Serial Killer Z [Book 1]

by Philip Harris

  As the workshop came into view, I felt a rush of excitement. I slipped the knife back into its sheath and went inside. My snare was hanging on the wall, waiting for me. The excitement flared stronger as I unhooked it and headed out the back of the workshop. Bones crunched beneath my feet as I walked heedlessly over the remains of the fire.

  Conscious that the others might wake and find me missing, I moved as quickly as I dared. I’d spent some time out behind the workshop, but in the dark, the shadows turned the forest into an alien landscape. I picked my way past the tree hung with chains and found a narrow trail that I vaguely knew.

  I’d barely made it thirty feet before I found my prey. He was short but thin, probably in his thirties, and his Hell’s Angels leathers hung loosely on his emaciated form. He was stumbling through the forest, making so much noise he didn’t hear me walking up behind him. It wasn’t until I dropped the snare over his head that he realized anything was wrong. He twisted around as I tightened the noose, moaning urgently.

  Part of his jaw was missing, and maggots cascaded from the wound as he ground his remaining teeth together. I gave a little tug, and he stumbled toward me, his groans sounding more annoyed than threatening. I tightened the noose, and he grunted. He reached instinctively for his throat, clawing at the rope but doing little more than scraping shreds of his own flesh away. I tugged the noose, getting his attention, and then led him back through the forest.

  Biker Guy was surprisingly docile. It wasn’t until I got him inside the workshop that he put up any resistance. Maybe he could sense what had happened to others of his kind. Perhaps their spirits still hung around the workshop.

  The moment I lit the lamp hanging from the ceiling just inside the door, he started thrashing and moaning. I pulled on the snare, dragging him across the room. He was smaller than me, and lighter, and it didn’t take long for me to get him into position beside the workbench. This was always the most difficult part of the operation—the transition from snare to table. I’d gotten better at it, but it was still a bit hit-and-miss.

  I shoved Biker Guy backward. His legs caught the side of the table, but he immediately twisted, swinging his arms up in an attempt to dislodge the snare. I tightened my grip on the pole and pushed again. This time, he fell back onto the workbench. Still holding the noose in place, I circled around and threw the first chain across his neck.

  He managed to sit up. I rammed one of the snare’s blades into his shoulder and forced him back down. He let out a scream that sounded like someone grinding rock with a cheese grater. He reached for me. Clawed fingers clutched at my face as I pulled the chain tight across his neck. It took a couple of attempts to get it fed through the bracket. Not for the first time, I wondered if I might someday find someone with the same proclivities as me that could act as my assistant.

  With the zombie strapped down, the rest of the task was a little easier. He kicked and thrashed as I draped the second chain across his legs, and again when I secured the third around his waist, but it was fruitless.

  Once the chains were in place, I could relax and savor the moment. I removed the snare and hung it on the wall. Biker Guy twisted and moaned. I stood over him, watching his struggles gradually fade to nothing, taking my fears and worries with them. The presence of the intruders seemed less important. Now that Mike was well, I could ask them to leave, maybe even make them leave. Either way, they’d be gone soon, and my life could return to normal. The biker moaned, sending out a wave of fetid air and bringing me back to reality.

  I went around the workshop and lit the rest of the lamps, bathing the room in a cold but oddly comforting white light. He watched me as I moved. The bones in his neck cracked as he strained to keep me in view.

  I crouched down beside the workbench. Biker Guy groaned and snapped at me, the remains of his jaw flapping just inches from my face. Another wave of excitement swept through me as he strained against the chains. I stared into the black pits of his eyes and smiled.

  The shadow whispered in my ear.

  It was time.

  I walked over to the bench beneath the windows. I didn’t doubt for an instant that the leather case would still be there. It was waiting for me. I hesitated with my hand on the drawer, building the anticipation once more, then slid it open.

  The case was just as I’d left it. I lifted it out and placed it gently onto the table. Then I removed a piece of cloth from the drawer—a square cut from one of the T-shirts I’d found at the camp. It was mostly white, but there were some black stains smeared across it. I smoothed out the cloth and put it next to the case. Biker Guy let out a low-pitched growl. Chains rattled. I lined the case up with the edge of the table before closing the drawer.

  I ran my fingers over the case’s soft leather. A stillness came over me, bringing the shadow with it. I took four deep breaths, drawing the case’s energy inside my chest. I flicked my fingertips lightly over the catch and opened it.

  Five scalpels. Old friends.

  I traced a Z across the handles, repeating the motion until one of them, the center one, spoke to me. I slipped it out and closed the case’s lid. The moonlight reflected off the blade. Behind me, the zombie moaned again. Did he know what was happening? On some primal level, maybe?

  A normal person might have considered that possibility longer. They’d pause to consider the ethics of the situation. I didn’t.

  I picked up the piece of cloth and walked back to the workbench, covering the distance in four steps. The closer I got, the more the zombie struggled against the chains. He snapped and snarled. Blackish saliva dribbled from his chin and splattered across the floor.

  I pressed the scalpel’s handle against my lips as though I were kissing it. “Shhh…”

  Biker Guy lunged at me. The chain around his neck shifted but held firm.

  I unzipped his leather jacket and pulled it apart to reveal a black T-shirt with a picture of the devil on it. I smiled at the imagery—he’d met a new devil now.

  The scalpel made light work of the T-shirt. The blade sliced through the cotton so smoothly, I could barely tell it was there. I pulled the shirt open to reveal the zombie’s emaciated chest. The skin was tanned, but patches were turning gray. He’d stopped moving now and was watching me with dead eyes.

  I took four deep breaths. I’d grown used to the stench of decay filling the room, but still the air was bitter, and it caught in my throat. I put my hand on the zombie’s chest, a few inches in from the left-hand side, and set the shadow free.

  Time stopped.

  The shadow rushed through me, filling my body utterly. The workshop, the benches, the outside world were all wiped away until scalpel and zombie were the only things left.

  My heart slowed. The fear that had brought me to the workshop was gone. The zombie groaned again, but the sound was distant and muffled. I could see his guilt now. Dark threads permeated his body. Black liquid poured from his mouth and ears and streamed over the edge of the table like a waterfall of oil. I could smell it, too—a bitter, metallic tang in the dusty air.

  The shadow surged, and I was infused with a purity of purpose I’d never find on my own. I raised my hands toward the ceiling, tipped my head back, and let the shadow’s will embrace me.

  Chapter 23

  Aftermath

  I don’t know how much time passed before the feeling disappeared. It felt like days, but it could only have been a few minutes. The world quickly returned to its normal, banal self. I resisted, clinging to the last vestiges of the shadow’s energy for as long as I could. But eventually, there was nothing to hold on to.

  An overwhelming sense of loss permeated my soul, but I felt calmer. My fears, though still there, were somehow diminished. The threat of the intruders felt manageable. They had no proof of what I really was and no real reason to go looking for it. Mike was nearly well enough for them to leave. Another day, two at most, and everything would be back to normal. I allowed myself a slight smile.

  The zombie moaned, straining
against the chains. The shadow had made four neat slashes across his chest. The flesh was pulled back to reveal his rotten, guilt-sodden core. His heart was missing. My hands were covered with thick black blood. More of it soaked the table and pooled on the floor. The creature held no interest to me now. It was nothing more than meat.

  I took my hunting knife and rammed it into the base of the zombie’s skull. He kicked and twitched for a moment and then fell still. I removed the blade and wiped it on his shirt before slipping it back into its sheath. I wanted to deal with the zombie’s remains, but the eastern sky was beginning to lighten. There was no telling how early Lucy and the others would wake up, and I didn’t want to push my luck. I could come back and get rid of the body later. Once they’d gone for good.

  I picked up the scalpel, wiped it with the square of T-shirt, and clipped it into the leather case with the others. I hated leaving them in the workshop, but I couldn’t take them back to the lodge now. It was too risky. One of the others might find it. I counted to four then snapped the lid shut, checked the catch was still working properly, and slipped the case into the drawer. The blood-soaked cloth went into a metal drum. It was too dirty to use again, and there were plenty more where that came from.

  The smell from the corpse had grown stronger already. Again, I considered disposing of it straightaway. I certainly couldn’t just leave it lying around for long—the smell would attract creatures from miles around, living or dead. I normally dumped the remains of my subjects in the forest, but I didn’t have time to do that now.

  I did a final check of the workshop then went outside. The sun had risen. It was still low in the sky, but the journey back through the forest would be less hazardous now that I could see where I was going.

  I closed the door behind me and began making my way back toward the trail.

  Then Alex stepped out of the forest.

  Chapter 24

  Far Enough

  “Hey!” Alex said. “You’re up early.”

  A cold dread ran through my veins, and the confidence that I’d felt mere seconds earlier evaporated. “Hi… yeah… I couldn’t sleep.”

  Alex smiled. “Me neither.” He looked past me at the workshop. “More of the camp?”

  I took a few steps toward him, blocking his path. “Could be, yeah. I think it’s a lot older, though.” My throat was dry, and the words came out fractured.

  “Anything interesting in there?”

  “Not really.”

  I moved forward again. I was hoping to push him back toward the path and the camp, but he held his ground.

  Alex frowned as he peered through the window. “There’s some tools and stuff, though. Could be useful for something.”

  “Everything’s rusted. The whole place is rotten. The rain probably got in during the winter.”

  Alex shrugged. “Maybe we can salvage something. Mike’s pretty good with his hands.”

  The shadow twitched.

  “Maybe later. It’s not safe in there.”

  Alex scratched his chin, nodding, but he was still frowning.

  I moved my hand toward my knife. As my fingers touched the leather grip, Lucy’s voice called out. “Alex!”

  We turned and ran through the forest, Lucy’s voice pulling us along the trail. When we broke out of the undergrowth into the clearing behind the lodge, she was standing beside the back door. She slumped with relief when she saw us. When she saw Alex, anyway.

  “What’s the matter?” Alex said.

  Lucy let out a long breath.

  Mike appeared in the doorway behind her. “You’d better take a look at this.”

  He led us through the lodge and out onto the walkway at the front. We both looked around the camp, searching for whatever had caused Lucy’s distress. It wasn’t until she joined us and Mike swung the lodge door closed that I spotted it. A moment later, Alex gasped.

  A hand hung from the door.

  It had been hacked off just above the wrist, leaving a few tattered shreds of flesh hanging from exposed bone. By the look of the ragged nails and gray skin, it had recently belonged to a zombie. A single nail hammered through the palm attached it to the door.

  Alex squinted at it. “What the…?”

  Mike’s lips were drawn into a tight thin line. Lucy was standing next to him. The shadow could feel the anger radiating off her.

  I made an educated guess. “This has something to do with the person you’ve been watching out for.”

  Surprise flickered across Lucy’s face. “How—”

  A sound like a screaming, chattering monkey cut her off. It came from somewhere in the forest behind us. When I looked, I saw a man standing in the shadows.

  Lucy set off toward him. “Charles!”

  “Lucy, wait!” Mike said. He tried to grab her, but she twisted away from him and was gone.

  The figure stepped out of the forest.

  Lucy slid to a stop. “No!”

  It was a zombie.

  Two more shapes loomed up out of the shadows behind it. Their shuffling, uneven movements marked them as zombies, too.

  Lucy pulled out her knife.

  One zombie moaned and reached toward her. His right hand was missing.

  Lucy let out a scream of frustration and charged at him. Mike brushed past me as he ran toward her. She collided with the zombie, and he fell backward, but she stayed on her feet. She was already kicking him before he hit the ground. Her boot hit his thigh then his ribs. Bones cracked. She raised her foot and slammed it down on the zombie’s face. His skull shattered. Blood and brain sprayed across the ground.

  “Look out!” Mike said.

  One of the other zombies had reached Lucy. She ducked under his clumsy grab for her and swung her knife upward into his jaw. His head was forced back. Black blood poured over Lucy’s hand. She yanked the knife free, and the zombie crumpled to the ground.

  Mike reached her, but she waved him away. “It’s mine.”

  The last zombie was slower. Lucy lowered herself into a fighter’s stance. The zombie staggered toward her.

  She screamed at him. “Come on!”

  The zombie responded with a wet, gargling sound as though he was trying to speak. Lucy leaped forward and drove the knife into his forehead. He staggered back, and the movement pulled the weapon from her hand. She slammed her hands against his chest, and he toppled backward, landing with a dull thump. Lucy wiped her hands on the zombie’s shirt and then tugged the knife free from his skull.

  She straightened up and looked out into the trees. “This has gone far enough, Charles! Leave us the hell alone!”

  When she turned back toward the lodge, her face was stony. There was a splash of black fluid across her chin. Mike tried to touch her shoulder as she passed, but she shrugged him away.

  Alex and I stepped aside. She strode past and ripped the hand from the door. Then she turned and hurled it away into the forest before storming into the lodge.

  Mike appeared beside us. His face was filled with concern.

  “You need to tell me what’s happening,” I said.

  He nodded. “I’ll explain inside.”

  Chapter 25

  Slices of the Past

  Mike sat on the edge of couch, his hands clasped together, forefingers tapping his lips. Lucy was beside him, staring at the fireplace. Even in the dim, early-morning light, she looked pale. The anger I’d seen outside had dissipated. Now she just looked exceptionally tired. The zombie’s blood was still spattered across her chin. I’d taken one of the armchairs, and Alex sat in the other. We were all waiting for Mike to speak.

  Eventually, he lowered his hands and looked me in the eye. “You’re right. We have been watching out for someone. His name’s Charles. He used to be part of the group.” He glanced toward Lucy. “But there was a difference of opinion when it came to who made the decisions.”

  “Between you and him?”

  Mike nodded. “The plague had taken its toll on him. He became… unstable.”
/>   Alex let out a snort. “That’s an understatement.”

  Lucy glared at him. “It’s not his fault.”

  “I’m sorry,” Alex said, raising his hands.

  Mike rested a hand on Lucy’s knee, and she relaxed a little.

  “Five days ago, things came to a head. We argued, and he lost his temper. He came at me with a knife. I disarmed him, and I thought I had things under control. I didn’t. He sucker-punched me.”

  “That’s how you got hurt, both of you,” I said, gesturing toward Alex.

  “Yes. He knocked me over, and I hit my head on a rock. Alex grazed his knuckles trying to stop him.”

  “What happened to him?”

  “He ran,” Lucy said. “We thought he’d gone south, so we went north, but that night, we heard… sounds. They were just barks and screeches, things like that. We thought it might be the sound of animals in the forest, but the next day, the noises followed us as we moved.”

  “Had you heard them since you got here?”

  Lucy shook her head.

  “But you knew he was out there?”

  “Not for sure, no.”

  I rubbed my forehead, trying to ease the pressure that was building there. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

  She grimaced. “We needed shelter. I was afraid that if I told you about Charles, you’d make us leave. Mike might have died if we hadn’t stayed here.”

  Lucy was right: I wouldn’t have let them stay. I had to admit, under the circumstances I would have probably done the same as her. But they didn’t need to know that. The rules had changed, and I had a good reason for them to leave. I was about to tell them that when a sound from outside interrupted me.