Serial Killer Z: Sanctuary

by Philip Harris

  Novak was slower. He was rubbing at his shoulder. A red mark ran across his skin where the seatbelt had cut into him, but there was relief on his face. He propped his rifle against the Jeep then ducked down beside the front wheel.

  Harwood retrieved his own weapon and took up position a few feet ahead of the Jeep. His movements were more casual than Santos, and he held the rifle at his waist, but there was a practiced efficiency to his actions.

  “I bet you wish you’d brought a gun now,” Melissa said.

  Her voice was teasing, but there was a tension there, too. They’d all be feeling it. Death might always be close at hand these days, but in a camp, even one as exposed as Hope, your body adjusts. Your mind convinces itself events are under your control and dials down the fear so that it doesn’t overwhelm you. Take away that illusion of control, and the fear returns, stronger than ever.

  I could see that fear on Novak’s face when he stood up from where he’d been examining the Jeep. His bravado was still there, but they say the eyes are the window into the soul, and Novak’s soul was scared.

  “Jeep is screwed, Captain. The suspension is broken. It is not going anywhere.”

  Captain Harwood nodded without hesitation. “Okay, we’re heading back. Grab your gear—”

  “No!” Melissa jumped over the side of the Jeep and strode toward Harwood. “Harwood, we’re closer to the bus than the camp. We need to carry on.”

  “Jennings,” Harwood said, loading the name with contempt, “the bus is at least two hours away. We don’t know how many zees we’ll meet on the way, and we don’t know if the thing will even start once we get there. We carry on, we die.”

  “I can get the bus started.”

  “It does not matter if the zees get us,” Novak said.

  “You’re right, Captain,” Melissa said. “We don’t know what’s ahead of us.”

  Harwood nodded. “Good, at least—”

  “But we do know what’s behind us. Marcus? How many zombies did you see back there?”

  Everyone turned to look at me, and I felt the sudden weight of their expectation crowding in on me. “Thirty, probably more by now.” I hoped that would be enough to discourage Harwood from turning back.

  Harwood bristled. “What? Where?”

  “At the trail we crossed ten minutes ago.”

  “I didn’t see them.”

  “You were focused on the map.”

  “Santos? You see a pack of zees?”

  “No, Captain.”

  Harwood’s eyes flicked from me to Melissa and back to me again. I could see him weighing my words, trying to assess where my loyalties lay and whether I might lie to side with Melissa.

  Novak picked up his rifle and aimed it into the forest. “Sir, we have company.”

  Two zombies pushed their way through the undergrowth toward us. They were both relatively intact, but their gray flesh was pulled tight across their bones, and the light reflected off the familiar black orbs of their eyes. They moved together, shoulder to shoulder, almost as one. As they stepped onto the trail, I saw why. A short length of brown climbing rope connected the two of them. But they didn’t look like climbers; their clothes were more suitable for Saturday afternoon shopping than ascending summits. Someone must have roped them together.

  “I’ve got them,” Novak said.

  He let his rifle drop and pulled out his knife.

  “There’s another one back up the trail, twenty yards,” Santos said.

  There was a wet crack, followed by another as Novak took out the roped zombies.

  “Captain?” Melissa said.

  Harwood clenched his teeth then gave a sharp nod. “Looks like you’re getting your way. Get your gear; we’re moving out.”

  Keeping one eye on the zombie moving steadily toward us, we started down the trail. Novak and Harwood took the front, with Santos at the rear. I tried to keep behind Melissa, but she hung back and insisted on walking beside me.

  We moved quickly, the trees on either side of the trail seeming to close in on us. The forest was silent, no birds announcing the early-morning sun, no scurrying creatures dashing for cover. It had been like that since the outbreak. It was as though nature itself had retreated from the threat that had suddenly risen up in its midst and was now waiting quietly to see how it all played out.

  The tension in our group grew steadily the farther we got from the Jeep. The loss of even that small connection with the safety of Hope left us feeling exposed and vulnerable. At least, that was what I assumed. I felt some of that, but mostly I felt optimism. Every step took me that bit nearer to my home and the solitude I craved.

  As we dropped down a gentle slope, we saw another zombie shuffling slowly through the forest parallel to the trail. Her chest was split open, allowing gore-encrusted entrails to slide out. Novak immediately raised his weapon, but he didn’t fire. She was slow moving and too far away to be a threat.

  Melissa let out a sickened groan and turned away. She’d been walking in silence up until that point, but once we were past the zombie, she said, “You didn’t answer Santos’s question.”

  I gave her a puzzled look, but I was just trying to buy time to find the right words to answer her.

  “Whether zombies are still human, inside,” she said.

  “I…”

  My voice trailed off. How could I put into words my relationship with the dead? She was used to people who killed to survive, maybe for pleasure, but I was different. I sought out the dead.

  The first zombie I’d worked on had unlocked something inside me. I’d killed them before then, of course, but the first one I’d deliberately chosen had brought with him the realization that I could sate the shadow without exposing myself to the difficulty and risk of finding living subjects. There were still dangers—it was only a matter of time before I’d get myself bit—but zombies were plentiful and predictable. The living were neither of those things.

  Novak coughed, and for a second I thought I’d been saved from the awkward conversation by another zombie encounter, but the trail was empty.

  I didn’t look at Melissa. She leaned forward, peering into my face, looking for an answer.

  “I don’t know,” I said.

  That seemed to satisfy Melissa. She nodded slightly. “Are you religious?”

  I let out a little snort before I could stop myself.

  “No, me neither. My parents were both mathematicians, and neither had much patience for that sort of thing. They did have a very strong sense of justice and went to great lengths to pass that on to my brother and me. They didn’t need a higher power judging them to raise us as caring human beings.

  “There was one time on a trip to the San Diego Zoo. My brother spotted a twenty-dollar bill on the ground. He grabbed it and immediately started looking for the gift store. He was only seven or eight, and twenty bucks was a lot of money to him. He was halfway through listing all the toy animals he was going to buy when Dad stopped him and explained that the money wasn’t his and that he was going to hand it in to lost property.”

  Melissa smiled. “The look on my brother’s face was priceless, and he whined and moaned for hours afterward, but the lesson stuck. He was always putting others first.”

  I felt a brief flash of envy. My mother was a good woman, and the shadow’s existence isn’t down to her, but we spent very little time together. She preferred to watch her crime dramas, and I preferred the shadow’s company. By all accounts, my father’s departure was a welcome development, but I can’t help wondering how my life might have turned out had I grown up with two loving parents. Perhaps my moral compass might point in a more traditional direction.

  Melissa’s smile took on a sad edge. “That selflessness cost him his life in the end. He died saving a little girl we found trapped in a car.”

  “What happened to her?”

  “She… She died.”

  Captain Harwood signaled for us to stop. We’d reached a sharp bend in the trail. Two trees lay on th
e ground a little way farther on. The stumps were splintered and torn as though some giant creature had knocked them aside as it passed.

  Harwood pointed around the corner. “Make sure it’s clear.”

  Novak nodded, checked the knife at his belt, then headed down the trail. His face was determined, but there was excitement there, too, almost delight. A few minutes later, he came back. His knife was in his hand, the blade slick with the black tar that runs through the zombies’ veins.

  “We’re good,” he said.

  Harwood nodded. “The highway is just around the corner. This is where it gets interesting. According to the intel we have, the bus is a couple of miles down the road. That means we’re going to be out in the open, and there’s a good chance we’re going to run into zees, maybe even a pack.”

  Captain Harwood stared at me. “When we do, and I mean when, not if, don’t panic.”

  I held the captain’s gaze while the shadow flashed images through my mind of what he’d look like impaled on my knife.

  “It’s mostly downhill, so we’ll run. Keep to the side of the road, and try not to make too much noise. Any questions?”

  Nobody had any.

  “Good, let’s go. Novak, you’ve got point.”

  Novak nodded his assent and jogged away from us along the trail.

  Melissa followed. The others waited for me to go after her before moving themselves.

  The highway was empty apart from two freshly killed zombies lying near the end of the trail. Novak led us south, the five of us jogging quietly down the road.

  A few minutes later, we caught sight of a car. It was parked at an angle on the opposite side of the road. Novak slowed as we approached it, then stalked across the highway, his gun drawn. The rest of us stopped to catch our breath.

  As he got close, he darted forward, pointing the gun at the driver’s-side window. He relaxed almost immediately and gave a thumbs-up without looking over his shoulder. He pulled open the car door. A body lay slumped across the steering wheel, but there was a ragged hole in the back of the skull. Novak checked the backseat then dragged the body out onto the road and searched the pockets of its jeans. He came away empty-handed.

  I took a few deep breaths in an attempt to ease the stitch forming in my side. The air was crisp and clear, free of the stench of decay that had become so commonplace.

  “You okay?” Melissa said. “You look a bit pale.”

  “I’m not used to this much exercise.”

  Harwood shushed us.

  Novak was heading across the road, but Harwood jabbed a finger at the car. Novak stared blankly at him for a few seconds. Then realization dawned on his face, and he hurried back to the car’s rear.

  Gun at the ready, he released the catch on the trunk then let out a deep breath before flipping it open. He stepped back, and I tensed. Nothing leaped out at him, and no decaying corpse rose up to attack. He rummaged around in the trunk for a while. Eventually, he pulled out a small red box.

  Novak walked back over to us and gave the case to Harwood. It was a medical kit. Harwood checked it then threw it to Santos, who clipped it to her belt as Novak jogged off down the road again.

  “Do you need me to carry you?” said Melissa, smiling yet again.

  “No, I’m good,” I said. I was still a little breathless, and the words came out weaker than I’d planned.

  Melissa waited, eyebrows raised, until I started running and then followed along behind me.

  Chapter 18

  The Bus

  We found the bus a few minutes later, just around a bend in the road. It was one of those yellow school buses, the full-length ones, and was parked diagonally, facing down the hill. From what I could see, it looked intact, but the hood was propped open. The side was scraped, and the front left corner was dented and covered with ominous black stains, but there were no smashed windows, no flat tires. The door was open, and I could just make out that the driver’s seat was empty.

  Novak stopped about thirty feet away from the bus. Melissa started to walk past him, but he stopped her. She rolled her eyes at him.

  “You two wait here,” said the captain. “I wouldn’t want you getting hurt.”

  He directed Santos toward the bus. She checked her rifle and walked cautiously down the highway. Novak readied his own gun and followed, sticking to the side of the road and taking a more roundabout route. Santos ducked down, scanning beneath the vehicle.

  Captain Harwood cursed under his breath. A zombie had wandered out of the trees a few feet back up the road. She saw us immediately and lurched in our direction, her soft cries drifting down the road.

  Harwood flipped his head at me. “Deal with it.”

  From the look on his face, it was clear he was expecting me to resist. I didn’t. I just walked calmly up the hill, pulling my knife from its sheath.

  The shadow grew agitated as I approached the zombie. She was old and well decayed. Most of her hair was missing; just a few ragged scraps still clung to her scalp. Her clothes were covered in mud and dried blood from the gash in her throat that had probably killed her. As I got closer, she raised one arm toward me. The other stayed at her side, twitching slightly.

  A tight knot formed in the pit of my stomach. I could feel the shadow trying to make its presence felt, trying to assert control. I focused on the road just over the zombie’s shoulder. I couldn’t let the shadow loose here, not with everyone watching. I’d done that before and almost paid the price.

  The zombie was easy to kill. As I got within striking distance, I ducked around her outstretched arm and jabbed the knife up toward her neck. It sank in up to the hilt. She relaxed instantly and fell back, landing on the road with a solid crack.

  I knelt and calmly wiped the knife on her jeans. From the outside, it probably looked like a very efficient kill. Inside, my thoughts were a maelstrom. The shadow writhed inside of me, irate at the opportunity I’d just wasted, while the rational part of my brain reminded me that unleashing the shadow would lead to me blacking out. At best, that would get me killed.

  I stripped my face of emotion and walked back down the road, the feeling that I’d just wasted an opportunity dogging my footsteps. I detected a faint glimmer of respect on Captain Harwood’s face.

  Melissa looked thoughtful. “Now I see how you’ve survived this long.”

  “Practice makes perfect,” I said.

  A short, sharp whistle cut through the air. Santos and Novak were standing either side of the door to the bus, but Novak was pointing across the road at a male zombie that had fallen into a ditch at the roadside and was now dragging himself out of it and toward us.

  This time, Harwood dealt with him. He moved quickly, running across the road and plunging his knife into the side of his skull before he had a chance to react. As he cleaned his knife, Santos and Novak went into the bus.

  Santos went first.

  She dashed up the steps, sweeping her gun across the interior. Once she was at the top, Novak joined her. Once he had, Santos knelt in the driver’s seat and aimed her rifle down the bus. Novak nodded to her then moved slowly down the vehicle’s length.

  I could see his outline through the dirty windows as he checked the bus. He paused at each row of seats, sweeping the gun left and right. I was waiting for the crack of gunfire and the spray of black blood against a window. It never came, and when Novak and Santos climbed back out of the bus, I let go of a breath I hadn’t realized I was holding.

  As soon as Santos gave the okay, Melissa muttered “finally” and started off toward the bus.

  Harwood did the same. I was already looking for a chance to make my escape, but any hope I had that he was distracted was dashed when he signaled me to hurry up and follow them. When I got to the bus, he’d already ordered Novak and Santos to stand guard at either end of the vehicle.

  “You,” he said, jabbing his finger at my chest, “you help the grease monkey.”

  Melissa gave Harwood a withering look. He ignored it.

/>   She climbed into the driver’s seat. The ignition was empty, but when she pulled down the sun visor, the keys were there—pinned to a piece of elastic. There was a plastic photo frame attached to the key chain. Melissa smiled sadly at it as she pulled the keys free.

  When she slid the key into the ignition and turned it, colored lights came to life across the dashboard.

  Melissa peered at the display. “There’s fuel.”

  She turned the key farther. The engine whined and rattled but didn’t start. She flicked a few switches on and off, seemingly at random, then tried the ignition again with a similar lack of success. Then she clambered out of the driver’s seat and down the steps to the road.

  “Come on, Marcus.” She walked to the front of the bus. “Hold this,” she said, holding out her tool kit. I took it, and she opened the case and pulled out an adjustable wrench.

  As Melissa rummaged around in the engine, I stared down the road. Something moved off in the distance, another zombie probably, but it was far enough away to ignore for now.

  “So,” Melissa said, “when are you planning on running off?”

  “What?”

  “Come on, I’m not stupid. You’ve been looking for an opportunity to hightail it out of here since we left Hope. You only agreed to help us to get a lift closer to that man cave of yours. I’m guessing it’s somewhere south of here?”

  I considered denying it, but for reasons I couldn’t quite put my finger on, I thought she deserved the truth. “I’m going to leave once you get the bus working.”

  “If I do.”

  “Either way, when you start heading back to Hope, I’ll go.”

  Melissa pulled her head out from beneath the hood. “You know Harwood will probably shoot you as a deserter,” she said, her voice low.

  The captain was walking back up the road, scanning the trees for signs of danger. Melissa was grinning again, but her joke still seemed prophetic. She dropped a couple of metal objects into the tool kit and exchanged the wrench for a pair of pliers.

  “I think you should stay.”