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First, there were five: Eisnworth, Lexard, The Priest, Local, and me, Paint.
It all started when we were deployed at San Sebastian for what felt like the millionth time. The Blight was concentrated in this spot; nobody really knew why. But we had been here long enough to know this place better than we know ourselves. We could probably fight through this whole place blindfolded and deaf and come out victorious.
We had stayed in a building made of stone, complete with bedrooms and a kitchen. It felt like a house on the inside, but it looked like a castle on the outside.
It was the perfect place to stay.
It’s what we did. While the rest of our regiment continued down towards the beaches, we stayed behind. It was The Priest’s idea. I never really questioned his ideas. I was firm in serving those for whom or what I believed in.
The sound of screaming and yelling and gunfire became more distant the more the rest of the regiment went downhill. It was just us five. The place reeked of the unmoving corpses of those who were claimed by the Blight. Ones who were slaughtered.
It was unusually quiet, though. I did my best to keep spirits up by playing my drum. One that played a tune to keep soldiers marching. Whenever I played it, my legs seemed to automatically march in place, as if on instinct.
So far, everyone seemed to be content with this place. The kitchen held enough food and water to last for a while. Although boredom set in rather quickly. Local was bored enough to break one of the windows; they threw a stone through it.
Local was the only surgeon. Our only doctor. This made their safety and well-being the top priority as stragglers came up in small hordes to try and finish us off. We were prepared for this. We had two officers with the best guns and sharpest swords.
The distant sounds of gunfire and yelling continued far down the mountain.
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It has been days since we stayed behind.
The sounds of yelling and gunfire had gone silent.
Whether they made it to the ship or got devoured alive, we didn’t know. None of us wanted to go down there to check at the risk of getting devoured ourselves.
The ambushes of small hordes of the undead continued at an almost predictable pace. The two officers, Lexard and Eisnworth, were always ready, always in the front to kill them all. The occasional cuts and bruises they got from the undead were quickly cleaned up by our surgeon. The medical supplies were slowly dwindling, but not fast enough to cause concern.
Local made a discovery. They had a candy cane on them. They had refused to share, but honestly, I wouldn’t have wanted it either way… I hate mint.
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It has been exactly a week since we lost Eisnworth. All of us, the remaining four, were devastated. Words were barely spoken, other than to alert about the undead hordes approaching or to ask about our well-being.
As usual, a horde of undead came. Eisnworth believed he could handle himself. But he was overpowered by the fourth kill, and we weren’t able to reach him in time before he got devoured. His screams echoed throughout our minds and the lands.
We had gathered what remained of Eisnworth; the most intact thing wasn’t an arm or a leg, it was his gun. The gun was cleaned and treated with the most delicate care, as if it were made of glass and not a weapon for war.
The gun was wrapped in the cleanest cloth we could find and placed in the safest place in the building, which was a closet.
For hours, or maybe days, after Eisnworth had fallen, I played my drum. I played until I was doing it without thought. I played until my wrists were locked in a constant repeating motion. I played until my hands were numb and could no longer feel the sticks.
“I don’t know what I’m doing here.” Local muttered under their breath. They must’ve thought nobody was listening. Especially not over the sound of my drumming. My wrists felt as though they were going to pop out at any moment. Yet, I could not bring myself to stop.
“Don’t say that, Local.” I lightly chided. I was keeping up my duty of making sure everyone’s spirits were up. “You’re one of us. We’re a team revolting against the wretched land and its inhabitants.”
From the look on their face, it seems as though they want to believe me, but couldn’t bring themselves to do so.
Very faintly, so faint it could only be coming from a place beyond the grave, a voice was calling out to us. A voice that could only be named to our descended friend. It was a warning to an incoming horde of undead.
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Eisnworth's voice wasn’t the only one we heard.
Voices. Angry voices. Ones belonging to the rest of our regiment. We let them go ahead to their deaths. And they knew. And they were angry at us.
They cursed our bloodline. Called us shameful names. They went after us one by one. They nitpicked at our wrongdoings and insecurities. Eisnworth was the only one who hadn’t cursed us to the deepest pit of hell.
They cursed Local for their inaction. They had done nothing wrong to deserve such hatred.
They cursed The Priest for holding us back, for causing their downfall. The Priest had the best interests in mind.
They cursed Lexard for being foolish enough to follow The Priest. Lexard was simply following the orders of his best friend.
They cursed me, saying that love had blinded me from the truth. I was simply following the person whom I trusted most.
It got worse when they decided to curse out Eisnworth. It made us all frustrated. We could do nothing to cease these nagging voices.
We were losing sleep over this. I could see it on my teammates and on myself in the mirror.
The longer we stayed in that building, the angrier the voices got. They shouted insults, threats, and promises at Lexard and The Priest. They described vulgarities they would do to me and Local.
They all pray for our deaths.
One voice of our regiment, a sapper perhaps, demanded to know if we planned this. Did we plan to let them die? Was this premeditated? Are we going to leave San Sebastian and go on with our lives?
The Priest found the angry voices amusing at one point. He began to preach nonsense to get a rise out of them. He played along with their questions. He said they had planned for this down to the exact words that would be spoken. Lexard found it funny as well and joined him.
Local and I didn’t join them. This made the voices more directed towards Lexard and The Priest. It was a relief not to be bombarded by threats.
The Priest starts amping up his rage-inducing words. He told them they could leave. They could go back to see their families, but, instead, they were here cursing us to hell.
They were not happy with that and started chanting their threats.
Local got a strange look on their face. Their expression went blank, then to firm concentration, then to worry.
“Are you okay?” I couldn’t help but ask, even though I knew it was a stupid question. My wrists kept drumming, but the hits became light taps.
“Am I…?” Local trailed off, unable to bring themselves to finish the question. They sucked in a deep breath and shook their head, going back to watching the two men continue pissing the spirits off.
I’m not sure what they’re thinking about.
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The more the hordes came, the more medical supplies we burned through.
The undead were starting to become desperate. The hordes started coming more frequently. Bigger groups. More deadly ones.
In the beginning, it was just the regular undead zombies, one that staggered while using its hands and teeth to attack. Now, it was runners, bombers, and zappers.
Local was unable to keep up with the constant healing. They had to resort to placing a box full of bandages for us.
The hordes were getting too much that I had to stop my drumming and pull out my sword. Swording the undead sounded easy on paper, but when I’m actually face-to-face with a zapper or even a bomber, it suddenly doesn’t seem so easy anymore.
Lexard was the only one with a gun now, meaning he was the only one able to safely deal with bombers.
“Sir!” Lexard barked, “I have a question!”
Speaking of Lexard…
The Priest finished stabbing the last straggler with his stake before turning to face the officer, “Yes?” he asked.
“I!” Lexard began to ask, but he couldn’t even form the second word before his throat closed up. His confident look vanished, and he suddenly looked anxious. It’s like his mind was trying to speak, but his body betrayed him. It choked him.
“Can - uh! Can I have a… sna - ?!” Lexard manages to squeeze out barely comprehensible words. The Priest and I exchanged bewildered glances. What was he trying to say?
Luckily, Local steps in to provide an explanation, “Sir, he’s asking for a snack!” They translate.
“Yes, please, I hunger.” Lexard nodded, albeit nervously.
One voice of our deceased regiment whispers that we should eat each other. Another chimes in, saying it would be the most entertainment they would get out of this war.
The Priest told him he could eat the flesh of the dead bodies. I find that idea absolutely repulsive. Does he not realize we have a kitchen? Food in the kitchen?
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It was tomorrow when a voice asked us something, “Wasn’t there a fifth?”
The reaction was instantaneous. All our spirits, which were slowly rising as he came to terms with what happened, suddenly plunged, and we were right back where we started, depressed.
Lexard was the first to speak, his voice tight with grief, “He died…” he answered mournfully.
I nodded, “We tried to hold a funeral.”
“He’s watching over us.” The Priest mutters, looking up at the cloud-covered sky as if Eisnworth were looking down upon us.
“Poor guy…” Local uttered.
Lexard cleared his throat and sucked in a deep breath, “I mean - he ascended - he ascended!” He rapidly stuttered.
“He gave his life for the cause.” The Priest chimes in, he was smiling, but his eyes still held sadness.
Another voice calls bullshit.
I smiled over that jab and began to drum with enthusiasm, “I live and serve my glorious leader!” I looked over at The Priest, playing loudly, hoping to drown out the voices of our dead regiment. I did… barely.
“Sir!” Lexard barked out once more.
“Yes?” The Priest hummed in response.
“I - uh - my stomach hurts.”
There was an exhausted sigh that came from The Priest. He turned to Local, “Oi, fix him!” he ordered.
Local, who was just as exhausted, if not more exhausted, than the rest of us, rolled their eyes but went over to see what was up with Lexard.
I remember when I was little, whenever I got sick with a stomach bug, my mother would make me warm chicken soup. Maybe that’s what Lexard needs. My drumming ended abruptly, and I made my way to the kitchen. I wasn’t exactly sure if there was chicken in here. Or if it was even still edible. At least there was plenty of water.
I wish I had beef stroganoff right now. I feel like a bowl of that would solve all my problems. My mother made the best stroganoff; she said it was a family recipe. But we didn’t seem to have beef, or sour cream, or mushrooms.
“I miss home sometimes.” I heard Lexard telling Local, they were just around the corner.
“Well, I don’t,” Local replied rather bitterly.
I stopped pouring water into a pot to shout over my shoulder, “That sounds like a you problem!”
“Hah, yeah.” Lexard humorlessly laughed.
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“Would you like some Holy Water?” The Priest asked me one day. That day was particularly hot, and he ordered us to stay outside. He said the reason is so we can be prepared for more attacks from the undead.
The Priest had sensed our exhaustion, he’s seen the sweat on our necks and how we breathed deeply as if we were suffocating.
The sound of water sounded amazing, especially since The Priest was holding a bucket full of that stuff. I wasn’t about to turn down water on a day like this. So, the Priest splashed some over me while whispering blessings and prayers under his breath.
“Thank you.” I breathed as the water soaked into parts of my clothes, “Refreshing.” I added as an afterthought.
Local approached us, having noticed our interaction. They eyed the water bucket with near-desperate eyes. “Can I have a sip too?” they asked.
I couldn’t tell what The Priest was thinking. I couldn’t tell if he was saying no, but I wasn’t sure if he was saying yes either. But no clear answer came as the groans of the undead interrupted us.
This was beginning to get annoying.
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I don’t know when I started talking. But it seemed to me that my drumming was becoming mere background noise, rather than an instrument to lift my friends' moods. The only other thing I could do was talk.
“I remember a time before this war, before us.” I began to speak, my tone was soft and nostalgic. The taps of the sticks against my drum were beginning to sound like background noise to me, too. “I was lost, I wished for better things in life. I thought joining this war would help me find something within myself… but I don’t know what was missing.”
A distant voice was mocking me. They were demanding I stop.
“This war made me realize something: I could give away pieces of my flesh and still be considered selfish for not giving my bones.”
Another voice was calling my words ‘brainwashed preacher nonsense’. A voice groaned in my ear and began to beg my friends to make me stop. They begged me to stop and just keep playing my stupid drum.
“Shut up, let her talk.” I heard The Priest snapping at the thin air. He was sitting on a stone wall, and he was eating a small portion of soup I had made. It was the same one I made for Lexard a while ago when his stomach was hurting. I was surprised we still had some left. I was surprised it was still good to eat.
I hardly realized I wasn’t playing my drum anymore. “You hate them now, don’t you?” I prompted, staring past him at the darkening horizon.
“I’ve hated them ever since they made us come back here.” The Priest replied, glaring at a spot in the air as if he knew our regiment was there. “Plus, they’re insulting you.”
“They insult you and Local and Lexard.” I point out.
“I don’t care what they say about me; they’re cowards who can’t do shit about my greatness.” The Priest grinned confidently, and he only got prouder of himself when our dead teammates began to insult him once more. He drank the remainder of his soup and set the bowl down next to him.
“Then, don’t worry about what they say about me. Like you said, they can’t do shit about it.” I remarked, I tried to go back to drumming, but it felt like my wrists could not function anymore.
“Yeah, but still.” The Priest tried to justify himself. He tried to speak his justification, but his mouth could not keep up with his thoughts. “They shouldn’t insult you just because you’re with me.”
“We chose to be together.”
“I know.”
Gods, I am so tired. My thoughts seemed to be the most clear. I could speak, of course, but my words felt like tar, slow and heavy.
“Yeah, I’m tired too.” The Priest agreed, leaning forward with his elbows resting on his knees.
Did I say that out loud? Whoops.
“It feels like my heart and soul are heavy with my eyes.” The Priest commented, “It felt like we’ve been here for years.”
I chuckled lightly, but I didn’t feel any humor. “So much time has passed.” I agreed.
“So much has changed, and yet we’re the same.”
There was another moment of silence. By now, the sun had fallen over the horizon. I could feel the air slowly getting closer. The land and sea below this castle are slowly transforming into an empty black void.
So many bodies lay at the bottom.
The voice of Eisnworth alerts us to a distant yet incoming horde of zombies. We recognized the importance, yet we didn’t move from our spots. We felt comfortable where we were. No sense in alarming just yet.
A thought struck me, “What would you do if I died?” I blurted out before I could really think about it.
The Priest was taken aback by that question, “What do you mean?” He asked with a tinge of worry.
“If I died tonight, what would you do?” I finally gathered the strength to look into his eyes. His eyes were heavy and tired with deep purple bags underneath them. His face looked oddly pale.
“I wouldn’t let that happen.” He stated bluntly.
“But what if you can’t?” I prompted.
“But what if I could?”
“Would you mourn for me?”
“... What kind of a question is that?”
I shrugged and turned my head to stare down at my drums. I could visibly see the wear in it due to the months of constant drumming. Or was it years? It’s hard to keep track of time.
“I’m here to serve you, sir.” I turned my head a smidge to just barely see The Priest’s shoes. They used to be nice and polished. Now, they were dirty and falling apart; they were covered in dirt, blood, and residue of the undead. “I would give up my life for you.”
“Why do you call me sir? What the hell are you talking about?” The Priest didn’t sound so tired anymore. He stood from the ledge, and I stood as well. How long have I been sitting? We could hear the horde now, we could hear Local’s shout to alert us of what’s coming.
I could hear the heavy footsteps of bombers and zappers.
The Priest looked in the direction of where the horde was coming, then looked at the ground between us. One of his hands was clenching his stake. It was dull and covered in blood. “Okay.” He began, glancing nervously between the incoming horde and me, “Say you… Just - don’t die… please.”
I paused and I watched him, “You’re still terrible with words, you know that, right?” I pointed out.
Usually, he would bite back with a defensive remark, except this time he nodded. “Yeah, but it’s -”
There was the sound of Lexard’s pistol going off, followed closely by a bomber’s barrel exploding. A prideful “HAH!” came from Lexard.
The Priest began inching himself towards the horde. We could now see some walking through the building, walking towards us. “I…” He began once more, he readjusted his grip on his stake, and turned fully towards the undead approaching. After dealing with a runner by stabbing it in the neck, he finally spoke his words.
“I just… I find it easier to do the things I’m thinking of rather than say them.”
“Was that so hard to say?” I prompted, unsheathing my sword and setting aside my drumsticks.
The Priest looked over my shoulder and gave me a look, “Shush! Go kill something!” He barked, motioning to more zombies incoming.
Ah, there it is.
I was more humored by his order rather than feeling exhausted. So, I obliged.
I wish I could play my drum right now. Not only because of the motivational boost it gives to those wielding a sword, but also the comfort it gives me. The drum has given me comfort in the most dire of moments. It got me through times where my fellow allies got devoured before me, times where they screamed my name, pleaded for my help.
It’s almost sadistic.
“SHOOT THE BOMBER!” Local’s voice rang out with terror. They weren’t doing better than I was. They were trying their best to take down an eager zapper while dodging both runners and bombers. Local managed to take down the zapper and promptly ran away from the incoming bomber.
Said bomber was swiftly taken out by a single shot from Lexard.
“Bomber!” The Priest shouted out. He was backing away, his dulled stake raised defensively, but a wooden toothpick wouldn’t do anything against a literal bomb.
Lexard was in the middle of reloading his flintlock, hands fumbling with the gunpowder.
I don’t exactly know what happened next. All I know is that I was moving forward.
With the amount of manpower I have as a simple musician with a sword that has been barely stained with blood. I stood in front of The Priest and raised my sword up high.
The moment my blade touched the bomber’s barrel, a piercing pain ran throughout my entire body while a sharp ring filled both my ears.
Nothing felt real after that.
It was all in and out… Fuzzy
I remembered the moment I saw the moon, I was lying on the ground. Since when had I lain down? But the moon. The moon was bright against the dark sky.
There was movement above me. There was sound above me. It sounded muffled. What happened to my hearing? It was working fine a few moments ago.
The thought of never being able to hear my music again devastated me.
This was unfathomable, but The Priest was a stressor my mind could muster. Is he okay? Did he -
The sharp burning pain suddenly subsided to nothing. I still lay on the ground, staring up, but what happened to the pain? The feeling of the ground?
“I can’t believe she did that for that lunatic.”
I heard a voice, it was clear as day, it spoke not too far from me. Who was that? Did reinforcements arrive? Are we going to be saved? And who was ‘that lunatic’? I’ve only ever heard people of my regiment refer to The Priest like that.
Wait, The Priest.
Oh, right, I need to help him -
“Sit up, already.”
The daze was shattered once again.
I was looking up at the figure of one of my teammates standing over me. I recognized him; he was one of our Seamen. But, didn’t he die? How is he standing above me?
The Seamen didn’t look too pleased. His arms were crossed, and he was tapping a finger against his bicep, “Welcome to the afterlife.” He not-too-happily greeted.
When I sat up - wait, am I floating? I looked down at the ground, which was inches away and covered in both blood and gunpowder. I caught sight of my hands and brought them up to my face, “Why am I see-through?” I looked over at the Seaman, “Why are you see-through?”
“You’re dead.”
… Dead?
I wanted to say that wasn’t right. But how can I deny floating and being transparent? I felt a pit in my chest, one that probably couldn’t be filled with music.
Another member of our regiment came over, I think he was an Infantry. “Serves you right.” He scoffed bitterly, “That’s what you get for letting us walk to our deaths. What do you have to say for yourself?”
I couldn’t meet his gaze; I could already feel the hatred. I looked around me, hoping to see The Priest. I hoped he was alive.
Thank the gods for The Priest had just come around the corner, stabbing the last remaining zombie. He looked absolutely distraught.
“I served my king.” I finally answered, a bittersweet smile coming onto my face. I wanted to cry right then and there. I wanted to scream. I wanted to do it all so badly when I noticed the light had left his eyes.
It was just three now.
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I couldn’t bear to continue watching them. But I couldn’t bring myself to leave either. I couldn’t bring myself to watch them being slowly overrun by the undead. With each horde that came, they were every so slowly losing their position of power.
I didn’t see what happened, but I definitely heard it.
A bomber approaching Lexard and Local. The sound of their desperate shouts. The silence that followed after the explosion. I could hear my regiment speaking to Lexard and Local. I still didn’t need to turn to know their fates.
My heart aches for The Priest.
He was all alone.
He couldn’t defend against the incoming horde. And I knew that he knew that fact.
“I’M GOING OUT ON MY OWN TERMS!” Was The Priest’s final shout before there was silence, and the undead horde stopped with their excitement.