ZombiePalooza - Anthology

#TeamVoodoo Pt. IV - @silentis's "Danse Macabre"

DANSE MACABRE

by Silentis

Sunlight lanced over the edge of my world and the dance ended. The song went first, chased in fleet whispers over the horizon. It dragged the Call with it. Then the dancing stopped, and its listless prey stood blinking in the dawn. Another night ended. Another night spent avoiding the death throes of the human race.

I can see them now – each figure a fellow human picked out under the morning sun. They slouch like scarecrows staked above the cotton fields, each one a mute and silent sentinel of our doom.

"Damned nihilist," I mutter to myself. I reach up to my shoulder, remove the hand that rests there and drop it by the side of its owner, who only groans and sways in reply.

He's a dancer, just like the rest of 'em. Poor fools cursed to dance every time night falls, legs jerking to the tune of some invisible piper. Not that the fact of it's too poetic, but it was sure as hell a funny sight the first time it happened. But then they started killing and, well... there's not too much humour to be taken outta' that.

Since he's harmless in the light of day, I look him up and down. Dressed like a lumberjack, though too scrawny to be one. The usual mottling creeps through the skin of his coarse-bearded face, making it look like some kind of painted mask, but in daylight it's starting to seep away. He's wearing a camo jacket that he clearly never used for its intended purpose but one of the pockets is bulging, so I take a rummage as he stands there.

I pull the object out and peer at the label. If all else were outta' the question, I might say this was a lucky day, I think to myself, holding the tin of peaches up to the sky as if I'm some wine taster encountering a particularly fine vintage

"You won't be needing this," I say, giving the dancer a quick pat on the arm and a friendly smile. "Take care of yourself now."

That done, I shrug my way through the press of bodies surrounding me. The sheer number of them, the concentration and their intent on reaching me all cross through my mind, but I force the thought to pass. No use mulling over close calls when the next could be just around the corner.

Well, not in daylight, but that's not the point.

I should be focussing on finding a place to sleep through the day right about now, but plans have changed, so I look around to find the path I was following before the dancers came across me. Sure enough, it's still there, although I had my doubts. I throw the tin of peaches into my rucksack, hoist it up onto my back and head off. Maybe, if I'm fast, I can get there before nightfall. Maybe.

Walking is a solitary occupation nowadays. There aren't many left who resisted the Call. It twists and turns into your mind, drags you into the dance, replaces any aims and notions you might have with its own. From what I've seen so far, those notions are mainly to kill. Kill and dance.

Yeah, this is some twisted turn of events. No one comes back from the dance.

Not a sound to be heard as I walk along, but as the dancers thin out, so too do the cotton plants grow sparser and give way to weeds, to grass and skinny trees. I pass under the first branches of a forest and my eyes close in pain as dappled light filters through them in bursts.

Somewhere, a twig snaps and I freeze in my tracks, but the forest is silent. I'm thankful the path carries on away from the noise, and each step takes me further away from what could have been danger. I can't risk someone finding me. I can't risk being seen.