Read Online Valley of the Dead by Kim Paffenroth - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Kim Paffenroth
Tags: Zombies, Living Dead, permuted press, dante, twisted classics, george romero, kim paffenroth, dante alighieri, pride and prejudice and zombies, inferno
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on to her. Then the wailing eased down to a wheezing gasp, at the same time as the thrashing dissolved into one, slight, convulsing twitch. Like the boy, she felt strangely light now.
Bogdana’s hand slid down from his face, along his arm, and rested on his hand. “All right,” she whispered. “Let her go now.” Dante didn’t just release his grip, but slowly lowered the girl by the hair into the water. That way there wasn’t a loud splash this time, but more like a wet, accepting embrace, as the water closed over her head and over his hand. Held up now by the water, she felt even lighter still. Then he finally let go, and looked down at the girl’s body as it floated away from them. The water all around them was red and fouled, but where she was floating now it looked clean.
Once this nearly sacramental act was done, Bogdana turned to the physical and practical, bending down to the water to wash off the dagger’s blade. She handed it to Dante, as she put her hand on his. “I’ve done this before,” she said. “So has Radovan. It’s all right to be sad the first time. It’s not just all right, it’s the only right way to be. I could never look at you again if you didn’t feel this way.”
The two of them walked over to where Radovan was untying their horses. Dante thought Bogdana picked words about as well as she picked clubs. He was glad of it, though, as usual, chastened that he was not better with speech.
Chapter 10
We came unto a noble castle’s foot,
Seven times encompassed with lofty walls,
Defended round by a fair rivulet.
Dante, Inferno , 4.106-108
No one spoke as they got the horses on the raft and pulled themselves across the river. It felt good to Dante – the repetitive, monotonous, physical exertion of putting one hand over the other to pull the rope. It wasn’t like the frenzied rush of battle, nor the quiet calm of riding, nor the sedentary thrills of reading and writing, but it was soothing and exhilarating simultaneously. Most of all, such work never made him feel guilty, as fighting, resting, or writing always threatened to, with their confusing and complicating connections to violence, rage, pride, or sloth. This felt more like what one was supposed to be doing – hard work, with a simple goal that didn’t include hurting anyone or anything, or acquiring any substantive object. Even speech would taint the balm of this guiltless, selfless interlude. The silence of the other two seemed to confirm they felt this too. But a glance to the left, where several of the bodies could still be seen drifting, reconnected Dante quickly to the horror they had just witnessed, and in which they had participated. The corpses were far enough downstream they could barely be distinguished from other objects in the water, but it was still enough to make Dante’s stomach contract and his head feel light and useless.
They got off on the other bank and Radovan cut the rope that ran across the river. The ferry slowly eased out into the stream and picked up speed, as the rope slipped into the water. “The army has sections of bridge already built, to put across the river here when they arrive,” he explained. “But they would have sent a boy across on the rope to get the raft, and get troops across that way until the pontoon bridge was built. So perhaps this will slow them down just a bit, at least the forward scouts who would have caught up with us first.”
They mounted their horses and followed the road into the forest. It was late afternoon. This time of year it stayed light fairly late, but they would need to stop before too long.
“Is there another town on this side of the river?” Dante asked. “Is there any place safe to stop tonight?”
“I don’t know if anywhere is safe,” Radovan said. “There are more villages further up the valley. And there are individual houses and logging camps scattered all over. But up ahead there is another road that leads to a monastery. Perhaps we
Bogdana’s hand slid down from his face, along his arm, and rested on his hand. “All right,” she whispered. “Let her go now.” Dante didn’t just release his grip, but slowly lowered the girl by the hair into the water. That way there wasn’t a loud splash this time, but more like a wet, accepting embrace, as the water closed over her head and over his hand. Held up now by the water, she felt even lighter still. Then he finally let go, and looked down at the girl’s body as it floated away from them. The water all around them was red and fouled, but where she was floating now it looked clean.
Once this nearly sacramental act was done, Bogdana turned to the physical and practical, bending down to the water to wash off the dagger’s blade. She handed it to Dante, as she put her hand on his. “I’ve done this before,” she said. “So has Radovan. It’s all right to be sad the first time. It’s not just all right, it’s the only right way to be. I could never look at you again if you didn’t feel this way.”
The two of them walked over to where Radovan was untying their horses. Dante thought Bogdana picked words about as well as she picked clubs. He was glad of it, though, as usual, chastened that he was not better with speech.
Chapter 10
We came unto a noble castle’s foot,
Seven times encompassed with lofty walls,
Defended round by a fair rivulet.
Dante, Inferno , 4.106-108
No one spoke as they got the horses on the raft and pulled themselves across the river. It felt good to Dante – the repetitive, monotonous, physical exertion of putting one hand over the other to pull the rope. It wasn’t like the frenzied rush of battle, nor the quiet calm of riding, nor the sedentary thrills of reading and writing, but it was soothing and exhilarating simultaneously. Most of all, such work never made him feel guilty, as fighting, resting, or writing always threatened to, with their confusing and complicating connections to violence, rage, pride, or sloth. This felt more like what one was supposed to be doing – hard work, with a simple goal that didn’t include hurting anyone or anything, or acquiring any substantive object. Even speech would taint the balm of this guiltless, selfless interlude. The silence of the other two seemed to confirm they felt this too. But a glance to the left, where several of the bodies could still be seen drifting, reconnected Dante quickly to the horror they had just witnessed, and in which they had participated. The corpses were far enough downstream they could barely be distinguished from other objects in the water, but it was still enough to make Dante’s stomach contract and his head feel light and useless.
They got off on the other bank and Radovan cut the rope that ran across the river. The ferry slowly eased out into the stream and picked up speed, as the rope slipped into the water. “The army has sections of bridge already built, to put across the river here when they arrive,” he explained. “But they would have sent a boy across on the rope to get the raft, and get troops across that way until the pontoon bridge was built. So perhaps this will slow them down just a bit, at least the forward scouts who would have caught up with us first.”
They mounted their horses and followed the road into the forest. It was late afternoon. This time of year it stayed light fairly late, but they would need to stop before too long.
“Is there another town on this side of the river?” Dante asked. “Is there any place safe to stop tonight?”
“I don’t know if anywhere is safe,” Radovan said. “There are more villages further up the valley. And there are individual houses and logging camps scattered all over. But up ahead there is another road that leads to a monastery. Perhaps we
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