Flowers Vs. Zombies (Book 6) Native Read online

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  FLOWERS VS. ZOMBIES

  Native

  Perrin Briar

  Prologue

  SARAWAT sat in the stern of the rowboat as it glided across the perfectly calm water. The men were silent, disturbed by what they had seen on the Sacred Island. As well they were. No white man had ever set foot on the island before, and now there was a tribe of them. They had prevented them from making their sacrifice, and the gods had still not yet been appeased.

  The Khmu had been bested by the white men, and were now on their way back to their own home island. There, they would seek advice from the elders as to the best course of action. They were meant to bring peace to the world, to bring it back to its natural order.

  They called them demons. They stole over the tribespeople, taking possession of them, turning them into fearless monstrous warriors, with no need of weapons, relying only on their own hands and teeth to inflict harm.

  The Khmu tribe believed they were magical creatures, trapped souls reborn. Others believed they were shamed warriors sent to the underworld, but had escaped and took on these forms to exact revenge upon those who had cast them down.

  There were only two ways to destroy these demons: smash their skulls or remove their heads. Anything else was a minor inconvenience. They were considered strong and powerful, something to be embraced, not feared.

  Tribal Leader Vam advocated the drinking of the creatures’ blood, to absorb their strengths as well as become immune to their powers. It was only thanks to Chief Warrior Sarawat that they did not. He argued that anything so inhuman and profane as the demon could only proliferate darkness wherever it went, but that if Vam wished to experiment, he was prepared to watch over him while he drank, and take action if necessary. Vam did not drink the demon’s blood, but he had a look in his eye that suggested he would much prefer Sarawat drink it.

  The Khmu tribe were infected with these demons, and it was growing in power, spreading from one man to the next, and there appeared to be no way to stop it. They needed to find the cause of this darkness. But they were coming up short. Until one day they were visited by a trio of white men.

  Their hope had been to exorcise the darkness from their tribe by sacrificing the white men.

  The Khmu tribe had had an uneasy relationship with the white man in the past. Whenever they gave something with one hand, they took away more with the other. Then the three white men were delivered to them. In their tall forms they found the sacrifice they needed, to appease their god for whatever ill they had done Him.

  One of their tribal number, a young apprentice fletcher called Ice, took it upon himself to argue in the white men’s favor, to say it could not have been the white men who brought this darkness down upon them. How could it be when the white men had visited them for far longer than the darkness had been upon them? But the tribespeople needed to be appeased, and they imprisoned Ice alongside the white men.

  Ice had been allowed to be sacrificed. If he had been right, their god would not have allowed him to be so easily killed in his honor. This only made Sarawat’s conviction that they were doing the right thing even more certain.

  But they had not been allowed to sacrifice the white men. They had been rescued by a tribe of yet more white men. Where they had come from, Sarawat did not know. To live on the Sacred Island was itself heresy.

  Sarawat had deliberated between dealing with these people and heading home, but eventually he decided the only course of action was to return for reinforcements. Armed with their smoking sticks that fired metal into their bodies, there was no way to defeat them without superior numbers.

  But they were to be forestalled once again.

  The first sign of trouble came with the finger of grey smoke that issued just off the coast. Each of the men recognized it for what it was. There was no question as to its original starting place. They all knew where it was coming from.

  They moved through the jungle in crouched, shuffling positions. Their hunting skills never left them, imbued every action they took. Hunting was a part of their culture. They ran through the jungle like they were a part of it.

  There was a time when Sarawat had been consumed with the desire to go see the rest of the world, to explore what their brothers and sisters in other parts of the world had done. By all rights, they had spread their wings and achieved incredible things. He dreamed about his place in such a world. But what would the skills of a man from a small tribe mean to them? Nothing. Less than nothing. It would be a hindrance.

  He would not have known where to go nor what he had to do in such a place, isolated from all his friends and family. But here, in this tribe, he knew who he was, what he could do, and how the world worked. It made sense. As time went by, that desire poisoned his mind, and he turned against the world upon which he had once laid his dreams.

  The warriors crept between two twisted Jambu trees and came to their village. Or rather, what had once been their village. Now it was nothing but smoldering remains, cracked and crushed underfoot. Everything they had once used to thrive on the island, gone.

  Sarawat crouched down and put his fingers to the parched earth. He knew with just a glance what had taken place. He might have watched it in real time, the tracks were so clear.

  He didn’t need to look far to see the cause of this destruction. Cups festooned the area like fallen stars. Red spilled from skull cups, forming small puddles. Blood of the darkness.

  The hobbled footsteps of the Wise Woman showed signs of a struggle. She’d pulled at Tribal Leader Vam’s arm, to convince him not to drink the concoction, but he was too strong, and shrugged her off. This was a question of honor.

  He’d picked the skull up and drank the blood from it, letting the blood spill down his muscular torso, his legs, to the ground, forming wet circles about the balls of his feet.

  He would have cheered, making a great show of it, and Sarawat could make out his strutting posture in the dirt. The others would have seen this, how he seemed to grow in strength, and they had followed suit, drinking from their own skull cups.

  And then Tribal Leader Vam had stumbled, his footsteps uncertain. He collapsed on the ground. His body shook and froth erupted from his mouth, nose and ears. The others would have screamed, turning to run, as if they could outrun their own mistake, and they collapsed too.

  But not all of the tribe had drunk the blood of darkness. Those who had not stood watching from the sidelines. And then, panic. As the fallen former friends and allies got to their feet and approached the unaffected tribespeople, their movements slow and dragging, like they had suffered a great injury.

  Some of the tribespeople were struck immediately, knocked to the ground, while the vast majority turned and stole into the jungle, a mother grabbing her child and carrying him. It would be the safest place they could escape to, perhaps their only chance of escape. And the darkness, those infected with it, had given chase.

  The tribespeople had run, tripping and falling over themselves in their frantic attempt to escape. They got to the lake that ran against sheer rock cliffs, and disappeared into its cool embrace. The darkness did not enter that body of water, and congregated on the edges, the fringes, spreading out until they covered the entire arc on the water’s edge. There were no more tracks from the unaffected. They went into the water, but they never came out…

  Bodies dotted the water’s edge, and when Sarawat cast his eyes over the moonlit lake, he made out the unmistakable human
-shaped lumps floating there too, face down. More than one warrior ran into the water to retrieve the bodies, turning them over to identify friends, family. Wails cried into the night, strong men who had never uttered a cry in their lives before, now wept like babies.

  Tribal Leader Vam was a fool. And the tribe, they had all been fools for following him. In their desperation they had listened to their leader’s crazy theories, and committed mass suicide, drinking the blood of the darkness. In so doing, they had condemned themselves to their god’s warm embrace. Friends, family, everyone. They were all gone.

  Sarawat turned to head back to their canoes. There was nothing they could do here now. There was nothing left for them.

  The Sacred Island had been defiled by the white man. Their god was displeased and had cursed the whole tribe. They needed to scrub the Sacred Island clean of all who resided upon it. The white man had stepped where he should not. The tribe would wipe them from the face of the island, from the Earth.

  Their time was at an end.

  Chapter One

  POP POP POP. Pop pop pop pop pop. Pop pop pop.

  Captain Ching Shih had heard the sound of gunfire often enough to recognize it for what it was. Semi-automatic, retaliating gunfire, unless she had missed her guess.

  And she never missed her guess.

  She would have made a brief note on her map as to the location of the gunfire, to return another day, except this might have been just what she had been waiting for. And if so, there was no time to lose. Something interesting was happening on this island, and the captain wasn’t about to pass it up, especially when it was so close to where they had lost the boy.

  Captain Shih pushed the door open to her cabin and arched her neck to peer up at the rigging. She had three figures installed there. They always groaned when they heard interesting noises. This in itself was of no interest to the captain—she already knew something was happening on the island.

  What was interesting was the long drawn-out Uhhhhhhh noise they made whenever they sensed what was referred to as an ‘overlord’ in their close proximity. They spoke a rudimentary language, and it took a while to acclimatize one’s ear to its subtle undertones.

  Captain Shih watched as the figures began to shift side to side, swinging from the ropes around their necks. There was one of the abominations, one of these ‘overlords’ on the island. And gunfire. Yes, something truly interesting was taking place on the little island.

  The boy would be there, Shih knew. The boy would be there and, finally, they could get on with their task of locking down the region. Shih had made a terrible mistake in entrusting something so important to a single member of her crew. It would be rectified the moment they retrieved the boy.

  “Set a course for the island,” Captain Shih said to her first mate. “We may have found him.”

  In truth, there was no ‘may’ about it. He was there. Captain Shih was certain of that. And when Captain Shih was certain of something, there was no derailing her.

  Chapter Two

  RUPERT gasped for oxygen. He had hidden behind a bush, taking a break. He’d been running through the jungle ever since the freak—he had no other term for a talking undead—had turned the tables and set Manuel on him. For hours. Days?

  He had been moving, nonstop, exhausted beyond all measure, unable to take a break even for a moment, knowing full well the fate that awaited him should he take just a moment’s respite.

  Rupert knew there was no chance Manuel would stop. There was nothing that could change his mind, because his was a mind that could not change, as inflexible as the most brittle shafts of steel, unflinching, unyielding.

  Rupert was going to need to destroy him, or evacuate this island altogether. In previous attempts it had taken several strong members of the pirate crew, the second time, an entire family. But how was he to do that by himself? If he failed to shut Manuel down, he would undoubtedly carry out the task set before him. Rupert should know. He had set the very same beast upon many other victims in the past.

  Rupert had run himself ragged to lever some distance from Manuel, using all his strength and ability, and even more than he thought he had. He got a slight lead and used it to hide behind this bush.

  Then he heard the unmistakable heavy footsteps of Manuel as he stumbled through the undergrowth. He was not a tracker nor a hunter, and would have only gotten this far by following the sounds Rupert had made.

  Rupert was shocked to find Manuel looked no more tired or exhausted than if he had been taking a stroll rather than chasing his quarry for the past twenty-four hours. And it had been a day, now that Rupert had time to think about it.

  Manuel grunted, snarling under his breath, casting about, first this way, and then that. Then, not happy to be standing in a single place, took off, directly ahead, and disappeared into the undergrowth.

  He would run in that direction until he was given sufficient reason to turn and head in another, Rupert knew. The last thing Rupert wanted right now was to give him that reason to turn back by making noise. He would wait, give himself a little time to think and consider his plan first.

  Rupert would wait ten minutes, fifteen, until he felt certain Manuel was safely heading in the wrong direction. Then he would… what? He couldn’t stay on this island. He couldn’t ask for the Flowers’ help. They were more likely to kill him than Manuel was. Then what would he do?

  He would head to the cave where the family kept their boat. He would hijack it and sail into the sunset, never to see the island, the Flowers, the demon, nor Manuel ever again. He was sad to leave Manuel behind. He had been a useful tool, but he had long overstayed his welcome.

  It had been ten minutes since Manuel had taken his little detour by Rupert’s internal clock. He raised his head to peer into the foliage in the direction Manuel had gone. He was nowhere to be seen.

  Smash!

  The foliage folded back, and a monster, like Mr. Hyde on steroids, stepped from the greenery. The familiar heavy footsteps. Manuel couldn’t have turned around, not yet! There had been no reason for him to turn round and head back already. Had there? Evidently there had, but Rupert was stumped if he knew what it could be.

  With any luck, Manuel would rush right past him and continue in the wrong direction, back the way he had come.

  Manuel flew from the foliage and turned his head from one side to another, looking, searching in vain for Rupert.

  He’s going to find me, Rupert realized. He’s going to find me here.

  He had to get up, had to make a break for it. If he didn’t do it now, he would never get the head start he needed. He felt like the rabbit who had to remain perfectly still or else risk being seen by the predator.

  All his senses were screaming at him to run, but his brain was telling him to stay put. Stay put long enough and eventually Manuel would move on, would go somewhere else and continue his manhunt for him in all the wrong places. It would give Rupert the time he needed to escape and get away from there, figure out a way of escaping this infernal island.

  He couldn’t wait any longer. He needed to make a move. He was going to do it. He was going to go for it. He couldn’t ignore his instincts any longer. He was a man who had had to rely on his instincts for many years. He couldn’t just ignore them now.

  He sprung from the undergrowth. There was a grunt, and then the heavy, relentless thud, thud, thud of Manuel’s marching footsteps.

  The hunt was back on.

  Chapter Three

  THERE WAS no need to rebuild or start again as they had before, as a large part of the damage done by the Overlord In Black was superficial. The worst had been done by the family themselves, having emptied entire clips in the direction of their home.

  They set traps in the jungle to recapture the farm animals they had preemptively set loose to protect them from their enemies. There was every chance they would never see many of them ever again, but they would do their best nonetheless. They were a part of the family and provided a lot of what the fam
ily needed to sustain their existence on the island.

  The fact Fritz had decided to stay with the Flower family was a cause of great relief on Bill and Liz’s part, and that of his younger brothers too, not that they would ever admit it. They would have missed him terribly if he had left them.

  Despite their relief, Bill and Liz were aware they had four sons and no girls for them to socialize with. It was difficult to cling to a future when there was little for you to begin building it with.

  After they had fixed up their little island and secured it once again, they would need to begin setting up for the community they would be hosting. They had had a great deal of bad luck with the first two members of their community project, but it hadn’t extinguished the need they had for a community to help support them.

  In truth, none of them were completely convinced that this island, out in the middle of nowhere, was really the right place to set up such a community. They had assumed they would be in a safer place when they came here, that they would have no problem in holding the undead back, that there would hardly be any undead. But they had been wrong on both counts.

  No matter how hard they worked on defending themselves, there was always another enemy. They had succeeded so far, often by the skin of their teeth. Luck was on their side. One day it wouldn’t be, and they would be doomed.

  Fritz set another trap and moved on. These traps were designed to capture, to ensnare, not hurt or maim. They wanted their farm animals back without injury.

  “You know, there is another option open to us,” Fritz said. “Besides setting up our own community.”

  “You mean, finding one to join?” Bill said, nodding. “The thought had occurred to me too. But there’s something about it I just don’t like after our recent experience. We don’t know what kind of people would be living in these places. If they’ll be similar to those we’ve already met.”