Foundered

Jasper IX: A People Under Siege

The warm summer breeze moved swiftly across the glittering swamplands, pale wisps of mist shrouded the muddy terrain into a shallow sea of death and dismay.

Upon the surface it all seemed quiet and calm, but deep in the mists the wolfpack lurked, trotting through the pale clouds like waves through sand – ten thousand foes at war.

"We need to kill them before they reach us," said Nikola, "that is the only way we can win."

"They'll be swift to close the distance to take out our gunners, we need to be careful."

Jasper watched from atop the castle, peering down upon allied lines like an eagle, watching and waiting ever so patiently for the enemy to come.

And come they did, like a tidal wave ten metres high, comprised of flesh and bone and not water and salt. Even though he could not see them, he could hear them meddling at a distance, the ground trembled as thousands of feet fell upon the soil.

"Nick," he whispered, tears in his eyes, "should you feel the balance of power shift, run back immediately."

"Don't worry," Nikola spoke back via his earpiece, "we'll overcome."

"You're outnumbered thirty-to-one, be careful."

"Fine, that I will be."

Jasper touched the binoculars to his eyes, looking into the horizon, until at half a league's distance its computer sensed motion. Just be a wolf, he begged, but the alert displayed again, and again, and again: the anti-fog setting showed: the undead marched, almost at nil speed, too patient for them.

"Fire," said Jasper into his earpiece, a faint whisper to the men on the artillery pieces.

Boom!

Like a distant thunder the cannon rumbled, the singing air hissing like a viper. And another, and another, and two more: a bit of smoke arose, obscuring his vision, but he could still see the shells fly. Like shooting stars they sore across the afternoon breeze, landing with an explosive gurgle. The battle had begun.

One by one, more shells dropped in, the dead quickened their pace, jogging towards their enemies.

"Fire!" shouted Nikola, ordering a barrage of bullets upon the zombie horde. Like distant stars they saw the bullets, and by the dozens they started to fall.

The zombies sprinted, turning from a bastion of flesh and bone to a wave of fear and panic – a wave of death. Nikola was fearful, he was their prey.

"Hop on!" his squire said to him from atop his motorcycle, "it is already lost."

He turned an eye of horror at the incoming hordes; of course it was already lost. What could mere bullets do to an unstoppable force?

"Sorry, soldiers," said Nikola almost in a lament, "time to leave."

But the soldiers did not flinch, and yet kept firing as if nothing had happened, taking down hundreds upon hundreds of zombies as their back lines were barraged by artillery shells. But still they could not be stopped, and like a sea of fire it engulfed the front lines, ending the battle before it could even have begun.

A fell laugh resonated, giant wings fluttered above, a dreadful smile etched upon the face of the Dark One.

"Aha," said Jasper, grinning evilly, "right into our trap."

The zombies gnawed and mawed at the soldiers, only to discover but empty shells and auto-turrets. Of course, zombies do not have emotions, but if they did have it, it would be somewhere between fear and confusion.