Alice in Zombieland / Алиса в Стране зомби

Alice followed them through a corridor that seemed to stretch endlessly, her steps echoing until she entered the throne room. It was a cavernous hall, dazzling and grand in a way that momentarily took Alice's breath away. Chandeliers dripped with crystal teardrops, casting refracted light over the courtiers who lined the room. They were adorned in vibrant silks and elaborate jewelry, their faces powdered to perfection, gleaming with an almost ethereal beauty. A few of them leaned toward one another, whispering behind jeweled fans, their eyes flicking briefly in Alice's direction.

At the far end, on a throne of twisted thorns and glimmering obsidian, sat the Queen. Her skin was pale as paper, a stark contrast to the deep crimson of her flowing gown. Jewels sparkled at her throat and wrists, but they only served to highlight the stillness of her form. She did not rise, but as Alice entered, the Queen slowly raised one elegant hand, and the entire room fell silent at once – not a murmur, not a shuffle. The gesture was graceful, deliberate, and so assured it seemed to command not just attention, but absolute obedience.

With a majestic voice that rang through the throne room, the Queen proclaimed, “The prophecy speaks, and today it comes alive! Alice, the chosen one, has come to deliver us from ruin!” The entire throne room erupted into a symphony of cheers, their voices harmonizing as though rehearsed for this very moment. Alice jerked in surprise, the sound crashing over her like a wave. The courtiers smiled warmly at her, but she felt every gaze like a touch, unwelcome and pressing. Her arms wrapped around herself, one hand gripping the opposite elbow, as if trying to shrink away from the attention, to fold inward and vanish. Then, with the same elegant authority, the Queen lifted her hand once more, and the throne room fell into an immediate, reverent silence. “The Rot spreads, child, devouring all that we hold dear. Only you – you alone – have the power to restore balance, to bring us back from the brink!”

The words were woven with a near hypnotic cadence, their sweetness almost intoxicating. The courtiers remained utterly silent, their gazes fixed on Alice with a kind of reverence that made her skin crawl. No one moved, no one whispered – only their eyes flicked, wide and expectant, watching her like she were a living miracle or a beast in a cage.

Alice stood frozen, her heartbeat loud in her ears. Her limbs felt too stiff, her mouth too dry. She wanted to disappear, or at the very least shrink behind one of the columns and pretend none of this was happening.

The Queen tilted her head slightly, her pale eyes scanning the chamber before flicking her chin in a small, decisive motion toward the grand doors – a gesture that sent a clear command rippling through the silent court. “Leave us,” she said, the command soft but iron-bound.

Without hesitation, the courtiers bowed as one, their movements unified, and swept from the room in silence, like a single thought exhaled all at once. The grand doors shut behind them, sealing Alice and the Queen in the hollow quiet.

The Queen's gaze softened, or so it seemed to Alice, as she leaned slightly forward. “Do you know why you are here, child?” the Queen began, her tone shifting to something almost maternal.

Alice gave a tiny shake of her head, too overwhelmed to speak.

“Wonderland is dying. The Rot spreads unchecked, consuming the beauty and magic of these lands. It began as a whisper, a crack in the foundation, and now it threatens to devour us all.”

Her words, though steeped in urgency, carried a melodious cadence that lulled Alice into a strange calm. “Only someone like you, Alice, can save us. You are not here by chance; you were chosen. It is your destiny to heal what has been broken.”

Alice tilted her head, her brow furrowing slightly. “Chosen? By whom? And how does anyone expect me to fix something I barely understand?” she asked, her voice tinged with defiance and curiosity. “This 'Rot' you speak of… where did it come from? And why can't someone else deal with it? Surely you have others far more qualified than me.”

The Queen's expression softened further, her smile serene yet tinged with sorrow.

She paused, her gaze turning distant, and when she spoke again, it was slower, more thoughtful, like a thread unwinding.

“Oh, Alice,” she said gently, her voice seemed to envelop the room, “If only it were that simple. The Rot began long ago, a shadow creeping into Wonderland's heart. I still remember the first time I encountered it… an ordinary day, or so it seemed. I found one of my subjects stricken – his skin discolored, his movements sluggish, his eyes clouded with a sorrow I could not comprehend.

“At first, just like you – ” for a moment, her eyes focused on Alice, “I thought it an illness, something that could be cured with care and rest. But no salve or spell could touch it.

“Fear spread through the land like wildfire. The voices of my people, once bright with song and laughter, turned first to hushed worry, then to silence, as more and more fell under the Rot's touch. I tried to protect them, Alice. I gathered those untouched into the castle, offering sanctuary. For the others, the ones too far gone… I…” The Queen hesitated, her voice catching for the first time, before continuing, “I hid them deep in the forest, not out of hope, but because I feared what their presence would do to the rest of my people. The sight of them, their suffering… it spread panic, and panic, I thought, would hasten the Rot's advance.” As she spoke, her hand drifted to her necklace, fingers lightly tracing the delicate chain as if seeking comfort. “I told myself it was to protect the kingdom, but the shame of it has never left me. Even now, I wonder if I abandoned them to their fate because I did not know how else to face it. But it was not enough.

“The Rot spread relentlessly, infecting not just bodies but the very soul of Wonderland. My castle became a refuge for the frightened and the grieving, yet its walls could not hold back despair. In time, even it proved not enough. The Rot crept in, silent and insidious, and the people – my people – chose to return to their homes, believing themselves safer surrounded by what little familiarity remained. The sanctuary I offered could no longer ease their fear. The land turned on itself, beauty withering into ruin. And now… now the Rot has festered for so long it threatens to swallow everything we have ever loved.”

Her fingers trembled slightly as they brushed the armrest of her throne. “I myself have not been left untouched by its grasp,” she admitted, her voice heavy with shame. “The Rot has weakened me, sapped my strength until I can scarcely rise from this throne on my own. What once was a seat of power has become my prison. I feel its weight with every passing moment, a constant reminder of how far we have fallen.”

The Queen paused, her gaze fixed on Alice, her voice dropping to a near whisper. “You were chosen, Alice, because you are untainted by this land's sorrow. Your strength lies in your clarity, your ability to see Wonderland not as it is, but as it could be.”

Alice took a step back, her hands trembling as she clutched at her sides. This was all so absurd – so very much. They wanted her to save a kingdom, fight off some ghastly Rot, fulfill prophecies and whatnot? Was this the “path” everyone kept talking about? Because if it was, she would've much preferred one with fewer eyes and a lot more clear instructions. “But… what if I can't do it? What if I fail? You keep saying I'm your saviour, but how can I save you?”

The Queen's face grew somber, her voice lowering to an almost reverent tone. “There is a prophecy, Alice. It will show the way.”

She recited with a measured cadence:

“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.”

Alice blinked, trying to make sense of the cryptic lines. Her brow furrowed, and she muttered, “That sounds awfully like the writing on the Red King's clock cap.”

The Queen froze, her eyes narrowing as her lips thinned into a sharp line. A flicker of restrained anger passed over her otherwise serene features. Her gaze darted briefly toward the throne room doors, her voice ringing out, “You bumbling fool, come at once.”

Alice stiffened, unease crawling up her spine. Somewhere in the back of her mind, she recalled the Hatter's odd warning about names that carried echoes. At the time, she'd thought it nonsense. Now, she wasn't so sure. The Queen's change in demeanor had been swift and sharp, and Alice felt its sting like a slap she hadn't seen coming. Then, just as swiftly, the Queen's expression softened at the sight of Alice's alarm, shifting into something almost motherly, as though hoping to soothe the tension she herself had stirred.

“Oh, my dear child,” she said, her voice suddenly soothing. “You must not worry yourself with such notions. The Red King is but a poor, lost soul – a relic of stories meant to frighten and confuse.”

The White Rabbit appeared moments later, his fur disheveled and his movements hurried. He hesitated at the threshold, his ears twitching nervously, before shuffling forward to stand beside Alice in front of the throne. The Queen's gaze fell on him like a blade. “It appears, my skittish little hare, that Alice has encountered not only the friendly society of the tea-party,” she said coldly, “but also the lost souls of the forest.”

The Rabbit began trembling violently, his large foot tapping nervously against the floor, causing a faint thudding sound. Alice glanced at him, her confusion growing, a disquieting tension gnawed at her nerves and left her struggling to make sense of the Queen's sharp words and the Rabbit's trembling fear. The Queen's lips pressed into a thin line of irritation. “How could you let her face such horrors, you trembling coward? She is a child, unarmed and unprepared, and yet you allowed her to endure such a nightmare. Is this your idea of service?”

“No, Your Majesty,” the Rabbit stammered, his voice quaking with unease. “I deeply regret my failure, Your Majesty. I shall do everything in my power to ensure it does not happen again.” As he bowed deeply, his sore leg gave way, and he stumbled forward, falling awkwardly to the floor. His ears drooped low in embarrassment as he scrambled to his feet, brushing himself off hastily. The Queen's eyes narrowed slightly, her lips pressing into a thin line. “Pitiful,” she murmured, not cruelly, but with the cool disappointment of someone expecting better. The Rabbit flinched all the same.

Alice, who couldn't help but feel a flicker of compassion for the humiliated creature, moved cautiously toward him. She hesitated, unsure how to help, her mind racing. Then, as if struck by an unexpected thought, she remembered the pocket watch she had tucked away earlier. For a moment, she wondered if it might help, and though uncertain, she decided to try. “I still have your watch,” she said, pulling it out carefully. “Here.”

The Rabbit snatched it quickly, clutching it as though it were a lifeline. “You should not have taken it,” he muttered, his tone curt. Though he did not meet her gaze, his ears stood upright with irritation. “Do you have any idea the trouble you've caused?”

Alice exploded with a sharp retort, her hands clenching at her sides as she stepped toward the Rabbit. “I didn't take it!” she snapped, her voice tight with hurt and disbelief. “You dropped it, and I simply picked it up. It's not my fault if you can't keep track of your own things!”

The Rabbit made a feeble motion toward Alice as though to continue arguing, but the Queen's icy gaze pinned him in place. The unspoken threat in her eyes made him freeze mid-gesture, his ears flattening as he recoiled slightly. “You will escort Alice to her room,” she commanded, her tone cold and unyielding. “And you will attend to Alice's every need. Do not fail me in this.”

Bowing deeply, he murmured, “Yes, Your Majesty.”

Alice mirrored his bow awkwardly, her cheeks warm with embarrassment. The Queen smiled, her composure fully restored. “Think on the prophecy, child,” she said, her voice kind once more. “And know that you may visit me whenever you wish. Rest well. You have much to prepare for.”

FIVE

On ashes and time

Alice lay sprawled across the bed, staring up at the delicate canopy of embroidered silk above her. It was grand, ostentatiously so, with golden tassels hanging like miniature suns at each corner. Yet, as she shifted slightly, the fabric let out a faint creak, as if it might crumble under too much scrutiny. The events of the day spun in her head like a whirlwind, leaving her in a state of exasperated reflection.

“What a peculiar day,” she murmured to herself, rolling onto her stomach and tucking her hands beneath her chin. “First, tumbling down that dreadful rabbit hole – honestly, who builds a hole so deep without at least putting up a sign? Then the Caterpillar, all riddles and smoke rings. The creatures in the forest, the Cheshire, and that tea party – lunacy! And finally, the Queen, all thorns and grandeur, declaring me the savior of Wonderland, as though I'd ever volunteer for such nonsense.”

She turned onto her side, her gaze unfocused as she traced a finger along the edge of the bedspread. “But maybe,” she murmured softly, turning her face into the pillow as her fingers clenched the edge of the bedspread, “I don't have a choice at all.” The words trembled in the still air, and a faint, helpless shiver ran through her as the thought refused to let go, its weight pressing down harder. It lingered, unwelcome and heavy, as the melancholy weight of the day settled into her chest.

Her gaze drifted to the room around her, its opulence overwhelming in its fragility. The walls were covered in intricate wallpaper depicting sprawling vines interspersed with deep red roses. A chandelier hung precariously above, its crystals shimmering like trapped starlight. The air was unnervingly still, silent as if the world outside had ceased to exist. On a small table by the bed rested an ornate clock, its face adorned with tiny, unmoving hands that seemed frozen in mid-thought.

“How fitting,” Alice muttered, her eyes narrowing at the clock. “Even the time here doesn't know what it's meant to do.”

Her mind wandered back to the Rabbit's begrudging guidance to this room. He had led her down twisting corridors lined with tall, arched windows that let in little light, the glass fogged as though hiding secrets. The castle felt like a maze – a grand, intimidating labyrinth where every turn seemed to lead back to the same place. When they'd finally arrived, he'd given a terse bow before scuttling away, leaving Alice to fend for herself.

Exploring the room, Alice had found little comfort. The furnishings, though luxurious, had an air of being too fragile to touch, as though they might disintegrate if handled carelessly. The wardrobe, a towering structure of dark wood with gilded edges, seemed almost oppressive. She'd opened it out of curiosity and found it empty save for a single dress – a garment that looked suspiciously like the one she'd been wearing earlier, now miraculously mended.

Her eyes had then fallen on the clock, its frozen hands drawing her closer. There was something about its stillness, the quiet defiance of its unmoving face, that both irritated and intrigued her. She'd touched it lightly, her fingertips brushing the smooth surface. A faint metallic whine had followed, almost like a sigh, and she'd pulled back immediately, her pulse quickening.

Hands that point yet cannot move.

Near the clock, she'd also found a small book bound in faded red leather. It had been tucked beneath a pile of decorative pillows, as though someone had intended it to be hidden but hadn't tried very hard. The title on the cover read, The Clockmaker's Journal, and though the pages were mostly indecipherable – filled with complex diagrams and notes in looping handwriting – one phrase had stood out:

Each tick is a goodbye dressed in brass.

Alice had closed the book with a snap, a faint frown creasing her brow. “Each tick is a goodbye dressed in brass,” she repeated under her breath, wrinkling her nose. It sounded like something her grandmother would underline in one of those weepy love novels she kept hidden in her chest – dramatic, overly polished, and so obvious it nearly made Alice roll her eyes.

Of course they were running out of time – there was a horrible, creeping disease crawling through the land, and every second spent without a cure brought it closer to the end. It wasn't profound, it was obvious. Anyone with eyes and a bit of sense could've figured that out. With a sigh, Alice flipped through the rest of the little book, hoping for something more useful. But the writing was barely legible, scrawled in such a messy, looping hand that she scoffed aloud. Even her own handwriting was neater, and her sister was always telling her it looked like a chicken had stepped in ink and danced across the page.