﻿***~~~*** A Distortion of the Dead by Jon Olson Copyright 2012 Jon Olson Smashwords Edition ***~~~*** Smashwords Edition, License Notes Thank you for downloading this free ebook. Although this is a free book, it remains the copyrighted property of the author, and may not be reproduced, copied and distributed for commercial or non-commercial purposes. If you enjoyed this book, please encourage your friends to download their own copy at Smashwords.com, where they can also discover other works by this author. Thank you very much for your support. ***~~~*** It was another offensive put on by the Allies against the Germans. Once again, the Germans had the high ground and well dug in defenses while the Allies’ artillery bombardment was completely ineffective. If anything it had created more obstacles for their advancing infantry. Usually Private John Oliver, of the Canadian Expeditionary Forces, would be cursing his superiors for this botched attempt at an offensive. Instead, he was doing his best to stay alive. He was running on adrenalin and the ration of rum he was given before offensive. Despite being out of breath and his comrades falling around him, he trudged on. His instinct had taken over and up ahead, a group of his Allied comrades had succeeded in cutting through the German’s defensive barbed wire. He joined with this small group of five and pushed through the wire. They were met by machine gun fire. John dove into a crater hole. A fellow member of the CEF, whom he didn’t remember, was with him. “We aren’t going to make it!” the young private yelled. A shell exploded close by spraying them with dirt. John waited for a break in the machine gun fire and raised himself out of the crater hole onto one knee. About eight meters in front of him was a machine gun nest manned by three Germans. He raised his Ross Rifle and fired three shots. His first two shots found their targets but the third missed. The remaining German stood up and turned to run. Before John could fire, the German was knocked forward as chunks of uniform and flesh exploded from his back. John turned his head and saw the young private had joined him. The German line was breaking as German soldiers had abandoned their position and were running away. He felt a renewed sense of courage, which gave him the strength necessary to make it into the German line. They jumped into the trench where a single German soldier looked up at him as he fumbled with his Mauser Gewehr rifle. The German charged as he clutched his rifle like a bat while John raised his rifle just in time to block a violent swing. The German swung again and the butt of the rifle connected with John’s chest, sending him backwards, knocking the wind out of him. The young private fired at the German, but missed and the German pounced on the young private desperate like a caged wild animal. He knocked the young private’s rifle away and hit him in the face with the butt of his own. The first blow stunned him, the second drew blood, and the third brought the private to his knees; his head caved in. The German returned his attention back to John with nothing but death in his hollow, blank eyes. What happened next remained in John’s mind as a fragmented blur. There was an explosion followed by weightlessness… then a suffocating gasp for air… followed by a silence engulfed in blackness. It was night. That and the fact that he wasn’t dead, was all John knew for certain. His body ached. His ears rung and he felt light headed. He tried to move, struggled and found that dirt, saturated in the blood of friend and foe, weighed him down. With a greater effort he managed to roll onto his back, releasing him from his would be grave. He just lay there for a moment, taking deep breaths; however, relief was to be short lived. John brushed his left hand through his unwashed hair. Using both hands, he searched the immediate vicinity for his helmet and came up short. He couldn’t find a weapon either and he was alone in No Man’s Land. He scouted his surroundings as best he could, looking for any vantage. Darkness prevented him from making any detailed observations but he could tell that there was a large shell hole to his left. He could not recognize any landmarks that would help him determine where he was. If there were any, they had probably been pulverized by artillery long ago. John decided to try his luck with the crater hole. John slowly turned over onto his stomach. He took a couple of deep breaths and then started to crawl towards the crater hole. With every rustle his clothes made against the ground, he was almost positive that machine guns and artillery would tear him to pieces. He edged closer. He was at the tip of the hole when a sound brought him to a dead stop. His heart pounding, he did not dare to move or to make a sound. His breathing accelerated. He thought for sure a German patrol was nearby. For close to ten minutes, he lay flat on the ground on the tip of the shell hole. He hadn’t heard anything since the initial sound and did not like sitting in the open. He took a deep breath and in one fluid motion, he rolled over the edge into the crater. It was larger and deeper then John had originally thought. It was close to three meters deep and around ten meters wide. He decided to explore and began to crawl around the bottom parameter. It wasn’t long before his hand touched something that was sadly, all too familiar. Why it still startled him, he was unsure, but he knew what it was almost immediately. His right hand had come down on the face of a dead soldier. Despite the darkness the night provided, he was still able to tell a great deal from the brief touch. The mouth was open, as were the eyes. The top of his head was gone as was much of what was once inside of it. John cringed. Survival instincts kicking in once more, he slowly ran his hand down away from the face and onto the body, searching any pockets he could find. He found nothing of use until he searched for the dead soldier’s arms. The left arm had been ripped off at the shoulder but lay just to the left. In the dead soldier’s hand was a bayonet. It wasn’t much but it gave John a weapon as he continued exploring the shell hole. He came across a few other limbs and even a headless torso but found nothing else of use. When John was sure he had made a full circle he stopped and turned over onto his back. It was then, that he realized he was not alone. Someone was in the crater shell with him. Whoever it was, was fumbling around at the corpse John had searched earlier. His grip around the bayonet tightened and he started to sit up slowly, preparing to drive the bayonet into the throat of whoever was with him. The man was slowly making his way towards John. He was only a few feet away now. He was just about on top of John. Mustering his strength, John sat up and lunged. The man managed to deflect the bayonet, but not block it as the blade pierced the man’s shoulder and he let out a cry. With his free hand, John cupped the man’s mouth. It was then he heard a moaning. And it wasn’t coming from the man. The man’s slight head movement suggested he had heard it also. It came from the corpse. The man frantically started struggling. Not to attack John but to get in a better position. For some unknown reason, John released him, but not before gripping the bayonet with both hands and yanking it out of his shoulder. The man was utterly silent and slowly moved back beside John. “He is dead.” The man said in English but with a thick German accent. “His brain was blown out,” John agreed, not taking his eyes off of the corpse, “I felt inside his empty skull.” The moaning grew louder. The corpse was rolling slightly, side to side. Its fingers clutched at dirt, even the arm that had been ripped off. Its mouth opened and closed with a wet clicking. They could hear the tongue rolling around inside. A flare was fired into the sky. The brightness of the flare almost blinded John and the German but they knew enough to lie flat on the ground and not move. They never took their eyes off of the corpse. Its head had turned towards them with its the dead eyes staring blankly at them. Its mouth and tongue were still moving as it started to roll itself toward them. John felt fear creep into his stomach. It was a completely different fear from that he had experienced during the offensive. This was pure fear. With the light from the flare they could see that it was a dead German soldier. The German muttered something beside him. The flare slowly faded as it fell from the sky, casting longer shadows until they merged into darkness. For a moment, they could not see the corpse. John and the German both struggled back from the corpse, which was now crawling slowly. Using its only attached arm to pull itself along the ground. “Do you have a gun?” the German asked. “Just the bayonet.” The German searched the ground around him. He was looking for anything that could be used as a weapon. His hand touched a rock. He gripped it and pulled it out of the dirt. The corpse crawled closer. John pounced first. He landed on the corpse and began to stab it in the back with the bayonet. The German quickly followed and began beat the corpse’s head with the rock. It did not take much to cave in the corpses skull, as there was nothing in it. Both breathing heavy, they stopped. It had stopped crawling but was still twitching and the fingers kept grasping at the dirt. With one quick motion, John chopped the fingers off of the hand. The knuckles kept moving despite having no fingers to move. He looked over and noticed that the German was not clutching a rock but a skull. He dropped it. “What’s your name?” John asked. “Heinrich.” “John.” A moment of silence passed. “What the hell was that?” “Heinrich, I have no clue.” Heinrich’s head perked up and he crept to the rim of the shell hole. “What is it?” John asked. “Don’t you hear it?” Heinrich asked. “Hear what?” “Just listen.” John listened and at first all he heard was his own breathing. Then he heard it. It was faint but even in those few seconds he could hear it rising in volume. It was more moaning from outside of the shell hole. “Oh shit…” He joined Heinrich at the lip of the shell hole and looked. It was still dark and they couldn’t see much, but there was movement. John looked back down into the shell hole. He could see various limbs moving, detached hands and arms flexing fingers, and blown off legs curling and uncurling at the knees. He had seen so much since joining the front lines but even this was something he could not fathom. Suddenly, muzzle flashes lit up the dark two hundred meters to the right of them. Instinctively they both hit the dirt. They realized they were not being shot at and slowly crept up to the lip of the shell hole and peered out. John felt his heart sink. It was a German patrol still near the German lines. John counted four distinctive muzzle flashes. In between flashes, they could see countless men approaching the four Germans. They weren’t men but corpses. The sounds of flesh being ripped apart by bullets filled John’s ears and he looked over at Heinrich. The flashes allowed John to get a good look at his German counterpart. Heinrich looked older, maybe in his mid thirties, but war had a way of aging men. His hair was still short but it was unkempt. His had been darkened by dirt saturated in blood. He had dark stubble, which was already turning into a beard. John saw a pair of eyes, haunted, similar to his own. The corpses were now almost in arms reach of the Germans. There was shouting now as a corpse grabbed a hold of one of them and there was a scream. His scream was cut short as another corpse grabbed him from behind. The three other Germans turned their guns on the corpses but to no avail. Their comrade was dead, his throat torn out. Another German was brought down. All in all, John guessed there were twelve to fifteen corpses. The two remaining Germans began to run. They had split up but the first didn’t make it very far as he tripped and fell into a smaller shell hole. The corpses overpowered him. The other one was running directly towards John and Heinrich. Heinrich stood up and yelled something in German. “Over here! Follow the sound of my voice!” The German looked at where Heinrich was standing and bolted. “Quickly! You are almost there!” The German dove over the lip of the shell hole and rolled twice before he stopped. His breathing was heavy and almost out of control. Heinrich was already kneeling beside him. They were speaking in German. “Are you okay?” Heinrich asked. “It wasn’t supposed to happen like this!” the German soldier was gasping for breath. “I tell you, it wasn’t supposed to happen!” “Breathe. What is your name?” “Reinhardt.” He then noticed John and started to raise his rifle but Heinrich put his hand on it and forced it down. “Do not shoot him, he is with me.” Reinhardt looked at Heinrich, and then at John. The moaning caught his attention. “We must leave!” Reinhardt said, starting to get up. “Where will we go?” Heinrich asked. “There is a trench not far from here that will lead to a bunker. Inside that bunker there are weapons, ammunition and most of all, protection.” Reinhardt was on his knees, ready to go. He looked at Heinrich. Heinrich turned to John. “He says there is a bunker not far from here where we can get protection.” Heinrich explained. “No way.” John replied. Heinrich turned back to Reinhardt and said something in German. Reinhardt shook his head and replied. Heinrich nodded and looked to John. “He says that it is not part of the main German line. We will go and stay there until sunrise. Then you can get your bearing and head back to your line.” Heinrich said. “Please, we must go. I will assure you that you will not be taken prisoner.” John didn’t know if it was truth he heard in Heinrich’s voice or if it was the fact he did not really have another choice. He nodded. “Tell him to lead the way.” John said. Reinhardt stood up and made his way to the lip of the shell hole and looked out. The moaning was loud and there was movement, but he did not seem fazed. He looked at John and Heinrich, nodded for them to follow and took off. They ran as low to the ground as they could. A couple of times, a hand not attached to anything would grab at their feet. John could hear and feel the corpses around him. Reinhardt was right when he said the trench wasn’t too far from the shell hole. It was up over a small rise. There was something, however, that John didn’t like about the trench. For one it was empty. He also thought, despite it being dark, that along the wall of the trench facing where they had just come from, he saw canisters. He wasn’t able to get a good look, however, as they were moving too fast. The trench came to an end and a set of stairs led into a concrete reinforced bunker. There was a heavy clunk, followed by a loud click as Reinhardt shut the door they had just entered and locked it. John stood where he was, catching his breath. Then Reinhardt lit a lantern. The floor, walls and ceiling of the bunker were made of thick concrete. A periscope was mounted on the wall facing the direction where they had come from. Beside that was a control box with a couple of dials on it. Tubes and wires ran from the control box out through a hole in the wall beside the door. There were weapons against the back wall as well as canteens of water. There were a couple boxes of rations as well. Hanging above the weapons were four gas masks. Reinhardt rushed over to the canteens of water and took one. He opened it and took a large gulp. He tossed the canteen to Heinrich who took a drink and then offered it to John. He took it and raised it to his lips. The cool water felt good in his mouth and when he swallowed it was refreshing. “What is this place? I don’t remember seeing it on any of the maps.” Heinrich asked. “It is not on the map.” Reinhardt looked at John and motioned to him to help himself to the rations. “Why not?” Heinrich asked. “This is a research bunker.” Reinhardt took a breath. “High Command is desperate for a breakthrough here on the Western Front. We tried using chlorine gas and that worked to an extent. However the results were not what High Command needed. So they wanted a new type of gas developed to use that would guarantee a break through. The gas was called Von Bulow Gas. It was supposed to attack the minds of the enemy in such a way that they would go insane and would not be able to function. “A small test was conducted on prisoners from the Eastern Front. The prisoners went insane but what was peculiar was that every single one of them claimed that the dead were returning to life. This haunted them and they eventually died by ramming their heads against cell walls. Once they were dead however, their bodies began to twitch but the bodies did not get up and move around. “The gas was deemed a success and the order was given for use in the field. It was decided that this was the location on the Western Front that the gas would be tested. It was only used as a counter attack. The offensive earlier gave us the opening to unleash the gas and for once the weather cooperated. Using that control box over there-“ Reinhardt pointed to the control box beside the periscope, “-we unleashed the Von Bulow Gas once the Canadians had over taken the front line. We then watched. “Like in the test, the gas was successful. The Canadians were affected immediately. They went mad and were no longer able to defend themselves. We easily overcame them and pushed them out of the line. The order was then given to set up the canisters for a full gas attack on their front line. Complications then arose.” “Is this the truth?” Heinrich asked. “Yes.” Reinhardt replied. He did not seem ashamed of any of what he had just said. “What complications arose?” “You already know.” Reinhardt said. “You mean the corpses?” “Yes. The best I can figure is that we used higher amounts and a higher concentration of Von Bulow Gas here than we had used on the prisoners. It appears that high doses reanimate the dead somehow.” Heinrich shook his head and his knees went weak. He dropped to one knee and that got John’s attention. He got the idea that Heinrich now knew what was happening outside of the bunker. Heinrich had his left hand on his face and was rubbing his forehead. He glanced up at John. “John, what is happening out there… what is happen is our…” Heinrich began. “Do not tell him! He is the enemy!” Reinhardt yelled. “He needs to know.” “He needs no such thing! This is what we need to win this war!” “This isn’t just going to affect them,” Heinrich said, “This is going to affect us. Are you forgetting what happened to the three that were with you?” “No. Their sacrifices will not go unnoticed nor will the sacrifices of the rest of the German armies! This gas will help to assure that their sacrifices are not in vain!” His face was red and veins were popping out of his neck. Heinrich stood up. “A type of gas caused what is going on out there.” He said to John. “Gas?” “Von Bulow Gas.” “Traitor!” Reinhardt yelled out in English. He raised his Mauser and fired. A bullet ripped through the same shoulder John had stabbed. Heinrich fell forward onto the floor. By the time Reinhardt turned to John, John was already in motion. He leapt at Reinhardt. He shoved the rifle out of the way and thrusted the bayonet into Reinhardt’s throat. Blood squirted out and bubbles gurgled from the wound as Reinhardt tried to breath. His eyes were wide and he tried to cry out. Reinhardt’s fell to the floor dead. John removed the rifle from his hand and turned to Heinrich. “You okay?” “I can’t move my arm.” Heinrich said. John applied pressure to the wound. Heinrich winced. “The gas was supposed to create a break through.” Heinrich said. “Why are you telling?” “This war has been inhumane enough without these new horrors to worry about.” Silence. “What now?” Heinrich shrugged with his good shoulder. John stood up and looked around. He went over and picked up a canteen of water and brought it over to Heinrich. He opened it and lifted to his mouth. Heinrich chugged and water ran down the sides of his mouth. He pulled his head away when he had enough. “Any idea what time it is?” Heinrich asked. John looked as if he was going to say something when he looked at the periscope. He walked over to it and looked through the eyepiece. The sky was changing from black to pale blue over the horizon. “Just about dawn.” John said, his eyes fixed in the eyepiece. The battlefield was unfolding in front of his eyes. Craters from exploded shells decorated the landscape. Far off in the distance John could make out the wall of barbwire where he had pushed through during the offensive the previous day. Hundreds of bodies were strewn about. Some were tangled in the barbwire, others looked as if they had been thrown around at random. The sight was horrible. Some of the bodies were walking; others crawling, and the rest were just twitching. The fact that the bodies were all moving further intensified the horror. “It’s strange though,” John said, “they’re moving around but there doesn’t seem to be a purpose to it.” “What do you mean?” Heinrich asked trying to prop himself up on his good elbow. “They don’t seem to be looking for anything in particular. They’re just moving. I mean, were they trying to get us?” John looked away from the eyepiece and down at Heinrich. “They did a number on Reinhardt’s friends.” “Yeah, but was that because they wanted them dead? Or was it out of defense? They opened fire on them before I even saw any of the corpses go after them.” John sighed. “If we don’t initiate them, maybe they won’t initiate us.” “Limbs were grabbing at us.” “Yes, the limbs were. Maybe the limbs were just grabbing at us because that is all they can do. I don’t recall any actual corpses coming after us while we ran.” “I don’t really remember. I was more concerned at getting to safety.” Heinrich collapsed back to the floor. There was a silence as neither said a word for a moment. “Do you think we’d be able to move around them and get back to our lines?” “Are you serious?” Heinrich asked. “I don’t know. Do you think it might be possible?” “It might be but I’m not going to risk my life to try it out.” Heinrich said. “You don’t have to. I will. I don’t have to go far. I will venture out and will be in view of the periscope. Watch and see what happens.” “Help me up.” John grabbed Heinrich under his good shoulder and started to pull him up. Heinrich let out a labored grunt but managed to get to his feet. He walked, with a grimace on his face, to the periscope and held onto it with his good arm. Clutching the rifle, John walked over to the door and opened it. The trench was still in shadows but the rising sun was filling it with light. John could hear the dead moaning over the top of the trench. Gas canisters were indeed lined up along the wall of the trench facing the battlefield. The dirt crunched a little bit under John’s feet as he cautiously walked down the trench. He was looking for a ladder or a spot in the trench where he could climb over the top. About a hundred meters from the bunker John found a small ladder. He climbed up and scanned around the battlefield. Bodies and body parts were moving. One body a few meters in front of him was walking around with no head and holding a rifle. A finger was pulling the trigger but nothing was happening besides a click, as the rifle was no longer loaded. John slowly climbed over the top, expecting at any moment to be shot by snipers. He walked back towards the bunker, slightly bent over. He stepped on a lonely finger that had been pulling itself along the ground like a caterpillar. The bunker was well hidden and the periscope had been altered to look like a burnt out tree stump. When he was in line with the periscope, John ventured out into No Man’s Land. More like Dead Man’s Land, John thought. A sudden moaning to his left made him stop. An armless body whose face was already in a state of decay was coming right at him. It was wearing a German uniform, which it looked like it had been buried under dirt and it was walking with unsteadiness. John wanted to fire a shot right into its forehead but he hesitated. Knowing he was taking a chance, he let the body come right up to him. Its dead eyes looked John over. The body’s armless stump brushed up against him but the body kept walking. It ignored him completely. John let out a deep sigh of relief and made his way back to the bunker. “Heinrich, I think I can make it back to my line.” Heinrich was now sitting near the weapons, drinking another canteen of water. “Are you sure?” “We both know I can’t stay here.” There was a moment of silence. John extended his hand and Heinrich shook it. “What will you do?” John asked. “I will rest here for a bit and then make my way back behind the lines.” Heinrich said. He gave Heinrich one last nod and then headed out the door. He made his way back towards the ladder. He put one foot on the bottom rung and looked back towards the bunker. A noise to his right caught his attention. It was voices talking in German and suddenly three German soldiers came into view. One saw him. He yelled and the other two looked up raising their rifles. John took off up the ladder. Gunfire rained out as John broke into a sprint across No Man’s Land. Bullets flew by his head and others made contact with the ground, kicking up dirt. He was breathing heavy, almost gasping for breath. His lungs hurt but he pushed on. Machine gun fire now sprayed out. Bodies around him were ripped and torn by the machine gun fire. Moans were cut short and others grew louder. The bodies left John alone. Their attention was turned to the source of the machine gun and rifle fire. John then heard yelling coming from somewhere in front of him. Allied front lines! “Don’t shoot!” he yelled. “I’m Canadian! For God sakes, don’t shoot me!” He saw a couple of helmets poking up above a small ridge. It was a trench. “Hold your fire!” “Hurry! Come on, mate! Run…” a voice yelled back. His voice was cut off. Loud booms filled and echoed in the morning air. The ground shook and exploded behind John. He made a running jump and landed in the Allied trench. The artillery ripped into the earth as far as one could see. “Where were you old chap?” a British soldier asked him. “I was caught out in No Man’s Land after the offensive yesterday.” John replied. “Did you guys get hit with a gas attack?” “Aye,” the British soldier replied. “It was nasty. Men were running around all crazy like. No one died though. Just a lot of shell-shocked men. Most have recovered from it already.” John put his head back onto the ground. As the adrenalin wore off him, he grew incredibly sleepy. He passed out in the trench. There were no documented cases of Von Bulow Gas being used at any time during the First World War, nor records of Von Bulow Gas even existing. John, for the rest of his life until he died in 1942, was haunted by dreams and flashbacks to that night that he called “a distortion of the dead”. ### About the Author: Jon currently works as a Screening Checkpoint Coordinator at the Halifax Robert L. Stanfield International Airport. This is his first Smashwords Edition short story. http://www.smashwords.com/profile/view/jonolson