Serial Killer Z: Shadows

by Philip Harris

  Ryan pressed his fingers against Sara’s throat. Relief flooded his face. His mouth curved up into a half smile, and he pressed his forehead against hers. “Oh, thank God.”

  Sara didn’t move.

  The zombie behind Ryan twisted, reached out. Its fingers brushed Ryan’s jacket, but his attention was focused entirely on Sara.

  He kissed her forehead. “Sara, it’s me. Please.” Desperation in his voice made the words sound forced.

  Metal creaked. The zombie let out a groan, and the bracket holding its restraints shifted. A crack appeared in the wall. Cali watched the scene play out with the faintest of smiles on her lips.

  Ryan pulled in frustration at the chains holding Sara in place, but they held firm. He lifted her head. “Come on, please. Wake up.”

  At the sound of Ryan’s voice, the zombie lunged again. The metal bracket came free of the wall, and the zombie fell forward and collided with Ryan.

  Ryan stumbled sideways, the zombie’s teeth passing within inches of his cheek. He screamed in anger and frustration, and shoved the zombie away from him. Its legs gave out, and it fell to the ground. Ryan picked up the machete and leaped forward. He plunged the blade into the zombie, driving it point first into its face. The zombie twitched and bucked. Ryan twisted the machete free then struck again, forcing it through the zombie’s skull and into the floor. Again and again, he brought the machete down on the zombie’s face until its head was a mass of blood and broken bone.

  Sara spoke. “Ryan?”

  Ryan froze, the machete held high above his head. He held it there, apparently too afraid to turn around, until Sara said his name again.

  He ran to her. “Oh, God, are you okay? What did he do to you? Did he hurt you? Are you bitten?”

  Sara gave him a pained smile. “I’ll be fine.” She hissed and grimaced in pain.

  Ryan smiled and kissed her. Then he dug into the wall around the bracket above her head, prying it free with the tip of the blood-soaked machete. It broke away from the wall, and Sara stumbled forward into Ryan’s arms, crying out. He held her, whispering in her ear until she gently pulled herself away. She looked over his shoulder at Cali and me and gave a slight nod. Then she took the machete from Ryan and moved along the line of zombies, dispatching each one in turn with a single blow.

  When she’d killed the last creature, she turned toward us. Her face was streaked with tears, but there was determination in her eyes. “Where’s Faraday?”

  Cali led us back into the living room.

  The black lines on Faraday’s neck had spread across his face. His reaction was different from the other victims of Cali’s serum. The lines were thicker, darker. His eyes were open and oily stains were already forming at the corners. He wasn’t breathing. I felt a momentary spark of fear. This was my chance to restore the shadow. If Cali had killed him, that chance might be gone and the shadow with it.

  I put my scalpel down on a table beside the sofa then went to Faraday and pressed my fingers against his throat. There was the tiny flicker of a pulse. He was alive, for now. I looked around the room. It was sparsely decorated, just a couple of sofas, two matching armchairs, and a small square table with a vase containing a single black tulip. There was no obvious place to restrain him.

  Sara looked at Faraday’s prone form. “What’s wrong with him?”

  I glanced at Cali. “He’s infected.”

  Sara’s jaw tightened. “Good.”

  Ryan took a step toward Faraday. “I’m going to kill him.”

  Sara stopped him. “No.” Her lips curled in disgust. “He deserves it.”

  Ryan was breathing heavily, barely contained rage on his face. “I’m not leaving here until he’s dead.”

  Cali put a hand on his shoulder. “Marcus will do it.”

  “No!” said Sara. “What he did to those women... He should become one of those things, too.”

  “Marcus came here to kill Faraday. That’s what he’s going to do.”

  Sara looked at me. Her eyes were filled with confusion and pain. She wanted revenge, but I needed the shadow back. I couldn’t let this opportunity slip by.

  I held Sara’s gaze until she finally looked away.

  Cali dropped her bag beside the sofa, gave me a reassuring nod, and guided Ryan and Sara out of the apartment.

  A quiet sense of certainty came over me. It was a welcome relief after the chaos of the fight downstairs and Faraday’s room of living corpses. This was the right thing to do. Faraday was guilty. I’d kill him and bring back the shadow. Once the shadow had returned, I’d deal with Jon then leave the city. For the first time in weeks, I felt like I was in control of my own life.

  Faraday made a quiet moaning sound. His head rolled to the side, revealing the familiar black orbs of the living dead.

  Chapter 39

  Unlocking Darkness

  I grabbed Cali’s bag and backed calmly away from Faraday. Not taking my eyes from him, I unzipped the bag and dug around inside, looking for something I could use to restrain him. My hand closed around a cool metal bar. I pulled it out. It was a stun baton like the ones we’d seen at the club.

  Faraday sat up. The black veins across his face were beginning to fade already. His skin was turning a pallid gray. A thin trickle of black fluid ran from one nostril.

  I tossed the bag out of the way and hefted the baton. One end featured two short prongs, the other was fitted with a plastic grip with a red button set into it. I clicked the button. It glowed green, and the baton started to whine. The noise increased in pitch until it was too high for me to hear.

  Faraday moaned. He leaned toward me, almost as though scenting the air, then got unsteadily to his feet. I crouched slightly in a fighter’s stance and held the baton at the ready. He continued advancing toward me, and with each step he seemed to grow more confident. Within four paces he was moving quickly.

  I brought the baton up and jammed it into his chest. I was expecting the crackle of electricity, but nothing happened. Faraday twisted his shoulders, and the baton slid off his body. He opened his mouth and bellowed at me. Then he lunged.

  I spun sideways and let his momentum carry him past, but he grabbed one corner of my jacket. He pulled me off balance. I felt myself toppling. I had a vision of me falling into his waiting arms, his jaws biting into my neck, tearing through my jugular. I slammed the baton into Faraday’s hand. Bone cracked. His fingers loosened enough for me to pull myself free. I took a step sideways to regain my balance then swung the baton into the back of his skull. There was another solid crack. A splash of dark blood spattered the floor.

  Faraday whirled. His arms swept through the air, blindly clutching and grabbing. His elbow caught the baton, but I was gripping it tightly enough to turn my knuckles white. I swung it into the side of his jaw. His head snapped sideways. A stream of blood flew from his mouth and splashed across the sofa.

  I pulled the baton back and jammed my thumb against the button again. An arc of blue-white light leaped between the two prongs. As Faraday attacked me again, I brought the stun baton around, planning to drive it into his throat. I was too slow. He collided with me. I fell back, slamming into the floor. Faraday landed on top of me and knocked the wind from my lungs. His mouth gaped open, and I caught the scent of rotten meat. He snapped at my throat just as I jammed the baton into the side of his neck and pressed the button.

  Electricity fizzed and popped. The muscles in Faraday’s neck went taut. I drove the baton harder into his neck. His body arched and shook. I tried to roll sideways, only managing to shift slightly beneath his bulk. His jaws snapped together. Spittle flecked my cheek.

  The crackling stopped.

  I released the button and pressed it again. The high-pitched whine returned, growing in pitch agonizingly slowly. Faraday’s muscles relaxed. I saw his eyes lock onto mine. Threads of drool dripped from his slack mouth.

  I slid the baton around and wedged it beneath his throat. He leaned his weight forward and brought his face closer t
o mine. I turned aside. Hot breath touched my cheek.

  The live end of the baton was nowhere near Faraday’s exposed skin. My arms were tiring, the muscles beginning to weaken. I wondered briefly where Cali and Ryan were. Then Faraday shifted his weight and his jaws came dangerously close to my face.

  Drawing on the last of my strength, I shoved the baton up beneath Faraday’s jaw. His head tilted back. With one last effort, I forced him away a couple more inches, then rotated the baton until the prongs were beneath his jaw and pressed the button.

  Faraday tensed again as the charge poured through his body. I felt the discharge myself—like a thousand needles dancing across my hands. I clenched my jaw, choking off a scream.

  The baton died, but this time I was ready for it. Before Faraday could recover, I pulled it back and swept it into the side of his jaw. His lower lip split open, splashing blood across my face.

  I rolled again, and this time I was able to get Faraday off me. He tried to raise himself up, but I got to my knees and drove the baton into his face like a club. I caught him on the forehead. A split opened up in the pale flesh. He fell back against the carpet. Blood poured from the wound and pooled around him. He raised his head again, but the movements were slow, dazed.

  I pressed the button on the baton to start the charge cycle, then wiped my hand across my face. It came away wet with Faraday’s blood.

  The baton’s whine died. Faraday tried to lift himself up again. I placed the tip of the baton against his throat and pressed the button. Electricity buzzed and crackled. His muscles tensed. His head slammed back against the floor. The charge only lasted a few seconds, but it was enough to leave Faraday almost unconscious.

  I threw the baton onto the couch and stood over him, breathing hard.

  I had my next subject.

  Faraday’s eyes were open, but he didn’t resist as I dragged him back to the sofa, bound his ankles, knees and arms with the duct tape from Cali’s bag, and cut open his shirt.

  His chest was sunken and covered with dark gray blotches. Black veins connected the marks like lines on a subway map. I watched them for a while to see if they were still growing, but, if anything, they were fading away. Dark bruises marred his right side. A split had opened up beneath his ribs and black, oily pus seeped from the wound. It dripped onto the couch, stark against the white leather.

  I stood over Faraday until the effects of the baton began to wear off. I retrieved my scalpel and held it in my hand, absentmindedly running my thumb up and down the handle. I reached for the shadow, willing it to surface and show me my subject’s guilt as it had so many times before.

  Nothing happened.

  I saw the moment when Faraday regained whatever passes for consciousness in the dead. His eyes shifted, suddenly focusing on me. I’d left his mouth uncovered, and it opened slightly. A thick black tongue probed at bloody lips. He tried to move, but the tape kept him immobilized. He groaned, the sound inarticulate, but still laced with frustration.

  My heart quickened, not because of any perceived threat, but because this was the moment that I’d be reunited with the shadow. The temptation of a fresh subject, stretched out as they always had been, would be too much. My darker self would come to the fore, and I’d lose myself to the kill.

  I took a deep breath, closed my eyes and waited for the shadow.

  Time ticked inexorably on.

  I gripped the scalpel tighter.

  The leather couch creaked slightly as Faraday moved. He groaned, a thick, wet sound. Something brushed against my leg. I opened my eyes and looked down expecting to see the writhing, grasping tendrils of guilt sprouting from his body.

  It was just Faraday’s hip. He’d managed to shift to the edge of the sofa. He strained as he tried to lift his torso to get at me. He snapped, snarled, tried to sink his teeth into my knee. I considered using the baton on him again, but my enthusiasm was rapidly waning.

  Why was I wasting my time?

  Nervous tension swept through me. I ground my teeth together and tried to quash the frustration building inside. I leaned forward and pressed my fingertips against Faraday. His skin was clammy, soaked with sweat. I ran my fingers across the black lines. They were raised and hard, like thick wires running just beneath the surface of his skin.

  I placed my hand in the center of Faraday’s chest and spread my fingers, pulling the skin taut. He moaned and bucked in an effort to knock my hand away. He started to slip off the side of the sofa. I grabbed his legs and shoved them back, then replaced my hand.

  Faraday stopped moving. Light flashed off the scalpel’s blade as I lowered it toward his chest.

  I rested the blade on his cool skin and made one last, desperate plea to the shadow. “Show me,” I whispered.

  A horn blared somewhere down on the street.

  Deep inside me, I felt a flicker. It was subtle—a gradual building of internal pressure. My heart raced, and I struggled to hold my hand still. I tried not to focus on the feeling, even as my desperation grew. I was afraid that if I did, my scrutiny would somehow scare the shadow away. The edges of my vision took on a grayish tinge. I took a short, gasping breath. The shadow grew.

  Then it faded away. The pressure, the dimming of my senses, everything.

  My shoulders sagged. Despair flooded through my system. My legs started to give way, and I staggered back, slumping down into an armchair. The shadow was gone.

  Chapter 40

  Defeat

  “What’s the matter?”

  Cali’s voice startled me. I snapped my head toward her, the sudden burst of adrenaline sending my senses into overdrive.

  She held her hands up. “I’m sorry! I’m sorry.”

  Cali moved slowly around the couch. Faraday watched her without moving. When she saw him, she smiled. “You certainly know your way around duct tape.”

  I didn’t respond, and her smile evaporated again.

  She knelt down in front of the armchair and put her hand on my knee. “What happened?”

  I held her gaze for a few seconds before replying. “Nothing.”

  Her forehead creased in sympathy. “I’m sorry.”

  I let some of my anger seep into my reply. “I told you, I’m not a killer anymore.”

  “I don’t beli—”

  “No!”

  Cali drew back, pulling her hand away. I closed my eyes and murmured an apology. Faraday started moving again. He made a low-pitched, gravelly moaning sound.

  “What are we going to do with him?” Cali said.

  Faraday opened his mouth. His tongue snaked out, bulbous and black. Threads of gray drool dripped from his mouth and ran down the side of the couch. The sight disgusted me.

  “He’s all yours,” I said.

  Cali’s eyes flashed with excitement. She didn’t need any more encouragement. She went over to the bag she’d brought with her, unzipped a side pocket and removed a hunting knife. In many ways, the weapon was the exact opposite of my own tools. It was big, bulky, and the metal blade was black, not silver. There was no subtlety about it. Under the circumstances, that seemed appropriate.

  Holding the knife loosely in one hand, Cali stalked over to the sofa. Faraday became more frenzied. He bucked and twisted, his teeth clacking together as he tried to bite her. Cali’s chest rose and fell, her breaths coming quicker as her excitement mounted.

  Cali stood over Faraday. She grasped the knife in both hands with the tip pointing down. Faraday strained to get at her. He lifted his torso from the sofa. His movements were becoming more controlled again, as though his strength was returning after the shocks from the baton.

  For a brief moment, I thought Cali had frozen. Then she dropped to her knees and drove the knife into his chest. Bone splintered. Blood splashed across the floor.

  Faraday screamed—a high-pitched screech that cut through my skull. He tried to rise up. Cali leaned onto the knife, driving it deeper. The tape around his right arm loosened then tore apart. He grabbed at Cali. His fingers caught t
he front of her jacket. He pulled her forward and down toward his waiting mouth.

  At the last second, Cali brought her arm up and across his throat. She shifted her weight and forced Faraday’s head back against the sofa. He made a strangled gargling sound.

  In one swift, smooth movement, Cali pulled the knife from Faraday’s chest, brought it up and over her shoulder and slammed it into his forehead. The shattering of bone was loud. The knife sank in up to its guard. Faraday’s body went limp. The hand that had grabbed Cali flopped off the side of the couch. Cali straightened up, ripping the knife free of Faraday’s skull. Blood dripped from the weapon’s tip. Cali stared at the black drops as they fell to the ground. She turned to me and smiled.

  Cali might have been excited, but all I felt was a deep, almost overwhelming sense of defeat. I stared at the scalpel in my hand. There was a tiny fleck of blood on the tip. I wiped it away with my fingers, rubbing them together until it smeared to nothing. I’d expected Faraday to be the one. The kill that would bring the shadow back to me.

  I drew in my resolve and stood. I had to face the fact that the shadow was gone. What I’d told Cali really was true, I was a different person.

  “What are we going to do about the body?” I said.

  “Nothing.”

  The idea of just walking out on a crime scene was alien to me. I’d spent most of my adult life doing everything I could to hide my kills.

  “There’s nothing we can do,” Cali said. “They know we’re here, and there’s too much blood. Don’t worry. I can deal with this.”

  I wondered if the mysterious Cho would have the resources to hide a murder.

  Cali wiped the knife on Faraday’s shirt and went outside. After a moment’s hesitation, I followed her.

  Ryan was standing in the corridor with his arm around Sara.

  He looked at me, his eyes cold. “Is he dead?”

  “Yes.”

  “I want to see him.”