Alice in Zombieland / Алиса в Стране зомби

Alice fled, her heart pounding as she darted through the trees. The forest seemed alive, the shadows twisting and reaching like claws. Branches snagged her hair and tore at her dress, their creaks and groans sounding like mocking laughter. The ground beneath her felt unsteady, as if it might give way at any moment. The air grew colder with every step, carrying whispers she couldn't quite make out but that sent shivers down her spine. She didn't stop until she reached a large, gnarled tree and collapsed behind it, curling up with her arms around her knees. She buried her face in her legs, trembling as tears pricked her eyes. She wanted to look behind the tree and see if they followed – wanted it so badly it felt like a pressure in her chest – but her limbs stayed locked in place. Even though she knew they couldn't be that fast, the idea of seeing one lurching just feet away was more than she could bear. Instead, she buried her face deeper into her knees, squeezing her eyes shut and whispering nonsense under her breath like a charm against fear.

A deep, rasping snore startled her, the sound coming from somewhere nearby. Alice froze, her breath hitching as dread pooled in her chest. Her limbs felt heavy, uncooperative. She wanted to look – needed to – but fear clutched at her too tightly. The snore came again, louder, and she forced herself to move. Her limbs shook, her breath hitched, and every inch she leaned felt like wading through ice. Still, she crawled forward just enough to peek around the edge of the tree.

Leaning against the other side of it was a figure, slumped and barely moving. It was a man – or at least, it might have been – draped in a tattered red robe. His face was sunken, the skin mottled and grey, and his bony hands rested limply on his knees. For a moment, Alice thought he might be dead, but then his chest rose and fell in slow, shallow breaths.

“What – what is that?” Alice whispered, her voice trembling.

“That,” came a lilting voice above her, “is the Red King.”

Alice's head snapped upward, and there, perched on a low branch, was a cat. Or at least, something that resembled one. Its striped body faded in and out of the shadows, and its grin was far too wide, its teeth glinting in the dim light. “He's dreaming now,” said the Cat: “and what do you think he's dreaming about?”

Alice frowned. “Nobody can guess that.”

“Why, about you!” the Cat purred, its grin widening as it perched higher in the tree. “And if he left off dreaming about you, where do you suppose you'd be?”

“Where I am now, of course,” Alice said firmly.

“Not you!” the Cat retorted with a chuckle. “You'd be nowhere. Why, you're only a sort of thing in his dream!”

Alice's mouth fell open. “That's absurd! I'm very real.”

“Are you?” the Cat mused, its tail swaying lazily. “If that King was to wake – ” it glanced at the Red King and grinned wider, “you'd go out – fizzle, pop – just like a candle snuffed by a rude wind.”

“I shouldn't!” Alice exclaimed indignantly, her voice rising. “Besides, if I'm only a sort of thing in his dream, what are you, I should like to know?”

“Ditto,” said the Cat with a flick of its tail. “Me? Why, I'm the cat who's always grinning, or perhaps the grin that's always catting. Does it matter? If the King wakes, we all fade – puff, swish, gone with the smoke.”

“He looks…” Alice hesitated, glancing at the King again. “He looks awful.”

“He's been here a long time,” the Cat said, its tone suddenly softer, almost wistful. “Too long, perhaps.”

Alice opened her mouth to ask another question, but her gaze got caught by something glinting faintly beneath the Red King's bony hand. It was a tarnished metal cap, the kind that might have once belonged to a pocket watch, still faintly hinged to a rusted fragment. At first, it seemed like any discarded piece of debris, but as she leaned closer, she noticed faint engravings etched deep into its surface, their curves catching the dim light filtering through the trees.

“What's this?” she murmured, hesitating as she pried it from the Red King's skeletal grip. His rotting fingers, blackened and brittle, crumbled slightly at her touch, releasing the object with an almost reluctant sigh. A sickly-sweet stench wafted up, making her stomach churn, but her curiosity pressed her forward.

The Cheshire Cat's grin flickered slightly, and its tail swayed with what might have been unease. “Oh, best leave it alone, Alice,” it said lightly. “Some words are better left unread. They tend to stick.”

Ignoring the Cat, Alice squinted at the markings, the grooves catching the faint light filtering through the forest canopy. Slowly, she read the words aloud:

“Where shadows creep and echoes chime,The truth lies buried under time.Hands that point yet cannot move,Mark the path that you must prove.”

She shivered, the riddle settling uncomfortably in her chest. “What does it mean?” she asked, glancing at the Cat.

The Cat stretched, yawning with exaggerated ease. “Mean? Oh, it means everything and nothing, naturally. That's the charm of riddles, Alice. They tell you everything while saying nothing at all.”

“I want to go home,” she whispered, her voice breaking as she stared at the tarnished cap in her trembling hands. The sickly-sweet stench still clung to her fingers, and the memory of the Red King's crumbling flesh made her stomach turn. She gagged, dropping the cap to the ground and wiping her hands frantically on her skirt. Her eyes darted to the King's sunken face, and she froze as his chest rose with a wet, rattling snore.

“Pity,” came a languid voice above her. “You've only just arrived.”

“Who – who are you anyway?” Alice stammered.

“Who, indeed?” said the Cheshire Cat, its grin widening. “Some call me Cheshire. Some call me clever. But most call me when they're lost.”

“I'm not lost,” Alice snapped, her fear giving way to irritation. “I just – ”

“ – don't know where you are,” the Cat finished for her. Its body faded entirely, leaving only the grin behind. “The whole castle is looking for you, you know. Quite the commotion.”

Alice's stomach twisted. “Why?”

The Cat reappeared, lounging on the branch. “Why, indeed? Perhaps because you're important. Perhaps because they need you. Or perhaps… because your Rabbit is in terrible trouble.”

Alice's heart sank. “The Rabbit? What's happened to him?”

The Cat tilted its head, its grin never faltering. “Oh, I shouldn't say. It's far more fun if you find out for yourself.”

Alice clenched her fists. “That's not helpful at all!”

“Isn't it?” The Cat's body faded again, only its eyes and grin remaining. “Follow the path, Alice. Or don't. Either way, they'll find you.”

Alice jumped to her feet, her fists clenched. “Wait! You can't just disappear like that! Come back and answer my questions properly!” she shouted into the darkness.

The Cat's grin reappeared first, hanging in the air like a crescent moon. Its body followed lazily, materializing atop the branch once more. “What's the point of asking questions if you don't like the answers?” it purred.

Alice glared up at it. “I'll like them if they actually make sense! What did you mean about the Rabbit being in trouble? And why is the castle looking for me?”

The Cat's grin widened. “Oh, those are such big questions, Alice. Much too big for one sitting.”

Alice stomped her foot. “You're impossible!”

“And you're delightful,” the Cat replied with a mock bow. “So fiery. So full of life. I might have misjudged you,” the Cat added, its tone thoughtful. “You might yet surprise us all. But don't let that get you in trouble and don't linger, Alice. You wouldn't want to end up like him. Just follow the path.”

Alice crossed her arms. “You all keep saying that, but where does it lead?”

The Cat's eyes gleamed. “To tea, of course. And maybe a few answers, if you ask the right questions.”

“And what about this place?” Alice demanded. “What is it?”

The Cat stretched, its tail flicking lazily. “It's home to some. A trap for others. Call it Wonderland, if it pleases you. Or call it something else. It won't mind.”

Before Alice could retort, the Cat's body began to fade again. “Enjoy the tea, Alice,” it said, its voice lilting with amusement. “Just mind what you drink.”

And then it was gone, leaving Alice standing in the shadows, her thoughts more tangled than ever.

THREE

Never Quite Tea Party

Alice stood motionless for a while, staring at the Red King slumped against the tree. His slow, shallow breaths were barely audible, accompanied by the occasional wet, rattling snore. Her stomach twisted at the sight of his sunken face and decayed, brittle hands, yet she couldn't tear her gaze away.

“Dreaming of me,” she muttered, recalling the Cheshire Cat's cryptic words. “How absurd. And how exactly would I be a thing in anyone's dream? Nonsense! But then again,” she paused, her brow furrowing, “if this is all his dream, does that mean he's dreaming himself?” She crossed her arms, tilting her head. “Ridiculous.”

Her eyes fell on the tarnished cap lying among the moss and mushrooms. Curiosity warred with revulsion as she leaned down, hesitating only a moment before picking it up from the moss. The tarnished cap felt ihnospitably cold and damp in her hand, its surface etched with rusted engravings. As she slipped it into her pocket, her fingers brushed against the smooth surface of the watch she had taken earlier. She had forgotten it was there. Curious, she pulled it out, holding it for a moment. The watch's hands moved smoothly now, ticking forward like any ordinary clock. Mesmerized, Alice traced its cracked face with her thumb, the faint ticking an unsettling counterpoint to the silence of the forest. “This place,” she murmured, her voice barely audible, “isn't right at all.” She straightened and looked at the king, her nerves still on edge, the sickly-sweet stench clinging to her senses. A pang of regret struck her suddenly, sharp and unfamiliar. It felt wrong – stealing something from him, approaching him at all. She shuddered.

“Right, then,” she muttered, brushing the dirt from her dress. “The path. Whatever that means.”

She glanced around, frowning. There was no clear path, just the tangled roots and the bioluminescent fungi glowing faintly in the shadows. She scanned the woods carefully, recalling the direction she'd come from – and the slow, rotting figures that had nearly surrounded her. Her chest tightened at the memory. With a deep breath, she turned away from that direction. If nothing else, she knew she didn't want to go back there. Her feet crunched lightly over moss and dirt as she moved forward with cautious purpose. “Right,” she muttered. “Anywhere but back. That's a start.”

As she walked, the scenery began to change. The towering, gnarled trees thinned, their twisted shapes giving way to bushes and clusters of wildflowers. The flowers were unnaturally vivid – blues that shimmered like water, purples so deep they seemed to drink the light. Small, red berries hung in clusters, glistening as though freshly washed by invisible rain. The forest gave way to a meadow that should have been idyllic, but the colors were wrong – too bright, too saturated, as if the world itself was trying too hard to convince her it was safe. At the center of the meadow was a long table, piled high with teapots, cups, and plates of pastries that looked suspiciously fresh. Around it sat three figures: a man in a battered top hat, a hare with wild, glassy eyes, and a dormouse slumped over a teacup.

Alice hesitated, her stomach twisting. “Tea,” she muttered. “The Cat did say tea. But…” She trailed off, taking a tentative step closer.

The man in the top hat looked up first. His grin was wide, but it didn't reach his eyes. “Ah, our guest of honor has arrived!” he said, his voice both warm and unsettling. “Come in, come in! There's plenty of room.”

“But I didn't – ” Alice started, then stopped herself. She wasn't sure what she was going to say anyway. She approached cautiously, her eyes darting between the three figures. “Were you… expecting me?”

“Expecting? No,” said the man, tipping his hat. “But isn't it delightful when someone unexpected turns up?” He gestured to an empty chair. “Sit, sit. You must be tired.”

Alice hesitated but sat down, her back straight and her hands in her lap. “Thank you,” she said cautiously. “But I really shouldn't stay long.”

The hare let out a wild laugh, slamming his paw on the table. “Shouldn't! Shouldn't! But you're here! That's what matters, isn't it?”

“Oh, don't mind him,” the man said, pouring tea into a cracked cup and sliding it toward Alice. “He's a bit excitable. Allow me to introduce us properly. I'm the Mad Hatter, that's the March Hare, and our dear friend here is the Dormouse – though he's not particularly chatty these days. Tea?”

Alice offered a polite nod, folding her hands neatly in her lap, and stared at the cup. “I don't know if I should – ” She raised her head suddenly, remembering. “My name is Alice, by the way. It's a pleasure to meet you.”

“Yes, yes, we know,” the Hare interrupted brightly, waving a paw.

“Of course you should,” the Hatter said, his tone turning sharp. Then, just as quickly, he softened. “But only if you'd like.”

The Dormouse stirred slightly, mumbling something incoherent before slumping back into the table.

Alice's eyes flicked to the Dormouse, and for a moment, something about him made her pause. There, just above his collar, the fur was thinning, patchy in places, with a faint discoloration creeping beneath. Its movements were sluggish, delayed, too slow to seem fully conscious – eerily similar to what she had seen in the forest. Her grip tightened on the cup. Alice cradled the warm porcelain between her hands, her fingers finding the crack running down one side and scratching at it absentmindedly, as if trying to ground herself in the motion. “I saw… creatures in the forest,” she said. “Horrible creatures. I think they were dead, or – They didn't catch me because they were too slow – but they wanted to. They were going to. I saw it. They would've if I hadn't run.” She tore her gaze away from the Dormouse, fixing it instead on the Hatter. “And there was… someone else. He didn't look right – not like the others. Better – and somehow worse. Like he'd wandered in from another nightmare altogether. The Cat called him the Red King.”

The Hatter froze mid-pour, his teapot trembling slightly in his grip. His grin faltered, just for a moment, before he quickly recovered. “Ah,” he said lightly, setting the teapot down with deliberate care. “The forest does have its… peculiarities.”

Alice's brow furrowed. “Why are they like this? Was that really some king? Is it true that – ”

“Best not to dwell on such things,” the Hatter interrupted, his tone unusually sharp. He cleared his throat and forced a smile. “The forest likes to play tricks on wanderers, showing them things they ought not to see.”

The Hare twitched nervously, muttering under his breath, “Not supposed to see… not supposed to be there… oh dear, oh dear.”

Alice frowned, her curiosity growing. “But he was real, wasn't he? I touched – ”

The Hatter's hand shot up, silencing her. “Let's not discuss the matter now,” he said, his grin tightening. “You never quite know who's listening, and some names carry weight that echoes. You'll learn soon enough – but for now, we need to follow the path.” He lifted his cup in a mock toast. “To tea and time,” he said cryptically. “And to Alice.”

“To tea and time!” echoed the Hare, clinking his cup against the Hatter's with such force that a crack appeared in its side.

The Dormouse stirred just enough to mumble, “Tea… time…” before slumping over again.

Alice watched them with tight lips, her fingers still cradling the cup without raising it. The liquid in her cup looked like pond water left too long in the sun. Everyone kept talking about some path – follow the path, follow the path, follow the path – as if everyone else already knew the rules of the game, and she was left to guess with no instructions. Just nudges. Riddles. Smiling warnings. It was maddening. She scratched at the edge of the cup and muttered, “Right, the path again.”

A loud chime interrupted her, ringing out from nowhere and everywhere at once. The Hatter sat bolt upright. Then – without so much as a blink or shuffle – he was suddenly sitting at a different angle, legs crossed the other way, his teacup in the opposite hand. Alice blinked, startled.

“What just happened?” she asked, frowning.

“Ah, that?” The Hatter tapped his nose. “That's what we call a slap from Time. He gets fidgety when ignored. Tea time is near, you see – but I have a peculiar feeling it may never arrive, so we may as well get started.”

“To tea time!” cried the Hare.

“Nowish!” added the Dormouse, half-lifting his cup.

Alice looked bewildered. “But… your clock just rang five.”

The Hatter pulled out a battered, rusty watch and held it up with a shrug. “Did it? Strange. Mine says it's just past four.”

Alice blinked and leaned slightly closer. Sure enough, the little face showed just after four. Intrigued, she reached out a hand, fingers hovering to take a better look.

“Ah – no, no, no,” the Hatter said quickly, whisking the watch just out of her reach. “One does not simply handle Time. He's touchy, you see. Temperamental.”

Alice drew her hand back, cheeks coloring. “I'm sorry,” she said quickly.

The Hatter set his cup down with a conspiratorial grin, leaning closer. “You see, Alice, time and I used to walk the same path for a while. Oh yes, we were quite the pair. I danced to his tune, and he kept things ticking along nicely. But then – ” he tapped the side of his hat, his grin twisting into something sharper, “ – then there was a disagreement. Different paths. Different clocks. And here we are.”

The Hare let out a nervous giggle, tearing into a scone. “A quarrel! A tiff! A terrible misunderstanding!”

“Misunderstanding?” The Hatter snorted. “Oh no. You see, in all honesty, he was always too early. Always arriving before I was ready. Rushing things. It wasn't stalling, not on my end – some stories just aren't meant to end so soon.” His fingers tapped rhythmically against the side of his teacup. “So I told Time he wasn't welcome anymore. He didn't like that. Took it personally. And since then, it's always almost five o'clock. Tea time forever – and never quite.” He spread his hands with theatrical flair. “A most convenient inconvenience, wouldn't you say?”

Alice blinked, her brow furrowing. “That's rather ridiculous, if you ask me.”

As she adjusted her seat, the Hare leaned toward her, crumbs clinging to his whiskers. “Ridiculous? No, no! It's orderly chaos!” He chuckled and reached for another scone. “Speaking of chaos, did I ever tell you about the Dormouse?”

Alice frowned, glancing at the slumped figure. “What about him?”

The Hare's ears twitched, and his voice dropped to a conspiratorial whisper. “Oh, he wasn't always like this, you know. Used to be quite sprightly. But then, one day, he nibbled something he shouldn't have. A crumb from a cake, or perhaps a berry from the wrong bush. Changed him completely.”

“Changed him how?” Alice asked, her curiosity piqued despite herself.

The Hare waved a paw dramatically. “Turned him quiet, didn't it? Took the spring out of his step and the shine out of his eyes. You might say he… slowed down.” He giggled, the sound unnerving. “Some say it wasn't the cake or the berry at all. Some say he lingered too long, and Wonderland loved him too much to let him go. And Wonderland… well, Wonderland has a way of holding onto those it cherishes.”

Alice shivered. “That's horrible.”

“Horrible?” The Hare shrugged, popping a scone into his mouth. “That's Wonderland. Horrible and delightful, all in one.”

Alice shifted uncomfortably, the weight of their cryptic answers pressing on her. “What am I to do now? And why does no one ever bother with proper answers? It's all so very tiresome!”

The Hatter's grin flickered, his expression softening for a moment. “Ah, Alice, you're asking the wrong questions again. It's not about what you do now – it's about what you're meant to do.”

“And what's that?” Alice snapped, her frustration bubbling over.

The Hatter leaned in closer, his voice dropping to a whisper. “Perhaps this. Perhaps nothing. Wonderland decides that, not you.”

Alice glared at him, but before she could retort, he straightened abruptly, his grin sharp once more. “But don't fret too much about that, dear girl. It's tea time! Time enough to worry later.”

The Hare giggled, brushing crumbs from his whiskers. “Always tea time! Always questions! You'll figure it out, or you won't. Either way, you'll stay!”

Alice opened her mouth, her face pale with fear and shock, but before she could speak, the meadow was filled with the sound of rhythmic, marching footsteps. Her head snapped toward the noise, her heart pounding. Emerging from the bushes were figures clad in black and red armor, their faces hidden behind polished helmets. Their weapons gleamed ominously in the too-bright light.

“The Queen's soldiers!” the Hatter exclaimed, his voice a mix of surprise and amusement. “My, my, they do get around.”

Alice jumped to her feet, her voice rising in panic. “What do they want?”

The Hatter tipped his hat, his grin wavering. “You, dear Alice. I wouldn't keep the Queen waiting – she has a rather sharp fondness for trimming things that displease her – heads included.” Seeing the growing unease in Alice's face, he added more gently, “It'll be alright. Just remember where your feet are meant to go – and try not to look too surprised when they take you there.”

FOUR

The Queen

Alice stood at the edge of a receiving room near the Queen's court, her wide eyes darting around the grand yet decaying room, a dimly lit space with walls covered in peeling tapestries of forgotten battles and faded glory. The furniture was sparse and austere, the servants in pristine waistcoats scurried about, their glassy eyes avoiding her gaze, while guards with patchwork armor and eerie, rigid movements flanked the room like lifeless sentinels. The oppressive air of the court seeped into her skin, but what truly unsettled her was the uncanny way everything seemed alive and dead all at once.

She glanced down at her own dress, now smudged and slightly torn from her journey. It had been beautiful once, black with crisp white puffy sleeves, but now it bore the scars of Wonderland's unforgiving paths. She brushed at a stubborn patch of dust on the skirt, her fingers trembling as she muttered under her breath, “Blast it all.” The unladylike thought gave her a moment's grim satisfaction, though she quickly straightened up, reminding herself of the eyes upon her.

The memory of her arrival here replayed in her mind. The journey to the Queen's castle had been long and tiresome. The skittish little hare, limping and muttering, had led her through a maze of paths just outside the castle walls – twisting, uneven things lined with damp stone and overgrown ivy. The castle gates had creaked open on old hinges, revealing not horror, but age: an old, worn structure, too large and drafty to feel welcoming. The corridors echoed faintly with every step, and there was a faint smell of mold in the air. Still, the roses lining the pathway had been lovely – bright, well-kept, and blooming with impossible vibrancy. They stood out like laughter in a library, unexpected and strangely reassuring.

Every step inside had echoed in the vast, hollow halls, the sound swallowed by the oppressive silence that hung in the air. The trembling little coward of a rabbit had said little, his glassy eyes flickering nervously as they entered the very chamber where Alice now stood.

“Wait here,” the Rabbit had said sharply, not bothering to look back before disappearing into the shadows.

“As if I could go anywhere else,” Alice muttered then, glancing around the lifeless chamber with a sigh.

A sudden flourish of trumpets shattered the uneasy silence, making Alice start. The towering doors swung open, and two lines of elaborately dressed heralds stepped forward, their movements perfectly synchronized as though controlled by a single will.

“Her Majesty summons you,” one intoned, his voice hollow and resonant. Without waiting for a reply, they turned in unison, their pale faces powdered and their expressions eerily identical.