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What the fuck is going on in the Necropolis? Calamity management has left the doings of the Necropolis in the most capable hands of the Groundskeeper, so we’ll leave it to them to fill you in on the doings of the Necropolis. And by “most capable,” we mean “the only person to survive their first night on the job and decide to return the following night.”

If you love vampire stories, dive into A Vampire’s Vengeance. This story, once you get far enough, will have it all. Except maybe romance. But who knows? This is, after all, the first draft, and it is being released as it is written. But I digress. Our resident vampire has only gotten so far. No sense in speculating where they may end up in thirty chapters!

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The story we share from a time long past is quite tame … at first. A train is missed, an acquaintance met, and then doom. The horror seems to arrive all at once, despite its subtle announcement long before the story ends. We introduce to you, for the benefit of your displeasure, The Novel of the Iron Maiden, a story taken from the larger work The Three Impostors by Arthur Machen. Please, enjoy.

I’ll be brief with you: Caddo Lake was terrible. There’s the tl;dr! Now, why in the ever-loving fuck would we share our review of a terrible film with you? Because we had fun writing it, that’s why. AND this increases your viewing displeasure, but in a more literal sense. So double whammy! Also, this film sits well in a grouping of other bizarre films, and the others on the list are far more enjoyable.

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When last we saw our resident bus driver, they were worriedly approaching the gate to the compound, preparing to sally forth into the great wide terrible world of the infected. You can catch up with the second installment here. What happens now? Let us find out.

The bus driver took a deep breath, working to contain the fear and anxiety threatening to overwhelm him. He put the bus in park, opened the door, then climbed down the short stair to disembark. The members of the council stepped forward and began an impromptu ceremony, thanking everyone who participated in making this inaugural bus trip possible and providing words of encouragement to the bus driver and passengers. The bus driver barely heard any of it; he was holding tight to the last vestiges of self control to keep himself from bolting.

At the close of the ceremony, the council members turned to shake everyone's hand. The bus driver wiped the sweat from his hand on his coveralls as they approached him, and fought to meet their smiles with one of his own. This all seemed so forced; the happy expressions he met were no less a façade than his own. A few shots rang out overhead as snipers in the towers picked off stray wanderers. The occurrence was not uncommon, but each one sent a chill through the bus driver's spine, reminding him of the danger he faced upon leaving the compound.

In truth, it was a danger they all faced every day in this post-infected world. The walls just gave them all a reason to believe in the illusion of safety.

The bus driver turned to help the passengers load their luggage into the storage bays, but as their belongings were meager, there was little need for his assistance. There were few passengers; they could have brought everything on the bus with them and would be none the less comfortable for all the space that would remain. Still, there was some comfort in performing even the most simple tasks that were common before the outbreak.

On seeing his assistance was not required, he turned to the open door, climbed the steps, unlocked and released the catches to the passenger compartment, and returned to the asphalt to welcome everyone aboard. In sharp contrast to the members of the council, the passengers were candid in expressing their feelings. There was bitterness, sadness, pride, hope, even some excitement. Yet in their eyes he could see fear roiling beneath their emotive expressions. They all learned at some point to harness that fear; it was good, it was healthy, and it had kept them alive. That fear would serve to keep them alive outside of these walls as well.

As the passengers settled themselves into their seats, the bus driver closed and latched the metal door, securing them inside. Each and every person taking this ride had been briefed on the protocol. They all knew what to do and how to do it. Two passengers were trained to manage the rail guns up top if necessary. Two others were entrusted with abandonment protocol if something happened to the bus driver and the passengers had to get out. There was a medic on board as well; for the foreseeable future, should this voyage prove successful, a medic would travel on every bus ride.

Among the remaining passengers, there were two merchants who would disembark in Calico, and a scientist for whom this entire venture was prepared. They had arrived in the compound by small aircraft, and due to complications owing to the infected, another aircraft could not be dispatched to pick them up. Their work was so important to the continued survival of humanity, this whole bus venture was dreamed up to get them to a place where a plane could reasonably arrive:

A small airfield just outside of Las Vegas.

You know, for such a momentous occasion, I find it rather odd that such a small gathering of people would await the bus at the gates and celebrate its maiden voyage, don’t you? And yet, we don’t know anything else about life in the compound, do we? The bus driver hasn’t revealed much in the way of life in the compound, and so we would be in poor taste to cast judgement over the people there who failed to exalt in such an interesting enterprise when it seems the whole world has fallen apart. Well, no matter. The story isn’t about them, is it? It is about our bus driver. From this point, it appears our bus driver is well and ready to embark on this voyage. What happens next? Only one way to find out. You can read Part IV here.

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