Excerpt: Histoire Zombie du Nouvelle France

“Simple.” Ribideau’s tone is boasting. He’s full of himself, high on the power he wields and clearly excited about the coming slaughter. “You and I, Captain Cuillebotte, will approach the gate at dusk and ask for entrance, saying that we have letters for Colonel Bonhomme and showing our papers. When they open the gates, Hook will let off a volley to the east to distract them, and then Map will drive the army into the opening.”

Map looks up wide-eyed, speechless with the discovery that he is to be an active part of the assault.

“What’s the matter, boy?” Ribideau sneers, catching Map’s paleness and the way the boy shivers. “Afraid to get your hands dirty? It’s far too late for scruples now. You’ve done your share to bring us to this point. Get some rest,” he repeats, dismissing Map’s obvious anguish.

When the commander is done giving orders to the other two, Hook makes his way to Map’s side and crouches down.

“Don’t fret, Map,” the pirate says in what passes for a kindly voice. “You’ll do fine,” he continues, clearly mistaking Map’s paleness for fear of failing in his role. “Yours is the simple part. And once the battle’s won, you’ll have a hot meal and warm bed tonight and all will be right with the world on the morrow.”
Map knows the man is offering the only comfort he himself understands, but he cannot answer Hook’s attempt at kindness, not even to look at the old pirate. He’s consumed with loathing in every part, and he wants to be miles away from the fort before nightfall, but he’s afraid—afraid to strike out on his own, afraid that Ribideau will send some evil after him.

He has spent his life afraid, making choices based on his fear. He left the master who abused him only to sell what was left of himself on the streets to survive. He left the streets to join the army only to find himself a victim of yet more perversity.

Map thinks now that his life has been nothing but choices—always the easiest path, always the weakest way. He hates himself as much as Ribideau, as much as, in a hot flash of fire up his belly, he hates Hook and Rolly and all of them, even Desiree.

But he can’t bring himself to run away, to choose the better course, the clearer one. For he cannot see what comes next, not out there in the darkening woods, nor beyond the water that lays like broken slate in his nearer view.

Map shrugs Hook off, and the man goes, muttering, “Suit yourself, then,” under his breath.

Map remembers the rest of the night in flashes, fragments tinged in blood that he tries to blink away but cannot.

The way the man who guards the gate gives the lieutenant and Rolly a surprised smile when he first opens the guard door and the way the look changes to real welcome once he’d ascertained the reason for their visit.

The way the guard’s smile turns to uncertainty when Hook’s volley is heard, uncertainty that morphs into horror when he turns back to the gate to see what awaits him.

The first zombies swarm over the guard, tearing at his face with their teeth, making a keening sound in the back of their throats that turns to wet gargling as they snap greedily at the still-screaming man’s exposed throat, as they tear away chunks of meat, lips split wide, black teeth dripping.

Men pour from the barracks inside, arms raised, and the first are overtaken before they can get off a shot, clearly confused by what they are witnessing, unable to process the terrible truth of it.