A Haunting of Horrors: A Twenty-Novel eBook Bundle of Horror and the Occult

by Chet Williamson

  "Is she in pain, Bill?" McDole's voice was filled with dread.

  Perlman went to the window and stared out at the rain, thinking of how Michigan Avenue had once looked on a gray, wet afternoon like now. Then it had been all lights and shine on the streets; now it was dreary and deserted. "Yes," he said finally.

  "God," Louise said in a small voice.

  "She never hurt anyone." Calie's words were quiet.

  Perlman's eyes fixed on the floor. "No," he agreed. "She never did." It was a cowardly thing to think, but Perlman was glad he wouldn't be at Northwestern when Alex opened the door to the bomb shelter.

  Neither Alex nor Deb deserved what he would find.

  3

  REVELATION 18:9

  He shall see the smoke of her burning.

  Alex was afraid to open the shelter.

  He was filled with the dread that came with seeing Deb as a vampire, a creature that preyed on human beings for food, or would have, had she been less strong-willed. But the real truth was that he knew what he would see would tear him apart.

  The smell smacked him as soon as he pushed open the door, ugly, thick, like a rotting frog forgotten on the back shelf of a biology-class closet. He fought the gag reflex and won only by pinching his nostrils hard enough to bring tears to his eyes as he breathed through his mouth. His other hand closed around the spotlight and snapped it on. He regretted it instantly.

  The light, bright enough to illuminate a room twice the size of the shelter, showed everything in lurid, horrifying detail. Deb was on the floor, twisted atop a blanket Perlman must have given her, curled protectively as though trying to hide beneath the still-luxurious waves of her hair. Part of her face was visible, as were the hands that clutched her knees against her chest. Alex's breath hitched miserably.

  Skin slick and swollen with mottled decay, covered with a fine sheen of noxious-smelling slime, she looked like a melting, unformed fetus.

  "Oh, Deb," he whispered. She moaned lightly, as though she'd heard him say her name. Her head turned toward him for a moment, then returned to face the wall; the agony Alex saw there was nearly unbearable. He wanted to sink to his knees and scream, pound on the wall, anything to get this horrible hurt out of him, and even then, how did she feel? Had anyone considered that she might be in pain?

  His fists bunched uselessly as she sighed in her sleep; Alex could have sworn she sounded … lonely.

  He didn't care about the danger when he joined her on the floor, took her in his arms, and rocked her like a baby.

  4

  REVELATION 12:2

  And she being with child cried …

  and pained to be delivered.

  "It's a boy," Bill Perlman announced. His smile was wide but shadows of exhaustion ringed his eyes.

  There was a burst of applause. "That's great!" McDole said heartily. "It's about time we had some good news around here!"

  "Wasn't he early?" Calie asked. “Are they all right?"

  "Mother and son are fine," Perlman assured her. "He could be a little bigger, but for being a month premature, five pounds is a damned good size."

  "Five pounds!" Tala was amazed. "Wow—that's no bigger than a sack of onions!"

  "He's fine," Bill repeated. "But since you're all here, I want to let you know what's going to be happening in the future."

  "Great," C.J. muttered. "Crystal ball time." He rolled his eyes despite Calie's severe look.

  "We have a new addition, though I can't tell you his name since his mother hasn't decided. She did ask me to immunize the child."

  McDole looked puzzled. "Immunize?"

  The doctor folded his arms. "Like me, Evelyn and the baby are now carriers of the bacterium that was tested this morning, which I've called V-BAC for lack of imagination."

  "Is that really safe?" It was the first time Alex had spoken since he'd returned from Northwestern a couple of hours earlier.

  "Completely," Dr. Perlman said. "And desirable. In fact, I recommend that everyone be injected."

  C.J. chewed on the inside of his cheek for a moment, then cleared his throat. "The way I understand it, this bacteria thing isn't going to save us if we're caught by a vampire, so why bother?"

  Perlman raised his forefinger. "That's where you're wrong. It will save you—in a way. Will it stop an attacker from killing you? No." He looked around the room. "But the vampire that attacks you will become infected and die within twelve to twenty-four hours." He lifted his chin. "As a carrier, you'll already have V-BAC present in your body. It's doubtful you'll last long enough to become one of them, and if you do, you won't be strong enough to attack anyone else. You'll be gone for good by the end of thirty-six hours."

  "It'll keep us from becoming vampires ourselves?" asked Ira, his face bright with interest. "Or at least from staying that way?" Perlman nodded.

  "I'm all for it." Heads turned at Louise's enthusiastic words. She stood and rolled up her sleeve. "You got the needle? Stick it right here, Doctor." She tapped the inside of her elbow.

  "Me too," C.J. said suddenly. "I'll go for it."

  McDole looked thoughtful. "And you're positive it won’t hurt living humans. Isn't medicine normally tested for years before using it on human beings?"

  The doctor nodded again. "Yes, but these aren't normal times, are they? If there'd been any doubt, I might still have tried it on myself, but never on Evelyn and certainly not the baby."

  Alex finally looked up from his study of a map of the north Loop. He had returned to the group a half hour earlier only because of the desperate need to free the prisoners in the Mart; until now he'd stubbornly avoided joining the conversation. His clothes smelled of death and the others shifted nervously. "Did you say you took your first shot at the same time you gave one to Deb?"

  "Yes, and I think Jo herself somehow … ingested a dose before that. My second shot was just for demonstration."

  "Well," Alex said in a thick voice, "I've had a firsthand view, and the doctor looks a helluva lot better than Deb does." He turned back to the map.

  "Wait a minute—does this mean someone has to literally sacrifice himself to spread it?" Calie asked with wide eyes.

  Not at all," Perlman responded. "V-BAC is like any common bacteria—it is a common bacteria. Spread by touch, airborne, surface contact, anything a carrier touches, spits on, sneezes on, whatever, receives a sizable dose. This bacteria is not only strong and incredibly durable, it consumes food and reproduces at an amazing rate." He grinned self-consciously. "It sounds nasty, but if you people take these shots, then walk around spitting on the sidewalk for a couple of weeks, V-BAC will easily spread throughout the city—especially if we inject it into leftover food and toss the scraps in the subway entrances and sewers for the rats. That'll take care of those things down there." Perlman gave them a pleased smile.

  "We could be free of the vampires within a month."

  Disintegration

  5

  REVELATION 9:21

  Neither repented they of their murders… .

  "Fucking liar anyway!" Rita screeched.

  The small mirror shattered as she brought her hands together with a crack! then flung the pieces aside. She felt around the long countertop until her fingers found something else—a drawer—and pulled it open. She stared uncomprehendingly at the lengths of stainless steel for a few seconds before her fogged brain told her what they were and where she was. Carving knives … of course. She was in one of the deli restaurants on the second floor.

  Rita frowned. What was she doing here? No matter; she lifted a ten-inch blade and examined it. For a moment she imagined she saw her reflection dance along its length, just as she could have sworn she'd seen herself in the pocket mirror. If I'd had one of these, she decided, that bitch wouldn't have gotten me. Why hadn't Anyelet listened? Her lips pulled back and she stifled a cry at the pain that shot through her cheek. To show pain was a sign of weakness, and that would never do; anger, though, had always been impossible for her to hide.

>   Rita tucked the knife into her belt and sidled out of the restaurant while her fingers caressed her face, trailing over the lumpy scar tissue that had formed over the dirt, grease, and gunpowder embedded in the surface, sinking occasionally into a few still-open spots that continuously trickled moisture down her blouse. I'll change clothes, she decided. Then I'll get a phone book and find a plastic surgeon. After all, I run a modeling agency and I have to reflect my clients—it’s all so damned competitive now. She skittered across the corridor and leapt the last of the steps. That mirror, she told herself, had been … mistaken. Something had been wrong with it, a manufacturing flaw that had caused it to wickedly hide her reflection. She would stop and get a new one at the drugstore, one that wouldn't—

  She tilted her head at a noise, trying to refocus her thoughts, then smacked the flat of her palm against her forehead in impatience, the pain of the blow causing a low growl in her throat. There was no agency, not since the night she'd crossed paths with that redheaded demon two years ago in Mother's, a Rush Street area bar. A half-dozen drinks and Rita had left with the seductive, deadly woman, taking the first steps of her one-way trip to hell. And was that Anyelet now? She had a few things to say to that slut, all right, and she'd start with a pointed reminder of her suggestion about weapons. Someone coughed and Rita grimaced; not Anyelet at all, but Siebold, lumbering around like an overweight, overstuffed penguin. Another disgusting bodily sound as he stepped out of a side hall, then froze. He turned to hurry away.

  "Wait!" she commanded. He stopped, flinching when she circled him as he stared at his dirty shoes. "What are you doing here?" she demanded. "Spying on me? Did Anyelet tell you to?"

  "No," Siebold said quickly. "I was just g-going up to look in on the people, that's all."

  "Yeah," she sneered. "Gonna give some lucky lady the pleasure of your company tonight, huh?" Once so immaculate, Rita flicked a filthy fingernail beneath his chin. "And what's this? Big man with a little gun?" She laughed nastily as she poked at a small semi-automatic in the front of his belt. Howard said nothing, but an idea suddenly sparked in Rita's mind. She grabbed his shoulders and twisted him to face her. "Look at me. I said look at me! Tell me what I look like."

  He glanced hastily at her face and back down again. "You look … all right."

  Rita stopped, uncertain, then relaxed her grip and patted his arm. "Come on … Howard. You don’t have to be afraid. I've always admired honesty in a person—you know how I always say what’s on my mind. I respect that in another person. And, of course, I'm not having much luck trying to use a mirror. Help me out."

  "You look fine, really," he insisted.

  "Don't lie to me!" she screamed suddenly. She pushed her face close to his and he squeezed his eyes tightly shut. "If you don’t open your eyes and tell me the truth, you fat, fucking worm, I'll rip them out with my fingernails!"

  ”All right!" he yelled. He scrambled backward, her insult making the words spill recklessly from his mouth. "It looks pretty bad, okay? Like ground meat!" Sweat beaded on his forehead then streamed to his collar, and he fumbled the Uzi out and aimed it threateningly. "But remember you told me to be honest! You told me to!"

  "Yes, I did," Rita said sweetly.

  She crossed the space between them in less than a second and buried the knife in his gut. He squealed and squeezed the trigger spastically, the spray of bullets catching Rita across her chest and collarbone but not stopping her. Still, they hurt and she made him pay, cackling at his shrill scream when she twisted the blade and heaved upward, splitting his rib cage from sternum to throat. His blood, thick and red and repulsively plentiful, spurted in a dozen directions but Rita ignored it. She yanked the carving knife free and watched Siebold fall heavily to the floor atop his stupid, pathetic gun, a corpulent, sodden mass.

  "Fucking liar."

  6

  REVELATION 19:18

  That ye may eat the flesh of men …

  Bloodsmell.

  It hit Anyelet as soon as she entered the main corridor, drew her irresistibly to the far end where a group of her soldiers were jostling each other for a spot on a body sprawled across the floor. Mingling with the smell of fresh blood were other scents, too: grease, dirt, sweat—

  Siebold.

  "Who did this?" She waded through the cluster, yanking them back from their places by whatever was handy, an arm, a handful of hair, anything. Ron was holding a small Uzi clear of the mess while he suckled heartily on a spot of flesh squeezing through the torn fabric covering one knee; another idiot, Werner, literally had his face buried in the hole of the dead man’s chest. She pulled him up and flung him aside with a sound of disgust.

  Werner wiped his face on his sleeve, smearing the gore down his arm. "We don’t know, Mistress." The others murmured in agreement. "We found him like this." He pointed to the slash that ran from Siebold's neck to his crotch and giggled. "Field-dressed!"

  Anyelet scowled and dismissed them. "Go back to your feast." They fell hungrily on the body and she moved away. Rita? Probably; it was a waste of a good breeder, though the man had been an annoying shit and caused more grief than he was worth. Now there was only one other person who could be trusted to guard the humans during the day.

  "Good evening, Stephen." Anyelet set a candle next to the door.

  He said nothing, merely watched her watch him.

  "Where's Siebold?" he asked at last. "He comes around for his final check at dusk."

  "Howard is … indisposed." She glided to his side and touched his cheek; he jerked away. "Why do you fight?" she asked when he shut his eyes. He stood there, shoulders rigid as he waited. She smiled slyly and dropped her hand. "Howard won't be coming back."

  Stephen's face lifted. "What?"

  "Would you like to do some of the good you're always whining about?" she continued. "You could care for these people during the day." She faced him. "I want you to take his place."

  Stephen's face went scarlet. "Don't fool yourself, Anyelet. I may whore myself for you, but I'll never be your in-house rapist."

  “Of course not," she said easily. "I'm just offering you a limited type of freedom." His eyebrows raised and she nodded. "Come and go as you please during the day, darling. No chains. I'll trust you to return each night."

  "Why?" he asked suspiciously. "Why should I?"

  She shrugged. "If you don't, you'll spend the rest of your life knowing you abandoned these people when you could have helped them. No one else stands between them and us." Her eyes glittered wildly in the candle flame. "It makes no difference to me. One of my soldiers can easily handle this chore. Of course, it’s not likely we'll be as receptive to their needs." She ran her tongue over sharp, white teeth. "Howard made two of the women here pregnant, you know." Stephen's expression filled with horror and Anyelet chuckled. "We were quite pleased." She stepped to the door and picked up the candle. "I thought your care would be better, but if you'd rather not …”

  "Wait! I—I'll do it—on one condition."

  Anyelet glowered at him. "I make the rules, Stephen. Be very careful when you tell me your ‘condition.’”

  He stared at the floor. "I just want you to stop … touching me. Like you do."

  She laughed heartily. “As you wish. I've grown bored with you anyway." She stepped out the door, then turned and gave him a wry smile. "Interesting," she said, “I didn't think you'd be strong enough to ever say that."

  Well, Anyelet thought, Stephen won't be much good at defending the cache of food, but at least he'll take better care of them. Short of cutting off their feet, she didn't believe he was resourceful enough to free them. There was still the problem of breeding, but it was a minor one; cut off from her, Stephen would probably end up as horny as Howard, though not so brutal. Besides, once he cleaned those people up, it would be easy to entice one of the males with a less-than-savory mind into indulging. It always was.

  She wandered thoughtfully downstairs and stared at Howard's body, drained and pasty-faced in death, his sk
in pocked with bite marks. She should tell someone to get it out of here and dump it in the river, then gather a group to search a few of the nearby buildings. That odd-looking State of Illinois Center was a possibility, or the courthouse. She shrugged; except for an occasional moan from the third floor, the Mart was silent. Rita and Vic had disappeared, and the cluster of soldiers who'd glutted themselves on Howard's blood were probably sprawled sluggishly in their rooms. She turned and went back to the main lobby, her thoughts of the other night returning. This so-called "army" was useless—lazy, disorganized, and above all, disobedient, a group of sad and ignorant stragglers. She would grant them this one last night of indolence, but that was all. Then there would be a change for the better, or she would destroy them all and start over.

  Perhaps her first new companion would be the holy man himself.

  7

  REVELATION 2:11

  She that overcometh shall not be hurt of the second death.

  "Please … don't."

  Alex stepped inside the door of the bomb shelter. "You were here while I was sleeping," Deb whispered. "I felt you."

  "Yes." He took another small step.

  "Why did you come back?" Her voice was thick and bubbly, her lungs clotted with liquid.

  “I …”He couldn't answer.

  She laughed sadly. "You came to say good-bye."

  He didn't turn on the spotlight this time. Instead he set his flashlight on the bottom step outside, giving only enough illumination to make out her location. He wanted to remember her as she had been, not as this terrible smell proved she was now. He sucked a breath in through his mouth and moved closer; her eyes, watery and red, were the only thing that showed clearly. He didn't know what to say.