The Necromancers of Santa Muerte (Part IV)

"Flaming skull" by Valerie Everett is licensed under CC by 2.0

Approaching the bordering crossing was the man in the red robe holding a skull in his left hand, along with the reanimated bodies of the refugees that the Texas Rangers had watched die. Behind them was the horde, arranged in a parody of a disciplined military, marching together. As they walked past the furthest out range marker, Ranger Roberts fired his rifle at the robed man’s chest.

The corpse of the teen that attacked the old man out in the desert was now marching next to him. With a snap of the old man’s fingers, the corpse leaped in front of him and took the bullet meant for the old man. It collapsed to the ground, facedown in the dust, just as it had been when the robed man killed him the first time.

“That was not a very neighborly thing to do Ranger,” boomed the lightly accented voice of the robed man, which was somehow amplified despite the lack of microphone, “I thought you Texans were a friendly and hospitable people.”

“Not when there is an army on our doorstep,” said the elder Ranger through the tower’s PA system.

The zombies all stopped moving and simply swayed in place, looking like an ocean of death. Both Rangers held their fire for the moment. James legs shook and he wished he was up in the tower too, but he would not abandon the two people, mother and child, in the pick-up truck. He camped out near the truck, propping his firearm on a concrete barrier. Carefully, he adjusted his sights based on the range markers that, so far, the undead were ignoring.

“Now then, surely we can speak as civilized men about all of this. We simply want to spread the word of Santa Muerte to everyone.” said the robed man.

“Go to hell,” was the response of Ranger Roberts. A second shot of fired and a second corpse inexplicably shielded the robed man from it.

“Ranger Roberts. Is that how you greet your neighbors to the south? I suppose it is, considering the events of the San Antone Shootout. Santa Muerte has revealed secrets about you to me. She gives great power, greater than that necklace you wear.” Roberts held his rosary in his hands and began to whisper a Hail Mary.

“And you, Deputy Swift, you should not even be here. But you aren’t surprised, are you? That is what the Papists do, isn’t it? Trod all over everyone else. It’s why your ancestors left that evil church. We’re not so different, you and I. Both of us left Rome for the truth. I know that my servants are a little zealous sometimes, and you tried to do what you thought was right. Santa Muerte is forgiving. Your actions earlier can be forgiven. Join me and you can be a free man. Free of the Rangers, free of being a wage-slave, and free of mortality itself.”

James thought of his fellow Texans being slaughtered by the shambling horde, then the woman and child in the truck, then his co-workers, his boss, the nice lady at the coffee shop that always smiled at him, his sister, his nephew. He extended his middle finger toward the robed man, even though he doubted that the man could see it.

“Very well. You have chosen…poorly,” said the necromancer. He waved his hands toward the border crossing and the zombies surged forward.

The Rangers fired into the crowd and the undead began to fall like an 18-year old college student after their third shot of tequila. The zombie tripped over the their fallen, but kept coming toward the Rangers. Roberts had better range, but those that got too close were easy prey for James’ carbine.

Pull the trigger. Check aim. Pull the trigger. Check aim. Pull the trigger. Reload. Check aim.

The patter repeated itself again and again, James became a robot that, rather than build cars, dispensed death. The great numbers of the horde were proving more than what two people could handle and it was only a matter of time before they were overrun. The necromancer ended up saving them.

As he strode forth, both Rangers turned their fire on him. Zombies were picked up by an invisible hand and flung toward the necromancer to block each bullet. The zombies packed close around the necromancer and were not always stumbling toward the gunmen. After a few minutes, Roberts came down the later and set up on the concrete barrier next to James.

“No more rifle ammo,” the elder Ranger said as he drew his service revolver. Both Rangers continued pouring fire into the corpses that slowly were coming closer and closer.

“Enough!” bellowed the necromancer. He pulled the head off the body of a fallen zombie and, with his unholy arts, light it on fire. He threw it at the two Rangers, who tried to cover from the flaming projectile. It landed directly between them and exploded into hundreds of bone shards. A couple struck James, but other than a brief sting, he felt no lasting pain. James looked to his left and saw Ranger Roberts keeled over, bleeding from several wounds.

“Roberts! Roberts, are you okay?” James said, between taking shots at the zombies that were now a mere fifty feet away. There was no answer.

Read Part I of the The Necromancers of Santa Muerte here: https://steemit.com/fiction/@notjohndaker/the-necromancers-of-santa-muerte-part-i

Read Part II of the The Necromancers of Santa Muerte here: https://steemit.com/fiction/@notjohndaker/the-necromancers-of-santa-muerte-part-ii

Read Part III of the The Necromancers of Santa Muerte here: https://steemit.com/fiction/@notjohndaker/the-necromancers-of-santa-muerte-part-iii

Read Part V of the The Necromancers of Santa Muerte here: https://steemit.com/fiction/@notjohndaker/the-necromancers-of-santa-muerte-part-v