Serial Killer Z: Shadows

by Philip Harris

  With practiced movements, Browne and Adley leaped out of the helicopter. Nilsson and Weber followed them out and took up positions on either side of the door. I’d seen the formation before, at Camp Redfern—procedures drilled into their muscle memory became second nature.

  Browne and Adley crouched and ran toward the hut, sweeping their guns from side to side. Half a dozen more zombies wandered into view, attracted by the sound of the helicopter and the gunfire. Out in the wild, I’d seen zombies moving quickly, but these were slow. If Browne’s zombie spotters really existed, they’d probably list these as Stumblers.

  I considered jumping out of the helicopter myself, not to help but to get away from Faraday before he recognized me. I’d be able to avoid the zombies, but it was a stupid idea nonetheless. All I’d do was draw attention to myself, and I still needed to get into the city.

  Nilsson raised her rifle and pulled the trigger, but the shot must have missed because none of the zombies reacted. Weber snorted. Nilsson ignored him and fired again. The closest zombie crumpled to the ground, the top of its head sheared off.

  Browne and Adley had reached the hut. The female survivor was already climbing down. Browne was shouting at her to hurry up. Weber’s rifle chattered. Bullets tore through the leg of one of the advancing zombies. It fell, twitching.

  The second survivor jumped the last few feet to the ground. Browne pointed him in the direction of the chopper. He put his arm around the woman, and they ran across the concrete toward us.

  A pair of zombies appeared from around the side of the hut. Adley stepped forward and clubbed one of them in the face with the butt of his rifle. The zombie stumbled and tripped over its own feet.

  The second grabbed at Adley, but he twisted, jammed his gun up beneath its jaw, and fired. The back of the zombie’s head exploded. Adley shoved it, and it fell back onto the first just as it was about to get up. Another shot and both zombies were dead.

  The man and woman reached the helicopter. They nodded to me grimly as they clambered on board. They looked terrified, their faces tired and drawn, smears of blood and grime across their cheeks. They sat down on my side of the helicopter. The man took the woman’s hands and squeezed them. She gave him a forced, half smile.

  The last survivor was still on top of the hut. He was pointing toward a group of zombies off to the right. Browne was shouting at him. Adley joined her and started shouting too, but the man shook his head and jabbed his finger toward the zombies. They were well over fifty feet away, and moving slowly.

  Anger contorted Adley’s face. He stalked a few feet away from the hut, then knelt and raised his rifle to his shoulder. The gun bucked. Bullets tore through the zombies. They fell to the ground, a mass of blood and broken bone. Adley turned back to the man and shouted something at him. I couldn’t hear the words, but it spurred the man on the hut into action.

  He leaned over the edge of the building and dropped a brown backpack to the ground. Then, moving excruciatingly carefully, he lowered himself over the side. His feet wavered in midair for a few seconds before he managed to find a window ledge for support. Adley fired at a couple more zombies, and the man started. His grip slipped, and he almost fell. He recovered, then tightened his grip on the edge of the roof. He clung there, too scared to move.

  Browne shouted and gestured at him.

  Adley looked over his shoulder toward Faraday, an impatient look on his face. There was movement beside me. The man who’d made it off the hut started to climb back out of the helicopter. His companion grabbed his shoulder and pulled him back.

  Browne slapped her hands against the hut to get the man’s attention. His face was pale, his eyes wide. Browne shouted at him and jabbed a finger at the helicopter. The man glanced across at us then nodded.

  He shifted his feet, searching for a way down. In the end he half fell, half jumped the last few feet. He landed awkwardly on his ankle and stumbled, but Browne caught him. She helped him get his balance, then looked directly into his face until he nodded.

  Adley was already halfway to the chopper. Browne started after him. The man moved to follow her, then remembered the backpack. He turned back, grabbed it, and slung it over his shoulder.

  I saw the man’s reaction to the zombie before I saw the zombie itself. His eyes widened in terror. He half ducked, half tried to run. The indecision cost him his life.

  Another zombie appeared from around the corner of the hut, grabbed his shoulder and pulled him back into its grasp. The man tried to jerk free, but it was too late. The zombie leaned forward and sank its teeth into the man’s cheek. The man screamed, his legs twisted inward, and he fell to the ground. The zombie followed him down, tearing into flesh until the man fell still.

  The woman sitting beside me pressed her hand over her mouth. Tears filled horror struck eyes. When the man slipped his arm around her shoulder and pulled her close, she buried her face into his shoulder. She stayed there until the helicopter shifted and took off.

  “Thank you,” said the man, shouting to be heard above the sound of the engine.

  Browne already had her headset back on. She tapped it to indicate she couldn’t hear. The man raised a hand in apology. He leaned over to me and screamed in my face. “My name is Ryan. This is Sara.”

  “Marcus,” I shouted.

  Ryan looked in his mid-thirties, but his disheveled hair and beard was still free of gray. He was white, but his skin was tanned and wind-worn. Like his clothes, his weathered complexion implied he’d spent a significant part of the apocalypse out in the open.

  Sara was Asian and looked a few years younger. Either she’d spent more time under shelter or she’d withstood the elements better. There was a trio of scratches across her cheek, but other than that she looked relatively unscathed. Both of them wore ragged, dirty jeans and matching nylon jackets that had seen better days. They were tense, as though they expected this miraculous rescue to be torn away from them at any moment. There was a hardness in Sara’s eyes—a look I’d seen dozens of times in survivors that had seen the worst the zombies had wrought.

  The helicopter stayed low as it swept away from the hut and over the water. Ahead lay the Cambie Street Bridge and beyond that, the downtown core. The city had changed since I’d last been there. A massive concrete wall ran along what had once been a cycle path. It stretched off into the distance in both directions, seemingly encircling the entire city.

  We pulled up over the bridge, then turned right and continued climbing until we were above the high-rise buildings that made up most of the downtown. The skyline was much as I remembered it, but some of the buildings had been damaged by fire and one entire block had somehow been reduced to rubble. A few people and the occasional van or truck moved along the streets, but otherwise what had once been a bustling, thriving city was now a ghost town. So quiet, in fact, that I wondered what exactly the wall had been built to protect.

  Chapter 5

  Faraday’s Camp

  The helicopter turned in a wide arc until it was heading back the way we’d come, then slowed and dropped precipitously. Ryan gave a little shriek. A few seconds later, we touched down at the edge of a broad, concrete-covered patch of land. The pilot, Parish, cut the engine, and the rotors wound down.

  Browne hauled open the side door, and Weber and Adley jumped out. Nilsson followed and immediately walked away from the aircraft, her rifle slung over her shoulder. The others stood beside the helicopter and gestured for us to get out.

  I let the other survivors climb out first while I watched Faraday. He was paying no attention to me. He was too busy talking to someone through his headset.

  “Come on,” Weber said.

  I apologized and clambered down.

  Ryan was introducing himself to Browne, but as soon as my feet hit the concrete, I searched for a way out. We’d landed in what seemed to be a temporary camp of some sort. I recognized the area. It had once been a parking lot that was frequently used by film and television crews, back when there was
still such a thing as Hollywood.

  Two sides of the camp were flanked by the concrete wall that we’d seen as we flew in. It put Sanctuary’s meager defenses to shame. Well over forty feet high, it was comprised of dozens of concrete slabs that were bolted together to form a solid barrier. Every fifty feet or so, there was a platform. Most of them were occupied by soldiers carrying automatic rifles like those of my rescuers. Huge rectangular halogen lamps flanked each platform, bathing the camp and the surrounding area in a harsh, white light.

  Ryan had the same thought I did when I saw the working lights. “Where does the power for this place come from?” he said.

  Weber gestured in a vaguely northern direction. “We’ve secured the dam in the mountains. As long as we don’t use too much power, we’re good. At least until the winter starts taking down power lines.”

  The remaining sides of the camp featured high chain-link fence topped with razor wire. A sliding gate at one end provided the only obvious way in or out. There was a hut beside the gate, two figures outlined inside. A dozen or so loudspeakers of varying designs were mounted around the fence and walls, pointing in toward the camp’s inhabitants.

  The camp itself was comprised of a dozen or so blocky portable buildings like those you’d see on a construction site. They were arranged in orderly rows that took up the bulk of the western side of the lot. Four more buildings, bigger than the others, stood on the eastern side. A storage area filled with pallets of supplies, parking for a couple of white vans, the helicopter pad where we were, and a recreation area with a basketball court shared the rest of the space.

  There were more people in the camp than we’d seen on the streets. Soldiers and civilians walked around or stood and talked in groups. Four men were playing basketball while a young woman sat at the side of the court, reading a book. Five men in blue overalls with hardhats and flashlights stood beside one of the white vans.

  The scene looked normal enough, but tension hung in the air. There was something about the way the people moved, the forced lightness in the snippets of conversations I caught from passersby. The faces of the men beside the vans were tired, haunted.

  I was about to thank Browne for her help then make my way toward the gate when Ryan stepped in front of me. He offered me his hand. After a moment’s hesitation, I took it.

  “Pleased to meet you, Marcus.”

  Ryan shook my hand vigorously for an uncomfortably long time before finally letting go. Sara gave me a curt nod, but her eyes watched me with suspicion.

  “You wouldn’t believe how glad we are to be here,” Ryan said. “Or maybe you would. You look like you’ve faced your fair share of challenges.”

  I shrugged. “We all have.”

  “True, true.” Ryan looked around, taking in the protective wall with its healthy contingent of soldiers. “But we’re safe now, eh?”

  He did have a point. Relatively speaking, this place was a fortress.

  “So, you were living rough, too?” he said.

  “Yeah, for a while.”

  “We’ve been out there three weeks. Before then, we were in a town called Agassiz. You might have heard of it. There were about forty of us. We thought we had it good, but then one of those massive groups of zombies hit us. We didn’t stand a chance. A few people got out, me and Sara included, but we were scattered. There were six of us in our group, and we decided to try to get here.” Ryan’s eyes glistened. “It was Harvey that told us about this place. He almost made it, too.”

  Ryan’s story was eerily similar to what had happened at Hope and Sanctuary. It seemed impossible that there would ever be stability in this new world. Fate certainly seemed intent on breaking civilization’s spirit.

  “Where are you from?” Ryan said.

  “Hmm? Oh, I lived here, actually.”

  Ryan’s eyes widened. “During the breakout?”

  “No, I was staying with friends up at Whistler when the infection hit.”

  “So, how’d ya end up on the chopper with these hard cases?”

  “It’s a long story.”

  Ryan waited for me to elaborate. When I didn’t, he said, “Right, right.” He seemed about to ask me another question when Faraday got out of the helicopter.

  Browne, Weber, and Adley straightened up slightly as the captain walked past them. He stopped in front of me, Ryan, and Sara, and intently regarded each person. When he reached me, he frowned. I couldn’t be sure, but it felt like he was looking at me a little bit more closely than the others.

  I tried to match Ryan’s look, tired but grateful. I couldn’t get the image of the guilt that must be radiating off me out of my mind. If the shadow had been outside, looking at me, it would have seen it. Maybe Faraday would, too.

  After what felt like hours, Faraday moved away from us. “Follow me.”

  Ryan took Sara’s hand. “Come on, babe. Our new life awaits.” His tone was almost light. Being behind the safety of the walls seemed to have restored some of his confidence.

  Faraday led us across the camp. Weber and Adley followed behind us as though we’d gotten our own armed escort.

  We were nearing the gate, and I was already making plans to find a quiet place where I could consider my next step, when Faraday stopped outside a long, rectangular building. He pulled open the door and directed us inside. His eyes lingered on Sara as she passed.

  The gate was twenty feet away. It was made of more chain-link fencing attached to a metal frame. Rubber wheels would allow it to roll open, but, for the moment, it was closed. Two bored-looking soldiers stood beside the gate. One of them was smoking, the other kept waving the smoke away from his face as they talked.

  “Is there a problem?” Faraday said.

  I’d been staring at the gate. I shook my head. “No, sorry.”

  I walked past the captain and into the building.

  The interior was dimly lit, and it took my eyes a few seconds to adjust. By then, Faraday had pushed his way past us to get to a wooden counter that split the room in half.

  A man stood behind the counter. At over six feet tall with long, muscular arms and big hands, he looked more like a basketball player than a soldier. He was bald, and his dark skin was covered with a fine film of sweat. When he raised his head to look at us, I saw his nose was bent where it had been broken and not set properly.

  “Three new arrivals for you, Jefferson,” Faraday said.

  “Yes, sir.”

  Jefferson pulled a pad from beneath the desk, picked up a pen, and pointed it at Ryan. In a deep, booming voice that filled the room, he said, “Right, you first.”

  Ryan stepped forward.

  Jefferson grimaced. “You stink, you know that, right?”

  Ryan smiled awkwardly. “Yeah, sorry, it’s been a while.”

  “Hell, we all had that problem. Name?”

  “Ryan Jones.”

  Jefferson wrote Ryan’s name on the pad. “And what can you do, Mr. Jones?”

  “I’m a real estate agent.”

  Jefferson chuckled. “There’s not much call for Realtors round here nowadays. I meant what skills do you have, what can you contribute? After you have a shower, of course.”

  “Oh, right. Well, Sara says I’m a pretty good cook.”

  “That’s more like it,” Jefferson said as he made his notes. “That Sara?”

  “Yes, she’s my fiancée.”

  “Okay, good.” His eyes flicked to Faraday. “We’ll bear that in mind.”

  Jefferson pulled a plastic bag from beneath the counter. “Some clean clothes and a set of overalls. We don’t have no cook’s gear here. Everyone gets the same uniform.” He leaned forward and stage whispered. “I think the captain owns shares in the company that makes these things.”

  Ryan laughed a little too hard and took the bag.

  “Thank you, Mr. Jones,” said Jefferson. “Right then, Sara, it’s your turn.”

  I moved aside as Sara stepped forward.

  “Okay, what’s your surname?” Je
fferson said.

  “Nishimoto.” Her voice was thickly accented but solid, confident.

  “Okay, Ms. Nishimoto. What skills do you have?”

  Sara frowned and glanced over her shoulder at Ryan. He said a few words in Japanese, the sounds a rapid-fire babble to my ears.

  “Ah,” she said. She turned back to Jefferson and made a sewing motion with her hands. “I can sew.”

  Jefferson gave her a huge grin and a thumbs-up. She rolled her eyes at him.

  “Sorry,” he said, and handed her a bag similar to Ryan’s.

  Sara gave him a tired nod and returned to Ryan.

  Jefferson looked across at me and called, “Next!”

  I limped up to the counter. “I can’t stay. I’m just here to find my family, and then we’ll be leaving.”

  “No problem. We can help you find your family, but first I’ll need your name.”

  Faraday moved up beside me. He was staring intently at my face. I was drawing too much attention to myself.

  “Okay, no problem,” I said, trying to sound nonchalant even as my stomach twisted itself into knots. “Marcus Black.”

  “And what can you do to help the community, Mr. Black?”

  I took a deep breath. I was a medical researcher, or had been, but I didn’t want to end up working in some makeshift hospital.

  I let out the breath in a heavy sigh. “I’m really more of a thinker than a doer.”

  Jefferson gave a little snort and grinned, but his eyes flicked to Faraday.

  “You limping?”

  “It’s just bruised, nothing major.”

  “Well, I’ll put you down as general workforce then. Don’t worry, you look pretty beat up, so we’ll find you something that ain’t too challenging.”

  “Thank you.”

  Jefferson handed me another of the plastic bags, then looked past me at a clock on the wall.

  “Right,” Jefferson said, “it’s almost curfew time, so if you wait outside for a couple of minutes, I’ll finish up here and then take you over to your quarters.”