Book of John (Jesus Christ Zombie Killer 1)
Book of John
Jesus Christ Zombie Killer, Book 1
Camille Picott
Book of John
Jesus Christ Zombie Killer - Book 1
by Camille Picott
Copyright 2021
Created with Vellum
This book is dedicated to all the awesome members of my Zombie Recon Team on Patreon. Your support means the world to me!
Linda Huggins
Amanda Pratt
Larry Guevara
Jenn Miola
Julie Wyatt
Jessica Stephenson
Tanya Griggs
Lisa Unciano
Brian Spillane
Nanciann Lamontange
Lisa Lewis
Jenyfer Conaway
Daryl Schumann
Acknowledgments
Many thanks to my beta team who helped get this book whipped into shape!
Chris Picott
Linda Bellmore
Amon Kwasara
Johanna Ellyson Murphy
Sam Stokes
David Taylor
C. Robosky
Contents
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I. Goddess of Death
1. Sacrifice
2. Necromancy
3. Gifts
4. Forbidden
5. Zombie
II. Protectors of Peace
6. Raid
7. Henbane
8. Protector
III. Scion of Apollo
9. Silk
10. Secret
IV. Tiberias
11. Shepherds
12. Lightflower
13. Wine
14. Treasure
15. Interruption
16. Alternative
17. Confined
18. Dire Situation
19. Ropes
20. Hoofbeats
21. Aftereffects
22. Pleasure Quarter
23. Spear
24. Remedy
25. Kiss
26. Old Friend
27. Temple of Morta
28. Warrior of Morta
29. Zombie
30. Sacrifice
31. Crone
32. Significant
33. Blood of Apollo
34. Chamber Pot
35. Royal Decree
36. Scapegoat
37. Newly Dead
38. Horses
39. Final Gift
40. Return
41. Splitting Up
42. Distraction
43. High Priestess
44. Power
45. Apollo’s Fire
46. Bitten
47. Well
48. Wound
49. Better
50. Burning City
V. Festival of Lupercal
51. Oracle
52. Sparks
53. Rome
54. Plaza
55. Let Chaos Rule
VI. Wartime Preparations
56. Proposal
57. Sulfur Beetle
58. Leash
59. Army
60. Baptized for Battle
VII. Machaerus
61. Hunger
62. Machaerus
63. Food
64. Liquid Fire
65. Morta’s Power
66. Battle
67. Severed
68. Broken Assault
69. Retreat
70. Hoofbeats
71. Weakness
72. Farewell
73. Loss
74. Fate
75. Choice
76. Why
Epilogue
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BOOK OF JUDAS
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Part I
Goddess of Death
1
Sacrifice
Agrippa was sick. Really sick.
Herodias kept turning in the saddle to look at her brother. His limp body was cradled by Father, who sat astride a tall horse. Her brother’s face was gaunt, his once-happy cheeks sunken from the sickness that had taken a hold of him a few weeks ago.
“Mother?”
“Stop moving, my treasure. You need to sit still so I can concentrate on riding. This is difficult terrain for the horses.”
Herodias swallowed her questions. Would Agrippa ever be able to play again? Would he ever chase her around the estate and leave dead mice in her bed?
She’d been so angry at him the last time he’d done that. One of the cats had caught a mouse and eaten its head. Agrippa retrieved the headless carcass and put it right on her pillow.
Herodias had shrieked in fury and chased him all over the house with a broom. Agrippa laughed in delight as she tried to whack him. She got him a few times before their mother put a stop to it.
She never thought she’d miss the days of dead mice in her bed. Today, she’d trade her right arm to have them back.
The ocean surf pounded below them, sending up salty spray. The sun dipped into the ocean, turning the water to a fiery orange.
Mother’s grip tightened as the horse tilted at a steep angle on the dirt switchback. The narrow track was not meant for horses. It was used only by priestesses and disciples of the Goddess Morta.
“Mother? Will the goddess help Agrippa?”
“Quiet, my treasure. Let me concentrate so we don’t all fall into the ocean.”
Mother’s eyes were pinched around the edges. She’d barely spoken to Herodias in the last few days. What was worse, she’d stopped looking at her ever since breakfast this morning.
Mother was upset with Agrippa being sick. Herodias understood that, but Mother’s withdrawals over the past few days made her think she’d done something wrong. Did Mother blame her for Agrippa’s sickness?
She retraced the events of the last few days, trying to ferret out what she might have done to upset her parents. Mother and Father had been up late for several days, arguing late into the night. They thought Herodias was asleep, but she’d heard them. Their words had been distorted by the wall, making it impossible for her to know what they quarreled about. The servants posted in front of her door had made it impossible to sneak out and eavesdrop.
Something had changed since last night. Mother had come to the breakfast table withdrawn and sad. Father had been short with her, but that wasn’t strange when it came to him; Agrippa had always been his favorite. But he, too, had avoided looking at her.
And now the strange family trip at sunset to the Temple of Morta. The only other time they’d visited the Goddess of Death was a year ago when her grandmother had died. They’d undergone the official farewell ceremony with one of the temple priestesses.
That was the only reason Herodias even knew their destination. Her parents had not spoken the name of the temple, merely come to her after dinner and told her to get ready for a ride.
“Mother, why are we going to the Temple of Morta?”
Is Agrippa going to die? She couldn’t bring herself to say these words aloud.
“Mother?”
“Hush, my treasure. No more talking.” Mother kept her eyes fixed on a point ahead of them, never once looking down at Herodias when she spoke.
The horse whinnied as it scampered down the last few steps of the steep trail. The horse shoes clattered on the pebbly beach.
Father’s horse jumped the last few feet from the trail to the beach, ears flicking back in irritation. Neither of the animals liked the switchbacks. They were used to open roads and fields, not precarious cliffs.
Jutting int
o the rocky coastline was a jumble of large black boulders. Just beyond the boulders, set into the cliffside, was the Temple of Morta.
A narrow stone ledge fronted the temple. Tall pillars had been carved right into the dark stone of the cliff. A pair of thick wood doors stood open to the sea mist, a set of flaming torches resting in wall sconces.
“Come, Herodias.” Mother slid onto the rocky shore. Again, she kept her eyes downcast, never looking Herodias in the face.
Herodias dropped to the ground. She grabbed Mother around the waist in an attempt to hug her, wanting to understand what she’d done to upset her so much.
“Stop.” Mother unwound her hands, firmly pushing Herodias away.
This might have caused Herodias to burst into tears, but Father caught up to them. Agrippa’s head was cradled against his chest. One of her brother’s arms flopped lifelessly in the air. The sight of it caused Herodias’s mouth to go dry.
“Is he going to be all right?” she asked in a small voice.
“Yes, my treasure,” Father said in a steady voice. “He’s going to be fine. We are going to make an offering to the goddess.”
His words filled her with assurance. Herodias felt some of the fear leave her body.
The tide was high. Father splashed right into the water, wading up to his shins in the surf.
“Come.” Mother took her hand, pulling her into the water. She wiped at her eyes with the back of her free hand.
Herodias stumbled along in her mother’s wake, sucking in a breath as the chilly water splashed past her knees. The tide rolled back, tugging at her legs and threatening to pull her out to sea.
Mother kept a firm grip, nearly crushing Herodias’s fingers as she dragged her through the surf.
They reached the stone ledge. Father had already disappeared into the temple with Agrippa. Never releasing Herodias’s hand, Mother pulled her inside after them.
The inner temple had been carved right into the cliff. Torches sat in stands around the room. They filled the temple with warm, stuffy air that was at odds with the cold, sunset surf outside.
At the back of the room was a large carving of the Goddess Morta. It had been etched right into the stone. The goddess stood among the stars, a pair of scissors in hand as she snipped a Life Cord. The stories said when a person completed weaving his Life Cord into the Tapestry of Time, Morta snipped his Cord.
Mother and Father must be very worried for Agrippa if they had come to make an offering to Morta tonight.
Why had they not told her? Herodias would have made a temple offering had she known. She would have woven flowers and perhaps even carved a wooden mouse to leave for the goddess. She would have—
“Sit up here with your brother, my treasure,” Father said, placing Agrippa on the stone altar before Morta.
Herodias didn’t dare ask why. If Father said to do it, it must be important.
Herodias yelped in surprise when Mother scooped her up. She swung Herodias into her arms, carrying her forward to the altar. Still, she would not look at her.
“Mother, what’s going on?”
“Hush, my treasure. You’re going to help us save your brother.”
The altar was a long slab of dark gray stone. Mother placed Herodias on it so the crown of her head touched Agrippa’s.
Herodias felt a curl of fear steal through her. “Mother? Father? What are we doing?”
“Hush, my treasure.”
Without warning, Father seized Herodias. One hand came down on her chest, pinning her against the stone. His other grabbed her by the wrists, yanking them above her head. Herodias screamed in fear, instinctually struggling against his force.
“Father, what are you doing?” she cried.
Father looked past her to the carving of Morta. “Lady of Death, Goddess Morta, we bring you an offering,” he said. “We beseech you to save our son. We offer you our daughter in exchange. Life for life. Please accept this offering and save the life of our son.”
Herodias shrieked in terror as Father’s words fell around her like daggers. She struggled to comprehend the horrible things he said. His grip on her body was like vise, making it impossible for her to wriggle free.
When he at last glanced down at her, she saw steel in his eyes. The look terrified her even more than his words.
“Now,” Father bellowed. “Do it now, Octavia!”
The rasp of steel filled the chamber. Herodias screamed even louder as Mother drew a dagger from her belt.
Her parents meant to kill her on the altar of Morta. She was too scared to form words, but her shrieks went up two octaves.
Tears streamed down Mother’s face. “This had better work,” she sobbed, turning to Father.
“It will work,” Father growled. “Do it, Octavia!”
The dagger flashed in the light of the torches. Herodias thrummed her ankles on the stone altar and struggled against Father’s grip. Her head thrashed back and forth, eyes locked on the dagger.
Mother heaved a sob, tears wracking her body. The dagger arched down, reflecting the flames of the torches.
Tears blurred Herodias’s vision, turning the knife into an arch of orange flame as it streaked straight toward her heart.
There was a great white flash. Father and Mother were thrown off their feet. Herodias, abruptly freed, threw her arms over her eyes to block out the light.
“What is the meaning of this?” a new voice demanded. “Flavia, get the child!”
Herodias was scooped off the altar. Dark spots danced in front of her eyes as the light faded away. Her body shook and curled instantly into the arms of the stranger.
She looked up in the dark eyes of a woman with white-streaked hair. She wore the dark gray robes of a priestess of Morta. Her arms were locked around Herodias in a fierce embrace.
“My name is Flavia,” the woman whispered. She retreated into the recess of a doorway with Herodias. “We won’t let them hurt you. You are safe, child.”
“What is the meaning of this?” thundered the first voice.
In the center of the temple chamber was another priestess in gray robes. Her hair was almost the same color as the flames in the sconces. She was slight of form and younger than the woman who held Herodias.
Despite her small stature, power radiated off her. She glowered at Mother and Father, who had scrambled back against the far wall of the temple. Mother wept openly. Father looked stuck between outrage and fear.
He tried to face off with the fire-haired priestess. “We have brought an offering to Morta—”
“I am the high priestess of this temple. The Lady Morta does not accept blood sacrifices,” the priestess said coldly. “She most especially does not accept the blood sacrifice of a child.” Her gaze swept across Herodias. The righteous fury softened when their eyes met, and she smiled at her for a brief moment.
The stern expression was back in place by the time she faced Mother and Father again. “Lady Morta cuts the Life Cord when the weaving in the Tapestry of Time is complete. It is not for mortals to question the timing of it. Be gone from this place. You are never to set foot in the temple of Lady Morta again.”
Father’s mouth tightened angrily. He loomed, taking a step in the direction of the altar.
The priestess flung up a hand. “Leave the boy. His life is nearly at an end.”
Herodias’s looked at Agrippa’s body on the altar. His breaths were shallow and spaced far apart. His skin was pasty white.
But it wasn’t his appearance that made her breath catch. It was the golden-white thread that dangled from his heart. It shortened and shriveled like a burning wick, withering and fading before her eyes.
She sucked in a breath, her grip tightening on the woman who held her.
“Do you see your brother’s Life Cord, child?” Flavia whispered to her.
Somehow, Herodias knew she referred to the golden wick trailing out from Agrippa’s chest.
It’s his Life Cord, she realized.
“Yes, I—I s
ee it,” she whispered back. “How can I see it?”
She glanced quickly at Mother and Father. They, too, had the same golden cord coming out from their hearts. Their cords, however, were much longer. They stretched up into the temple roof and disappeared from sight.
“You have been chosen by Lady Morta,” Flavia said. “You are one of us now. She’s gifted you with the second sight.”
“I will not leave my son,” Father ground out.
“His Life Cord is fading and will soon be severed,” the high priestess said. “He does not have long. There is nothing you can do for him. Take his body if you must, but he will not receive last rites if you do.”
Father’s face spasmed. He reached a hand toward Agrippa but didn’t move.