Chapter 7 Lazarus
seven
Lazarus
The Lamb begins to wake up as I carry him through the forest, slung over my back like a canvas sack. He is a slight weight, though he is rather tall. Long and thin with eyelashes that match.
I don’t know why, but I am quite stuck on the way his eyelashes cling to the apples of his cheeks as he rests. I have stopped walking a few times to pull his head forward and stare at his beautiful face with its long, long eyelashes.
He groans softly as his head bumps against my shoulder, and while I imagine his head aches, there is no time to stop. I can hear the creatures that live in this forest shuffling through the trees, and I did not come this far to be caught by one of them tonight.
I didn’t do all this damn work to have them snatch him away from me and eat his flesh before I even have a chance to sink my teeth into him myself.
I clutch my axe still, ready to swing if any of them gets too close.
Yesterday on my trip to Bright Haven, I had to take out two of them, smashing their rotten heads into pieces and getting stained with bits of brain for my efforts.
I don’t wish to repeat the experience tonight, so I am careful and watchful.
We reach my cabin, and I kick the door open before dropping the axe to the floor with a thunk.
I drop the Lamb to the ground as well, listening at his slightly softer thud against the rotting wood beneath us.
He is still dithering in that space between conscious and not, so I leave him there in a heap on the floor while I head to lock the door up tight.
This cabin is not mine, but I have claimed it for myself anyway.
I installed the heavy bolts that keep the door locked from the inside against the rotten monsters that stalk the forest, but the rest of it was already here when I found this place.
It used to be a hunter’s cabin, I think, but it has fallen into disrepair over the years.
Sections of the wooden floor are rotting away, letting grass and bushes poke through gaps, and the scent of iron clings to one corner where old blood stains the floors.
There are hooks hanging from the roof in that corner, and I debate tying the Lamb to one of them, but I quickly get a better idea.
The roof has a hole in it on one corner, and as I glance between it and the Lamb on the ground, I decide that is where he will go.
If he is truly immune to the red toxic rains that fall, he will not mind spending his last few days beneath them should a storm pass by and soak the cabin.
It will be a neat experiment, at the very least.
I grip the Lamb’s robe, dragging his body over to the corner, then turn to the table and grab a length of rope stolen from the toolshed I burned at Bright Haven.
It is funny to me that this very same rope that holds the damned souls to the inner fence at Bright Haven will now bind up their precious Lamb.
I chuckle softly to myself as I wrap a length around his hands, binding his arms together in front of him, then extend that length to the base of one of the more stable beams that form the frame of the cabin.
I check it is tight, but allow some leeway so he can move around if he chooses to.
He will not be permitted to stand, but shifting positions is acceptable.
It’s more than I was given when I was tied to the outer fences of Bright Haven and left for dead.
I debate leaving the cloth stuffed in his mouth, but in the end I pull it from between his plump lips.
I long to hear what he has to say for himself, if he is able to say anything.
The Lamb moans again, drool seeping out of the corner of his mouth as his eyes slowly blink open.
I grin, grabbing an old rickety wooden chair and sitting down on it as he looks around the room, dazed and clearly confused.
“Welcome back, Lambchop,” I offer with a smile.
“Wha?” he mumbles, turning his head to me and squinting his big hazel eyes. He makes a pained noise, then lifts his bound hands to touch the place on his head where I bashed him with the butt end of the axe.
“Yeah, that’s gonna suck for a bit. Head injuries always do. Take your time. I ain’t going anywhere, and neither are you.”
He mumbles something, then closes his eyes, shaking his head like that alone can dispel the wooziness he’s got to be feeling. When he opens his eyes again, he meets mine. “Who?”
I laugh, leaning forward on the chair. “You know who.”
“Laz’rus?” he whispers, my name catching in his throat.
“It’s Lazarus really, but I forgive you.
You’ve had a rough night. Do you have a real name, Lambchop?
Something biblical, perhaps? John? Ephraim?
Mark? Please don’t tell me you are called Michael; that would be far too much.
” He shakes his head at me, eyes boggling out of their sockets a little as he scans my body from top to bottom.
“Like what you see? I’ve been told I’m quite a looker.
Going by the many men who’ve paid to see me naked, I don’t doubt it. Go ahead, feast your eyes upon me.”
“No,” he whispers, turning his head away from me.
“Well, that’s a shame. Am I not your type? Do you perhaps prefer the company of women?”
The Lamb shakes his head, and I grin, scooting my chair forward on the floor, watching him flinch with every scrape of the legs against the floor.
“Not that either, huh? You don’t have to like anything.
It takes all kinds in this world, trust me.
” I hesitate for a moment, thinking of Ezekiel, which never fails to send my mood spiraling.
“Unless you like fucking kids. Is that it, Lambchop? You like hurting the innocent?”
He doesn’t answer, and I can feel the rage bubbling inside my bones as I imagine the sins he has committed against the most innocent human beings.
Standing, I move to grab the axe, dragging it over the floorboards slowly as I make my way back to him.
If he doesn’t answer in the way I need him to answer, it’s game over.
I will chop his head off right here and now. “Answer the fucking question.”
“No,” he chokes out, turning his head upwards to look right at me. “No, I don’t. I don’t know what you’re talking about. Please. Don’t hurt me.”
“Are you telling me the truth?”
“Yes. I can’t follow the conversation. My head. I can’t…” He lets the sentence trail away into nothing, turning his unfocused eyes up to my face.
“Alright, Lambchop,” I agree, seeing that he is in no space for any kind of conversation right now. “I’ll give you a pass this time, but if I hear about you hurting little ones, I will not hesitate to send you back to your Father in pieces.”
I’m going to do that anyway, but for now he piques my curiosity and I have a bit of time to play before I send him to Heaven.
Or Hell. Or wherever dead people end up, I don’t really know.
I used to believe that good people who believed in God went to Heaven, but the thought of some of the sick fucks I’ve met in my time kicking it up there with Jesus makes my stomach churn.
The Lamb bobs his head and closes his eyes, laying down on the cold, hard wood beneath him. Soon, a soft snore rises from his lips, and I yawn where I have sat watching him. It has been a long night for both of us, and now that he seems to be sleeping, I am exhausted.
“You die in the night and it’s on you,” I murmur, heading to the old mattress on the floor that serves as my bed while I am here. I wrap my thin blanket around my shoulders and rest my head on the bundle of clothes that I call my pillow, letting myself drift away into a dreamless sleep.
“Hey,” I bark, kicking at the Lamb’s bare feet. “You dead?”
He groans, and I kick him again, slightly harder, in the thigh. His eyes pop open, mouth opening to inhale a deep breath as he pulls his bound hands to his chest. He glances around the room, then meets my eyes with his own, face paling as he looks at my face.
“There you are. I was wondering if you’d ever wake up.”
“It wasn’t a dream.”
I laugh, shaking my head. “Nope, you’re really here and you’re really all mine. At least for now. Nobody has come looking for you yet, and even if they did search, they won’t find us.”
“Where are we?”
“The last place you’ll ever see,” I reply, moving to crouch down in front of him. “Welcome to your end, Lambchop.”
“You can’t kill me,” he blurts, cheeks reddening.
“Oh? Who says?”
“I am the Blessed Lamb of the Lord. You can’t kill me. To kill me would be to kill God himself, which cannot be done.”
I snort a loud laugh. “I have already killed one Blessed Lamb but, by all means, please continue telling me how it cannot be done.”
“It can’t,” he squeaks, though he doesn’t seem so certain anymore.
“Oh, it definitely can. Shall I tell you how I did it?”
“No, thank you.”
Another laugh bubbles from between my lips. This Lamb is hilarious, and so very polite. Unlike his foul-mouthed predecessor. “I’ll show you sometime, I promise.”
I wink and rise to my feet, leaving him behind and heading to the door of the cabin.
There is no bathroom in here, and despite what this Lamb may think of me, I’m still civilized enough not to piss where I eat.
I’m also still covered in the remains of Timothy.
His dried blood and random bits of body meat stick to my clothing, and now that I am rested, I do feel fairly gross about having slept this way.
Perhaps that is why the Lamb is cringing as he looks at me this morning, but it’s something he’ll just have to get used to while he’s alive in this cabin. Sometimes I forget to do shit, it is what it is.
The bolts on the cabin door squeak as I undo them, the metal grinding in the latches. Before leaving, I turn to speak to my captive Lamb. “In case you’re getting any bright ideas about trying to escape, remember we are miles away from civilization and the woods are full of zombies.”
“Zombies?”
“Yeah, you know. The ones that get turned into those flesh-eating monsters by the red rain? Damned souls? Walkers? Whatever you want to call them, the woods are chock-full of them. Good luck if you want to get away. They’ll kill you even faster than I’m going to.
I’ll be back.” I grab my axe from beside the door and head out into the woods to get started on what will hopefully be a great day with my new toy.