Rum and a Cigar

London, England 1778

Crimson spots dripped upon the pale white ash littering the ground, a mockery of London’s regular snowfall in the winter. Soldiers clad in olden armor and religious artifacts charged across a body-strewn battlefield. Pyres burned into the night, raining down flecks of charred decomposition. One after another limbs and persons were tossed upon the flames, yet they would return twofold in the blink of an eye. Sir Lionwhite looked out at his battalion, worn men charging to their deaths in order for him to attempt his gambit.

You’re all going to die, he thought. The deaths will be noble, but they will be assured no less.

Lionwhite’s thoughts were stirred by an infantryman charging into his tent. “Sir, more undead sentries attack from the north. What are your orders?”

The high constable turned to face his ally. A man of only twenty eight years, Lionwhite’s features betrayed a look of well over forty. His dirty blonde hair was streaked with strands of grey. His chin although chiseled, hung low as if it had been through a decade of wars. A scar rested just below his right eye, the one with a blue tint. His other eye held that of a green shade. He bowed his head.

Contemplation swept over Lionwhite, his brow becoming tainted with sweat. If his men charged forward they would be dead within moments, a feast for the things Samedi unleashed upon the world. If they withdrew then they’d lose this hold and the constable would be forced to surrender yet another town to the zombie god’s hunger. Lionwhite slowly lifted his gaze back to the infantryman.

“Have the men meet Samedi’s creatures,” Lionwhite turned his back to the other man. “Dispatch them as soon as possible. Report when the men have dwindled in numbers and the other side has started their ritualistic cannibalism.”

The soldier cocked his head, as if confused by the constable’s orders. “But sir-“

“You’re wasting precious time, soldier. And time is not a luxury God can grant us at this juncture. You have your orders, follow them.”

The words hung in the air for a moment, the man still unsure of Lionwhite’s intentions. With great hesitation he finally said “As you command,” and retreated back to his fellow brothers in arms. A short time later Lionwhite could hear his men marching to their deaths. It will be worth it in the end, the high constable told himself. Soon I will avenge you all and this bloodbath will be concluded.

***

Smoke wafted through the chambers of Baron Samedi. A creature of robust form, his godly presence was crafted from natural obsidian flesh, the finest of white garments, a top a hat to match, his favored amulet and a glass of the strongest rum this side of the Caribbean Isles. He flicked his tongue between pale lips, knocking loose ash from his cigar.

“Soon my brethren,” Samedi announced through a puff of smoke. “soon we will take our place as the rightful heirs to this world. No longer will we inhabit the night terrors of small children or feeble-minded fools. We shall rule this realm, and feast upon the soul of humanity!”

Cheers erupted through the room, undead servants rallying around the great god of the dead. The necromancer responsible for Samedi’s resurrection laid shackled to a nearby wall, the severed body parts of prisoners and rotting soldiers alike littered the ground surrounding him. He refused to join the festivities, rather adding his voice to the crowd in order to beg for release.

“Samedi, my lord,” bellowed Horus. “I am nothing more than your humble servant, why must I be imprisoned for merely gifting you the pleasures of life once again?”

All together the revelry stopped and everyone’s attention was shifted towards the cowering man. Samedi rose from his throne of bone and iron, plucking the cigar from his lips so his words were clear. “You are absolutely right, Horus. You’ve given me another chance at life, another chance at ruling this forsaken marble. But alas, your intentions were for naught. I was meant to be a pawn in your game, a selfish intention. You wanted the world as your own, yet you were not deemed worthy.” Samedi slowly walked to his savior, building anticipation with every step. Heads turned with each movement, so much so in some instances they fell completely from their owner’s shoulders. This didn’t stop them from drinking in the god’s bravado as he marched towards Horus.

The man shifted in his shackles, suddenly uneasy with all the attention placed upon him. “No, my lord. It was only a misunderstanding. I wanted-“ Samedi’s voiced boomed off the brick walls, vibrating torches and cobwebs with his tone.

“A misunderstanding?! How dare you insult me, Baron Samedi, your god, with such arrogance!”

Horus withdrew from Samedi, crawling as far away from the zombie god as possible. He was unable to go much further than he already was due to his restraints. Samedi threw his cigar and rum away and leapt at him, shocking the entire crowd with his speed, and gripped the necromancer by his throat.

“You are a peon, Horus”, Samedi began through gritted teeth. “You are as worthy of this world as a maggot is. Your presence instills a feeling of utter sickness and I do believe your usefulness has been worn thin.”

His attempts at explanation and groveling were choked away, Horus could not speak through Samedi’s frightful grasp. He pried at the god’s hands, finding the clutch to be stronger than the best forged steel. After a moment his eyes rolled into the back of his sockets, still bulging from the pressure built up from such a hold. His last breath would’ve been one of a sorrowful tone had Samedi allowed it to make a noise. The lord of the dead rose to his feet, discarding the now lifeless corpse that was once his follower. He turned to his army of resurrected souls and addressed them all with the same cold demeanor Horus received only a moment ago.

“Brothers, sisters, brethren of the necropolis, hear me. I am your god, your liberator, but most importantly I am one of you. Not once will I sacrifice you needlessly or task you with something I wouldn’t do myself. But be warned, overstep your place or treat one another as expendable and you too shall suffer the fate of the necromancer known as Horus Hawthorne. Am I understood?”

An audible groan of assurance rose from each undead spectator as they stared in awe at the great form of Baron Samedi. None would defy him, but all his resurrected minions would march themselves to the pits of Hell had he requested that of them. The captivated audience hung on every word Samedi had to say.

“Loyalty is not something to be bought with trinkets or coins, or flesh and blood in our case. Loyalty is won through action, through the placing of a gore-covered boot upon the skull of your enemy and crushing it in right before a feast. You all have served me well, brothers and sisters, and I am thankful to you for that. My loyalty befalls every maggot-riddled corpse in the room, even our newest recruits from the Holy Sanctum Army have my complete devotion. Keeping in touch with that, I wish to-“

A half-rotted solider burst into the chamber, interrupting Samedi’s speech. The zombie shambled to Samedi as fast as he could, sucking in air to propel himself forward, not yet convinced he ran purely on magical compulsion. Getting within arm’s length of his deity, the corpse dropped to one knee, smacking bone into brick where flesh had once been. He removed his rust-worn helmet and spoke through raspy words.

“My lord, our attack in the north has been a success. Lionwhite responded with a battalion we turned into a meal immediately. We await further command.”

Samedi couldn’t help but smile from ear to ear. His ivory-white teeth glinted against the moonlight beaming through cracks in his housing. He flicked the tip of his hat and addressed not just the solider, but every creature looking on.

“We march forth, my family. Soon Lionwhite’s encampment will fall and the only defense this pitiful land possessed will be no more. I can feel the meat dancing upon my tongue, can’t you, children? The bittersweet taste of salty muscle tearing at the command of our teeth is only hours away. Victory shall be ours, and then the world!”

Another eruption of cheers sounded, some of intelligent words, others of just groans and guttural gestures. Zombies, ghouls, revenants and various undead monsters raised their weapons to the sky in honor of Samedi, preparing to overtake the land of the living. To say it came as a shock when the explosions occurred would be an understatement, for within a second their cries of celebration turned to cries of pain and death. Bodies flew through the air whilst others were instantly killed when struck from falling blocks above. Limbs and blood showered the house of Samedi as the smell of black powder swept through the place. Pushing rubble and smoldering debris off his godly host, Baron Samedi rose from the ashes of his former war-stead and drunk in the sight of Lionwhite and his men charging through the giant entrance that had just been blown into his fortress…

***

“Take them all, leave no survivors! If it looks dead, kill it again until you’re sure!”

Lionwhite barked orders as his special garrison of holy knights rushed the disoriented underlings of Baron Samedi. A troupe of only ten men including himself, the high constable wasn’t willing to risk the success of this attack on regular men, choosing to put together this stable within two days of monitoring the survival rate of his soldiers. He had worked with far greater men, but desperate times backed Lionwhite into a corner and he had to make due. So far they were faring better than he expected, cutting down two-thirds of the creatures sheltered in the abandoned fort. His attention shifted from the surprising skills of his men to the hulking mass pulling itself from large blocks and wooden beams in the center of the room. Baron Samedi had joined the fray.

“You destroyed my home,” started Samedi. “You killed my family, and you ruined the integrity of my ensemble. If the curiosity of what your intestines taste like has ever peaked your interest, prepare to have that curiosity met.” The god thrust two powerful arms down at his garments, freeing them of dust and splinters, then slowly made his way through the crowd of armor-clad men and decomposing reanimations.

Samedi’s strides were without haste, yet each step seemed to reverberate a supernatural force, causing Lionwhite to rethink his tactic for a moment, but only a moment. He withdrew his blade and stalked towards the unholy terror making its way to him. Nothing stood in his way, allies or undead abominations alike, they all were thrust from his path or beheaded without question. A dozen steps later and both Lionwhite and Samedi were toe-to-toe, a render of titans meeting in Greek lore.

“You slaughter not just my siblings, but your own men as well,” the zombie god questioned. “I thought I was supposed to be the despicable one?”

Lionwhite remained stoic, letting his gaze be unflinching from that of Samedi’s. “These men mean little to me, as do their brothers of war. My loyalty is to that of God, the God. Not men.”

Only half of Lionwhite’s soldiers remained, yet they fought on, dwindling the forces of Baron Samedi. Screams echoed through the chamber and flashes of dismemberment caught the peripherals of the two entities preparing to rip each other to shreds. Fires were let loose upon some of the resurrected beings, causing an inferno to build around the chamber. Soon Lionwhite and Samedi were engulfed in their own private Hell.

“You’ve attacked villages, servants of the Lord, and caused the country to become entangled in a battle for its lifeblood so quickly after revolution. You’ve galloped us back to the Dark Ages when we should be moving forward with our emancipation from the godless persons seeking independence. I label you an enemy of the Holy Sanctum Army and the Holy Trinity. Tonight is when you return to oblivion and take your foul hatchlings with you.”

Samedi offered a half grin. “You must be Christian to be so opinionated”

Before Lionwhite could speak Samedi backhanded him, launching the high constable across the stony chamber. He smacked into a wall and slid to the hard ground below. A daze overtook the man, unable to decipher fiction from his jostled reality. Coppery red liquid trickled down his face, warming his already fevered cheeks. Attempting to stand, Lionwhite found the action easier with Samedi’s cold hand wrapped around his throat, lifting him from the slab of a floor. The deity of the dead held the high constable up to the sky, as if offering him to the god he fought so fervently for.

“I’d suggest praying,” Samedi said. “Because the torment I’m about to put you through will last a millennia.” His other hand started to drift towards Lionwhite, an eerie incandescent light suddenly enveloping the appendage. “Welcome to my flock.”

Lionwhite’s legs began to flail, connecting with Samedi’s torso and face. The gestures were for naught though, the god stayed unaffected by even the harshest of strikes. Quickly gathering himself once more, the man reached into his side pouch and unearthed a handful of salt, thrusting it into the face of Baron Samedi. Steam rose from his face and he dropped the high constable, attempting to beat out the fire which now dominated his attention. The pain Samedi felt was unbearable, and something he’d never felt in all his centuries of existence.

“What the hell did you do to me?!”

Now it was Lionwhite who was grinning. “Salt is a purity reagent, scolding anything it touches which is deemed impure.” The high constable withdrew a dagger from his belt and kicked the zombie god over, preparing to deliver a fatal blow. “Send my regards to Lucifer.”

A flurry of movement erupted from Samedi as he tackled Lionwhite to the ground and launched blow after blow to his religious enemy. Each attack made a wet noise, like someone punching a bag of liquefied mud, until the sounds transformed into the cracking of bones. The zombie overlord didn’t hold back, burying his fist into Lionwhite’s face with unrestrained power. One final strike to the nose of the high constable and Samedi was content. He pushed the corpse of his enemy down and staggered to his feet, steam still rising from his brow.

“My brethren,” Samedi bellowed through the chamber. “Finish off these creatures of virtue and arrogance! Eat their eyes from their skulls! Feast upon their innards after you’ve disemboweled them! Bathe in their blood once you’ve-“ Samedi’s words remained unfinished as a dagger plunged through his skull. He dropped to his knees and revealed the battered persona of Lionwhite, a shadow of his former self. A twist of the dagger squirted blood from the wound and grinded bone, dropping Baron Samedi to his knees. A final word leaked from his mouth. “How?!”

Lionwhite hesitated a moment, finding it difficult to even breath, let alone explain himself. He twisted the dagger once more and leaned down to Samedi’s ear. “This dagger holds the Blessing of Lazarus. Any undead creature it penetrates is claimed by death, whether they’re a simple corpse or a god. In other words, go to Hell.” Lionwhite clenched his teeth and retracted the dagger only to stab it into Samedi’s skull a dozen more times before allowing his body to hit the floor.

The high constable of the Holy Sanctum Army drank in the sights around him, watching fires blaze and zombies fall before his knights. Moments later and the battle was won. The two remaining soldiers grabbed Lionwhite and walked him out of the nightmare they had just survived…

A sunrise overtook the darkness they emerged out of, now seeing the remnants of Samedi’s forces either crumble under the loss of their god, or flee from the lack of figurehead. Lionwhite saw only a few dozen men left on the battlefield and his mind fell to ease.

Remember, the deaths are noble.

“Sir, we’ve won,” interrupted one of his knights. “we actually won. “ A sound of glee was present in his voice. “We faced the horde and we survived.”

“Well, not quite.” Muttered Lionwhite. He shuffled himself loose of his men turned to face them.

“Sir?”

It was quick, neither one processing the action even after they bleed out. It took all of his energy to do it, but he swiped at their throats with his dagger, killing the two witnesses of what had occurred in Samedi’s encampment. He turned his gaze back to the knights on the battlefield and slowly shuffled down to them with his bloodied dagger, strategically planning each of their deaths as well. It would take time, but he would put to rest the truth of what happened here. History would not know of the zombie apocalypse which had been averted that night.

***

Lionwhite waited at the docks, holding a sack. It was only a few days after the events in London, and he was still recovering from the onslaught. After slaying at least eighteen of his men the rest fled, soon he would continue his hunt and silence them all. He silently plotted, not noticing the footsteps approaching from behind. A tap on his shoulder and he was met with a young woman in dark wraps. Her features were hidden, yet he could see markings upon her cheeks, some so.

“Are you Lionwhite?” she asked.

“I am. Are you Ezriel?”

She nodded. Lionwhite extended the sack to her, holding it out with as much strength he could muster for the time. Its contents were a cursed box containing the Amulet of Samedi. He returned to the fire-scorched ruins after attacking his men, searching for anything that could be linked to the bringing of the Baron back. He wasn’t willing to take any chances.

“I’m limited with what I can do to this blasted thing. I need you to take it stateside. In the event the contents are freed, at least there will be plenty of traitors to feel its wrath first. Am I understood?

Ezriel bowed. “Very much so.”

The high constable flicked a gold piece towards the woman. “For your troubles. May God watch over you on your journeys.” Lionwhite turned and walked away from Ezriel, confident his demands would be met. As soon as he was out of eyesight, she removed the box from its sack and looked it over, trying hard not to grin like a child.

“Oh what plans I have for you, Baron Samedi. What plans I have for you…”

Tucking the box into her dressings Ezriel boarded a nearby vessel, satisfied that her schemes were all coming to fruition.