Sharp

My heart sank as I got closer to the village, and the smell of rot and decay increased. I dropped my pack in the woods and crept closer. It was twilight now, so I only planned to scout and then decide what I would do.

My worst fears were realised when I saw the undead aimlessly wandering the village. Most of them I recognised. Many were my relatives. All were my neighbours. Some were children. Why? Why would anyone do that?

The village only had three bronze rankers: the mayor and the chief guard, who were there to delay any threats until adventurers arrived or to get us out. Then there was old MacDonald, a retired adventurer who had a farm just out of town. Cheryl was iron rank, I think, although I am sure she didn’t have a full set of skills. Most people didn’t have any essences or were like my Mum and Dad with one, sometimes two.

Why would you do this to people? The ones who did this are worse than the monsters. I backed out with tears in my eyes. What could I do? I think this happened before they attacked the city. Were they collecting high-level people to use in the attack on the city? Why convert everybody, even the children?

I didn’t understand, and I couldn’t stop the tears. I thought about my home village and the utter destruction of its people.

I needed somewhere to stay. I figured old McDonald's farm was not far, and I went to check it out. It was fully dark when I arrived, and everything was dark and quiet. There was a moon out tonight, so I had plenty of light to see. I moved carefully around the house first. Old man MacDonald was known for his garden and there were weeds popping up between the vegetables and herbs. The stable was empty, as were the pig pens. There was no sign of his cow, and the chicken coop was empty.

I moved cautiously to the house. It was a small one-bedroom cottage. The door was intact, and I heard nothing. Even better, I didn’t smell rot or death. The kitchen and sitting area were all in one room, and there was a deck that looked out over his garden. The single bedroom was empty and undisturbed.

I bought my pack inside and locked myself in. I sat at his window looking out over his garden for a long time. I was thinking about the village and all the people. Would my parents and sister be among them? What should I do? Should I run for help? Stillwater was about a week away, but I would be moving slow dodging undead. Surely the word has already got out. Some people must have escaped the city, probably the silver rankers.

The hunters and foresters from the villages between here and Stillwater must be running into undead. The word must have spread. Help must be coming.

There was no help for the people of my village.

I went out on the deck in the dark and went through the axe, spear and knife forms. Moving helped me not think so hard.

Then I went in and lay down and slept for a while. I didn’t sleep very well and I was up again before dawn. I went through the forms again as the sun rose.

There was no help for the people of my village. All I could do was to put them to their final rest and give them a burial.

There were about four hundred people in our village. I don’t know how many were still in the village. Some might have been taken by the bastards that did this. Some might have wandered off into the forest.

I would find and give rest to as many as I could. I would give them a burial. I would start with the village and then move out and search the forest.

I looked around and found a spade. I grabbed my weapons and headed out. I knew the area, picked a spot, and started digging. I knew sound drew the undead towards it, so I was over a slight rise and outside the village. I dug all morning. I could keep the spade sharp, so that eased the work.

The ditch was about four meters long and two meters wide and about two and a half meters deep. I piled the dirt on the side away from the village, but I didn’t bother to hide it. The undead wouldn’t notice, and I would be filling the hole in. This would be grave number one and we would see how many it would fit.

I couldn’t just bury them; I had to rekill them. I went out into the bush and cut stakes. I sharpened the ends and turned the grave into a spike pit. It was after lunch. I wasn’t hungry, but I ate some of old man MacDonald's vegetables. I was off meat for the duration.

I then went to the village. I wanted to get their attention, but not too many at once. I went where I could see about five of my neighbours between two houses. I rattled a stick against the house, and they turned to look. They came at me in their shambling run. I wanted them bunched up, so I fended off the first one until the others were close and took off at a pace I thought they could match. I led them to the pit, and I leapt over it, and they ran into it. I made sure to count how many had followed me as I needed to make sure they all found their peace. Three fell on the stakes and were impaled there, and two fell between the stakes and were trapped in their limited movement options.

I grabbed my longest sharpened stake and started sending them to the gods.

Head and heart.

Head and heart.

Head and heart.

Head and heart.

Head and heart.

Then, with tears streaming down my face, I said, “Goddess of Death, you had better give them peace.”

Then, I turned back to the village to repeat the process. There were seven the second time. After I had finished, I had to jump into the grave and remove some from the stakes so they could be reused. I stacked the bodies against the dirt wall.

Then there were six. One more, and I will dig the next grave tomorrow.

I made a mistake, then. I attracted too many. I had to fight a retreat, and when I jumped the grave, I started counting. Then, I faltered and broke down as my father fell into the grave.

I couldn’t stop crying, but I couldn’t leave them.

Head and heart.

…

Head and heart, and on it went as I tried to numb myself as I killed my father.

I walked away after that. I couldn’t take any more.

I just left everything and went back to the farmhouse. “Goddess, you had better be looking after them.”

It was a bad night. I was broken.

I didn’t go back in the morning, but I found another grave site and started digging. I made this one bigger with more stakes. This needed to be done as fast as I could. They needed release, and I was not going to last.

I pulled bigger groups. Head and heart, head and heart. Goodbye, Uncle Tim. Head and heart. The kids were bad. Goddess, why? Head and heart. Don’t think, just do.

Sorry Lisa, for all your faults, you didn’t deserve this. Head and heart. Head and heart. Goddess, give you peace.

I trudged back to the farm. The first grave had twenty-one, and this one had forty-three. There is probably room for more in the first grave. I need to make the next one deeper.

I was getting to be an expert at digging mass graves. I tried one without the stakes, but it was better if the undead were trapped and couldn’t move. I could give them peace faster and cleaner.

By the fifth day, my count was two hundred and sixty-four souls the goddess had better look after, and there were still another sixty or so in the village. I hadn’t filled in any of the graves yet. I would get to it as soon as the village was clear, then I would go hunting in the forrest.

I wasn’t sure I could finish it, though. I was giving them the best I could and saying a prayer to the goddess after each. This was my duty. I was the only one left who knew these people. I was exhausted, but that was not why I might be able to continue. I was emotionally done. I was numb. I was just functioning.

No, the reason I was thinking I would stop was that my sister would be in the next, and hopefully last, grave. I would have to kill my sister.

I sat in the vegetable garden and watched the plants grow. There had been so much death, and the plants were the only things surviving. They were growing while we were dying. At about midnight, I got up, grabbed my spade, and went to dig the last grave. After this, I would go around and fill them all in with a final prayer.

Dawn came, and I was still digging. I pulled out stakes from the last grave, resharpened them, and prepared to kill my sister. Once this was done, I wondered how I could kill myself. The only thing stopping me was the horror I might become an undead.

The undead priests, or whatever they were, were forever on my to-kill list, and I never thought I would have one of those.

I drew the last people in the village into three groups. Olivia was in the second group. I didn’t think I just did. Her face will haunt me even more than the rest. She was facing me when I put a spear in her head. I tell myself she was gone; she was already dead with her throat ripped open, but she will always be staring at me as I kill her.

I rested. Tomorrow, I will fill in the graves. I trudged back to the farm. How can I kill myself and not become an undead? I doubt drowning would do it. I could dig a pit with stakes and throw myself in. Even if I became an undead, I would be stuck there and couldn’t hurt anyone. I hope someone would give me a quick second death.

What I do know is that if an undead kills me, I will definitely become one.

Don’t die until I can see a healer and make sure the infection or curse, or whatever it is, is not on me. Then I can kill myself.

I kept passing out and then waking with Olivia's face looking at me. Or Dad’s.

I don’t know when I last ate.

Dawn lit the sky as I grabbed the spade for the last time.