Zombies Attack! Read online

  Tiller said something, but Watcher didn’t hear … he was lost, gazing at Planter in peaceful delight.

  “What?” Watcher asked.

  He turned and faced Tiller.

  “I said your shift is done, I’ll take over,” Tiller said. “You’ve been up all night, and maybe you should get a little sleep before classes start.”

  “I’m not going to school today.” Watcher stepped to the trap door and stood on the first rung of the ladder. “Tryouts for the army cadets are today.”

  “Oh no, you aren’t trying out again, are you?”

  Watcher nodded.

  “Don’t you remember what happened last time?” Tiller asked, a look of sympathy in his dark eyes.

  He could never forget; it had been the most humiliating day in his life. Watcher wasn’t the biggest, or strongest kid in the village. In fact, he was the opposite; he was the smallest and weakest, but what he lacked in physical prowess, he made up for with a fast mind and a clever wit. And this time, Watcher had a new idea, a clever strategy that would allow him to pass the tests and become a cadet in the army.

  “I have a plan this time.” Watcher’s eyes grew bright with confidence. “I’ve been analyzing the way all the soldiers fight. They each have a pattern that’s predictable. I can take advantage of that pattern to score some hits before I get annihilated.” He took a huge breath and stuck out his scrawny chest. “It’ll be different this time.”

  “I hope so for your sake,” Tiller said. “I guess if you’re gonna do this to yourself again … umm … good luck.”

  “Thanks.” Watcher grinned, then slid down the ladder.

  When he reached the ground floor, he shot out of the cobblestone structure, excited about the upcoming test. The young boy thought about going to see Planter and telling her what he was doing, but she was on the other side of the village; he couldn’t see her and get back in time. Just thinking about his friend put a smile on Watcher’s face.

  “Oh well,” he said in a low voice. “I guess it’s time to do this.”

  Turning away from the fields, he headed for the practice yard. Running between wooden buildings, he passed his own home. Through the window, Cleric, his father, was visible in his white smock, always perfectly clean and wrinkle free.

  “Go get ’em son.” Cleric waved.

  Watcher waved, then sprinted past.

  I wish Mom were still alive to see this, he thought. She’d be so proud when I become a cadet.

  The thought of his mother caused confidence to blossom within Watcher’s soul.

  “I can do this.” His voice was barely a whisper, meant only for him … and her.

  When he reached the practice yard, Watcher found the other boys and girls already in a neat line. He fell in right next to a tall black-haired girl. She towered over him even though they were the same age … for the most part, everyone towered over him, even kids younger than him. He didn’t care. It wasn’t important how big or strong someone was … what mattered was how they’d react in a tense situation. A person who could come up with creative solutions in battle was more valuable than just a block head who could only swing a sword … at least, that was his theory.

  “If you’re not here for the Cadet Corp, then you better scurry along,” a hulking soldier said.

  Watcher noticed he was staring right at him. The soldier raised an eyebrow toward him.

  “You in the right place?” he asked again.

  Watcher smiled and nodded.

  “You remember what happened last time, son?”

  “I’m here to try out for the cadets.” Watcher’s voice was loud and clear.

  “OK, it’s your funeral,” the warrior replied.

  The other kids laughed.

  “Quiet down!”

  Everyone instantly became silent.

  “That’s better.” The soldier walked up and down the line of kids, glaring at each, trying to intimidate them. “Here’s how it’s going to work. Each of you will use a stick and face one of the soldiers in mock combat. If you show any potential, then we might ask you to stay for a second round of tests.” He turned and faced Watcher. “Anyone dropping their stick, then tripping over it and hitting their head so hard they go unconscious will be disqualified and will not be allowed to test ever again. Is that understood?”

  All the other kids turned and looked at Watcher, a few of them giggling loud enough for him to hear. He knew the question was directed at him, and was meant to embarrass. But Watcher wasn’t going to react; he just nodded, a look of grim determination on his square face.

  “Okay, then,” the hulking villager continued. “Do we have a volunteer to go first?”

  Watcher stepped forward. He could feel what little courage he had starting to falter as uncertainty crept into his mind like a venomous spider.

  “I’ll go … first.” Watcher’s voice cracking a bit.

  Some of the other kids giggled.

  “Quiet!” the soldier barked.

  An uneasy silence wrapped around the practice yard. Watcher took a deep breath, then moved to the rack of weapons and grabbed a stick. He stepped to the middle of the practice yard, waiting for his opponent, his heart pounding in his chest.

  “My, you’re eager for this, aren’t you, boy,” the soldier said in a low voice.

  Watcher remained silent and gripped the pretend-sword tightly. He’d studied all the soldiers and knew what to expect. They each had their tell, that small indication that told what they were going to do, and Watcher knew them all. He had no doubt, he could land a few hits on any of the soldiers, with the exception of one. Fencer was the fastest and strongest of the warriors. He had no tells, no weaknesses; he was the best swordsman in the village. As long as his opponent was anyone else, he was all right.

  “Let’s get a warrior out here,” the training leader shouted. “We have an eager trainee who wants to test his courage.”

  Beads of sweat trickled down Watcher’s head, some of them tumbling through his curly reddish-brown hair and finding their way into his ear. It wasn’t very hot out today and the sun wasn’t very high, but he was sweating profusely.

  “I can do it … this time,” Watcher whispered. “I am brave, and I’m clever.”

  He thought about something his father, Cleric, had told him the day before: “Strength and muscles are devoured by time, the strongest soldier always ending up as frail old men. But intelligence and creativity: those muscles never stop growing.”

  “I can do this … I can do this … I can … oh no …”

  And then Fencer stepped out of the barracks, a long wooden stick in his huge hands. The warrior glanced at Watcher, and a look of sympathy came across the big NPC’s face. He shook his head slightly, telling Watcher to abandon this course of action. In response, Watcher nodded, then took a step closer, his heart now thundering in his chest, his breaths dry and raspy.

  “I’m not gonna take it easy on you,” Fencer said.

  “I know,” was all Watcher could say as his dream of being in the army slowly slipped from his fingers.

  I’m lost, he thought. But I must go through with this. I’m not gonna quit.

  Fencer raised his stick, getting ready to advance, while Watcher dropped into a defensive stance. Suddenly, someone banged a tool against an iron chest plate … it was the alarm!

  “ZOMBIES AT THE FRONT OF THE VILLAGE!” Tiller shouted from atop the watchtower.

  “Zombies?” Watcher said, confused.

  “Zombies?!” Fencer said.

  That was when the war began.

  The sorrowful wails of zombies filled the air. Watcher couldn’t tell how many there were, but from the smell coming from the disgusting creatures, it seemed like a lot. The perpetual east-to-west breeze dragged their stench across the village like a diseased fog.

  Soldiers in their iron armor ran for the front of the village, each with a sword and shield in their hands. There was part of Watcher that wanted to go with them, but another part, the smarter
part, told him to just stay out of the way … and so he did.

  Running for his home, he found Cleric outside, his older sister, Winger, was approaching from the direction of the blacksmith’s shop. She was holding up a pair of the newest Elytra wings she’d constructed, and had likely been getting ready to do a test when the alarm rang.

  “Watcher, stay by the house,” Cleric said. “Any wounded will be sent this way. You need to help them.” He turned to his daughter. “Winger, go to the supply shed and get ready to help any wounded on that side of the village. Both of you know your jobs … now get to work.”

  Without waiting for an answer, Cleric headed to the front of the village. Winger gave her younger brother a wink, then headed for the supply shed. Around him, NPCs were in a panic. Many looked for their assigned battle station, but there hadn’t been an attack by monsters for a long time, and many didn’t even know what to do.

  A cheer rang out from the front of the village.

  “What happened? Does anyone know what happened?” Watcher shouted.

  Someone with a pickaxe in his hands ran to the back of the village. “They’re retreating,” he said. “The zombies are running away. Our warriors are chasing them away.”

  “But that’s not right.” Watcher could still smell the zombies’ stench. “If they’re running away, then why is their odor so strong?”

  “Odor … what odor?” The NPC sounded confused, but kept running; few in the village had Watcher’s sensitivity when it came to the five senses.

  He turned and glanced at the large windmill with its white vanes turning slowly. It stood on the edge of the village, the breeze helping the huge machine to grind wheat into flour. But the large structure was not moving correctly. The large blades jerked a bit as if something was gumming up the mechanism. Suddenly, something crashed within the structure, causing one of the blades to break off and fall to the ground, embedding itself into the soil.

  The smell of zombies was getting stronger.

  A sound from behind drew his attention. Turning, Watcher peered into the oak forest that surrounded the village. He thought he saw something moving. With the sun still rising from its evening nap, the long shadows in the woods made it difficult to see. But he was sure he’d seen something there … or did he?

  “I probably just imagined it,” Watcher whispered.

  He recalled his daydreaming moment atop the watchtower; was that what was happening now? Fatigue nagged at Watcher’s body, making him question what he was seeing. He’d been up all night on guard duty in the tower, and was stressed by the Cadet Corp tryouts … which didn’t happen. Causing an unwarranted panic by claiming there were monsters in the forest, right after the zombie attack, would not be good.

  It’s likely just my overactive imagination, he thought.

  The zombie smell was getting stronger and stronger, though.

  The faint sound of muffled moans trickled through background noises of the village. NPCs were still running about in a panic, unsure what was happening or where to go. Many were shouting, giving orders to the confused while others were just asking for help, afraid they were doing something wrong. It was pandemonium in the community; everything was chaotic.

  Suddenly, the terrible odor of rotting flesh wafted across the village as if driven by a hurricane. The stench was accompanied by sorrowful moans and angry growls.

  “Zombies invading from the back of the village!” someone shouted.

  “More coming from the sides!” another exclaimed.

  From around the windmill, zombies flowed like a terrifying green wave of razor-sharp claws and pointed teeth. They shuffled out of the forest, emerging from the shadows like specters in a nightmare.

  “Where are the soldiers?” a voice shouted from the front of the village. “We need our warriors!”

  But Watcher knew where they were; the zombies had lured them out of the village, chasing the first wave of monsters, leaving the village undefended.

  “I must do something,” Watcher said to no one, but he was too scared to think.

  Villagers ran back and forth, some of them pulling out stone swords to face the monsters, while others just ran to the homes and hid. Fear was painted on every square face as individuals tried to figure out some way to protect their loved ones.

  “Grrrr …”

  A growl sounded from right behind him. Watcher turned and found himself face-to-face with a zombie clad in chain mail and holding a bright, iron sword.

  A zombie in armor and wielding a sword … impossible! Watcher thought, stunned.

  “This villager is too small.” The scarred monster glared at the young boy. “It should be destroyed.”

  “Just hit it on the head,” a larger zombie in full iron armor replied. “The warlord can deal with this villager later.”

  “As you command, General Ro-Zar.”

  Watcher glanced at the zombie commander then back to the soldier. Terror ruled the villager’s mind. His feet felt leaden. His arms felt numb. He was paralyzed with fear.

  The monster raised his sword high in the air. He gave Watcher a toothy grin, then brought it down. Pain exploded in his head as dizziness overwhelmed his senses. He struggled to stand, but another strike with the flat side of the sword came down, causing him to tumble to the ground. The terrified shouts of his friends and neighbors filled the air as Watcher tried to remain conscious … and then he was engulfed in darkness.

  Pain surged through his skull like liquid fire, erupting into new pinpoints of agony with every heartbeat. Watcher’s head felt as if it had been crushed, put back together again, then crushed a second time. Carefully, he opened his eyes but didn’t move. He’d been conscious for a while, but remained motionless, hoping to go unnoticed. It had worked.

  To his horror, the young villager had watched as the zombies moved from house to house, rounding up NPCs and forcing them to the front of the village while other zombies went through every house, taking weapons, armor, and anything made of gold. The monsters seemed excited when they found the occasional gold shovel or helmet; it didn’t make any sense. Gold was a weak metal … it made for poor tools or weapons or armor. Why would the zombies want it?

  Focusing on the sounds around him, Watcher listened for monsters. It had been quiet for a while; maybe it was safe to move again. Slowly, he sat up, his head throbbing with pain.

  He glanced around at what remained of his village. Flames still licked up the walls of many of the structures, and more than one home was completely burned to the ground. Smoke billowed up into the air, creating columns of ash that looked like thick, sooty fingers reaching up into the sky. The gentle east-to-west wind that always flowed through Minecraft dragged the smoke across the sky until it spread out into a sickly gray haze that tried to blot out the sun.

  Just then, Watcher realized the shouts and screams of friends and neighbors at the front of the village had ceased. While he had been lying on the ground, pretending to be unconscious, Watcher had heard the screams of his fellow villagers, but now everything was eerily quiet. That made him nervous.

  Carefully getting to his feet, the young boy looked around, then dashed into the nearest building; his family’s home. One wall was blasted apart; likely the work of the creepers that had accompanied the zombies on this attack. Stepping through the rubble, he stood in disbelief at the destruction. The inside of their home had been torn apart. It looked as if an army of zombies had marched through it, overturning everything in sight.

  He ran to the back of the house and went into his room. Clothes and items were thrown everywhere, haphazardly discarded all over the ground and furniture. His father, Cleric, had been bugging him recently to clean up his room. Now he was right, it did look like a horde of monsters had stormed through.

  Is my father even alive? A shiver of dread slithered down his spine.

  “He’ll probably never have another chance to make me clean it up again.” Watcher choked back a tear.

  He couldn’t hear anyone in the v
illage. If his father and sister were still around, they’d be looking for him. Am I all alone?

  “Winger, I hope you’re all right. The last thing I said to you last night was you were the worst big sister, ever. Now I wish I could take it back.”

  Guilt and sadness spread through his soul. He was a terrible brother and an even worse son; he’d let his father and sister get captured or killed … and now he was all alone.

  The warriors had never returned from the forest, at least as far as Watcher could tell while he’d been lying on the ground. Some of the NPCs had tried to defend their families in their homes. They’d fought back, but had been quickly overwhelmed by huge numbers of zombies. Once everyone had been rounded up, the real horror show had begun. Watcher had laid on the ground and listened as the zombies destroyed the sick and the very old. It had been as if they only wanted those strong enough for some mysterious task.

  One of the zombies had just stood by and watched the carnage. Watcher had only seen the monstrous commander once. He was a big monster, larger than the rest, his arms and chest rippling with muscles. A long scar ran down one side of the zombie’s face, the eye under the scar a menacing, milky white. The creature wore sparkling chain mail, and had laughed as the villagers were destroyed. It was clear this monster was the commander by the way all the other zombies had seemed afraid and did whatever he’d said; none of them questioning his orders or the terrible atrocity they’d carried out.

  Watcher would never forget the sound of that monster’s laugh. It was a hacking kind of laugh, as if the zombie were trying to cough up a chicken bone that was stuck in his throat. The zombie commander had cackled with delight as the elderly had begged for mercy, giving them none. They had all been destroyed in the blink of an eye. The image of that monster laughing as his friends were slain was forever burned into Watcher’s mind.

  Terrified, he had just stayed on the ground, pretending to be wounded and insignificant—both of which were true—and hoping the terrible warlord would just go away. Once they’d culled the weak and useless from the rest of the villagers, the zombies had surrounded the NPCs and drove them out of town as if they were nothing but a herd of cattle. Meanwhile, Watcher just stayed behind in the shadows, completely forgotten … as usual.