Undead Worlds 2: A Post-Apocalyptic Zombie Anthology

by Authors, Various

  Crouching down, he examined the body more closely. The head wound had been fatal, cracking the boy’s skull and killing him before the perp had begun to devour him. He was lucky. The other victims had been alive for that part. More than likely, the fatal blow was sustained when he’d been flung from his ATV after he’d swerved to avoid hitting the perp.

  Standing, Gibson took a few steps back, looking at where the boy lay compared to the rolled ATV. His guess was right. Swerve marks in the dirt showed he’d tried to avoid something. He’d been going too fast and wasn’t wearing a helmet, and when his head had collided with a large rock on the two-track, it’d killed him instantly. Then the perp had descended on the boy and started eating him.

  What confused him the most was why none of the victims had tried to run. The perp had to have been armed with something, like a gun or knife at least. Yet, all the evidence pointed to one simple fact—the perp had never used a weapon, always killing with their bare hands, or more accurately, their teeth. The whole thing didn’t feel right, but he couldn’t put his finger on it.

  Fidel’s ears perked up and he looked down the two-track leading to the road. Someone was coming. A few seconds later, Deputy Randall walked around the tree line where the trail made a hard left.

  “He’s a little ways back in here,” Randall said, huffing as he stopped next to Gibson.

  “I don’t think it’s the distance,” Gibson said, glancing down at Randall’s belly. “I think it’s all those donuts you’ve been eating.”

  “It’s at least two miles back in here,” Randall said, still trying to catch his breath.

  “Try just over half a mile,” Gibson said.

  “Damn, guess I am gettin’ a little fat.”

  “More than a little.”

  Randall huffed and walked up closer to the body. “Same MO.”

  “Glad to see that police academy paid off.”

  “You know what I think?” Randall asked, looking back at him.

  “I don’t wanna hear it.”

  “Boss, it’s got to be them zombies all the kids are talkin’ about these days. I mean, just look at the wounds.”

  “It’s not some fairy-and-magic-horse crap,” Gibson said. “It’s just some freak who likes eating his victims, nothing else.”

  “But what if it is zombies?”

  “The next time you say the word zombie, I’m gonna pistol-whip you in the jaw.”

  “Fine, but don’t say I didn’t warn ya, Boss. When it comes out and we find it is them zombies, I’ll have to say I told ya so.”

  “If that ever happens, I’ll buy your next box of donuts myself.”

  Randall smiled, missing the sarcasm in Gibson’s voice. He usually did, which made it all the more enjoyable. For all the crap he gave Randall, he was a good man and a decent cop. He wasn’t going to win any medals any time soon, but he was good at his job.

  “Think there’s any relation to the other victims?” Randall asked, bending over to look more closely at the boy.

  “I doubt it,” Gibson said.

  “Then what’s the connection here?”

  “You tell me.”

  “I’m not sure…”

  “Then we’re on the same page. They almost seem like opportunity killings rather than thought-out murders, like the perp just stumbled into them. If that’s true, we need to find whoever it is because it won’t be long before they’re in town.”

  Randall nodded and walked over to the ATV. “You think the perp did this?”

  “The marks back there make it look like Tedd was trying to avoid hitting something.”

  “Interesting,” Randall said, scratching his belly. “Oh, Mrs. Henderson said to tell you the Feds called. They’re sending in a team to assist with the investigation.”

  “Assist, my ass,” Gibson said. “They’re here to take it over.”

  “I can finish up here and wait for the coroner if you wanna meet ‘em.”

  “Thanks, Randall. I’ll do that.”

  Gibson turned and Fidel finally stood up from where he’d been sitting, following by his side as they started down the two-track. It was funny how most people forgot he even had a dog with him, but he didn’t. The constant companionship was what helped keep him calm. Other people just couldn’t believe a dog that weighed eighty pounds could be so well behaved and almost invisible. He didn’t bark and he didn’t growl unless he was protecting Gibson. Then, he got downright mean and his military K-9 training kicked in. Fidel wasn’t just his service dog; he was his best friend.

  Gibson made it back to the gravel road leading to town where his Hill County Sheriff’s Department truck was parked. He opened the door and Fidel jumped in, going over to sit in the passenger seat of the old, single-cab Chevy. After a few miles, Gibson pulled up outside the sheriff’s office on the north side of the small town. There were five hundred and sixty-two people living in Hill City. It was a town in the middle of nowhere, and the main reason people lived there was the large pharmaceutical laboratory located fifteen miles north of town. It was owned by LifeWork and was the corporate giant’s main facility where they produced all of the generic drugs from Texas all the way up to Montana. They even had some distribution to the east and west coasts, although those had their own facilities.

  Going inside the office, he was immediately greeted by Mrs. Henderson sitting behind the front desk. The lady was in her late fifties, and he could only imagine how much of a fireball she’d been when she was younger—a lot like his wife. Fidel nudged up against his leg and Gibson absently scratched between his ears, not even realizing that his heart rate had picked up until he took a deep breath.

  “Our illustrious sheriff has returned,” Mrs. Henderson said, glancing up at him. “You find the psychopath yet?”

  “No, Mrs. Henderson,” Gibson said, hiding his smile. “But you’re welcome to go out and catch him yourself.”

  “I’d rather not. That’s your job, after all,” Mrs. Henderson said, and he nodded. “Someone from the FBI called; they said they’re sending a team down to help contain the situation.”

  “Contain the situation?”

  “That’s what she said.”

  “How is this a federal case?”

  “Don’t ask me. I just answer the phone and file the paperwork.”

  “When will they get here?” Gibson asked.

  “They’re sending a team down from Dallas,” Mrs. Henderson said. “They called at eight, so maybe in the next hour or so?”

  “Let me know when they arrive. I’ll be in my office.”

  Gibson walked through a small room containing the two deputies’ desks to get to the back where his office was. He went inside and shut the door behind him as Fidel slipped in by his side. He walked up to the corkboard on his wall and stuck a red thumbtack in the approximate location they’d found the kid’s body that morning. The map showed Hill City in the center and the Nechos State Park to the north with the Nechos River cutting through the middle of it. A gravel road led north from town to a campground on the far side of the park. It continued for another four miles, exiting the park and ending at a black circle on the map—LifeWork. Two red tacks were inside the campground while a third was two miles south and now the fourth, four miles south of that. That only left five miles between the last body and town.

  There was a red circle around the campground from a recent unsolved case. Last Friday, a woman, Jacinda Yotti, had gone missing. Her tent and all of her belongings were still at the campground, but she’d disappeared. Could she be the killer, or was that case unrelated? Within two days of Jacinda going missing, people started turning up dead, that wasn’t a coincidence. There was a connection there; he just had to find it. The missing woman was a librarian who’d come all the way from Kansas City, Missouri on vacation. Gibson had learned this when he’d contacted the woman’s husband back in Missouri.

  Two days later, Mr. and Mrs. Pennualis had turned up at the campground—dead. The young couple had been on vacation from H
ouston. The following day, while coming back from the scene, Deputy Henderson had found Ethan Darthu’s body in a ditch with his mountain bike laying a few feet away. The man had been the school’s PE teacher, an upstanding citizen, and a guy everyone liked, literally. No one had anything bad to say about him, which was impressive in a small town like this. Now, two days later, a high school student, Tedd Harms, was murdered four miles south of where they’d found Ethan’s body. All of the victim’s bodies had been mangled and eaten on to where they were barely recognizable and oddly enough, they’d all sustained some kind of head wound. Before, the three bodies had made a triangle in and around the campground, but now a new pattern could be seen. The murders had started just south of LifeWork and they were heading towards town.

  They’d learned about Tedd’s death that morning when his buddy, Francis, had come right up to the sheriff’s office on his ATV. He’d been scared, claiming his friend had been eaten. It took five minutes for Gibson to get a coherent story out of the kid. Francis had been farther up the trail when he realized Tedd wasn’t following. He’d turned back and found the body, proceeded to vomit, and then he’d come speeding into town.

  Gibson glanced at the pictures and evidence pinned around the map. It wasn’t like a perp not to leave any evidence that could tip him off—some sign or clue that gave him an idea about what they wanted or why they were killing. He had a way of looking at these cases and putting the pieces together even when others couldn’t. He’d even been the youngest on the force in Houston to be promoted to detective. Back when he’d lived there, cases like this weren’t as rare. Yet something about this didn’t make sense. He couldn’t find the clues he normally could. True, the perp may have left some blood at the first scene, but they hadn’t heard back from the laboratory in Lufkin yet and probably wouldn’t until it was too late. Either this perp was extremely good or ten years in this small town had dulled Gibson’s skills.

  The phone on his desk rang and he picked it up. “Yes, Mrs. Henderson?”

  “Your Feds are here…” she said and paused, “but they aren’t like any I’ve ever seen.”

  Gibson hung up the phone, checked the Glock holstered on his duty belt, and looked down at Fidel.

  “You ready?” Gibson asked. The dog looked at him in that particular way he had and Gibson smiled, patting Fidel on the side. “Yeah, me neither.”

  Exiting his office and walking through the front doors, he stopped just outside.

  What the hell is this?

  Six men were standing around a big black armored vehicle, decked out in black camouflage with full tactical gear. Most of them carried ACR combat rifles, while one carried a SAW machine gun and another had a scoped bolt-action rifle. These men weren’t FBI or any other federal agency he was aware of. They looked more like a military squad, but they didn’t have an emblem on their vehicle or ranks on their uniforms.

  “Are you the man in charge?” asked a big man with a red beard, walking up to Gibson.

  “I’m Sheriff Gibson,” he said, sticking his hand out. The man didn’t shake it. “And you are?”

  His nametag read Clover, but that couldn’t be—

  “Clover,” the bearded man said. “This is my team. We’ll be taking charge of this situation.”

  “Like hell you are,” Gibson said. “You don’t have the jurisdiction.”

  “Night,” Clover said, motioning to a hulking African American man.

  Night came forward and handed Gibson a single sheet of paper. It was a document signed by Texas Governor Henry Price giving power to a private contracting company called Vindex Corp. Since when did mercenaries get involved with federal investigations?

  “I don’t care what your paper says,” Gibson said, crumpling it up and throwing it at Clover’s chest. “This is my town and you’re not gonna take my investigation from me.”

  “I don’t care about your investigation,” Clover said. “We’re just taking the bodies.”

  “The bodies?” Gibson asked.

  “Yes.”

  “If that’s how it has to be, so be it,” Gibson said. “But stay outta my way.”

  Clover turned without saying another word and motioned to his men. They all climbed into the large armored vehicle like a well-oiled machine. They were certainly professionals. The driver backed out while Clover glared at Gibson from the passenger seat. He didn’t like this. Those men knew too much—way too much, he realized as they headed straight to the funeral home where the victims’ bodies were. He thought it’d been strange when no one from Houston had come down to get the Pennualis’s bodies. In fact, they hadn’t even called him back. This wasn’t a normal case. Absently running his fingers through the hair on Fidel’s back, he decided it was time to visit Mrs. Harms.

  Might as well get it over with now.

  Pulling up outside, he turned the truck off and climbed out. Mrs. Harms met him at the door.

  “Is it true?” she asked as he walked onto the porch.

  “I’m sorry,” Gibson said, taking his hat off. “It is.”

  She stifled a cried. “I know what Francis said, but I didn’t…”

  “I’m sorry for your loss,” Gibson said. He was tired of saying that. He’d had to do it way too much in the last few days. He needed to find that perp and solve this case, and maybe it’d be better if the perp didn’t even get a trial. “I know it’s hard for you right now, but can I come inside and ask you a few questions?”

  She nodded, moving into the living room, and he followed. He sat down on the couch while Mrs. Harms sat in a chair across from him and Fidel curled up at his feet. She didn’t even glance down at Fidel. Everyone in town was used to the dog following Gibson around.

  “I’ll try and make this quick,” Gibson said. “The sooner I get answers, the sooner I find the killer.”

  “I’m ready,” Mrs. Harms said.

  “Do you know why Tedd and Francis were in the park on ATVs?”

  “I know it’s illegal, but Tedd has been so hard to discipline after his father left last year,” Mrs. Harms said through her tears. “I tried to stop him, but he wouldn’t listen.”

  “So they were just going for a little ride?” Gibson asked.

  “As far as I know. They do that from time to time.”

  “I want you to think hard about this next question,” Gibson said. “Do you know if anyone wanted to harm Tedd?”

  “Of course not,” Mrs. Harms responded immediately.

  “I want you to take a second and think about it. Anyone mad at him lately? Even something small could help with the investigation.”

  She paused for a few seconds. “My son may have played hooky a lot, but he wasn’t a bad kid.”

  “So no one might want to hurt him?”

  “I said no.”

  “I just want to be sure. Do you have any relatives in Houston?”

  “Some extended family, but most live north of Dallas.”

  The more she talked the more strength she gathered. Tedd’s little brother would be home from school in a few hours and she’d have to stay strong for him. Gibson knew personally how hard it was to cope with the loss of loved ones. It could do things to peoples’ minds if they were left alone. Fidel rose to a sitting position and rested his head on Gibson’s leg, and his hand found its way to Fidel’s head.

  “Have you ever heard of a Robert and Darcy Pennualis?”

  “No. Was that the couple found in the campground?”

  “Yes, ma’am. How close were Tedd and Francis?”

  “They’ve been friends since they were kids. He wouldn’t do something like this.”

  “I don’t think so either, but I have to ask.”

  “Do you have many more questions, Sheriff? I’d like to go lay down before Bobby gets home.”

  “One more. Did Tedd have Mr. Darthu for PE?”

  “Yes, he did.”

  “How was their relationship?”

  “PE was his favorite class and he always had good things to say abo
ut Mr. Darthu.”

  “Thank you, ma’am. I’ll call if I need anything else.”

  He stood up and let himself out. Mrs. Harms was taking the loss of her son as could be expected, and he didn’t think she was a suspect. That hadn’t even been a question since the beginning, but he liked to check off the obvious first.

  After driving back, he walked into the office, noticing both of his deputies sitting at their desks.

  “Who were those assholes at the funeral home?” Randall asked.

  “Mercenaries sent by the Feds,” Gibson said. “They have authority to confiscate the bodies for some reason.”

  “The letter from Governor Price said the bodies could be contaminated with something,” Randall said.

  “I didn’t read it,” Gibson said and then looked at Henderson. “Find anything else at the campground?”

  “Nothing, but I’ve been thinking,” Henderson said. “What if it’s like a zombie virus or somethin’?”

  “Come on,” Gibson said, retreating to his office.

  “I said the same thing,” Randall said.

  “If you two morons don’t quit it with the zombie crap, I’ll can ya both,” Gibson said, shutting his door.

  He could hear them laughing outside. Sitting down, he kicked his feet up on his desk and grabbed a Shiner Bock from his mini-fridge. He popped the cap off on the edge of his desk, adding another mark to the already scarred surface. Taking a sip, he gazed at the map on the wall. Randall had added new pictures of today’s scene to the board. Somewhere within those pictures and dots on the map there was a pattern; he just had to see it.

  At the end of the day, he went home empty-handed after chasing a few dead ends. His biggest hunch was that the missing woman, Jacinda, was to blame for all this. But how did he go about finding her and bringing her in?

  Thursday morning, two days before the official outbreak