Bartholomew pointed to the map spread out on the table and said, "Dis be our position here. Da soldiers be holed
up
in these spots here, here, and along here. If we still be trying to collect da strings of life, there be no more livings in what da moderns call downtown. We be needing to send our gathering parties out
further
beyond the soldier encampments." He glanced over at General
Brown,
who sat along the wall holding his thermos filled with coffee and staring blankly at the opposite wall. "What do you have ta say, army man? They be telling me
,
you once served in dis military with all the fancy guns and sky ships."
While he continued to stare at the wet ground in front of him, Brown answered, "You're going to find the majority of livings along the rivers. They need the water and most have built waterwheels to turn generators for electric light and radios. Only these river colonies are most likely to have been vaccinated
,
so we can't use their flesh." He took a sip from his thermos and some of the brown liquid dripped out of the bullet hole under his chin. "The ones you want are
further
back in the trees. They're trying to isolate themselves from what's left of society. Most of them are too afraid to get vaccinated."
Bartholomew asked, "How we be finding these tree
dwellers,
if they don't be wanting to be found?"
"Simple, they build fires for cooking and to keep warm. Just look for the smoke rising from the trees during the day and the fire light after dark."
Prometheus studied the map and pointed to the four corners of the dead area. "What if we break off into four new villages placed at the edge of our land. We would have less distance to travel in our ventures to these tree clans. It would also split up the descendant's army. Instead of focusing their strengths on one large group of us undead, they would have to confront the four different villages spread out in four different areas. It should give us a better chance of one clan gathering the required strings of life."
Nemi, the Egyptian, responded, "Like the Clan Titus led by the
Valkyrie
, Hellion, I have doubts about us collecting these strings for the god's purpose." He pointed to Prometheus. "Look at our brother. He has worn the green eyes for many years and has yet to graduate to the blue. What comes of the final level
,
if we cannot tell the descendants for what purpose we exist
,
and how we are here to help?"
"Why don't we just tell them or write a note on the ground?" Salsa asked
,
as she stepped out of the shadows and into the candle light.
The others around the table turned to her with confusion expressed on their lifeless faces. Patricia answered, "Have you not heard the screeching and hissing they use to speak. Their written words are nothing more than scribble and non-sense. We have no way of communicating our message to them."
Prometheus added, "Without the ability to speak in a common language, we are permanently cut apart."
As if she had no idea what they just told her, Salsa responded, "All we need to do is write the message down. I know they can't understand us when we speak
,
but they should be able to read our writing." She glanced around at the confused faces around her and realized
that
she needed to clarify her point. "When I was in that cage, being tortured by that witch, I tried so many times to take her clipboard away so I could simply write down a message."
Patricia said, "Our writing appears to them
,
the same as theirs appears to us. It comes across as nothing but scribble."
Throwing her hands in the air, Salsa replied, "I have no idea what you guys are talking about."
Bartholomew tapped his finger on the map. "We be discussing this at a later time. For now, we must concentrate our efforts. I believe our friend Prometheus may have a good plan."
As the pirate captain continued to talk, Itaiyo glanced over at Salsa and asked, "If you got your hands on that lady's clipboard, what were you going to write?"
"The first thing I wanted to tell her was to stop calling me Subject 143." Salsa answered in a low voice,
so she wouldn’t
disrupt the conversation. "I'm sure that would have been followed with something along the lines
of;
take your hands off me
,
you damn dirty ape."
Itaiyo gave a bit of smirk at the humor in her message. His face quickly changed to serious
,
as he realized what she just said
,
while the rest of the conversation trickled off to silence as the attention focused back on her. Salsa glanced at the undead around her with their faces partially shadowed with the flicker of the candle flames. "What…what did I say?" Her voice echoed down the dark tunnel as another chip of mortar fell from the ancient structure and dripping water filled the temporary silent void.
Bartholomew stood up straight and placed his hand on the pommel of his sword strapped to his hip. He squinted his one good eye while staring at her. "Da you mean ta say ya can understand da speak of da living?"
"Yeah, that's the
gift
I'm supposed to give to them. I can understand all languages. I thought we all had one of these super power things we would pass along
,
so they could survive another million years or something like that."
Nemi asked, "You can understand what they are saying?"
"Yes, I can understand what they are saying and what they are writing. I thought all of you could do that."
Patricia responded, "Only you have the ability to hear their voices. Can they understand you?"
"I tried for years to reason with that
bitch
that
held
me
in a cage. If she could understand me, she kept it to herself. I don't know if they
could
read my
writing.
I figured they
could,
because I could read theirs."
Bartholomew handed her a piece of charcoal and said, "Write some words on this map. If it looks like the scratch of the descendants we may be able to speak with them."
Salsa took the charcoal and wrote, "Greetings, take me to your leader."
The rest of the undead around the table gave out a sigh of disappointment as they read the message. Nemi said, "This places us back to our position of the all the years we have occupied these bodies. We will never be able to speak our intentions and this war will continue. This is a never ending circle of tragedy."
Prometheus stared into Salsa's eyes and came to a realization. "We do not feed on the living to sustain our bodies
.
We
only do it
to
collect the strings of life. If we concentrate all the strings on the fair Salsa, she may be able to reach the level of blue eyes and we would have our bridge allowing us to speak to the descendants. This could end the war and allow us to work together on passing our gifts. Hopefully
,
the gods will see we have completed our mission and they will let us continue our journey
to
the afterlife in peace."
While he pondered the plan, Bartholomew twisted his sword back and forth in its sheath, causing the leather to creak. He studied Salsa, who still wore only the white lab coat stained with the scientist's blood, and replied, "You be having a point
,
me friend. With the limited amount of living who do not carry da fire, if we be giving our sister all the good bites of meat
,
she can become da town crier carrying da message between all tribes."
Prometheus asked, "What is the fire?"
Patricia told him, "Some of the descendants have been injected with something called the anti-virus. If anyone tries to collect strings of life from one who carries the fire inside them, they will burn from the inside and cease to exist in this world."
Itaiyo interjected, "This makes sense then. If we choose Salsa as the one who gets all the good DNA, she should be able to carry our message to the
living,
she would be able to speak to them and eventually pass her abilities so they can talk to us."
Hearing these words brought the ancient Greek man to a sudden realization. "That's it!" Prometheus blurted out." The others turned to him
,
looking for an answer to his outburst. He smiled and pointed toward her. "Our sister, Salsa, she is the chosen one."
Bartholomew asked, "What do you mean by the chosen one?"
"The prophecy, KC from Golden, her mission was to teach us the prophecy. It revolved around the chosen one."
Patricia asked, "What is this prophecy?"
"I have forgotten the words in the
exact
order we were to remember them."
A few feet down the tunnel, Princess Rachel in the body of the Harajuku girl, stepped into the light. "I remember the words. It was important that we never forget them." She thought for a moment, and then recited, "The soft colored song will carry the words of the chosen one. These words will be held silent for 100 years until the one who holds the spark of the flame, gives them to the children of the descendants."
Itaiyo said, "So if she can translate human and
zombie-
speak, Salsa must be the chosen one. The rest of it doesn't make sense
,
but I think she's the key to ending this war."
* * *
Daniel stood by the fire and stared at the flames as they danced into the air. He thought about how primitive his life had become and how something as simple as a fire became a luxury in these types of living conditions. Memories of living in a house with running water and a home theater seemed like some other distant life.
Another citizen militia approached with a modified
battle-axe
strapped to his hip like a sword. His tattered brown canvas jacket showed years of confrontations with the re-ans
,
as did his weathered face and the long scare down his cheek. He held his leathered hands out to warm them in the flames, as the cool air settled down around them in the final hour of sunlight for the day. He glanced at the scientist and asked, "You new?"
"I joined up a few weeks back." Daniel answered.
The man with the axe stuck his hand out and said, "Name's Larski, Jeremy Larski."
Returning the handshake, Daniel replied, "Daniel Cronsworth."
Jeremy thought for a moment as he gazed at the new man. "Cronsworth, aren't you that scientist who came up with the re-an vaccination? I remember seeing you on the news, before the all the broadcasts stopped a few years ago. In fact, it was probably the last thing
,
I ever saw on television."
"I was one of several researchers who collaborated on the vaccine." He scanned Jeremy's clothes and saw his sun
-
damaged face with the deep
scar
across his left cheek. "You look like you've been in this unit for a long time. Your
scar
is deep. It appears to have healed a long time ago."