Serial Killer Z: Shadows

by Philip Harris

  Fitch let out a slow breath and swallowed hard.

  “You don’t like going out on the water?” Ryan said.

  “I don’t like going anywhere there are zombies.”

  Ryan was about to say something else, but the boat hit another wave and bucked. Eduardo gave a little whoop of pleasure. Everyone ducked as a plume of ice-cold spray splashed over the boat. I slid across the plastic bench I was sitting on. Mason was the only person other than Eduardo who didn’t seem affected by the shifting of the boat. He stood beside the captain, looking out over the waves.

  We passed beneath the shadow of the bridge. The inlet ended less than a mile ahead of us. The remains of Science World sat at the far end. The building had once been a museum housed inside a metallic geodesic ball dotted with LEDs that flashed and changed color. Now it was just a blackened husk, ravaged by fire. The exterior wall on the right-hand side was buckled and twisted, blown out by an explosion.

  Mason pointed left, out across the water. “Got one.”

  Eduardo eased back on the throttle and turned in the direction Mason was pointing. The boat slowed, and the bow dropped lower into the water. The ride became a lot smoother, and I no longer felt I was about to be bounced into the ocean. It did nothing to ease Fitch’s fears. If anything, he’d grown even paler. His knuckles were white where he gripped the boat’s railing.

  The boat rose over a wave, and I saw what Mason was pointing at. A lump of wood floated about forty feet away. Eduardo adjusted the throttle again and arced the boat toward it.

  Tom tapped me on the shoulder and gestured for me to move. I slid out of the way. He fumbled beneath the seating for a few seconds, then brought out a wooden pole about seven feet long. One end was fitted with a diamond-shaped metal spike. The spear’s tip was blunt, but it still looked vicious. The sight of it reminded me of a weapon I’d made while I was living at Camp Redfern: the snare. The memory kindled an aching sense of loss deep within me.

  As we got closer to the chunk of wood, I realized my mistake. It was actually a half-submerged body. It bobbed up and down in the water, the heavy waves repeatedly hiding then revealing then hiding it again. The water around the body was stained black. Each time a wave hit it, a cloud of dark fluid seeped into the water.

  Eduardo cut the throttle and brought the boat alongside the corpse. The gentle lapping of water replaced the engine’s uneven rattle.

  The corpse moved.

  It turned its head toward us. The face was bloated and half concealed with thick tangles of hair. One of its eyes was missing, the other was a milky white. The zombie let out a moan—a bubbling, watery sound. A purplish, bloated hand lifted from the water. Two of its fingers were missing, and there was seaweed draped around its forearm.

  The zombie was on Fitch’s side of the boat. He was still clinging to the rail, but he strained to get as far away from the creature as he could. It was obvious the zombie wouldn’t be able to get to him, there was no way for it to get any purchase on the side of the boat. It was equally obvious Fitch was terrified.

  He removed one hand from the railing long enough to wave at Tom. “For God’s sake, kill it!”

  Tom wasn’t fazed by the presence of the zombie. There was a grim, workmanlike expression on his face. He’d been moving toward the side of the boat with the spear but at Fitch’s words, he stopped. His mouth twisted in disgust, then he held out the spear to Fitch. “Your turn.”

  Fitch’s eyes went wide. He shook his head, wildly. “No. No, I—”

  Tom grabbed Fitch’s wrist and yanked it away from the railing. He pulled the terrified man to his feet.

  Fitch let out a yelp, then another when Tom forced the spear into his hand.

  He tried to give it back. “I can’t, I’ll fall.”

  “Do it!” Tom said.

  He shoved Fitch, sending him staggering along the boat until the back of his legs hit the rear seat and he sat down again. The pole swept through the air, and the tip almost cut across Eduardo’s face.

  The captain glared at Fitch. “Hey, dumbass! The sharp bit goes in the zee’s head, not mine!”

  Fitch made another halfhearted attempt to give the pole back.

  Tom jabbed a finger toward the side of the boat. “Go on, before that thing sinks.”

  Fitch looked about to object again, but his eyes flicked toward Eduardo. He took a hesitant step forward.

  The zombie was still there, still reaching toward us. It couldn’t have been able to see Fitch with its single, rheumy eye, but it seemed to sense him anyway. The moment he reached the edge of the boat, it let out another of the gargling moans and flexed its fingers in his direction.

  Fitch fumbled with the spear, almost hitting Ryan in the face as he maneuvered it over his shoulder. His first strike was weak and didn’t even reach the zombie. He drove the spear forward, but the diamond spike stopped a couple of inches in front of its face. The zombie swiped at it. Its fingers caught on the point and knocked it free of Fitch’s grasp.

  The end of the pole slid across the guard rail. The point tipped down into the water. Tom lunged at the spear, just managing to grab it before it was lost overboard. He hauled it onto the boat and dropped it onto the deck. Then he turned on Fitch.

  Fitch was already backing away with his hands raised, but there was nowhere to go. Tom was on him in an instant. He grabbed Fitch by the front of his overalls and pulled him up until their faces were less than an inch apart.

  “Now listen to me, you spineless idiot. You’re going to pick up the spear and kill that zee, or I’m going to throw you over the side and those things can have you for lunch! Got it?”

  Fitch looked toward the captain, but there was no help to be had.

  Tom shook Fitch. “Got it?”

  Fitch swallowed. Nodded.

  Tom let him go, pushing him away as he did.

  Hands shaking, Fitch reached down and grabbed the spear. This time he managed to get it up and pointing over the side of the boat toward the zombie without hitting anyone in the face.

  Mason moved alongside him. “Lean forward. You need to break through the skull to kill it.

  “Easier said than done,” Fitch said.

  “It can’t get you, just strike with confidence. God will do the rest.”

  Fitch looked doubtful but nodded anyway. He stood at the side of the boat, the spear at the ready, for what felt like an age. Tom seemed to be itching to shout at him for taking too long, or maybe just grab the weapon and take care of the zombie himself. Mason placed a hand on his shoulder and shook his head. Tom clenched his teeth but stayed silent.

  Another wave hit the boat and sent us closer to the zombie. The movement spurred Fitch into action. He drove the spear at the zombie’s face. The tip hit it on the forehead and grazed across the skin. The flesh split and black blood flecked with gray-yellow strings of pus flowed down the thing’s face.

  Fitch’s breathing came hard and ragged. He struck again. The spear hit the zombie in the cheek and cracked through the bone. Fitch let out a grunt of satisfaction and leaned into the zombie, driving the spear’s tip into its skull and pushing it beneath the water. A black cloud formed around the zombie’s head as it vanished out of sight. The spear was still embedded in its head, and I could see it slipping from Fitch’s grip. He moved forward and tried to twist it free. He leaned too far and screamed as he tipped over the handrail.

  Mason lunged forward, grabbing Fitch by the shoulder and pulling him back from the brink.

  To Fitch’s credit he didn’t drop the spear until it was back on the boat. It clattered to the deck as he stumbled sideways and all but collapsed onto the plastic bench beside me. His eyes were wide with fear, but the corners of his mouth turned up into a smile. The smile turned to a wild, manic grin and he laughed. It was high-pitched, the sound of a man on the brink of losing his sanity.

  “Holy crap,” Ryan said quietly.

  Tom tutted and shook his head in disgust, but Mason knelt down in front of Fitch.
<
br />   He placed his hands on the man’s knees. “Well done. The first one is always the hardest.”

  Fitch’s grin eased, turning slightly less manic. His face was pale and sweaty.

  The spear rolled a few inches, smearing black blood across the deck. There had been a time where the sight of the blood would have triggered something inside me and brought the shadow rushing to the front. Back then, I’d have been fighting to suppress it. Now, all I felt was a mild revulsion and the bitter sense of loss that was becoming so familiar.

  “Pull yourself together, Fitch.”

  It was Tom. He was leaning against the side of the boat, a look of contempt on his face. His hatred of Fitch rolled off him in waves.

  “Give him a couple of minutes,” Mason said.

  “The quicker we get moving, the quick—”

  Water splashed over the side of the boat. A ragged, decaying hand grabbed Tom by the shoulder. He fell back, screaming. His legs slipped on the wet surface. He started to go overboard. Mason lunged for him. His hand caught the end of Tom’s pants for a moment then they slipped out of his grasp. Tom’s feet skidded across the deck. Mason tried to grab him again, but it was too late.

  I caught a glimpse of the zombie as it clamped its teeth on Tom’s neck and then he was dragged over the side of the boat. A moment later, they were both gone, sinking beneath the water in a cloud of scarlet.

  Chapter 9

  Siren

  Mason was the first to react. He scrambled over to the spear, scooped it up, and threw himself against the side of the boat so hard he almost toppled into the water. He stopped himself in time and raised the spear over his shoulder like a javelin. He drove it down into the water. Again and again, he plunged the weapon into the water. Each time his movements became more and more desperate.

  Eduardo started the boat’s engine.

  Mason wheeled on him. “We’re not leaving!”

  Eduardo jabbed a finger toward the water. “He’s gone and you know it. He’ll have drowned by now, and if he hasn’t the creature bit him. Either way, he has no future.”

  Mason’s chest rose and fell as he fought to contain his emotions, but we all knew Eduardo was right.

  Time dragged on, the two men staring at each other, until eventually Mason’s shoulders slumped. He threw the spear back on the floor and sat down next to Ryan, his head in his hands.

  Eduardo pushed forward gently on the throttle and the boat began to move.

  Ryan leaned closer to Mason. “Had you known him long?”

  Mason shook his head. “A couple of weeks.”

  I was surprised at the grief in Mason’s voice. I couldn’t imagine becoming that attached to anyone in two years, let alone two weeks.

  “He was… right there…” Fitch said. He was clutching himself. He gave his head a tiny shake and tears formed in his eyes. “How did… that thing get on board?”

  Eduardo looked back at us. “It doesn’t matter how,” he said, shouting over the engine. “He was a good man, but we’ve got a job to do. Mason, get up here.”

  Mason looked up. Eduardo raised his eyebrows at him.

  Reluctantly, Mason moved back to the front of the boat and resumed his search for the dead.

  Eduardo swept the boat around the inlet and headed back the way we’d come, toward the bridge. A couple of minutes later, he pointed off to the left. “There’s a couple over there. You’re up, Marcus.”

  The spear still lay on the floor where Mason had thrown it. I picked it up, and the memory of my snare flooded my mind. Where the spear was designed to kill, I’d used my weapon to capture zombies. The killing came later, courtesy of the shadow. I closed my eyes and replayed that first kill in the workshop. The table. The chains. The scalpels. Instinctively, I tensed, ready for the shadow to make its presence felt, but it didn’t come.

  “You okay,” Ryan said.

  “Yes!” The word came out hard, edged with frustration. Ryan flinched. I gritted my teeth and turned away.

  The pole was metal and lighter than I’d expected. My snare had been wooden and heavy, even before I’d added blades from a pair of metal shears. The spear felt unsubstantial, and if I hadn’t already seen Fitch kill with it I’d have doubted its effectiveness.

  We were closing in on the zombies already. They were side by side, two sodden corpses, their flesh so bloated it was impossible to tell what they’d looked like in life. There were no obvious signs of why these particular two were floating rather than sinking to the bottom of the ocean. Only the upper part of the zombies, their heads and the tops of their shoulders, was visible. That might actually be all that existed of them—just two heads with the barest of torsos still attached.

  The nearest one had long hair that floated on the surface around its head. Maybe it had been a woman. Its mouth opened and closed, reflexively preparing to attack its prey. Water bubbled from its mouth each time it clamped down, only to be sucked back in again when its jaws opened again.

  Eduardo cut the boat’s engine and we coasted toward the zombies. The second zombie opened its mouth. I expected to hear the familiar throaty moan but it made no sound. There were white objects inside its mouth. It took me a few seconds to realize they were barnacles.

  “Get ready,” Mason said.

  I gripped the spear tighter and set my feet so I wouldn’t fall out of the boat. The feel of the weapon in my hands brought my thoughts back to my snare again. There was a brief pang of something akin to nostalgia. I wondered what Ryan and the others would think if they knew my history, how many zombies I’d captured. Subjects I’d worked on.

  Fitch was watching the zombie bobbing in the water. His eyes had a vague, glazed look.

  We reached the zombie. Its black, shark-like eyes seemed even more appropriate in this environment. There was a red blotch on the thing’s puffy forehead. It looked like something had attached itself there at some point but later thought better of its choice of resting place.

  I plunged the spear down, aiming for the blotch.

  The tip sank into the bloated flesh. There was a fraction of a second of resistance and then it was through the zombie’s skull. Fluid gushed from the wound and into the water. It burst outward in a stringy, grayish cloud around the zombie. I jerked the spear right. The side of the creature’s skull cracked, then broke apart. Bone and rancid chunks of brain fell from the wound as the spear broke free. The zombie’s head fell back. Its mouth stopped moving. I waited for it to sink, but the body kept floating.

  The second zombie had seen us, and either our presence or the death of its companion had sent it into a frenzy. It writhed about, splashing and twisting in an effort to get to us. It lifted its arms and clawed at the water in a bizarre parody of a swimmer’s stroke.

  A wave sent the zombie thumping into the side of the boat a couple of feet toward the stern. Its hands scrabbled at the hull, trying and failing to find purchase. I moved down the boat. Flecks of the first zombie’s brain dripped from the tip of the spear into the water and vanished.

  I didn’t hesitate. As another wave lifted the zombie up, I drove the spear into its face. The point cracked through the zombie’s cheek. More of the grayish fluid erupted from the wound. I twisted the spear and pulled. It almost came free but at the last moment the tip caught on the fractured bone. I yanked it out, unleashing a fresh cloud of blood, bone, and fluid.

  The zombie was still moving. It clutched at the spear, its pale, bloated hands batting clumsily at the tip. I wrenched it free and struck again. This time, I caught the creature in the thick folds of its neck. The skin split, revealing the gangrenous flesh beneath. I leaned forward, putting my weight behind the spear and driving it deeper. The zombie sank beneath the water, but I could see it staring up at me with glassy eyes. Its hands fell away from the spear. A stream of bubbles rose from the slash in its throat.

  Zombies don’t drown, but I held it under the water until I was sure the spear had done enough damage to keep it dead.

  I rinsed off a tat
tered piece of flesh that was still sticking to the spear, then pulled it out of the water.

  Ryan clapped me on the back. “Nice one.”

  Eduardo nodded appreciatively. “You look like a pro. You had a lot of practice?”

  “Some,” I said.

  I put the spear back into its resting place and sat down. Ryan nodded to me, clearly impressed, but I felt numb. There was an emptiness inside me that I hadn’t felt since I was a child and the shadow had first wrapped its comforting embrace around me. Part of me had hoped the kills would reawaken the shadow.

  We circled the inlet without finding anything else for the next few hours. Eduardo had a cooler of sandwiches. Mason and he ate them; the rest of us stuck to bottled water.

  Fitch was filled with nervous energy. At some point, he’d started tapping his fingers on his thigh. His eyes kept flicking around the shore and toward the bridge. Ryan glanced at Fitch. He frowned, obviously irritated at the incessant tapping, but didn’t say anything.

  About mid-afternoon, Eduardo turned the boat toward the bridge and accelerated.

  “Is that it?” Fitch said.

  “You want to stay out longer?” Mason said.

  “No, of course not.”

  Mason smiled, but his eyes were cold. Something about Fitch seemed to rub people the wrong way. How did he manage to survive this long?

  The siren on the bridge wailed again, quickly followed by the bark of automatic gunfire. Two soldiers stood behind the barricade, firing at something we couldn’t see—presumably zombies.

  The soldiers were still rigging the bridge with explosives, although they’d moved to the support nearest the city. One of them pointed east and shouted something. It wouldn’t take them long to get over the barrier to safety, but the woman in the harness was dangling beneath the bridge, almost at the level of the water. The soldiers began hauling her back up.

  Eduardo pushed forward on the throttle, and our boat accelerated. It bounced over the waves, sending jolts of pain up my battered legs as I was bumped up and down on the hard, plastic bench.