Serial Killer Z: Sanctuary

by Philip Harris

  Somehow, the zombie wasn’t dead, but Parker and Melissa were almost at the post office. I dodged away from the zombie as he tried to grab my ankles.

  Five zombies lay between me and Melissa. Two of them were knelt on the ground, tearing at a body, but three others had seen me and were now lumbering down the street in my direction. There was no way I could try to take on all three of them with just the knife.

  I ran to Melissa anyway.

  I reached a broad fissure that cut across the square. It was too wide to jump. Shadows milled around in the tunnels beneath. I ran parallel to the split until I reached its narrowest point. Fear twisted in my gut as I jumped the gap, zombies droning beneath my feet.

  The three zombies were just ahead. I sprinted at them, head lowered like a football player. Their moans closed in around me. The air was thick with the smell of charred and rotting flesh. I collided with one of the zombies. He stumbled back into a second, and they fell. Fingers scraped against my face and clothes.

  I plunged the knife into the third zombie’s eye. His hands clutched at my arm as he sank to the ground. Blood poured down his face.

  By the time I’d pulled my knife free, the first zombie was almost back on his feet. I kicked him in the shoulder, driving him to the ground, then plunged the knife into his forehead.

  Bony fingers wrapped around my wrist. The final zombie, pinned beneath the first, snapped at my arm. I stamped down on his head. Bone shattered. There was a wet pop, and blood and brain spurted across the ground.

  Melissa and Parker had reached the post office steps.

  I ran to them. “Melissa!”

  They both looked over their shoulders, and Melissa’s eyes widened in surprise.

  “Marcus, what are yo—”

  There was a crack of gunfire, and Parker collapsed, clutching her stomach.

  “Allison!” Melissa said.

  She knelt, supporting Parker’s head as she lay on the ground, gasping in pain.

  Parker let out a cry. Blood oozed from between her fingers.

  Melissa leaned forward and pressed her forehead against Parker’s. “Hold on, please.”

  A shape stumbled out of the post office. I raised the knife. Harwood walked out of the shadows. He was holding his neck, trying to stem the tide of blood pouring from the ragged wound beneath his hand. The right side of his jacket was stained with blood. He carried a rifle, but it hung loosely at his side. He wavered as he walked.

  Harwood smiled, revealing bloodstained teeth. He raised the rifle, the barrel swinging wildly as he tried to aim in my direction.

  Rage exploded within me. I unleashed a guttural scream and charged up the steps, threw myself at Harwood. The rifle fired. I forced him back. We slammed into the wall, and he grunted. I punched him in the stomach twice. Harwood bent forward, holding his gut, but I pulled his head back and drove my elbow into his face. His nose burst, and he let out a cry of rage and agony.

  I stepped back. Blood ran down Harwood’s face, a crimson waterfall. My fingers tightened around the knife. It wasn’t my scalpel, wasn’t one of my tools, but a calmness swept through me anyway, starting at the tips of my fingers. The shadow came with it, and my sense of self slipped away.

  The shadow moved forward.

  The shadow brought the knife up.

  The shadow sliced the blade across Harwood’s throat.

  Blood sprayed from his neck, bright red against the storm-soaked gray of the world around it. Energy roared through my body, setting my senses alight. I closed my eyes and tipped my head back, letting the shadow suffuse my body as it reveled in Harwood’s death.

  The energy drained away as quickly as it had arrived. I slumped forward as a feeling of heartfelt emptiness replaced the rush of the kill. When I opened my eyes, Harwood was lying on the ground, clutching his throat, staring blankly up at me.

  I heard a cry and turned. Melissa was still kneeling on the ground, cradling Parker’s limp form in her arms. She looked at Parker, tears streaming down her anguished face. Parker stared back, her eyes glassy and blank.

  The shadow surged within me again. It was weaker this time, but just as irresistible. I was down the steps and running at Melissa before I realized I was moving.

  Melissa heard me coming and looked up. The grief on her face turned to horror and then fear.

  “Marcus, no!”

  I slowed.

  The shadow responded, pushing me forward.

  Melissa stood and backed away from me, her hands out in front of her. I slowed, stopped. There was movement behind her—a zombie crawling out of the fissure. I blinked hard then raised my own hands. I was still holding the knife, and the hand that held it was soaked in crimson.

  I let go of the knife. It fell in slow motion to the ground. I felt its loss, and the shadow tried to reach for it. I fought back, stifling its insistent whispers.

  I stepped over the knife. Melissa’s eyes widened, and she retreated farther. “No!”

  “Melissa, please, I—”

  The zombie behind Melissa rose up and took a halting, stuttering step toward her.

  I lunged toward Melissa. “Look out!”

  She pulled away, twisting into the zombie’s arms. She screamed as he grabbed her. His fingers sank into her shoulder, and she cried out in pain. He leaned in to bite her throat. I grabbed his free arm and twisted. The flesh was slick and loose beneath my hands, and I struggled for grip.

  Melissa grabbed the zombie’s head and pushed it back, away from her throat. He snapped at her, teeth clacking. I pulled on the zombie’s arm, dragging him off Melissa until she was able to twist free.

  I let go of the zombie and kicked him in the knee. He sprawled across the ground. I leaped at him and slammed my boot into his face. His head snapped back. Black blood splattered across the ground. Again and again, I kicked him, until his head was nothing more than a battered, bloody mass.

  I stood over the body, breathing heavily.

  Melissa cried out.

  Another zombie, this one a woman, was crawling toward her. Both the zombie’s legs had been torn away, but she was hauling herself along the ground with surprising speed.

  I offered Melissa my hand. “This way.”

  She stared at me, fear and doubt writ large across her face.

  I extended my hand farther. “Please.”

  And then I lost her—I saw it in her eyes as clearly as if she’d spoken to me.

  She shook her head, backing away. Her feet caught the fissure’s edge, and she looked down. Her eyes widened. The ground she was standing on crumbled. She slipped.

  I dived forward as she slid backward into the rapidly opening sinkhole. She reached out. Her hand met mine. It was slick from the rain, and I struggled for grip while momentum carried her away from me. Panic flooded her eyes. I clutched her wrist and dug my feet into the ground. Her body dropped over the edge of the fissure. The strain on my arms increased as she swung in the open air of the tunnel below. My feet slipped then caught, and Melissa stopped sliding. She let out a sob.

  I adjusted position to give myself some leverage and then began pulling her back up to safety. She grabbed me, her nails digging into my wrist. Her eyes were filled with tears, and she was shaking with relief.

  As I pulled her over the fissure’s lip, she swung one leg up and onto stable ground. She smiled, but the look quickly turned to shock and then horror. A blackened and bloated hand grabbed her calf. She screamed as the zombie pulled her back. Her hand slipped free of mine, and she was dragged into the fissure.

  I lunged for her. My fingertips brushed hers. Then she was gone.

  I lay there, the rain seeping into my clothes, until she stopped screaming.

  Chapter 55

  Escape Route

  I stared at the crack in the ground until the rumbling of another zombie snapped me out of my stupor. A heavyset man with deep, suppurating wounds running down the front of his arms lumbered unsteadily toward me. I circled away from the zombie, not quite sure wha
t to do.

  Melissa’s death had awoken unfamiliar emotions and left me disoriented. The world felt odd, muffled almost. I was unarmed, I knew that. And I knew I should find my knife, but I couldn’t work out exactly how I’d do that.

  The square was entirely given over to the living dead now. Most of the zombies that weren’t busy at the bodies were moving into the rest of the town in pursuit of fresh meat, but a few were heading toward me. Another chunk of earth gave way on the far side of the square. A nearby building listed dangerously.

  Another zombie dragged himself out of a sinkhole next to the post office. He had a deep slash in his throat that pulsed as he moved toward me. It took me a few seconds to recognize his face through the dirt and blood that covered it. It was Novak. His eyes were dark, not quite the black orbs of his fellow dead, but definitely not the eyes of a living human being. I don’t know if he recognized my face or if it was just his natural instinct that drove his movements, but he was coming for me.

  The shadow’s sense of self-preservation kicked in. A sudden burst of adrenaline chased away at least some of the confusion that was draped over me. It took me a few valuable seconds to find what I was looking for, then I set off running.

  The fissures, sinkholes, and nearby zombies forced me to take a meandering route across the square. My movements caught the attention of more of the dead, and by the time I was halfway to the fallen motorcycle, there were ten or twelve zombies coming toward me. One slipped and fell into a sinkhole, but the rest zigzagged around obstacles without any problems.

  The biker’s body was lying quite a way from his ride, surrounded by zombies. Hearing me approaching, one of them raised his decaying head and let out a low, mournful wail. One by one, his companions joined him until five voices moaned in unison like some bizarre a capella group.

  I ran past them without looking back—I could imagine them getting to their feet and coming after me well enough as it was.

  I grabbed the bike and hauled it upright. It was heavier than I’d expected. My feet slipped on the wet pavement as I fought to avoid tipping it over. I threw my leg over the seat, fought to stay upright a little bit more, and then got the thing stable.

  Pulling in the clutch, I tapped the bike into neutral and turned the ignition key. The engine roared to life. I turned the throttle slightly and eased off of the clutch. The bike shuddered, and the engine slowed and died.

  Then I did look over my shoulder. The nearest zombie had gotten stuck, a fact that probably saved my life. His right leg had fallen down a hole, and he was now pawing uselessly at the ground as he tried to drag himself clear. The other zombies were farther away, but I still only had a few seconds before I’d have to abandon the bike and run.

  I pulled the clutch in again and remembered to stamp down on the gear pedal to put the bike into first gear. It made a satisfying click. I turned the ignition, and the engine awoke again. This time when I twisted the throttle and released the clutch, the bike rolled forward. The engine slowed, but I increased the throttle again and accelerated away.

  The bike wobbled and rocked as I bounced across the uneven ground and one of the narrower fissures. Ahead, a trio of zombies hunched over the bloodied remains of a young woman raised their heads. I eased up on the throttle and leaned right to swerve around them.

  Another crack in the ground, much wider than the first, lay directly ahead. For a fraction of a second I considered trying to jump it, but then sanity prevailed. I hit the brakes. The back wheel locked up on the slick pavement, and the bike snaked to a halt. The path to the left was blocked by a mound of rubble I could probably get past and two zombies I probably couldn’t.

  I pivoted the bike right then accelerated away again. It picked up speed quicker than I’d expected as I weaved across the square. I’d almost made it to the main street when the front wheel slipped into a narrow trench I’d been trying to ride parallel to, and I felt the bike start to go down. I panicked and hit the brakes. The wheels locked, and the slick surface sent the bike spinning from underneath me.

  I slammed into the ground. Pain rocketed up my arm. I rolled. My teeth clacked together, and I tasted blood. The bike slid away from me, and a chunk of metal tore loose and bounced across the road. Its engine cut out.

  I was back on my feet before the bike had come to a halt. Ignoring the burning sensation in my leg, I grabbed the handlebars and hauled it upright, praying it was still ridable. The left footrest had broken off during the crash, which made it difficult to change gears, but after a couple of attempts, I got it into gear and started the engine.

  The nearest zombie was only about six feet away, his arms already grasping at me. I accelerated, managing to find a balance between throttle and clutch that let me keep the bike under control. I weaved around another pack of zombies, close enough to catch the smell of decay, then accelerated out of the square toward the main gate.

  Someone called out to me as I raced along the street, weaving the bike around sinkholes and zombies alike. There was a woman caught behind a car, two zombies advancing toward her. I didn’t even slow.

  The main gate was open—not wide enough to get a car through but with enough of a gap for the bike. The guard that had been trapped beneath the fallen tower was still there, although he was dead now. A zombie was crouched over him. She looked up, a length of something gray hanging from her mouth.

  I shot through the gap, half expecting a zombie to grab me as soon as I reached the other side, but none did. The only zombies I could see were congregated outside one of the houses. As I rode by, a man appeared in the window. He hammered on the glass and shouted something. I twisted the throttle and accelerated away, leaving Sanctuary behind me.

  Chapter 56

  Cave

  I pulled up outside the cave on the motorcycle, turned the engine off, and just sat there, listening to the tick-tick-tick of the engine as it cooled. My arms and legs ached from wrestling with the bike, and my fingers were stiff where I’d clung on so tightly. They cracked as I stretched them.

  It had stopped raining almost as soon as I got out of Sanctuary, as though the storm had been sent to keep me there. Now that I was gone, there was no need for it anymore. But even without the rain, my damp clothes and the ride down the highway had left me with a bone-deep chill. A brief gust of wind darted through the forest, and my teeth chattered.

  I swung my leg off the bike, wincing as my joints complained at the movement. I almost let the bike topple over but managed to wrestle it onto its center stand.

  I might have been back at the cave, but it felt wrong.

  The house where my mother and I lived had been burgled once, while we were away on one of our brief weekend breaks. They hadn’t taken anything of real value—a few CDs and DVDs, what little costume jewelry my mother owned—but she’d been distraught. She’d sat in the living room, crying, muttering that she felt violated. I was ten at the time and hadn’t understood. Now I did.

  Numb from the cold and the sense of loss, I made my way slowly into the cave. I needed to find the leather case that must still be there somewhere. Then I’d leave. I’d take the bike and go north. I’d find a remote town somewhere and hide out there. I just needed the case. The shadow whispered that Ling had taken it, that he’d been lying to me, but I didn’t believe that. I couldn’t. I wouldn’t.

  One of my lanterns was sitting just outside the cave. Ling must have left it there. I clicked it on and was surprised that it worked.

  Once I was inside, the lantern provided just enough light to see. The storage crate was still lying on the ground, smashed and broken. The metal cage’s twisted remains lay by the wall.

  The sense of violation surged inside me, stronger than ever.

  I took four deep breaths and then moved to the broken crate. Holding the lantern with one hand, I methodically sorted through the pile of items beside it. I shook out the pieces of cloth to make sure the case wasn’t wrapped inside. I pulled out the tools, opened plastic containers, pulled apart pla
stic bags.

  I went through the pile four times, each pass slower and more careful than the last—all to convince my subconscious that I’d done everything I could to find the case or even just one of the scalpels.

  They weren’t there.

  When I’d finally convinced myself the case hadn’t been hidden inside the crate, I moved on to the rest of the room. Starting in the far corner, I walked slowly backward, sweeping the lantern left and right, chasing away the shadows. I searched everything I found—T-shirts, cardboard boxes, scraps of paper, everything.

  By the end of the fourth pass, I knew the case really was missing. It was out there somewhere, in the forest. I felt sick to my stomach, but I was angry, too. Angry that someone, Ling or some other unknown monster, had taken my property. Even angrier that I had grown so completely dependent on it. I’d let my own sense of self become hopelessly entangled with five meaningless pieces of metal. I was more than that, stronger than that.

  I didn’t need anything or anyone.

  An image of Melissa flashed through my mind. She was standing in Sanctuary, smiling, her eyes full of mischief. And then she saw the real me, and her expression changed to one of fear and horror.

  I blinked, squeezing away the image, but it left an empty, hollow feeling in my stomach. Her screams as she’d fallen into the tunnels beneath Sanctuary echoed through my head as though she were still somewhere beneath my feet, fighting for her life.

  I took my left hand in my right and dug my nails into the flesh of my palm. The shadow responded to the pain and rose up, its heat burning away the thoughts of Melissa. I’d been stupid to think she would see me as anything other than a monster. I took four deep breaths and let her go.

  It was time to leave.

  Resisting the urge to search the cave one last time, I turned to go. A flash of silver stopped me. I held the lantern up to illuminate the wall above the cave’s entrance. I’d been too focused on finding the case to see the words written there in dried, black blood.