by Jeff Strand
"Oh my God, you used your birthday for the passcode?" Stanley asked, incredulous. "Even I'm not that dumb!"
"That isn't my birthday."
"Oh. My bad. Did I miss your birthday?"
"Yes."
"Sorry. Open the door."
Brant slowly opened the door. The lab itself was slightly smaller than the room they were currently in, lit by several dozen flickering candles, and had the walls, floor, and ceiling covered with bizarre symbols.
A really bad song was playing.
A girl, perhaps eighteen or nineteen, was chained to the wall, naked except for a bra and panties. Her entire body was pale. Her eyes were open and her face was frozen in an expression of pure terror. The girl's skin had been flayed apart in several spots on her arms, legs, and stomach, and she had a couple of silver bowls at her feet to catch the blood.
A man who looked about fifty knelt on the floor, wearing only a pair of blue boxer shorts. He had some sort of weird symbol drawn in blood on his chest. He looked really annoyed to see Stanley, Brant, and Martin.
"Ferocity, ferocity, I ain't got no sanity," went the lyrics playing over the stereo.
"What the hell?" asked the man, standing up. "Rich, what the hell is this? What's he doing here?"
"Henry, just calm down," said Brant. "We have a bit of a problem here."
"Yeah, we have a problem! Dammit!" Henry walked over and shut off the stereo. He gestured to the girl. "Now she's no good to us. I've spent three days draining her for nothing. Why would you interrupt me?"
Stanley stared at the girl in horror. "Who is she?" he demanded.
"That would be the virgin."
"One of the virgins," Henry clarified.
"Be quiet!" Brant shouted. "What's the matter with you?"
"Hell, I figured you told him the whole story! Why else would you have brought him in here? I can't believe you interrupted my ritual with only five hours to go."
Stanley pointed the dart gun at Henry. "How many have there been?"
"Don't point that at me. I don't even want to be here. I could be at home with a cold beer right now."
"Tell me!"
"Just chill out, will you? I've got a headache and this last part of the ritual always makes my arm cramp up. Bug Rich with your questions, not me."
"How many?" Stanley asked Brant.
"Each victim, done properly, creates enough blood to sustain you for about a month."
"One a month? You kill one virgin a month?"
"And their families," said Henry. "The families are important."
"Oh my God."
"Plus a couple of them just didn't take."
"Enough!" Brant shouted.
"Hey, I didn't bring these guys in here. I figured the beans were already spilled."
"Let her go," said Stanley.
"Who? The chick on the wall?"
"Let her go now!"
Henry rolled his eyes. "She's not going to walk out of here humming a merry tune if I unchain her. She's pretty much dead already. It's really not a pleasant business, and by interrupting me, you made it so that it was all for nothing. Wasting virgins is not a nice thing to do."
Stanley desperately wanted to fire the dart into the back of Brant's head, and then shoot another one into that asshole Henry, but he kept himself under control. He only had one dart anyway.
"All right, both of you, put your hands behind your head and face the wall. Now!"
"Is he serious?" Henry asked Brant.
"Don't talk! And of course I'm serious! Move!"
Henry let out a deep sigh. "So are you slow or just stupid?"
"I beg your pardon?"
"I'll go with slow. I'm not kidnapping virgins, slaughtering their families, chaining them to walls, and draining their blood for seventy-two hours because it's how I get my kicks. I'm doing it so that the world's most famous zombie stays upright. That's how I make my living. If I quit doing this--and believe me, I've thought about it a million times, especially in moments like these--you die for good. So by preventing me from doing my job, you're essentially committing suicide. Which means that I've wasted all this time and effort, and that really annoys me."
"I said to get against the wall."
"No, you said to face the wall."
"Do it!"
"Suicide. Su-i-cide. What makes this a difficult concept to grasp?"
Veronica's scream startled Stanley so much that he nearly pulled the trigger.
"Oh my God!" she screamed. "What is going on in here?"
"This could take a while," Stanley admitted, not looking back at her. "I'm still really stressed and won't do a good job telling it."
"Who is she?" Veronica asked, sounding as if she might hyperventilate. "Who is he? What is this?"
"Black magic ritual," said Martin, helpfully.
"Y'know, Veronica, I'm always happy to see you," said Stanley, "but this is actually pretty bad timing. If you could maybe step out of the room and find something else to do for a while, I'll get you all caught up once this is resolved."
"Brant, what's going on?" Veronica asked.
"Stanley promised to explain everything," said Brant. "I think you should leave now."
"But I--"
Brant turned around. "Veronica, get out!"
Brant's outburst distracted Stanley for only a second, but it was long enough. He suddenly realized that Henry had a knife (where had that come from?), and then an instant later the knife was flying toward him.
The knife slammed into Stanley's throat as his finger tightened on the trigger.
Veronica screamed as Stanley stumbled backwards, gasping for air that he didn't need. Henry stared down at the dart protruding from his right leg. "Aw, shit!"
Brant spun around and pushed Martin out of the way. He barreled past Veronica as he ran through the doorway. Martin went after him.
Stanley dropped the gun and yanked the knife out of his throat as Henry plucked the dart out of his leg. Henry let out a cry of rage, held the dart over his head like a knife, and then rushed at Stanley.
Stanley flung the knife at him. It struck Henry's shoulder and he let out a grunt of pain, dropping the dart. He wrenched it out and threw it back at Stanley, getting him in the neck a second time.
"Son of a bitch!" cried Stanley, surprised that he could still speak. He pulled out the knife, touched the twin holes in his neck, and then threw the knife at Henry, hitting him in the other shoulder.
"Bastard!" Henry pulled out the knife, and a gout of thick black blood squirted out. "Brant! Antidote! Quick!"
"He's long gone," Stanley informed him.
Henry reached down and picked up the dart. "You'd better hope there isn't any left in here!" he said, just before a high heeled shoe struck him in the side of the head. The dart fell out of his hand. "Crap!"
Stanley rushed at him. Out of the corner of his eye he could see Veronica pulling off her other shoe. Stanley's outstretched arm struck Henry's chest, sinking into the flesh just a bit and causing an additional squirt of black blood to come out of each of his shoulder wounds.
Henry punched Stanley in the face, but his fist exploded on impact and did little damage.
Veronica's other shoe struck Henry in the side of the head. The heel passed through his skull, accompanied by a geyser of black blood, and Henry dropped to his knees. Upon hitting the floor, his knees exploded much as his hand did.
Blood began to stream from his ears and nose. Henry looked up at Stanley, a pleading expression on his face. "I...I need you to do something for me..."
"What?"
Henry coughed, and blood jettisoned from at least four different openings on his body. "Make sure...make sure my single gets some airplay..."
He fell over and leaked some more.
"See if you can do anything for the girl," Stanley told Veronica. "I'm going after Brant."
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
Martin lay on the floor in the empty room, rubbing his jaw. Stanley started to make a sarcastic
comment, but decided against it and hurried out into the hallway.
"Give it up, Brant!" he shouted. "There's no escape!"
Actually, Stanley figured there were plenty of escape routes, but he hoped to diminish Brant's morale. He rushed around the corner. No sign of the lying scumbag indirect-virgin-killer.
"Listen, Brant--" said Stanley, and then he hesitated. He wasn't sure if he'd get a better response by saying that he was going to tell the world about what was really going on, or that he wasn't going to tell the world.
Actually, he hadn't quite decided if he was going to tell or not. He couldn't very well let Brant go on having people killed, but the idea of melting away into nothingness was somewhat less than appealing.
"Listen, Brant, I'm not going to tell anybody!" Stanley shouted. "There has to be an alternative!"
He stopped and listened for Brant's reaction. He assumed that it wouldn't be "Goodness! Now that you mention it, I can keep you alive simply by spraying Windex on you every couple of days!" but there had to be some other way, right?
Brant was silent.
"Yo! Brant! We need to talk this out!"
Nothing.
Martin stepped into the hallway, still rubbing his jaw. "Did you catch him?"
"Does it look like I caught him?"
"See, you wonder why I said all those things and yet you--"
"Not the best time, Martin. I'm gonna try the main exit, you start checking rooms."
"Gotcha."
Stanley ran down the hallway. In theory, Brant couldn't have gotten out without his badge, so hopefully he'd realize that they all needed to have a nice long chat about the current situation. Stanley really hoped that he didn't have another melt-dart stashed away somewhere.
He reached the exit door. Still locked, and no sign of Brant.
It only took about five minutes to do a quick search of the bunker. Brant was nowhere to be found. Stanley and Martin returned to the lab (which, admittedly, didn't quite fit the dictionary definition of "lab," but he wasn't quite up to calling it the "slaughterhouse" yet) where Veronica stood next to the girl.
"There's no key to the chains," Veronica explained. "She doesn't seem to understand anything I'm saying. I pulled out the tubes but I'm not sure what else to do."
"There may not be anything else to do," said Stanley, sadly. "Brant's gone. We need to get a doctor in here to take care of her, as soon as possible."
"Dr. Arnzin?"
"No. He's not a real doctor. I mean, he yanked those bullets out of me, but he's not a real doctor. Call 911."
Veronica nodded and turned to leave, then hesitated. "You're sure? I mean, of course we need to do something about this, but you're sure, right?"
"I'm sure. Pretty sure. It would be wrong and evil not to be sure, right?"
"I don't know. To be honest, right now I'm very confused."
"I think we're all a little confused."
"I'm the most confused," said Martin.
"All right, here's what we'll do. Veronica, you stay here and watch over the girl. Martin, you call an ambulance. I'm going outside to see if I can catch up to Brant."
"You have a mob waiting for you," said Veronica. "I'll go after him."
"No, he could be dangerous. I'm not putting anybody else at risk. I'll be fine."
Veronica nodded and tossed him her badge.
"Not your best picture, is it?" asked Stanley.
"Go!"
Stanley hurried out of the lab and to the exit. He swiped Veronica's badge, opened the door, and climbed the ladder that led to the surface. He threw open the trapdoor and then very hesitantly peeked his head out, expecting Brant to perhaps try to run him over with a lawnmower or something.
Brant's car and Veronica's car were parked in the warehouse. Aside from that, it was empty.
Stanley climbed out all the way and did a quick peek in each vehicle to make sure Brant wasn't hiding there. Then he ran to the exit, swiped Veronica's badge, threw open the door and gasped.
The area around the warehouse was cordoned off with orange-and-white barriers, but there was a huge crowd right outside of them. A few of them pointed excitedly at Stanley. Those who were seated quickly got to their feet as the crowd as a whole roared to life.
There had to be at least two hundred people. None of them seemed to be carrying torches, pitchforks, or tar-and-feathering supplies, but Stanley still didn't feel that his personal safety was particularly secure.
"He is here!" somebody in the front shouted into a megaphone. "Everybody, remain calm! Do not let the sounds of our excitement drown out His words!"
Stanley couldn't believe it. It was that whacko who'd shot him! "Charlie...?"
"He remembers me! Our Savior recalls my name! Oh, I am truly blessed this day!"
"What's up with your speech patterns?"
"New speech for a new life! We await your words, Savior!"
Stanley cleared his throat. "Has anybody--?"
"We can't hear you!" shouted somebody near the back.
"Please, Savior, take my megaphone, so that it might amplify your words!" Charlie stepped past the barrier and handed the megaphone to Stanley.
"Is this better?" Stanley asked, his voice booming.
There was general murmur of assent from the crowd.
"Did anybody see a man come out of here? Older guy, gray hair, goatee? Walks like he has a rod up his butt?"
The crowd collectively shook its head.
"Okay, thanks." Stanley lowered the megaphone.
"Speak to us!" shouted Charlie.
"Don't shout. You're right next to me."
"I apologize, Savior! My enthusiasm for your return is--"
"Charlie, get the fuck back on the other side of the line."
"I will immediately, Savior!" Charlie hurried past the barrier.
"Listen, all of you, I really appreciate your support. Without my fans, I'm nothing. But things in my life are a little screwy these days, and I'm not completely sure what's going to happen to me, so I need to share some stuff with you."
"Yes! Share your wisdom!" Charlie shouted.
"Charlie? This is your last warning. I'll send your ass to the back. Anyway, the first thing I want to say is, don't use me as a role model. I suck. All of us celebrities suck. And try not to..." Stanley trailed off. "Have you been calling me Savior?"
"Yes, Savior!"
Stanley took a couple of moments to fully process that piece of information. "Okay, now that is creepy and messed up!"
"You are our only hope!"
"If you say I'm part of any ancient prophecies, I'm going to knock you out with this megaphone. Look, I encourage all of you to be religious, but don't be a whack-job about it. Don't worship defective glass or stains on building, don't say dumb shit about God creating hurricanes to wipe out homosexuals, and don't worship zombies. At least not this zombie. I'm not the scientific miracle you all believe I am."
"I knew it!" shouted a woman in the front row. "It's goddamn makeup!"
"No, no, I'm a zombie!" Stanley insisted. "But Project Second Chance is doing some horrible things. They're killing people. And now that I know about it, I can't let it keep happening."
"Project Second Chance is giving the greatest gift in the history of mankind," shouted Brant, emerging from around the corner of the warehouse. "All of you here today, you're the strongest supporters of Mr. Corpse, are you not?"
The crowd cheered.
"And you're the ones most worthy of our gift, right?"
The crowd cheered again.
"Don't listen to him!" Stanley said into the megaphone. "Project Second Chance is bad! All bad!"
"Stanley Dabernath was given the gift of eternal life," said Brant. "The chemicals that we synthesized will keep his flesh alive forever. But you, the truly loyal fans, should know this: what gives him eternal life can also give you eternal life. The formula in his veins will sustain you just as it sustains him."
"What exactly are you getting at?" asked Charlie.
"Do you want eternal life? All of you?"
The crowd shouted its approval of the idea of receiving eternal life.
"Then eat Mr. Corpse!"
Stanley dropped the megaphone. This had soooooooo much potential to be unpleasant.
The crowd stared at him.
"He's lying!" Stanley shouted. "That's not the truth at all! I was brought back by witchcraft!"
There was not a lot of time available for solemn reflection, but Stanley did take a split second to consider that perhaps the whole supernatural element was something that the crowd needed to be eased into.
"Eat him!" Brant repeated.
The crowd just stood there, looking collectively baffled.
"It's a lie!" Stanley insisted. "If you eat me you'll just be a cannibal! And that's shameful! Nobody likes cannibals!"
"Eternal life!" Brant shouted.
Charlie stepped forward. "Yes, eternal life!"
The crowd surged forth, mouths open.
Stanley turned back toward the structure and fled. He didn't have far to run, but Brant intercepted him and delivered yet another one of those manly punches. Brant grabbed Stanley by the shirt collar and shoved him toward the oncoming hungry crowd.
"Fuuuuuuuuck!" he shouted.
And then he was caught in a swarm of bodies. Fingernails dug into his arm. A set of teeth bit down upon his leg.
Though the crowd was making too much noise for this to be true, Stanley was sure he heard Brant's cold, cruel laughter.
Stanley screamed and kicked and flailed around, but he couldn't get away from all these people. Charlie bit down on his arm, hard, ripping off a thin strip of flesh. A young woman grabbed it from between his teeth and shoved it into her own mouth as Charlie wailed in protest.
He kicked, getting a little kid (shit, he's not even out of elementary school!) in the face. Stanley's shirt ripped in half and within seconds had vanished from his body. He felt at least four different sets of teeth on his arm, and somebody bit down on his thumb almost, but not quite, hard enough to sever it.
"Please!" he begged.
His thumb came off.
What was going to happen to him when there was no flesh left? Would he actually become the skeleton from the posters? Would he still be alive?
An elderly woman thrust her face toward his eyeball, as if preparing to suck the orb out of its socket. Stanley gave her a head-butt and heard something crack that didn't belong to him.
