Serial Killer Z: Shadows

by Philip Harris

  “Look out!” Sara said.

  Ryan turned in time to see the zombie coming for him. He let go of Sara and put himself between her and the oncoming creature. It lurched unsteadily toward them, its shirt streaked with blood. A network of fine black threads spread out from a point on its neck.

  Sara’s eyes flickered slightly. Her injured arm hung limply at her side. Blood streamed down her palm and dripped from the tips of her fingers. She held on to Ryan’s shoulder with her other arm, but her grip was loose.

  Ryan was breathing heavily, his fists clenched at his side. There was blood on his knuckles and spattered across his chest, but it was black, not red. The zombie took another couple of steps toward him. It was moving slowly, almost cautiously.

  Cali looked over her shoulder at me, a look of almost childish delight on her face.

  Sara moaned.

  Ryan’s jaw tightened. He raised his arm toward the zombie, bending it to offer his forearm.

  Sara squeezed his shoulder. “No…”

  She tried to pull him back, but her knees wavered and she had to fight to stay upright.

  The zombie reached for Ryan, fastening its hands around his arm. Ryan closed his eyes as it bit down.

  Chapter 43

  Bitten

  Ryan screamed as the zombie tore into his flesh. He grabbed its hair and tried to pull it off him. The zombie tightened its grip, sinking its teeth deeper into the soft meat of his arm.

  Cali walked calmly past Ryan and drove the point of her knife into the side of the zombie’s skull. Its head tilted back, jaw slack, and fell to the ground, taking a chunk of Ryan’s arm with it.

  Ryan spun, wrapped his arms around Sara, and gently lowered her to the ground. He cradled her in his arms. Her eyes were closed, and her head hung loosely on her neck, but her chest was still rising and falling.

  He squeezed his eyes shut and pressed his forehead against hers. “Oh, God, Sara.”

  Sara’s uninjured hand curled into a loose fist, and she tapped it against his shoulder. “Idiot.”

  Blinking away tears, Ryan took her fist, raised it to his mouth and kissed it. A slight smile spread over Sara’s face.

  A siren cut through the evening. Farther down the street, an ambulance swept across an intersection.

  Monstro was still sitting on what remained of the other zombie. It had torn open its prey’s chest. Blood and viscera lay scattered around the body. Monstro’s body armor was covered in a slick coating of black blood. It lowered its head again, jamming its face into the remains of the zombie’s chest. I looked to see if Cali had noticed, but her attention was on Ryan and Sara.

  Ryan brushed a stray lock of hair from Sara’s forehead. Her smile had faded again. Her breaths were coming slower, more shallow. Ryan flinched and shifted his injured arm. The wound was ragged and deep. Blood pulsed unevenly from it, soaking their clothes and staining the sidewalk crimson.

  Sara took a sharp breath and tensed. Ryan leaned forward and whispered in her ear. A moment later, her body relaxed again and she was gone.

  Ryan knelt there, his eyes closed, fists clenched.

  Monstro rose steadily to its feet. A chunk of flesh fell from its mouth and landed on the ground with a wet splat. Its black eyes locked on mine, and I thought I saw a slight flicker of something beyond mindless hunger. Then it lumbered toward us, its footsteps leaving smears of blood behind it.

  “Cali,” I said, “we need to leave.”

  Cali crouched down beside Ryan. She reached out and touched his shoulder. He flinched, and his head whipped around to face her. His skin was pale, and sweat glistened across his brow.

  Rage and pain and anguish contorted his features. “Just go!”

  A low moan came from Monstro. A moment later, I saw why. A group of ten or eleven zombies were moving down the street. Two of them veered toward us, the rest were focused on the massive zombie.

  Cali stood without speaking and backed away from Ryan. Monstro had turned his attention to the approaching pack of zombies. He waded into them, grabbing the closest by the throat and snapping its neck before tossing it aside and going after the next.

  The zombies swarmed around Monstro. Two more fell under his massive fists, but a third latched itself onto Monstro’s back. It clamped its jaws onto its shoulder. Monstro reached around and grabbed the zombie but it couldn’t find its grip. Another zombie, this one a young boy, latched onto Monstro’s leg and bit into its thigh.

  Monstro tipped its head back and groaned, then slammed a hand onto the boy’s head. It ripped the zombie away from its leg and sent it tumbling across the pavement. Two more zombies grabbed Monstro. The one clinging to its back bit into its cheek. Monstro kept struggling as the weight of the dead carried it to the ground.

  I pointed toward the two zombies that had ignored Monstro. They were focused on Cali and me. Cali nodded. The street behind us was clear apart from a small group of people in overalls, and we set off down the road.

  When we got to Cali’s building, the doors were open, and there was a splash of blood across the glass. The zombie was inside. It was crouched over the young man we’d seen in the parking garage what seemed like an age ago. His chest was a mass of torn flesh. The floor around him was covered in a thin layer of his blood. He held a set of car keys in one outstretched hand.

  The zombie raised its head as we entered. Its face was smeared with blood and scraps of muscle, but I recognized it as the woman the man had been with. Its mouth dropped slowly open, but it didn’t try to stand.

  Cali ignored the zombie completely. She walked quickly across the lobby and into the waiting elevator. As the doors closed, the zombie lowered its head back to the man’s stomach.

  “What a waste,” Cali said.

  It was the first thing she’d said since we’d left Ryan. I wasn’t quite sure what she meant.

  “Ryan and Sara?”

  “Yes.”

  “You wanted to kill them?”

  She smiled. “I wanted the shadow to kill them.”

  I almost tried to explain that it wouldn’t have helped, but I was tired. She wouldn’t listen anyway. I changed the subject.

  “The outbreak was Jon, wasn’t it?”

  “I think so, yes.”

  Anger cut through my fatigue. I should have killed him when I’d had the chance. I’d told her he was dangerous. Another conversation I didn’t want to have.

  “Things fall apart. The center cannot hold,” she said.

  The lights in the elevator flickered, as though to punctuate her comment.

  “You think this is it? The end?”

  “Soon.”

  “You don’t seem very concerned.”

  “I’m… comfortable with that.”

  The elevator lights flickered again as we arrived at the top of the building.

  Cali smiled at me. Her excitement was back again. “And anyway, we’re safe here for the time being. We have food, water, weapons. We’ll be fine.”

  I started walking toward the apartment, but she reached out, her arm blocking my progress.

  The apartment door was open.

  Cali seemed to consider it for a few seconds, then lowered her arm and walked toward the door.

  She stopped at the threshold. “Good evening, Jon.”

  There was a brief pause, then a quiet voice replied. “Good evening, Cali. Marcus.”

  Chapter 44

  Jon

  Jon was standing in front of the massive plate glass windows that overlooked the city. His clothes were rumpled, and there was a small cut on his forehead, above his eye. Behind him, off in the distance, the orange glow of a burning building sent a pillar of thick black smoke into the sky.

  I watched him carefully as Cali and I walked into the room. He looked relaxed, nonthreatening, but he had his hands behind his back.

  Cali stopped in front of the sofa, near the coffee table and the toolkit containing my scalpels. “Why, Jon?”

  He frowned, seemingly genuinely puzzle
d. “It’s what you wanted.”

  Cali didn’t contradict him.

  Jon flicked his head at me. “He doesn’t understand you the way I do. You think you’re the same as him, but you’re not. You’re unique.”

  Cali snorted.

  “You are. Why can’t you see that?”

  “No one is unique. We’re all just people.”

  Jon shook his head slightly. He winced.

  “What do you want, Jon?” I said.

  Jon took a half step toward me. He brought his right arm around from behind his back and pointed a pistol at my face. He sneered at me. “You keep your goddamn mouth shut!”

  I half raised my hands. “Okay, calm down—”

  He jabbed the gun in my direction, but he was looking at Cali again. “Why him? Why choose this… asshole to help you?”

  “Who else would I choose, Jon?” Cali gave a little laugh. “You? You’re not like us.”

  Jon’s face twisted in a mix of pain and anguish. He brought his left arm from behind his back. His shirt sleeve was torn and stained red. Blood seeped from a wound on his bicep. The gun wavered, and for a moment I thought he was about to fire. I prepared to duck, but the shot never came.

  “I can be like you,” Jon said. “Please, just let me show you.”

  “You’re not a killer,” Cali said.

  “I killed those people. With the serum.”

  Cali gave him a pitying look. “It’s not the same thing.” She took a slow step toward him.

  “I—” He cut off, his breathing heavy.

  Cali moved a few paces closer then held out her hand. “Just give me the gun.”

  Jon glanced at me then raised the gun to his forehead. “I’ll do it!”

  Cali paused. She lowered her hand and shrugged. “Fine. Do us all a favor.”

  The words hung in the air.

  Jon’s face became a tight mask. He swung the gun down, aiming it at Cali. She dived at him, grabbing his wrist and forcing him back against the window. Cali brought her knee up between Jon’s legs. He let out a grunt and dropped to his knees. Cali twisted his wrist as he fell. Bone cracked. She pulled the gun from his hand and pistol-whipped him. He fell forward onto his hands. Blood dripped from his mouth.

  Cali turned toward me, her eyes blazing, a slight smile on her lips.

  “You bitch!” Jon screamed.

  He pulled something from his pocket and threw himself at Cali.

  The movement took her by surprise. She stumbled backward, trying to get out of his reach. His fist slammed into her calf. She screamed as his thumb pressed down on the plunger of a syringe. Cali tried to kick him but he rolled away.

  Cali staggered back and dropped the gun. It clattered across the hardwood floor. The syringe was still sticking from her leg. She reached down to pull it out and lost her balance. Crying out, she fell sideways into the window and slid slowly to the floor.

  I pulled the scalpel from my pocket.

  Cali yanked the syringe from her calf and hurled it across the room. Her face contorted in pain, and she screamed—a mix of agony and frustration.

  Jon pressed his hand against his mouth. He shook his head. “I— I’m sorry. I didn’t…”

  Cali snarled at him then grabbed her leg, wincing. I darted toward Jon, the scalpel gripped tightly in my hand. Cali glanced over Jon’s shoulder at me. I could see the rage blazing in her eyes. Jon saw her attention shift and turned to face me. I slashed the scalpel at his throat. He pulled back. The blade sliced through empty air.

  The gun was on the floor a few feet away. Jon lunged toward it. I leaped, landing on his back and driving the scalpel down into his shoulder. He screamed in pain, but his fingers wrapped around the pistol. He twisted onto his back, wrenching the scalpel from my hand, and swung the gun toward my face. I rolled sideways. The gun went off and the window behind us exploded. Fragments of glass rained down around me. My ears rang.

  Jon brought the gun around for another shot. I grabbed his wrist and leaned into it, trying to force it down to the floor. He fought against me. He was stronger than he looked. The barrel shifted toward my face. I grabbed his arm and sank my fingers into the wound in his bicep. He screamed in pain. His arm gave out, and I pinned it to the floor. The gun slipped from his grip. It was well within my reach, but I didn’t care. I drove my fingers deeper into the wound, eliciting more agonized screams. Then I brought my arm back and punched Jon in the face, powering the blow with all my anger and frustration.

  Jon’s nose burst. Blood poured down his face.

  I shifted position until I was kneeling on his arms. His head wobbled as he fought to stay conscious. I increased the pressure on his injured arm. He bit down on a scream and tried to buck me off.

  The scalpel was lying on the floor beside us. Its tip was coated with blood. Some had dripped from the blade, the pool of red stark against the pale wood floor. I reached for the scalpel, but my fingers stopped just above it. A familiar pressure settled in the back of my mind.

  I smiled.

  Jon grunted and tried to dislodge me again. Blood bubbled from his smashed nose. I picked up the scalpel. The metal was cool in my grip. I tested its weight. It felt natural, perfectly balanced.

  Jon twisted beneath me. “Just do it, you sick fuck!”

  His guilt, thick and black, bubbled from his mouth. He bared his teeth at me. They were covered in a slick, oily film—more evidence of his guilt.

  A breeze cut through the shattered window and sent a chill down my spine. The pressure inside my skull increased, urging me on. I brought the scalpel around and held it in front of Jon’s hate-filled eyes. He swallowed and slowly tipped his head back, exposing his throat. Black tendrils spread out from his chest, wrapping around his throat until only a thin horizontal slice of pale neck was exposed.

  I lowered the scalpel, pressed it against the exposed sliver of flesh and set the shadow free.

  Chapter 45

  Après Kill

  When the shadow retreated again, Jon was dead.

  His throat was slashed, and a lake of blood surrounded the body. It was already drying in the breeze from the shattered window. His chest had been cut open—two long vertical slices, two shorter horizontal ones. The shadow had peeled back the resultant flaps of skin to reveal the muscle beneath. The slick film of guilt that had covered him had gone.

  I looked down at the scalpel in my hand. It was coated in blood. My hands were stained red. A quiet sense of calm had settled over me. The turmoil I’d felt since I’d ridden away from the cave had gone. The shadow was still there. Inside me but sleeping again. For now.

  I went to the kitchen and rinsed the blade under the faucet. Red liquid swirled around the sink. I washed my hands, using a scrubbing brush to remove the stains. Once my hands were clean, I found a cloth and dried myself and the scalpel. I folded the cloth neatly and replaced it beneath the sink. I closed my eyes and took four deep breaths. The sense of calmness deepened.

  Cali had been right. The shadow would always be a part of me.

  My eyes flicked open.

  Cali.

  I grabbed the scalpel, went to the kitchen door and peered into the living room. Jon’s body lay on the floor, still surrounded by blood, but there was no sign of Cali. I walked slowly into the room, skirting around the sofa until I could see where she’d fallen. The syringe lay discarded on the floor, and there was a spattering of blood but no Cali.

  Outside, a siren wailed. Without the glass to muffle the sound, it seemed loud, intrusive. I waited until it faded into the distance.

  Maybe Cali had fallen or jumped from the window? It seemed unlikely, but she was infected. She knew what that meant, perhaps she’d chosen to end her life rather than become one of the living dead.

  Holding on to the side of the window, I leaned out. The ground was too far away and shrouded in darkness. A wave of dizziness swept over me, and I stepped back into the apartment. The breeze grew stronger, pulling at my clothes. The apartment door was open, creat
ing a draft. I tried to remember whether Cali and I had closed it when we arrived, but couldn’t.

  I made my way slowly across the room and picked up the gun. It felt awkward in my hand. I preferred the sleek precision of a scalpel. Still, I raised it and made my way through the apartment to the bedroom.

  The door was ajar. I waited outside, listening. Then I tapped the end of the gun against the door frame. No response. I pushed the door open with the tip of my boot and flicked on the light.

  The bedroom was empty.

  I moved cautiously toward the en suite bathroom. It was dark inside, and the door was closed. Pressing my back against the wall, I hammered on the door. “Hey!”

  I waited for a count of sixteen, then opened it. Nothing came charging out at me.

  Monstro notwithstanding, the dead aren’t known for their ability to set traps, but I made my way carefully around the apartment. I checked two more bedrooms, three closets and a small storage room. There was no sign of Cali.

  I returned to the living room and stood beside Jon’s body, staring out over the city.

  A smile curved my lips. I was alone again.

  I had to leave the city, but first I needed to get out of my blood-encrusted clothes. I thought I might have to go to my apartment, but Cali had her own supply of men’s clothes. I found some jeans and a shirt that fit. There was a battered leather jacket as well and I took that. It was warm, and I’d need it if I was going to spend the winter out in the forest. There was a canvas gym bag beneath Cali’s bed. I emptied a pair of running shoes from it and stuffed two more sets of clothes inside.

  I grabbed two knives from a block in the kitchen—the biggest and a small one. Thoughts of Cali running through my mind, I put the smaller knife in my jacket pocket and kept the large one in my hand. I loaded the gym bag with as much non-perishable food as I could manage, and took a couple of bottles of water from the fridge. I slipped the gun into the bag’s side pocket. I dropped the bag beside the front door and went back into the living room.