by A. P. Fuchs
Firing off round after round, she frowned when the clip was empty. She reloaded and continued her assault. Many of the undead dropped, while others stepped around or over their kin to get closer to her.
A handful of the creatures were too close for comfort, so she ran down the front of the vehicle, hit the street and ran about a block before getting up onto the cab of an old pickup. Employing the same strategy, she blew the heads off the dead as they got closer. She had to thin them out before she could attempt to outrun them. All it would take was for one to get in her path and grab her. The horde would come in, overpower her in an instant, and take her down.
Loud gunshots came from the direction of downtown and Tracy watched in amazement as numerous zombies in the horde fell down.
She kept up her own efforts, thankful to whoever was helping her. Was it Joe?
He must’ve found a gun, then, or even found his old one, she thought.
The gunshots rang on, zombies hitting the pavement one after another.
Low thunks brought her attention to the front of the pickup. A couple of creatures were climbing up the hood. She took aim and took them out.
Finally, after several minutes of shooting, the undead crowd began to thin enough she felt it safe to get off the truck, run and get some distance.
“Thanks!” she called.
“You’re welcome,” said a familiar voice from behind.
Tracy turned around. She hadn’t heard him approach against all the gunfire.
It was Felix.
“Surprised to see you here,” she said, “but thanks.”
He simply nodded and the two ran down the street, finally able to get some distance from the undead that stumbled after them.
* * * *
The gunshots had been far away, but they were close enough to tell Joe he had to be careful. The real question was who was firing. Not many people made it a habit to go out and about and kill zombies.
The pain in his side still sharp and pronounced, he kept moving. The cut on his forearm didn’t hurt all that bad.
The smart choice would’ve been to stay at the house, he thought, but the idea Tracy was out here alone bugged him and he had to make sure she was okay. If you find her.
The gunshots had died down about five minutes back. Joe glanced at the McDonald’s on his left and suddenly got a craving for a burger. Despite what anyone might say, McDonald’s was still one of his favorites. No one made a juicy quarter pounder like they did.
It didn’t take long to see where the gunshots came from as Tracy appeared a few sidewalk lengths away, walking with a huge guy he didn’t recognize.
Is he why she came downtown? He sighed.
They finally met up.
“It’s about freakin’ time,” Tracy said.
“For what?” Joe said.
“Didn’t know where you were.”
“Had to take care of something.”
“Yeah? Like what?”
Joe glanced at the big guy, then said, “I’ll tell you later.”
She arched an eyebrow. “Nice cuts.”
“Thanks for noticing.”
“From your little excursion?”
“I said, I’ll tell you later.” Joe stuck out his hand toward the big guy. “Name’s Joe, Joe Bailey.”
The man wrapped his enormous paw around Joe’s hand, swallowing it whole. “Felix.”
Joe waited to see if the guy would give a last name, but he didn’t. “Okay, then,” he said and tugged his hand away. To Tracy: “Where were you?”
“Looking for you. Didn’t really work out, the way I originally planned. Doesn’t matter. Here you are.”
“Indeed.”
Tracy shifted awkwardly on her feet. “How’s the house?”
What? “Um . . . fine.” Is she making chitchat because Felix is here? Time to take control. “Listen, what’s the plan? Should we go back to the house or find somewhere else? The place was empty of supplies anyway.”
“Felix and I came from the safe house.”
“The what . . .?”
“Like the Hub, but smaller. They have food there.”
“What about the Hub?”
“Destroyed.”
“Oh, Tracy, I’m so sorry.”
“Me, too.”
“So this safe house . . .”
“Only close place we can go.”
“Then let’s do it.”
Tracy headed down the sidewalk, moving back toward downtown.
Joe jogged up to her. Felix took up the rear.
“What was the undead situation on your way over?” Joe asked.
“Ran into a patch of them, but Felix and I took care of it.”
Joe sighed. “Well, I’m glad you’re safe.”
“Me, too.”
“Sorry for running out on you.”
“I’ll bet.”
“What does that mean?”
“It means you let your own demons get the best of you, that’s what it means. I’m not stupid, Joe. You had some things to work out, fine. Next time . . .”
“What?”
She huffed past him. “Don’t do it alone.”
Joe stopped walking, Felix nearly bumping into him from behind. Tracy was right. His days of going it alone should be over.
* * * *
19
Mirror, Mirror
Billie was still getting used to this place. When the blue door had opened and revealed an enormous room supported by several columns, she wasn’t expecting to find an industrial lab complex complete with its own miniature air hanger. People in lab coats bustled to and fro, army personnel did likewise.
The man who had greeted them once they entered the room was named Tony Moore, a thin wiry man with a New Zealand accent. He identified himself as the head of these facilities, but Billie wasn’t sure if that was true or not.
“What’s that?” had been Sven’s question more than once as Tony—Doctor Moore, as he preferred to be called—led them on a tour.
It turned out, Dr. Moore explained, the notion of military personnel having been completely wiped out when fighting the undead was a complete fabrication. Whether one constructed by the military themselves or just misinformed hearsay, he didn’t say. Regardless, he explained that all over the world secret bunkers were abuzz with activity, with weapons of old being modified to withstand the threat of an enemy that could not die unless by specific means. The difficulty in conquering the undead was in ensuring they could be completely wiped out. All it took was one straggler that could infect another and the whole event could start all over again.
Billie understood, but as admirable and important as the work of these scientists and military men were—not to mention turning an underground parkade into a generator-powered near-state-of-the-art facility—they did not know they were going against a threat which went beyond the borders of the earthly realm. Heck, even she was still trying to wrap her head around that. She considered telling Dr. Moore about the angels and demons, but wasn’t quite sure how to approach it so decided to wait for the right opening in their conversation.
“And over here we have Jetliers,” Moore said, pointing to a row of motorcycles that had flat bottoms more like snowmobiles instead of wheels. Alongside each of the Jetliers was a set of doors that lifted up vertically like a Lamborghini so that once one was inside, they would be completely protected. “Each is armed with a Gatling gun, shot-blasters on the sides—think big, powerful buck shots—as well as heat detectors, cool-body read-outs, and bulletproof glass.”
“Sounds impressive,” Bastian said.
“It is.”
Dr. Moore then led them over past a row of metallic silver weapons, each appearing to be a suped-up version of familiar military firearms: long-range rifles, machine guns, handguns, grenades. Even a bazooka. The handles on each looked to have a slot for one’s hands to protect them from bites. All also had long-range scopes, even the handguns.
Billie considered the crystals embedded in the
stone on her bracelet and expected there to be one here as well. She still couldn’t figure out what they were for.
Dr. Moore took them past a set of doors, and like the other strongholds she and the others had visited, this one extended beyond the regular borders of the building above. As she, Dr. Moore, Sven and Bastian moved down the hallway, a strong sense of unease crept up her spine.
“Where are we going?” Billie asked.
“To the vault,” Dr. Moore replied.
“What’s in it?”
“You’ll see.”
She glanced back at Sven and gave him a look she hoped read: I don’t like the sound of that.
At the end of the hallway was a single door, which Dr. Moore opened after using a key. The room was dark. Billie and the others stood outside the doorway.
“There’s no way I’m going in there,” she said.
“Why not?”
“Turn the lights on and we’ll talk.”
Dr. Moore frowned, then reached inside the door and flicked a switch. The lights flickered on, revealing a plain room with light gray walls, a large set of gray blinds on each except for the wall with the door, an eight-foot table in the middle, a chair on each side.
Dr. Moore gestured to the chairs. “Come, sit.”
Billie eyed him quizzically then entered, Sven and Bastian behind her. They each grabbed a spot at the table; Billie was thankful to sit down after being on her feet most of the day.
Dr. Moore stood at the door to the room, looking past the doorframe as if talking to someone just outside it. Billie didn’t know who could possibly be there as no one had been there when they first came down the hallway, and the walls on each side didn’t bear any doors.
“Something’s not right,” Billie said.
“What?” asked Sven.
She got up from the table and started toward the door. Dr. Moore gave her a quick glance, smiled, then closed the door. She ran up to it, turned the knob and pulled. Locked.
“Hey!” she shouted and smacked the door with an open-palm.
Behind her the chairs scraped along the floor as the two men got out from their seats.
“Open up!” she said, hitting the door again. She pulled and pulled on the door, but to no avail.
Sven put a hand on her shoulder and gave her a gentle push back to give him some room. “Open the door!” he bellowed and smacked it with the side of his fist.
Bastian pulled and tugged on the door knob. “Nothing.”
Sven tried the doorknob, too, with the same result.
The two men kicked and beat at it until they turned away, sweating and panting, realizing there was no use.
Billie could only look at them with puzzlement.
What the heck was going on?
Over an hour passed. The trio sat around the table. Billie rested her head in her hand. Sven and Bastian each had their arms folded and heads down on the table. Every so often Sven let out a huge snore; for some reason she found it cute.
How long were they going to stay here? What was the point of coming here only to be locked up in a room?
Her stomach growled and she looked forward to having another taste of Sven’s cooking. The big man let out another loud snore.
The sudden snap of the blinds on the three walls as they shot up gave Billie a jolt. She jerked against the table, the quick movement rousing Sven and Bastian. Heart racing, she saw the three walls each held a large mirror beneath the blinds. All three of them were on the alert, each looking at a separate mirror.
Whispers rose on the air, foreign whispers, a smooth rhythmic language. After a couple phrases, Billie recognized it was the same language that hovered on the air during the Storm of Skulls.
“We got to get out of here NOW!” Billie jumped over the table and ran to the door. She kicked it and pounded it with all her might. “No!”
Sven came up behind and put a hand on her shoulder. “What? Why?”
She spun around to face him. “Don’t you hear that?”
“I hear it, but I don’t know what it means?”
“It’s a trap! We’re in a trap!”
Finally, Bastian shot up from the table and came over to them. “Trap? What kind of trap? Are we going to die?”
Billie pressed her lips together, debating whether she should tell him the truth, that unless they acted, yes, they were going to die.
Sven gently nudged Billie aside and with a nod to his brother, he and Bastian went to work banging on the door and looking for a way to take it down. Billie knew that if the door was supernaturally sealed, their efforts would be useless.
The voices on the air rose in volume. She slowly turned around and her breath caught in her throat when she saw in the mirror opposite the door that her, Sven’s and Bastian’s reflections were gone.
“Uh . . . guys . . .” She didn’t think they heard her above their thunderous thuds against the door.
She checked the other two mirrors. The one on the right bore the same thing, but the one on the left took her by surprise. Her visage in the mirror had changed. She was no longer the young, happy-go-lucky computer nerd she once was. Instead, a woman stood by Sven and Bastian, a tall woman with long, spindly limbs, pale translucent skin, sunken cheeks bones and dark eyes. Her hair was pale ginger, long and scraggly, hanging well past her waist. The woman’s clothes were in tatters, mere ribbons of what must have been at one point a beautiful golden gown.
Trembling, she reached for Sven, tugging on his arm, the woman in the mirror copying her movement. He spun around and backhanded her, sending her across the room.
Billie lay on the floor, shaking, her face throbbing from the impact, her nose alight with fiery pain. He must’ve broke it.
Sven stormed over to her. “Where is she!”
“Where’s—Sven, it’s me. It’s Billie!”
“Liar!”
He picked her up and slammed her down on the table. The shock of the impact rattled every bone in her body, dazing her. Sven leaned over her, eyeing her with such hate she didn’t know if he was even who she thought he was. Perhaps he was one of the shape-shifting zombies and this whole thing had been a ruse, right from the cottage all the way through to this place. Had Nathaniel simply sent her off to die? Or had the angel been deceived and thought he had put her on a special assignment which, in reality, was devised by Hell?
Eyes watering, Billie said, “Please, Sven . . . don’t . . .”
Sven cocked his fist. “Don’t say my—” He looked forward to somewhere past her, maybe at the mirror across the way, and his expression went from raging mad to one of sheer shock and terror. He immediately collapsed beside the table and started retching on all fours. Bastian ran to his side only to be shoved away.
Sven got to his feet and began stumbling around the room, tearing out clumps of his gorgeous blond hair, ripping his outfit. Bastian shouted at him in German though Billie didn’t understand the words except “dummkopf,” which basically meant “stupid person.”
Bastian once more tried to console his brother only to receive a violent kick to the groin that immediately sent Bastian to his knees. Now kneeling before another mirror, Bastian’s body began to quake and Billie could only assume he saw himself in another way, too.
“Oh no . . .” she groaned.
Bastian shakily got to his feet and ran at the mirror. He crashed into it, the mirror cracking. Right after, he braced himself against it with both palms and started hitting his head into the mirror, sending out shards of it streaked with his blood.
“Bastian, stop!” Billie screamed, then bit back her tongue, thinking maybe he’d suddenly turn on her and assault her like her brother did.
Sven.
He paced back and forth near the corner of the room, arms outspread, screaming and cursing, occasionally taking swings at an opponent that wasn’t there.
Billie tried to get off the table. The moment she raised her head, a bolt of nausea punched her in the stomach and she had to put her head down on her
arm for a moment before trying again. Summoning her strength, she slowly rose up and was able to sit on the table. She deliberately kept her eyes off the mirror, only aware of the mirrors in her peripheral.
It’s the mirrors that are messing up Sven and his brother because they keep looking at them. I don’t want to see that woman I saw again, whoever she is. Oh no! Is it me? Maybe even the real me? She shook her head. No, don’t let them play mind games with you. Stay focused. You’ve been in deadly situations before. Keep a level head like Joe does. It’s the only reason we lasted as long as we did. Is he okay? Oh, Joe, don’t be dead. She shoved the thought from her mind. Mirrors. Mirrors, mirrors, mirrors.
Billie hopped off the table, keeping her head bowed. She grabbed the nearest chair and took it to the mirror on her right. The first blow sent a spider web across it. The second turned the spider web into a mosaic. The third shattered the mirror, the pieces falling off the wall, revealing glowing occult symbols underneath.
Ignoring the sudden rush of evil that permeated her being, she cautiously approached the mirror near Sven.
Please don’t lash out, please don’t lash out. Deciding to move and hit as hard and as fast as she could, she raised the chair and quickly smashed it into the mirror. Sven roared. She got in a second shot. Sven turned toward her, feral. Billie threw the chair again against the mirror, bringing it down, revealing similar glowing symbols on the wall beneath.
Bastian. Where was Bastian?
He came in from the side and took her to the ground.
“No!” she shrieked.
Bastian had his hands around her throat, his eyes coated over in black, reminding her of purple olives. Snarling, he squeezed, the pressure on her throat throwing her body into a panic.
Something shattered by her. Another crash followed by another, then a deep, hoarse roar. Sven flew in from the side, tackling his brother and getting him off her. He beat down on his brother without restraint, shouting at him in German.
