yourself.” He called seeming to ignore the wrecked stump where his right arm had been previous to the battle. Five yards away the body of an English soldier trembled, and lurched onto its side. Forced from beneath by a hand, a hand still attached to an arm. “There you are.” The raven haired man said with a slight grin. “Come on, hurry up.” The arm crawled, and flopped its way back to its owner through the snow and gore until it returned to its master. He now saw the tiny puffs of breath that rose through the frozen air above a single man. The man retrieved his arm and held it up to his shoulder, the ragged edges of rent flesh reached from stump to limb, then muscle and bone followed suite softening, moving, each part looking for its continuation. He winced as the ends came together; reattaching a severed limb always hurt no matter how often it was done. The whole act would take a few minutes for the entire process to be complete and after ward he allowed himself to pause; and breath before finally hauling himself up to his feet. Walking over to the dying man Samuel Decker had hardly seen a sorrier sight, and yet it was impressive that he had held on for this long. Decker moved the man’s bloody hand away from his stomach, and examined the wound. There could be little doubt that this man would die, he would have to work quickly. That is if the man chose the path he offered him. Lt. Samuel Decker hardly thought of what came next, after gathering a hand cart he loaded it with the dying man and headed toward the timber line, what needed to be done, was better dealt with in seclusion. Pain flashed through Perry’s face but it succeeded in bringing him around. He blinked against the blinding brightness of the winter sky, when a new face filled his view, no not exactly new, but unfamiliar. He noticed that the man’s mouth was moving, but he heard nothing. Overhead the empty sky had been replaced with trees. His head began to ache, even as his hearing returned, and he now heard the man’s Bostonian accent. “Ah, there you are. I was worried you had already passed on.” “Am…am I going to live?” Perry asked, his voice a mere croak. Decker ignored him, “What’s your name solider?” The military formality of the question seemed to center the dying man, “Private Perry Stone, sir.” “Well Perry, you’ve got two choices. The first and the most probable is that you are going to bleed out, and die. Your other choice, you become a monster. Know that if you chose the later, you will not be able to return to any family or friends you might have, but you’ll never have to fear the dark specter of death again. I can help you, but you must choose alone.” Perry tried to consider his new unforeseen decision, but again the dark curtains threatened to close in on his vision again. That was until the man whose name he still didn’t know slapped him across the face, “If you pass out on me again I’ll simply be on my way, and leave you to the crows” Nodding, Perry struggled to sit up. “Who…who are you?” “Lt. Samuel Decker, now your running out of time.” “Lt. Decker, what do you mean monster…” “I meant only that like me, you will cease being a human being.” “I don’t understand. By any measure you appear to be a man.” Decker had heard the same from his own lips many years ago, and as he had been answered, he answered. In a flash he removed his officer’s sword and brought it down just above his left wrist. The severed hand fell to the snow, and sat for a moment before it began dragging itself back to its owner. Decker lifted the hand up, holding to the stump. The ache plain on his face, still after a moment his expression returned to normal. He now flexed his fingers, opening and closing as if the hand had never been separated from its owner, not even a scare remained. “How…how is this possible?” Perry gasped. “Never mind that now fool, you are running out of time. One way or another your life ends today, you simply get to chose how.” Perry didn’t know if it was his decision, or the raw animal instinct to survive in one fashion or another but in the end he nodded. “I want to live.” “Very well, but you still could very well die here today.” Decker said. He then withdrew a knife from his belt, and without preamble sliced open Perry’s chest. Perry screamed. Decker ignored him, and instead made several cuts to his own palm and wrist before driving it into Perry’s open wound. The first minute passed into a second. A second into a third, but Perry could no longer count the passage of time; he fought to hold his place at the edge of consciousness. Should he loose that footing would surely mean death. Finally Samuel Decker removed his hand, and allowed it to heal, “What I can do has been done, anything more will be up to you.” He stood, covered the man in an extra coat, and proceeded to build a makeshift camp. Perry passed into oblivion. When he awoke night filled the forest, except for a small island of the campfire’s light. At first he couldn’t move, almost couldn’t even to breath. “You won’t be able to move easily for a little while, and honestly you’ll find it easier to move once you stop trying to force it.” Decker said. I hadn’t even been able to draw a breath, how had he heard me? Perry thought. The pain in his gut had gotten worse, no, this was something different. A fresh agony filled his body stretching to every fiber of his being. “Relax your body; your injuries had to heal, before the rest of your body could finish the change.” Decker stood, and moved toward his prone position, “Now I have to finish covering our trail. It won’t do to have anyone stumble across us in your condition.” Decker truly didn’t worry about outriders discovering them, since Perry’s black out a heavy snow had begun to fall silencing the coming night. The next few hours were spent sitting alone next to the fire, they would be the last few hours he’d have to himself. Having turned the young solider, he had also taken on responsibility for providing him the proper training in his new life. Finally having gained back some control of his body, Perry staggered over, and crashed to the ground near the fire. It would be another few hours before he regained control completely. It was impressive he’d come round this quickly, most tended to take days. Still this would be the easy part, the part that happened naturally, but what came next would prove truly difficult. “Welcome back.” Decker said. While Perry remained glad to be alive, he could feel a plain difference. It felt as if he were more alive? There was no other way to explain it better, he had become more alive. He had just about chalked the feeling up to no more than the excitement of surviving, but Decker interrupted. “We will begin your training in the morning; there are things you need to know about this new life you’ve acquired.” “If we are no longer people, then what are we?” Decker finally looked away from the flames, and stared into the deepening night, “We are among the undead, those who abandoned their humanity.” He paused, “We picked up a name, when trade ships began passing through the Caribbean on their way to the new world”. His next words were spat rather than spoken, “They call us…the zombie.”