A Gentleman's Privilege _A Zombie Tale from the Old South Read online

  Something outside bumped the wall, and then keys fumbled by the prison door. Darque had looked death in the eye before, but the odds had never been so greatly against her. She was alone, chained and shackled. Eventually, she would be overwhelmed. As always, she turned her focus on her objective, and determined that there were worse things than death. She resolved to fight using every remaining ounce of energy left in her body, and to kill, or maim any who walked through that door.

  The door slowly creaked open.

  She crouched against the wall and waited for the final conflict.

  * * *

  The Captain came down hard on the slaves for Darque’s display of defiance. He was determined to make them all suffer even though it was the action of one. Next week the slaves were going to have to survive on half the meat rations he normally supplied. He wanted to discourage any other would-be martyrs.

  As for Darque, he had special plans for her. She was going to feed every need of his perverted pleasure before he would use his bare hands to strangle her life out. The Captain loved strong willed women. He loved to bend and break them, and treat them like the black hearted animals he believed them to be.

  The Captain strolled through the sultry night air to the door of the prisoner’s cell. He moved the four-foot slave whip from his right hand to his left, retrieved the key, and opened the door.

  The door opened. The stale air left a bitter taste in his mouth. It was dark, but he could make out the silhouette of the girl chained against the wall.

  “Your time has come, you pathetic, ungrateful savage. I pulled you from a world where you lived like a beast and brought you to civilization.” The Captain paused, seething with anger. “How dare you defy me!” His words reverberated off the thin walls.

  “I’m not going to be as kind to you as I was to Betty. Oh, no. I offered her opportunity.” The Captain walked toward Darque with the whip grasped firmly in hand. “She’d be alive today if she’d have learned her place. But you, you have no option of opportunity. I am going to beat you to within an inch of your life. Then, I am going to delight in all my manly pleasures in your young, beautiful, battered body.”

  The whip snapped forward and struck her across the chest.

  The Captain waited for a scream, a cry for mercy, but there was only silence. He raised it again and brought it against her three times in rapid succession. The whip whistled through the air and snapped loudly against her body. Still, she uttered not a sound, nor moved from the wall.

  He brought the whip against her again and again without pause. His breathing weighed heavy from exerting full strength into every lash. Still nothing changed. She hadn’t moved once.

  In a fit of rage, the Captain reversed his hold on the wooden grip of the whip and beat her in the head. “Scream, damn you! Beg for mercy! Beg me for your life!”

  The girl reached up and grabbed both his wrists, and pulled him toward her. She twisted him around and slammed him into the wall. The moonlight through the window illuminated her face. The Captain gasped in horror.

  The dead eyes of Puri bore into him. Her spilt lip curled up revealing her teeth and black tongue. She bit down hard on his neck as he franticly tried to squirm out of her grip.

  Numbing fear washed over the Captain as Puri gnawed out chucks of flesh. He watched her chew and swallow. Blooded dripped from her chin and splattered on the floor.

  *

  The slaves gathered in a humble field reserved for their dead. Not too far from the prison to hear the dying screams of the Captain. The drums beat loudly as Darque danced naked by the ceremonial fires, burning to light the way of the departed spirits.

  Alma repeated her final chant. The air charged with electricity and made hairs stand on end. The dead buried in the shallow, unmarked graves started to move. The less rotted being the first to emerge.

  Darque ran to her mother’s side and held her tightly. Never had she witnessed the power of voodoo to this magnitude. “How are you able to do this?”

  “I channeled the power of the great evil released at the death of the Captain. I have brought back the spirits of the Just. They shall have their revenge.”

  The dead now walked and waited for instruction. Alma pointed to the overseer’s barracks in the distance. The time had come for the abused souls to reap the fruits of their final harvest.

  *

  “How’s that wrist?” Cletus asked.

  “Time heals all wounds. That, and revenge,” Reeves said, looking at the cards Cletus had just dealt him. He had a bandage wrapped around his right wrist. “I tried to get the Captain to let me take care of that slave bitch, but he insisted on handling it himself.” Reeves laid his cards down to take a swig of whiskey straight from the bottle. “I didn’t put up too much of a fight with him. From what I’ve heard, he’ll do a much better job with her than I would.”

  “She was one hell-cat all right. Broke your wrist and took your gun. Gave Jed a blow to the balls. Henry took a bust in the nose, and Bob, a cracked noggin.”

  Reeves grunted, and said, “Give me three,” and threw his discards to the table.

  “She was a looker, too. Young. Tall. Nice legs and perky tits. Her dark skin all smooth. Why, I even heard she was educated and could speak three or four languages. They say her daddy’s French. You know what they say about French women?”

  “No. What do they say?” Reeves showed his hand. Cletus shook his head and laid his cards face down. Reeves raked in the pot.

  “Well, I hear they can suck the life out of you. In a good way, if you know what I mean.” Cletus showed his yellowing teeth in a smirk. “Darque Wight. That there’s a queer name for a slave. I’d like to put me some white meat in that—”

  Scrapes on the outside walls cut Cletus’s words short. It was night, but light enough to see silhouettes of bodies moving slowly past the windows.

  “What the Hell? Have them slaves lost their minds?” Reeves said rhetorically. Ten overseers lived in the barracks. Five sat at the table playing cards, and the other five had retired to their bunks. The activity outside had everyone up and scrambling for weapons.

  Reeves opened the door, and immediately pulled the revolver from his side. He was face to face with a ghastly looking zombie standing in the doorway.

  What scared Reeves even more than the looks of the creature was he recognized him as the slave that died under his whip just two months before. The decrepit man was naked from the waist up. The only clothing he wore was a simple pair of trousers with a rope tied at the waist. Live worms writhed on the outside of his skin. His eyes were darker than any night had ever been.

  Reeves’ hand shook when he pulled the trigger on the revolver. The bullet punched a hole in the zombie’s chest. It staggered back at the impact, and it then fell forward on top of him.

  More members of the walking dead entered from the door as deafening gun blasts filled the air. The pungent odor of gunpowder stung the eyes of the terrified men, and mixed with the stench of rotting meat from the walking dead.

  Reeves screamed in terror until the last spark of life exited his body. The zombie fed ravenously on his tender flesh.

  The others fell to the onslaught of the hungry horde as revolvers snapped against empty shell casings. The final yells of the cruel overseers replaced the sound of gunfire.

  Oil filled lanterns crashed to the floor in the fray. Pools of burning oil spread quickly, creeping up the walls, and lapped across the roof in a matter of minutes.

  Darque, her mother, and the rest of the slaves watched as their brothers and sisters sacrificed their lives once again for the survival of the village.

  The dying screams of the slave masters faded into the snap and crackle of the fire.

  “What now, Mother?” Darque asked.

  Mambo Alma closed her eyes and looked inside her mind. “Our journey just now begins.”

  The End

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