by Aleah Barley
“Don’t worry, I’m armed.”
There was a flash of metal in the darkness. My double entry loving, A-line skirt wearing, mother was toting a gun.
Bad ass.
I kept my head down—sneaking further along the coast—it was still summer in Detroit and the humidity rolled off the river like a wild animal sneaking through the city streets. It brushed against my legs and rubbed against my body. I just wanted to get this over with and go home, back to the cool security of the morgue or the fake Tudor in Palmer Park where I’d grown up.
The lights were flickering from across the river, growing bigger by the minute. I scrambled across the sand, choosing my position quickly. A bramble on the shoreline provided all the cover I needed. My mother picked another place further down the coast, crouching down at the corner of one of the abandoned warming stations. I could see her gun flickering in the distance.
Oh, shit. What the hell were we doing? I should have listened to D.S. I should have waited. We were just two women. Mom’s not exactly large, and I got her bone structure. Between the two of us, she was the only one who was armed with a long distance weapon. If the bad guy had backup—if any Biters showed up—then we were going to be in big trouble.
Nothing happened.
For one long moment the entire beach held still, and then the bad guys finally drifted in. Two men got off the boat; humans with caps pulled down low on their heads. They had to be human.
Biters had better fashion sense.
They wouldn’t be caught dead wearing khaki shorts and orange safety vests.
The forward human checked some kind of fancy phone then glanced up the beach. “This is the last time,” his words echoed easily off the water, loud enough that it sounded like he was sitting right next to me. “I swear. The big man can suck hind tit if he thinks I’m going to do this again.”
“The big man says jump, we ask ‘how high?’” The other human shrugged, he was shorter than his buddy with a day-glow safety rope hanging off his waist. These guys were very safety conscience. So, why were they dealing in zombies? “That’s the way it works.”
“He’s an asshole.”
“Sure, but the pay’s good.” There was a slight pause. “You’ve got kids, man. Think about your kids.”
“I am thinking about my kids,” He groused. “How are they going to feel if I get eaten in the middle of the river?”
“Come on, Arlo. How old are they? Two and six? They probably won’t even remember. Besides, if the things attack then we just throw ‘em in the drink. No muss, no fuss.” The short man shrugged. “The delivery here yet?”
The forward man checked his phone a second time. “They just crossed the bridge. Any minute now.”
Hell. If I were sensible, I’d grab my phone and run. Of course, if I were sensible then I wouldn’t have gotten into this situation in the first place. I glanced down the beach, searching for any kind of signal from my mother.
She was looking at me. She wanted to see what I was going to do next.
There was a rumble on the road behind us. A big box truck pulled down the Belle Isle drive and stopped less than a quarter of a mile down the way. I held my breath, hoping that the driver wouldn’t notice us.
I didn’t need to worry. After a few seconds, the driver hopped out and walked around to the back of the truck. He undid the padlock and pushed the truck’s big rolling door up. “Come on, boys,” he called. “Time to get to work. Like I told you, there are jobs on the other side just waiting for you.”
Great. I held my breath, watching as Biters poured out of the van. The bad guys had been busy. There were half a dozen dead men and women of various shapes and sizes stumbling around in the darkness. The truck driver pulled something from his pocket, and I held my breath as I watched the familiar arc of electricity crackle between the device’s two prongs.
A stun gun.
He zapped the nearest Biter once, twice. Then nodded towards the others, “Get him up and get him on the boat.” The electricity crackled again. “Or else you’re next.”
Un—freaking—believable. I’m not exactly the savior of Biter Rights—ready to lead all the dead people to the Promised Land—but the bodies on the beach weren’t just zombies. They were people, or they had been once upon a time. Was anyone looking for them? Their fathers and mothers? Their sisters and brothers? Their lovers?
What about their children? I shivered in the warm air as I remembered the way I’d felt when my father died, like my entire life was being ripped apart from the inside. I knew what had happened to him. He was dead, gone, and buried. What if I hadn’t known? What if he’d wandered away one night and never come back? What if he’d allowed himself to be bitten… and he still hadn’t woken up?
My gut churned. I couldn’t let this happen. I couldn’t let the Biters get onto the boat.
I needed to make a decision. Just like my father always used to say, sometimes you just have to fish or cut bait.
I lunged forward out of the brush, trying to appear as big and bad as possible. My shoulders were straight and my spine erect. I’d spent the last week and a half following D.S. around, marveling at his ‘law-man’ persona. It was time to channel some of that tight ass attitude for my own benefit.
“Stop,” I ordered. “Police!”
The men from the boat scattered wildly, taking the low path along the water. The truck driver raced towards the grass and the paths that led into the body of the island park. Out of the corner of my eye, I could see my mother heading towards the boat with her gun in hand. The Biters were still milling around randomly, freshly dead and uncertain of what they should do next, as long as they didn’t get involved then we might still be able to make it out of this situation alive.
I lengthened my stride, picking up speed along the sandy riverbank. Adrenaline raced through my veins. This was it. Forget hiding and skulking. Forget investigating like something out of an Arthur Conan Doyle novel. I wasn’t a detective. I was a hunter, and if they ran that meant they were prey. I accelerated through the curve, breathing easily to keep air flowing to my blood.
I’d been on the track team all the way through high school—racing around the track until I finally found something like peace of mind—now I concentrated on keeping my body loose and my form tight. The world narrowed to a single point of color, focusing all my attention on the crisp white cotton of the man’s collared shirt.
My feet hit pavement, and I hit him from behind, smacking hard into his body. My elbow knocked against his head.
The man’s head twisted, and I stopped short in amazement. There was no mistaking his strong jaw line or the dark flash of his sharp brown eyes.
Hickory Pickens.
My heart thumped hard against my chest. The entire time I’d been hanging around the morgue, looking for a bad guy, I’d never once considered the possibility he might be right in front of me. Sure, the man was never going to be the love of my life, but that didn’t mean he was a villain.
He was a morgue attendant, a government employee whose job it was to ensure people made it to their final resting place in one piece… and for those who came back?
He was the first person they saw, a friendly face there to reassure the dead everything was going to be okay. He was supposed to be someone they could trust.
Adrenaline pumped through my veins. My fingers curled into tight fists. By stealing the Biters from their families and shipping them off to Canada—away from any familiar sights to help ground them through the transition—Hick had violated that trust.
He deserved to go to prison. Hell, he deserved worse.
His flicker of recognition came a moment behind mine. “You’re not the police,” he growled. “You’re just a bitch.”
“People trusted you with their parents.” I flicked the switch, turning my stun gun on. “They trusted you with their children.”
“They trusted me to dispose of dead people,” Hick said, his handsome face twisted into a thin smile. “That�
�s the job. If I make a few extra bucks on the side? So much the better, it’s not like the city pays me enough to live on.” He glanced down, taking in my new pants and old boots.
“Come on, Gemma. You know how it is. Every year things get more expensive, and there are fewer good jobs for a living. You need a side job just to survive. Come work for me,” he offered, and his voice was silky sweet as he tried to turn on the charm. “We can make money together. Real money. We can be partners—a power couple—you can pay off your father’s debts and—.”
I threw a strong right hook straight at his face. Crunch. The sound of bone hitting cartilage made me grin, even as my fingers cried out in pain. When I pulled my hand away, the man’s face was bloody. His nose was crooked. “I figured it out,” I said. “Why we’re never going to be a couple… it’s because you’re a smug, insufferable bastard.”
“And you’re a bitch.” He swung at me. Hard. I dodged backwards, fast, but not fast enough. His fist connected with my collarbone, and I stumbled to the side.
Here’s the thing. In a fair fight, a man the size of Hick is always going to beat a woman my size. He’s got the mass and the reach to do real damage, and—unlike a zombie—he’s not going to stumble around like a drunken man in a house of mirrors.
All it would take was a single well-aimed slap—a solid punch in the gut—to send my head spinning around like a crazy kid in a horror movie.
That’s why I don’t fight fair.
Reaching down I scraped my fingers against the sandy riverbank and threw a handful of grit up into Hick’s face. The man sputtered and swore, clawing at his eyes. It wasn’t much of an advantage, but it was the best I could do.
I lunged forward, hitting him low in the torso. The force was enough to knock him off balance and back onto the ground. I swung a fist—hard—at his jaw. The pain where my knuckles connected with his skin and bone was so intense, I bit my lip to keep from crying out.
Hick didn’t even seem to notice. I might as well have been swatting at a bear. He rolled to the side, hard. The weight of his body on top of mine slammed me back into the sand. His lips turned up into a cold sneer. “You made a mistake, Gemma. We would have made great partners. We could have been friends.”
He jerked backwards, yanking my torso up off the ground and tearing at my shirt. Buttons popped off and hit the ground. The world slowed down to a grinding halt. Dirt was digging into my new-black slacks—my expensive black slacks—the things were absolutely ruined. Even if a dry cleaner could get out the stains, I’d never be able to wear them again… not without remembering this moment.
My teeth ground together. I’d spent a hundred dollars on the damn pants, and now—he pawed at my skin and my blood ran cold.
The worst thing a dead man could do was bite me, but Hick wasn’t a zombie. He was alive, hot and angry with a punishing look on his face that let me know there was a lot of pain coming my way. Pain and maybe something worse.
Hick’s fingers pressed into my collarbone hard enough to leave a bruise. He leaned forward again, shoving me even harder into the ground. His breath was hot against my cheek. The effect was stifling, burning. I wanted to call out—to scream—but I couldn’t find the words.
“We could have been more than friends,” he said.
And then he kissed me.
Hick’s kiss threw me off guard. His lips were heavy and purposeful against mine. His tongue thrust inside my mouth like a fish on the line, slimy and wild.
I couldn’t breathe. I couldn’t think.
I felt vulnerable and defenseless. This was a man I’d liked, even if only for a moment. There’d been a flicker in my heart, a ghost of a flame, which had been extinguished by darkness and despair… by violence. It wasn’t just fathers and mothers who’d trusted Hick. I’d trusted him to be a stand up guy, a man who I could picture myself with for years into the future or at least for one special night.
Somewhere in the darkness I could hear my mother screaming my name. Was she trying to save me? Or, was she calling for my help? Had the Biters finally turned on her? Or, was it the boatmen?
My mother might be a tough as nails businesswoman, with a ninja style and a gun in her pocket, but she wasn’t a hunter.
If anything happened to her…
I forced myself to take a deep breath. Nothing was going to happen to my mother.
Hick’s body was writhing on top of me trapping me in place. It felt like I was being suffocated as he continued cramming his tongue down my throat.
Sugar clung to his lips. A treat from the donut shop across the Belle Isle bridge? It didn’t matter.
I bit down, hard. Tearing at the soft flesh of his tongue until the coppery taste of blood flooded my mouth.
Hick jerked back in surprise, tearing away from me, giving me the room I needed to hustle back onto my feet. “Bitch.” He spat twice on the ground. “I’m gonna kill you,” his words slurred together in response to the damage I’d done. “I’m-a-gonna-tear-ya-apart.” There was a slight pause, and his lips pulled up into a cold sneer.
“Better.” He spat again, clearing his mouth of blood and saliva. “I’m going to hold you down and let them bite you, and when you come back, your mother, your father… that undead thing you’ve been hanging around with… you won’t remember any of them. You won’t even remember your own name. You’ll be mine.”
My mind flashed back to the Biter Brothel and Riley in her golden gown. The way she’d flirted with D.S. Even after death, she’d been in control of her business and her body.
That’s what he wanted to take from me.
My side was throbbing. My head was spinning. There were bruises already developing and a rough scrape across my backside. I felt like I was going to throw up. All I wanted to do was sit down and wait for the pain to be over. Either that or die. I jammed my hands into my pockets, blinking in surprise when I found my knife. It wasn’t much—my favorite Bowie knife—but it was better than nothing.
I slid the knife up against the inside of my wrist, trying to hide the motion from Hick. “Even if I don’t remember my name, I’ll remember you.” I’d remember the wrenching in my gut when I looked at him, the feeling of nausea and disgust. When people died, they forgot the little things. When they came back, they remembered the people they’d hated and the men they’d loved. “I’ll remember him.”
“Him.” Hick’s gaze narrowed. “Your Biter?”
“D.S. might be dead, but he’s still a better man than you’ll ever be.”
Hick rushed me, head down and arms outstretched like we were kids brawling on a playground. He didn’t even see the knife as I brought it up into position, thrusting it hard into his chest. The force of his body caused something to pop inside me. I could hear ringing and see stars. My entire chest felt like it was caving in.
There was blood on my hands.
Hunting Biters is a violent occupation, but there’s rarely any blood involved. By the time I get to them, most of the liquid in their veins had turned into black sludge or dark dust. Puss and guts were more my speed. I’d shoot a couple hundred volts through their spine, tie them to the nearest hard surface, and call in the cops. It was nothing like this.
I stabbed the knife into his chest again and twisted, hard.
Hick’s body slumped against me. His hands grasped at my clothes, struggling to hold himself upright. His face turned towards mine. His eyes gleamed feverishly in the darkness. His cheeks were pale. He licked his lips, and I could see blood in the corner of his mouth. “We—” He gasped, sucking in air. “We could have been something—.”
There was nothing I could say.
Instead, I held him until the life left his eyes and the sirens came.
22.
“Don’t. You. Ever. Hang. Up. On. Me. Again.” D.S. said his voice rough and guttural. He’d arrived in the first car… or maybe the second. After a while, it had all run together in my head. Cops packed the beachfront. Paramedics were checking out my mother on the grass to the s
outh. A full D.U.A. containment unit had set up near the island’s greenhouse to process Biter’s while we spoke.
Moonlight gleamed against a petite blonde head. Andrea Mitchell. What the hell was the girl doing here? My heart beat double time. The check had cleared at the bank. The case was over. I wasn’t responsible for Andrea,
I scrambled to my feet. “I can take care of myself.”
“You could have been hurt.” D.S. growled.
“I wasn’t the one who got hurt.” There was still blood on my hands. I’d tried to clean up after the paramedics took Hick’s body away. I’d wiped my hands on the grass and on my pants. I’d even thought about washing them off in the river.
I swallowed a comment and lifted my hands for D.S. to see. “I killed a man.”
The Biter stared at me for a long moment. His nostrils flared. Whatever I’d done to scrub the blood from my hands, he’d still be able to smell it—to taste it in the air.
“He wasn’t much of a man.”
It was too much. I sniffed and blinked away tears.
D.S.’s brow furrowed. The government agent had dressed for war in a sharp black suit with a crisp white shirt and black tie. The monochromatic look was good on him. His emerald eyes darkened. His hand reached out—like he wanted to touch me—and faltered.
“You cared about him.” D.S. turned away.
Something broke inside me. Now, tears really were streaming down my face. I launched myself forward, throwing myself at D.S.’s strong form. “Of course, I cared for him. He was human—not some kind of monster—every human deserves better.”
Had anyone cried when D.S. died? Had they mourned him? Or, had he been one among masses? Just another body turned in the first wave of Biters twelve years earlier.
How many people had called him a monster in the days since?
“He wanted to turn me into a thing. A Biter. He wanted to keep me in a cage like a toy.” I swallowed back my tears. “He wanted me to forget everyone I loved… he wanted me to forget you.”
D.S.’s strong arms wrapped around me. He pulled me in so close I could have heard his heart beating if blood still ran through his veins. Instead, a wall of muscle formed up around me.
