Serial Killer Z: Shadows

by Philip Harris

  Metal ripped. A few seconds later, a burning zombie burst out of the back door of the train. It stumbled across the uneven ground toward me. The flames licked at its face. One eye was gone, reduced to a molten mass. It opened its jaw, but no sound came out. Flames flickered inside its mouth, curving upward to eagerly consume its lips. Heat radiated off the zombie. The flames had eaten away all of its clothes to reveal blackened, flaking skin, but still it kept on coming. Molten fat fell from its body, scattering flames across the ground. The smell of cooked flesh wafted over me.

  Another thunderous explosion ripped the air, and the side of the train blew outward. Glass and metal crashed against the tunnel wall. Fresh smoke billowed out of the train, accompanied by another wave of heat. A siren wailed from the direction of the platform. Either the fire alarms were still working or one of Faraday’s people had heard the explosions. Either way, I’d have company soon.

  The burning zombie was slowing. Its steps became uneven. Without taking my eyes off the creature, I felt around until my fingers found the machete. The zombie stumbled and half fell. I gripped the weapon in my almost recovered left hand.

  The fiery zombie stood on a chunk of broken concrete. The rubble tipped sideways, and the creature went down onto one knee. I drove the machete into the top of its head. Flame licked around my hand, singeing the hairs on the back. The zombie’s skull cracked and split. I yanked the machete free and stepped back. Thick oily smoke rose from the wound as the flames found its brain. The zombie fell forward. The flames billowed around the thing’s body, consuming it.

  I caught movement on the opposite side of the train. Another zombie stumbled into view, the flickering light revealing a massive, bloody gash in the side of its head. Three more zombies appeared, and the shadows of yet more behind them.

  The swarm had arrived.

  I turned from the zombies and ran along the tunnel as quickly as I dared. Thanks to the flames, I could make out the yellow tiles at the edge of the platform just ahead. I spat blood and the taste of burned plastic from my mouth. I was beginning to think I might actually get out of this.

  I threw myself onto the platform. The drone of the dead reverberated along the tunnel. I swept my flashlight around the platform. It seemed empty, but there were dozens of places to hide if Jon was intent on setting an ambush. I tightened my grip on the machete and ran toward the stairs.

  Voices echoed down to me. Light flashed across the walls. Faraday’s people.

  Not wanting to have to explain my presence in the station, I continued on toward the escalator. Behind me, booted feet descended the stairs. A gruff male voice shouted instructions.

  When I reached the escalator, I turned off my flashlight. I moved up it as quickly and silently as I could. My heart was pounding, but there was an edge of excitement to my fear. I’d spent most of my life evading discovery. It felt good to be doing it again—almost like I’d finally really come home.

  The escalator was longer than I’d thought. When I did reach the concourse, it caught me off guard and I almost tripped. I recovered and crouched at the top of the escalator.

  Shouts came from the platform below, quickly followed by the chatter of automatic gunfire. The dead had reached the platform.

  There was no sign of anyone else on the concourse. The ladder to the street level that Jon and I had used wasn’t far away, but there was a good chance Jon would be waiting for me up there. I’d have to hope the soldiers had left the entrance to the station open and unguarded. I tried not to think how unlikely that was.

  I ran in a crouch to the ticket barriers, pausing to check for guards before going through and ascending the stairs to the entrance. The station’s metal shutters were halfway up, and the makeshift wooden door was open. Resisting the urge to just charge through, I found a shadowed spot and waited.

  More gunfire rose up from below ground followed by the crackle of a radio and a distorted voice.

  A few seconds later, a very young, very frightened man said, “Yes, sir.”

  The man—more a boy, really—ran through the door. He almost fell down the stairs before remembering to turn on the flashlight attached to the end of his rifle.

  “Come on, James,” the young man whispered. “Don’t freak out.”

  The tone of his voice suggested it was already too late for that, but he steeled himself and walked carefully down the stairs.

  I waited until the white beam of his flashlight was out of sight, then ran from the station.

  The sun was just coming up, and the air outside was cool and fresh. I gulped at it eagerly. My head was fuzzy and ached from the smoke and burning plastic. The metallic tang of blood coated my mouth.

  There was no sign of Jon. Fighting down anger and disappointment, I ran away from the station, heading across the street and down an alley directly opposite. A few seconds later, a van drove past, engine revving. It came to a halt outside the station. The rear doors opened and six people in body armor and carrying automatic rifles jumped out. They ran inside. The vehicle’s driver got out, but instead of following them, he leaned against the van’s hood with his arms folded across his chest.

  I backed down the alley. Once I was out of sight, I turned and jogged away. I headed west, keeping to the back streets. There were no more signs of Faraday’s people and no more vans.

  Once I’d gotten a couple of blocks, I slowed to a walk. My clothes were covered in dust, soot, and dark, sticky blood, and smelled of smoke. I felt the back of my head. It was tender to the touch, and my hair was matted with blood. There was a matching lump on my forehead, and a pounding headache had settled into the front of my skull.

  I turned a corner and almost ran into a young couple walking arm in arm. Their eyes widened in shock, and they almost tripped off the edge of the sidewalk in their eagerness to get away from me.

  I ignored them. I had a sense of purpose now, a goal.

  I was going to kill Jon.

  Chapter 35

  O-Three

  I went straight to Jon’s apartment on the 27th floor. I was already out into the corridor, my hands clenched into fists, when I realized there were eight doors, and he could be behind any of them.

  “Jon!” I screamed. “Get out here you bastard!”

  I ran to the nearest door and hammered on it with my fists. “Jon!”

  I kicked the door, half in frustration, half in an effort to break it down. It held firm. No sounds came from inside, and there was no light coming from beneath the door. I kicked it again then whirled around and started assaulting the next door.

  “Come on!” I shouted.

  I unhooked the machete from its place on my belt and drove it into the door, beside the lock. The blade sank into the wood. Splinters fell to the floor. I levered the machete free and hit the door again.

  There was the soft click of a door opening from behind me. The machete was wedged in the door, and it took me a second to pull it free. It was enough time for the man standing in the door to say, “He’s not—” and then I was charging across the corridor. I let out a scream and swung the machete.

  The words penetrated my consciousness, and I caught a flash of red. I changed the trajectory of the machete at the last moment. It sliced just over the red-haired young man’s head and bit into the door frame beside him.

  He ducked. “Holy crap!”

  I yanked the machete free and grabbed the front of the man’s shirt before he could get back inside. “Which apartment is he in?”

  The man’s eyes grew wide. He swallowed and jabbed a finger urgently at the second door I’d attacked. “O-Three, but he’s not there.”

  I felt a flicker of anger that almost had me ramming the machete into the man’s throat. “Where is he?”

  Terror flooded the man’s face. “I don’t know.”

  I tightened my grip and lifted the machete.

  “He—He’s probably upstairs with what’s-her-face. The hot chick who lives on the top floor.”

  It made sense. He’
d want to tell Cali I’d left the city. Or maybe even that I’d been killed. He could be making up any kind of lie to make sure she didn’t try to find me.

  Gritting my teeth, I shoved the young man. He stumbled back into his apartment.

  I slammed my fist against the elevator call button. The elevator whined. “Come on, come on!”

  The young man’s door slammed shut. I had time to wonder if he had a way to warn Cali, then the elevator arrived. I forced my way through the doors as they opened and hammered the PH1 button a half a dozen times. The doors slid smoothly closed and the elevator began to climb.

  As soon as the doors opened again, I was across the corridor and hammering on Cali’s door. I heard movement. A few seconds later, the door unlocked. I shoved it open. Cali was standing there, her eyes wide.

  “Marcus, what—”

  “Where is he?”

  “Who?”

  “Jon!”

  Cali frowned. “What do you want—”

  I pushed past her, shoving her into the wall.

  “What the hell!” she shouted.

  Ignoring her, I stalked into the apartment. There was no one there.

  The door slammed shut behind me.

  “Marcus! What are you doing?” Cali said.

  I scanned the room. There was a single glass of champagne on the coffee table. I looked back at Cali. She was staring at me, her eyebrows raised, a book in her hand.

  “He tried to kill me.”

  Cali started to roll her eyes then seemed to think better of it. She raised her eyebrows at me. “I thought I was the one who set the zombie on you?”

  I bit back an angry response. “He just took me down to the tunnels under the pretense of helping me get out of the city. It was a setup. There were zombies, and when they didn’t kill me, he tried to blow me up. Or he blew up the tunnel to trap me with the swarm. Whichever it was, he was trying to kill me. Now, where is he?”

  Cali gave me a bewildered look. “Do you know how crazy that sounds? Why would he even do that?”

  “He’s jealous.”

  “Of who? You?” There was a disbelieving edge to her voice. “That makes no sense. He’s known me for years. And anyway, there’s nothing between us. You made that perfectly clear.”

  I tried to find the words to convince her but couldn’t. I’d laid out exactly what had happened. I knew I was right, I just couldn’t prove it.

  Cali raised her eyebrows. “Not long ago, you thought I was the one trying to kill you. You might be wrong again.”

  “No, I’m not.”

  There was no other explanation, Jon was guilty. Guilty. That word had meant so much to me in the past. I could feel the weight of the toolkit in my jacket pocket. In desperation, I reached out for the shadow but found nothing.

  “Think about it,” Cali said. “Did you see him rigging these explosives?”

  “No, but I—”

  “Couldn’t it have just been a safety precaution? Something Faraday set up?”

  I started to protest, but doubt formed at the back of my mind. I hadn’t seen him blowing up the tunnel. Faraday might have rigged the tunnels, just as he had the bridges.

  My skull was pounding. I’d taken at least one good blow to the head. Maybe I couldn’t trust my memories. It had happened before. In Sanctuary, the shadow had killed a woman without me knowing. But this was different. Wasn’t it?

  Cali must have seen the doubt in my face. “Look, give me the machete and sit down. We’ll talk this through.”

  I hesitated. She reached out and wrapped her fingers around the machete’s handle. After a few seconds, I let her take it. She guided me over to one of the chairs, and I sat down.

  Cali backed away, the machete held behind her back. She watched me for a couple of minutes as I tried to process my thoughts.

  I was about to say something when she called, “Jon? You can come out now.”

  Chapter 36

  Subjects

  Jon walked slowly out of the kitchen. He watched me warily. I couldn’t see any weapons, but he was wearing a brown jacket that was baggy enough to hide a shoulder holster.

  “Marcus thinks you tried to kill him,” Cali said.

  “So I heard,” Jon said. “Why would I do that?”

  Anger flared inside me at his denial. I started to rise, but Cali held her hand out.

  She waited until I sat back into the chair before asking Jon, “Did you?”

  “No.” He gave me an apologetic look. “When I saw the zombies, I… panicked and ran. I’m sorry.”

  “But I was fighting them off. How could you not have seen me killing them?”

  “It was dark, you dropped your flashlight. I heard you scream.”

  Had I screamed? I couldn’t be sure. He was right about the flashlight, though. I’d barely been able to see myself. If he really had panicked, he might not have been able to tell what was going on. But something was wrong, I was missing part of the puzzle.

  “What about the explosions?” I said.

  “It’s like Cali said. Faraday had the tunnels rigged. You must have set them off when you were fighting the zombies.”

  Cali looked at me. “Marcus?”

  I shook my head, but it was a halfhearted gesture.

  “I promise,” said Jon. “I really was trying to help you get out of the city.” He glanced at Cali. “It seemed like the best thing for everyone.”

  Cali’s tone softened. “Marcus. You’ve spent too long on your own. We’re your friends. Neither of us want to kill you.”

  I looked past Cali to Jon and caught a glimpse of something in his eyes. Anger?

  “No,” I said, “he was trying to kill me.”

  Jon pursed his lips together. “No, I wasn’t. I didn’t push you off the barricade. I didn’t try to blow you up. I was scared, I ran.”

  It took a few seconds for his words to find their way past my headache. They dropped into place, and I saw Cali making the same connection.

  “Why did you say you didn’t push him, Jon?”

  Indignation distorted Jon’s face. “He said I pushed him, but I didn’t.”

  Cali shook her head. “No, he didn’t.”

  Jon’s mouth opened slightly, but no words came out.

  When Cali spoke again, there was hurt in her voice. “He was right. You did try to kill him.”

  “No, I—”

  “Jon, don’t lie to me. I know you too well.”

  Jon swallowed. He was trying to decide how to play this. He must be fairly sure I wasn’t armed—Cali was still holding my machete, and it had been the only weapon I’d had in the tunnels. I had my scalpels, but they were in my jacket, out of reach. Not that he’d know that.

  I fixed him with my gaze, channeling all the anger and frustration I felt into my face.

  He swallowed. “I—I’m sorry.”

  Cali shook her head. “But why? Marcus isn’t like the people out there. He’s not prey.”

  “I don’t know.”

  Cali’s face twisted in anger. “Jon!”

  He sighed, then took a deep breath and looked at her. After several long seconds he said, “Because I love you.”

  Cali’s eyes widened. “You—” She stared at the floor for a moment. “Marcus was right, you’re jealous. You thought…”

  Jon took three quick steps toward Cali. He grabbed her hand. I thought he was trying to get the weapon, and I started to rise from the chair.

  He ignored the machete, raised Cali’s hand to his mouth and kissed it. “Cali, I’ve always loved you. Since the day your father introduced us.”

  Cali pulled her hand free. She shook her head. “Jon, I don’t… I can’t feel that way about you.”

  Jon reached for her hand again. “Cali, I—”

  She pulled away. “No!” Her voice was tight. There was disgust on her face.

  Jon flinched. “But…”

  “I think you should leave,” Cali said. Her voice was cold, hard as stone.

  I stood. �
��No!”

  Cali turned on me. She raised the machete and pointed it at my face. There were dark stains on the blade. “Sit down.”

  I briefly considered trying to disarm her, but the anger that had driven me to find Jon had seeped away. My tired legs rebelled, and I sat.

  “Cali, please,” Jon said. “We can—”

  Cali shoved him so hard he staggered backward. He shook his head in disbelief and opened his mouth to speak. Cali adjusted her grip on the machete, and I saw him glance down. He closed his mouth again and backed toward the door. Cali advanced toward him, matching him stride for stride until he reached the doorway.

  Jon pressed his hands together in front of his face as though he was praying. “Please, Cali. Don’t do this.”

  She raised the bloody machete and pointed it at him. “I don’t ever want to see you again. Take your things and leave.”

  He didn’t respond for a long time, but eventually he gave a slight nod. He looked past Cali at me. Raw hatred burned in his eyes. He turned and left. Cali followed him out and slammed the door shut. She pressed her forehead against it, her eyes closed. Outside, the elevator pinged.

  I let Cali stand there, not sure what to say or do. I wanted to go after Jon. He was still a threat, and, whatever his reasons, he had tried to kill me. I tried to summon the anger again, but without the shadow, the idea of killing him now seemed utterly pointless.

  Eventually, Cali raised her head and walked back into the living room. She placed the machete on the coffee table and sat down in one of the armchairs.

  Sighing, she leaned back and closed her eyes.

  “I should go after him,” I said.

  She shook her head. “No, let him go.”

  “He’s dangerous.”

  Cali gave a short, bitter laugh. “He’s in love.” The last two words were loaded with sarcasm. “He’ll get over it,” she said, her voice softer, more sympathetic.

  “You don’t know that—”

  “He’ll be fine. Cho will find him a place to live, he’ll mope around for a bit, but he’ll get over it.”