Legion of the Undead Read online

  Legion Of The Undead

  Michael Whitehead

  All characters in this publication are fictitious and any resemblances to any persons living or undead are purely coincidental

  Copyright 2019 by Michael Whitehead All Rights Reserved

  For Lucas, my best ideas come when I’m talking to you.

  With all my love to Michelle, who has the best Dr Martens collection in the world and wears them so well, and Morgan the world’s biggest fan of eggs.

  Mum and Dad, thanks for all the help. I love you always.

  By this author

  Legion of the Undead

  Legion of the Undead – Book Two – Rise and Fall

  Legion of the undead – Book Three – Ruin and Rebirth

  Also

  Seas of Blood

  Mersey Dark – The Templeton Novels – Book One

  Find the author on Facebook, Instagram and on his website

  Contents

  Legion of The Undead – Book One – Special extended Edition

  Pirates – A short Story

  Demons – A short Story

  The Fort – A Short Story

  (previously released in The Reanimated Writers – Undead Worlds)

  PROLOGUE

  Dusk loomed, and a mist lay thick on the forest floor as the legionary patrol scouted around the Germani village. Sandaled feet found damp and rotten branches that turned to mulch under foot, the heat of the sun had never found this place.

  The legion camp was miles to the south. The patrol had orders to scout the forest and work out a plan for attacking the village. Centurion Drusus Selonius was sure it couldn't be done, but he followed his orders anyway.

  Not without a year to plan, would Roman Legions be able to mount more than a small unit attack through trees and undergrowth this thick. Brambles tangled at their feet and bit at their legs with every step. Still, they would circle the village as ordered, and report what Selonius already knew.

  The mist carried with it a damp that made his bones ache and he longed for a drink and a fire. Selonius heard one of the legionaries behind him stumble and swear out loud. He signalled for them to stop and huddle in, then addressed them in a whisper.

  “Listen, I know you would rather be back at base in a warm bed but here we are. I can think of a thousand places I’d rather be as well, so you all have my deepest sympathy. We do, however, have a job to do, and I for one would like to get it done and go back to camp in one piece. So the next man who swears, murmurs, or utters a syllable will get the pointy end of my sword where it’s hurts the most. We have no idea if there are scout patrols, or an entire Germani army out here. So do me a favour and keep fucking quiet. Am I understood?”

  Selonius saw the thought cross at least two faces to answer him, but good sense, or the will of the rest of the group kept them from speaking. He nodded, at least a few of them had sense.

  Before they stood back up Selonius took the arm of the man who had stumbled and held it in the legionary grip. No hard feelings.

  As they rose it became noticeable that the floor mist was now a fully fledged fog that was growing thicker by the second. Selonius would count this as one of the worst patrols he had been on in his eighteen years in the legions. Sand, heat, flies, even snow were preferable to fog. Even if you managed not to get totally lost, distances seemed to double, noise carried so that every cough sounded like a shout, and the very air soaked you.

  They continued along the same vague path but Selonius had an idea that he could easily get turned around in this fog. He felt the hand of the man behind him on his back. Though he would never admit such a thing, he drew a little comfort from it. He turned and saw his men bunched up behind him. This was quickly turning into a joke of a patrol, and he almost considered going back the way they had come.

  “Fuck that,” he muttered under his breath. He could imagine the reaction of the other centurions if he turned up with the patrol half finished. Vespas and Bactus would eat him alive.

  Twenty minutes passed before they reached the hut. It loomed at them out of the fog. A wood and mud monstrosity, it was all broken lines and obtuse angles that made it hard for the mind to see it as a building at all. Dead animals, from rabbits to what looked like the skin of a bear, hung from hooks on the walls.

  There were the remains of a small fire but it was long dead. The windows were hide covered holes that bore no resemblance to any shape Selonius had ever seen. Nowhere was there any sign that this was a homely place. More than that, it gave off an air of corruption.

  Selonius was loathed to go anywhere near the place, but through fear of losing themselves in fog he could see no other choice. There was no sign of this place being inhabited recently so he called a halt.

  He signalled the men to gather round him again. “I don’t see how we are going to make our way out of here tonight. Unless anyone has any better ideas, and believe me I’m happy to hear them, we camp here and go on in the morning.”

  A couple of the men looked round at the hut and an expression of fear crossed their faces.

  Selonius made a decision, “Build a fire, if you can. I can’t see the smoke giving us away in this stuff, and if any scouts are out well, let them join us. Just do it quietly, yes?” Men nodded but body spoke. Good men.

  Selonius sent out four men to gather wood for the fire, and turned to the hut. He dreaded to go inside, but was damned if he would spend all night here without making sure nobody was inside. He turned to the men and posted three on guard duty, while the last man would join him.

  The door was so rotten that it almost snapped when Selonius tried to open it. He had to lift and push to get enough room to slip in.

  The smell was all decay and rotten organic matter. Selonius’ grandfather had been fond of his garden, and the old man had often used fertiliser that had a similar smell to this hut. They pushed their way inside.

  To Selonius’ astonishment this did still seem to be somebody’s home, or at least it was some kind of hunting lodge. The legionary found an oil lamp. He shook it and, after a moment of work with a flint and steel, the wick was lit.

  There were a couple of chairs and a table against the back wall, all of them covered in moss. There were even pictures on the walls, but they were of the most grotesque images either man had ever seen. Torture and rape scenes faced demonic images on the wall opposite. The detail in them made the eyes long to look at them even as the stomach revolted.

  There were shelves of food in one corner. Feted and rotten items sat next to what looked like fresh meat and vegetables. Selonius thought he would need the hounds of Hades after him before he would eat any of it.

  The legionary turned to him, “Sir, I think you should see this.”

  Selonius looked where the man was pointing. He moved closer to get a better look. It was an carved, dark wood, box that was inlayed with a picture of such intricate design that it made the mind swim just to look at it.

  Every detail was utterly perfect. The subject matter was, however, of a more powerfully abhorrent nature than even the pictures on the wall. It showed a twisted and writhing figure lying on the floor with an expression of perfect agony on his face. Looming over this figure were a number of people with their faces buried in his stomach. They were eating the man on the floor.

  Their faces showed no expression and their eyes were dead, black pits. Above all of this, arms wide and a laugh spread across his face was a man. He towered above the whole scene and he had triumph in his eyes.

  Selonius could barely tear his eyes from the picture, it seemed to attack his senses. He itched so that he had an uncontrollable need to scratch himself all over. His eyes watered and his ears rang.

  “We should open it.” Th
e legionary said next to his ear.

  Selonius jumped, he had completely forgotten he wasn’t alone. He turned to look at the man, who had a look of pure greed on his face. He touched his mouth with the tips of his fingers like a child who knows he shouldn’t eat the last piece of cake, but already knows that he will. Selonius saw all of this in the man’s face and felt it in his own heart. Of course they would open it, what other choice was there?

  He spoke to the legionary, “Go and close the door.”

  As he got up to do so, Selonius was barely able to suppress the urge to run his sword into the man’s back. Before the need got too strong, the man turned back towards him and the feeling was gone.

  They both leaned over the box as Selonius looked for a clasp or a lock. There was neither. He gripped the lid and slowly began to lift it. There was nothing at all in the box. It was utterly empty of everything, including dust.

  The two men looked at each other with questioning expressions. This wasn’t how it was supposed to be. The box had exuded power and promise. Selonius saw the legionary had actually stuck out his lower lip in a pout.

  From outside, there was a scream. The spell over the two men broke instantly, and Selonius stood to see what was happening. He yanked open the rotten door to see a perfect replica of the picture on the box. One of the legionaries convulsed on the floor, screaming, while two of his comrades were biting into his neck and thigh.

  Selonius drew his gladius and drove the blade down into the neck of one of the attackers. He felt the blade run along the neckline of the man’s chest plate. It should have been a fatal blow but the legionary just stopped long enough to growl at Selonius and continued to eat. The man’s eyes were black soulless chasms rimmed in red. His gums were black, and his mouth was a bloody snarling trap.

  Selonius screamed, his mind deserted him in the face of such horror. By pure instinct he withdrew his blade from the monsters neck and slashed at it. Over and over he brought his gladius down with no skill and pure brute force. When he stopped the head was a bloody pulp, and the creature was still.

  Throughout this, the second creature had continued to feed on the helpless legionary. Selonius wasted no time using a measured attack, he caved in the monsters head with a single massive swing. The thing flopped onto its face spilling the remains of its last meal onto the poor soul who had provided it.

  The legionary continued to scream, and Selonius roughly threw the creature’s body aside. He removed his neck scarf and held it to the wound in the man’s neck. It was a useless gesture, the man was surely going to die.

  “What happened?” It was an important question but one Selonius hated to ask. This man was using his last breaths, and he would waste them reliving his own death.

  “They came out of the fog. I saw the uniforms and didn’t even draw my sword. The others are gone.” He pointed out into the fog.

  It was enough information for Selonius who kept a firm grip on his sword and checked behind him. The legionary who had been in the hut with him was nowhere to be seen. Selonius felt a sick sense of dread grip his stomach.

  “Lay easy,” he said to the man on the floor. “I’ll get you back to the medicus.”

  The man on the floor managed a gurgling laugh. “Sir, you won’t get me past the next two minutes, and we both know it. Please, just stay with me until I go.”

  Selonius nodded. The man was dying well, and he deserved to have his passing witnessed if nothing else. Selonius took his hand in an over and under grip and looked the man in the eyes.

  “When you get to Elysium make sure you save me a place at your table. You and I have some drinking to do.”

  The legionary managed a small smile then convulsed once and died. Selonius stood up, sword in hand. His senses were straining to hear anything in the fog.

  He turned in a slow circle, desperate to call out to any of his men. If he thought that any were still alive, he surely would have cried out their names. The fog was so close now, Selonius could barely see the end of his own sword. The dark, metallic smell of blood was everywhere.

  His heart hammered, and the fog closed around him like a suffocating shroud. He turned back and came face to face with the legionary who had just died. He loomed over Selonius like a demon for Hades. Black hell was in the man’s eyes. A vacant hungry stare filled his face. As he opened his mouth, the last thing that Selonius saw was the black gums and snarling teeth as they tore into his face.

  In the end he didn't even scream.

  CHAPTER ONE

  Vitus Protus, auxiliary archer in the 8th legion, had the attention of every man in the barrack tent. He was telling a well worn story. Most of the men had heard it at least once, but it never seemed to lose its appeal. The gathered men were all laughing, some so hard that tears streamed down their cheeks. He smiled at them and leaned in conspiratorially.

  “What you have to remember, is just how big she was. I'm not talking so much tall, as all over huge. Seriously, she walked out of the door, dragging Antonius by his ankle as if she was about to hang a load of washing on the line to dry. One of the biggest, and strongest, archers in the Roman Legions and she was handling him like he was a day old puppy!”

  The men around him were in stitches, as they always were at this point in the story. Even Antonius, with his usual bright red blush, was wiping tears from the corners of his eyes. “She walks straight over to the bar and drops him on a stool. ‘Tonius is squealing like a burning pig, and I swear he lost half of the wine he’d drunk as well.

  “With one hand on his shoulder, pinning him to the stool, she calls over to the owner of the whore house. She tells him that her best girl just came running out of her room crying that he’d brought a sword into the room and tried to use it on her.

  “‘Tonius finally managed to get a word in and tells her she's got it all wrong. He tells her what the girl actually said was, he had a weapon as big as a sword, and that there was no way he was using it on her. At this he lifts up his tunic, and shows her what we've all seen a hundred times while he's getting dressed In the morning. She does no more than drag him back into the room and we don't see him for the remainder of the evening. Mind you, he was walking with a limp for a week.”

  Vitus sat back and smiled as the men around him roared with laughter. At 24 years old he was one of the older archers in the auxiliary unit. Some of them, like Vitus, had been pulled out of legionary training after showing aptitude with the bow, and others had applied directly to be auxiliaries. Vitus had spent much of his childhood chasing foxes away from his father's farm outside Arretium with a small bow.

  The general was one of the newer breed who put a lot of stock in horses and arrows. So, new auxiliary units were being put together for an attempted push further into Germania. The land and weather had so far caused more trouble than the local tribes. Nothing more than a few isolated skirmishes had slowed their advance to the edge of the empire.

  However, the first tribe they had encountered outside the known lands had begun to hinder them with attacks on scouts and forage parties.

  The troops were now waiting for news of the army that was rumoured to be waiting for them ahead. All roads in this area seemed to lead straight down the throat of the enemy. The sentiment among the rank and file, was that a good straight fight was what the legions needed. Nothing made legionaries more miserable than an enemy that refused to stand and fight.

  Some of the younger, newer lads looked at Antonius with an expression of admiration on their faces. Someone handed him a jug of wine, and he helped himself to a good mouthful before he passed it on.

  “I'm telling you, some men just have all the luck. The ladies throw themselves at him, he’s built like an ox, hung like a horse, and he's got me to watch his back when he's drunk so much wine he could piss and fill an arena.” said Vitus with a broad grin.

  Antonius looked across the group at him and winked. “I've got you to pour so much wine down my throat that I do stupid things, then you tell these idiots all abou
t it forever, you mean.”`

  “Isn't that what I just said?” Vitus asked with a laugh at the bigger man.

  “So, do you still see her much Antonius?” One of the youngest auxiliaries asked while wiping his face with the corner of his tunic. He face was red with laughter.

  “Not so much as I'd like, Regulus. Vitus didn't like me dating his mum.” Antonius ducked backwards as Vitus launched himself across the group and tried with little success to wrestle him to the ground.

  “When you men have finished acting like children, I could do with a minute of your time.”

  The voice of Centurion Vespas broke through the fun, as he spoke from the doorway of the tent. The men stopped their roughhousing and came to attention. Vespas was about a decade older than all of the men in the tent, and commanded respect that was more to do with personality than rank. His dark hair was greying at the temples, making him look distinguished rather than old.

  “At ease, men. Orders have come down. The Germani army is gathered just outside the village ahead, exactly where we were told to expect them. It seems the place is some sort of regional capital. They have been waiting for us. We were hoping to dig in and coax them out, but it appears they have the same idea and the general wants this over quickly. We are to be ready to move out at first light. I want you all breaking camp three hours before dawn and ready to move an hour before the rest of the camp.”

  There was a general but quiet groan from the men. A fair amount of wine had been passed around and the news meant a heavy night of work and a possible battle to follow.

  “I'm sure the orders will be nothing to men such as you, now I suggest you get yourselves together, and don't let me down tomorrow boys.”