Bitten

by Tristan Vick

  Standing in front of the mirror in the lady’s restroom Hurley wondered why they were still held up in the health club waiting for Jared “G.I. Joe” Barnes to freakin’ return. Even the fearless Ulysses Noble had grown worried and had set out early in the morning to look for him. He took the boy-wonder with him too, so now she was all alone. Almost.

  “Still there?” she asked hesitantly as she stared at her reflection in the mirror.

  “Where else would I be?”

  A huge feeling a relief washed over her at the sound of her own voice, which was a little weird when she thought about it. “I did it.”

  “You did what?”

  “I looked through their things after they all went to bed. But I couldn’t find it. I couldn’t find the thing you’re looking for.”

  “Keep looking. We’re running out of time. We need to hurry.”

  “What I need is a good fuck.”

  “What is it with you and sex, anyway? Do you feel so bad that your step-daddy raped you that you’re willing to let any guy into your pants so that maybe, for that brief moment of ecstasy, you can feel a real sense of love?”

  “No, it’s not like that at all.”

  “Oh, really? What’s it like then? Do tell. Because, if you ask me, all you seem to do is abuse yourself relentlessly with the same fucking phallic-obsessed bullshit that tainted you in the first place. Always roaming around like a bitch in heat, spreading your legs for any guy that comes snooping by.”

  “Enough!”

  “Ooh, did I strike a nerve?”

  “Okay, yeah. I’m pissed. Bad shit has happened to me all my life. So fucking what? Life isn’t fair. But I like who I am now. That’s what matters. So don’t go judging me like you know me.”

  “Oh, that’s rich coming from you! If it hadn’t dawned on you yet, I am you.”

  “Then you know how much I love sex. You already know the reasons why I need it. If I couldn’t have it, night and day, and every moment in between, I’d disappear. I’d be the girl who never existed. I’d be the girl who was raped—and then forgotten. I’d be just one of the many countless victims. No thank you. If it’s all the same to you, I’m going to be remembered goddammit.”

  “You’ll be remembered as the Whore of all the Earth. Is that really what you want?”

  “Better to be that then used, treated like a piece of garbage, then discarded and forgotten. No, the world will remember the name Jennifer Hurley. I promise.”

  Jennifer’s reflection smiled back at her, but the smile was jeering. Sinister. Then a noise rang out. It was a metal clang. It came from the basement and sounded like someone was busting the lock to the back entrance.

  “You better see to it,” Jen’s doppelganger said.

  “Shhh!” she replied, putting her finger to her lips as she tiptoed back downstairs. Jennifer looked around for something she could use as a weapon but there was nothing to be found. But she remembered where she could get one.

  Quietly she eased up to the door to the baths and cracked it open a notch. Staring out of the crack she didn’t see any immediate threat, so she crouched down and made her way to Noble’s army green rucksack. Slipping her hand in she searched for the machete she discovered last night when she went through his things. Jennifer unfastened the leather strap on the sheath and gently slid out the shiny blade. She could see her reflection in the gloss of the blade—the beautiful blonde with icy blue eyes. With a murderous intent, her reflection said, “Good girl.”

  A shadow slid by along the wall in the room behind her. Although she didn’t see it, she felt as though something was in the bath chambers with her. Luckily she spent some time familiarizing herself with the floor plan of the bathhouse. It was a labyrinth of interconnecting pools. Almost nearly every room connected to the next. They had remodeled a portion of it to look like a Japanese styled hot spring with bamboo shoots feeding water to the pools. She felt the bamboo motif would provide good cover and headed toward the Japanese section of the baths.

  Jennifer Hurley gripped the knife tight in both hands and tiptoed toward the front entrance of the Japanese pools just to check if it was safe. Suddenly there was another clank and her heart jumped a beat out of fright. It sounded awfully close. She quickly ran to the back wall and slid herself into the shadows cast by one of the bamboo displays. Playing cat and mouse was a precarious business when you didn’t know who you were playing it with.

  She tried to breathe slowly, calmly, but every time that strange clank rang out she gasped a little. It clanked four more times then died down. After several minutes of not hearing anything, she decided to creep along the wall, crouching low, like a panther.

  Coming to the corner, which segued into the next series of pools, she heard the loud clank. Taking a deep breath, she gripped the knife hard and leapt out screaming.

  “Holy shit, lady!” the man said as he reeled back. He was dark skinned, had slicked back oily hair, and gripped a pipe in both hands holding it up like a baseball bat ready to defend himself. His prison issue orange jumpsuit and ankle monitor gave away the fact that he was an escaped convict. Some recently unfastened handcuffs sat on the ground next to his feet.

  “Who the fuck are you?” Jennifer barked, in the most threatening voice she could muster.

  Eyeing her fine rack which was practically bulging out of her jacket, without so much as attempting to make eye contact the man replied, “The name’s Derrick Hanson.”

  “What do you want?”

  Looking down at his ankle monitor, he replied, “I want to get this goddamn thing off my foot. It itches like the goddamned clap.” He grinned a grin which was probably meant to be enduring, but it merely crept Jennifer out. Jen didn’t like the macho chauvinistic vibe he was putting out, and without being consciously aware of it, she continued to hold the knife between herself and him. “So you’re like an escaped prisoner?”

  “It’s that obvious?” he laughed.

  Jennifer had a bad feeling about this guy. She knew that she had to stall. Keep him talking until one of the guys got back. “The bright orange sort of gave it away. So, how did you get out anyway?”

  “I was being transferred from the city jail to the state penitentiary by bus. I guess some lunatic walked right out in front of us, cuz suddenly the driver swerved, overcorrect, and the bus flipped over. Got roughed up a bit. Hit my noggin somethin’ fierce, but I fared better than the drive. That guy got hammered. Knocked clean out. Luckily, a few of us were able to get out the back before anyone was the wise, and now here we are.”

  “How many got out with you?” Jennifer asked, looking around suspiciously.

  “Oh, don’t worry, hot stuff. It’s just you and me down here. By the way, you haven’t told me your name yet.”

  Jennifer could see a mirror over on the opposite wall. Her reflection gave her a stern look—a look which warned her not to share too much information with this stranger.

  “I’d rather not say,” Jennifer informed.

  “Well, don’t you worry your pretty little head. I have a niece that’s shy too.”

  “I’m not shy,” Jennifer protested, realizing too late it might not have been the smarted thing to say.

  “Well, then. I hate to say it sugar, but that’s a little bit rude, don’cha think?”

  “No offense, but I don’t know you. And you as sure as hell don’t know me.”

  Raising his hands defensively, Hanson said, “Whoa there, sweetheart. I didn’t mean nothin’ by it. Just a little harmless flirting is all.”

  “Well what did you expect? You’re wearing fucking orange for fuck’s sake! For all I know you could be a mass murderer or a serial rapist.”

  “Actually, no. I’m just a lowly drug dealer. Tony is the one you have to worry about. Although his mama meant well, and did her damnedest to raise him right, Tony just ain’t right in the head, you see.”

  “Who the fuck is Tony?”

  “Oh, remember just a moment ago when I said we were alone down h
ere?”

  “Yeah,” Hurley replied, squinting at Hanson.

  “Well,” Hanson laughed, “I lied.”

  Jennifer looked back at her reflection in the mirror, and it screamed out, “Behind you!”

  But it was too late. Before she could turn around a metal bar bashed Jennifer Hurley in the back of her skull. She immediately blacked out.

  Grimacing from the sharp stinging pain of a throbbing head, Jennifer opened her eyes to see two blurry figures standing over her. Regaining consciousness, she suddenly felt a pair of hands on her, but she was still too out of it to fight them off. The large one, Tony, picked her up and tossed her over his shoulder and then carried her over to Derrick Hanson as he gave the orders of where to set her down.

  “Put her down over there on that massage table.”

  Big Tony wasn’t at all gentle. He merely tossed Jennifer down like a sack of potatoes and she grunted as she slammed into the table. Looking up, Derrick Hanson stood over her with a sick smile on his face. Unzipping his bright orange jumpsuit, he reached inside and then pulled out his cock.

  “You’re going to lay there like a good little girl and take it as quiet as a church mouse. If you so much as squeak, I will cut off your head and let big Tony have his way with your corpse. Do we understand each other?”

  “Y-yes.” Jennifer answered. Although her voice trembled it was more out of a concealed rage than actual fear. “And let me tell you something, you stupid fuck,” Jennifer sneered, “If you let me live, I will hunt you down, cut off your dick, and force you to fucking eat it.”

  Big Tony laughed and Hanson shot him a sharp look that shut him up. Turning back toward Jen, Hanson added, “Well then, I best not let you live.”

  Big Tony leaned up against the wall and used the knife to slice off some excess thumbnail. He just watched them with a dumb smile on his face as he was content just to sit by and watch the show.

  Derrick rubbed himself, with a twisted sort of pleasure, and got himself ready to tear into her. “Hope you don’t mind, but Big Tony likes to watch.”

  Jennifer looked over at Big Tony who winked back at her. She turned away.

  “Now take off your clothes like the good little slut you are,” Hanson ordered.

  Jennifer began to unzip her jacket, slowly, to tease him. She could tell Hanson was having a hard time getting it up. Men like him always did. They couldn’t function so they took their sexual frustration out on women in the form of violence. Hurley knew if she resisted he’d try to regain control and become even more violent. It was all about the power. Simple minded men always wanted power. So she stalled best she could by letting him think he was in charge.

  “While I’m down here on my knees, I could suck you to perfection if you want?”

  “Just shut up and keep undressing,” Hanson ordered, rubbing himself even harder.

  Jennifer dropped her jacket to the floor. Hanson grabbed her by the hair and bent her over the massage table. Then he ripped off her pants and was about to insert himself when out of the blue, a deafening gunshot tore through the bath chambers and whizzed past Jennifer’s head. Wincing, she recoiled in fright and screamed as blood splattered all across her bare ass and thighs.

  The high caliber blast tore Derrick Hanson’s head right off his shoulders. A squirt of blood shot out of his neck cavity, and his headless body teetered then fell over. Blood spatter sprayed Jennifer Hurley’s chest and face, dabbing her in crimson polka dots.

  Big Tony turned to see who the hell was firing but a bullet drilled him right in the chest and the big oaf collapsed to the ground.

  Hurley looked over toward the stairwell to see Jared Barnes holding his smoking rifle. “Are you alright?” Barnes asked.

  “Uh … yeah. At least, I think so,” Jennifer replied, her voice still a little jittery, as she pulled back up her pants and got dressed.

  Barnes rushed over and grabbed her by her arm and helped her up. “Come on, let’s get packed up and get the hell out of here.”

  “Just one thing first,” Jennifer said. She walked over to her knife that she’d dropped when she got clocked in the back of the head, picked it up, then went back and lopped off Derrick Hanson’s dick. Taking the severed penis in her hand, she found the decapitated head, opened its mouth, and shoved the dick into it.

  “Remind me never to piss you off,” Barnes said with a raised eyebrow.

  Jennifer looked over at Barnes and smiled. She wanted to tell him her dark secret. She wanted to tell him about the real reason her marriage failed. That she was taking medication to help cope with her schizophrenia. With the world falling apart around her, she could really use a good shoulder to cry on. But in the end, she decided to keep it her little secret. In her mind, her other self was droning on about not bringing old skeletons out of the closet. “Shut up,” Jennifer said to herself in a low whisper.

  “What was that?” Barnes asked as he tossed her a duffle bag full of their belongings.

  “Oh, nothing. I was just thinking out loud.” Jennifer flung the duffle over her shoulder and followed Barnes into the elevator. “Wait, shouldn’t we wait here for the others?”

  “Don’t worry. I know exactly where they are. We’ll pick them up along the way to Bradley’s Air Force Base.”

  20

  The Dynamic Duo

  “Okay, genius. Now what?” Jesse Zanato said with disdain as he eyeballed Sargent Ulysses Noble. The two of them were stuck on top of an overturned prison bus. Noble’s pack and gun were on the ground five feet away from the bus, which was now surrounded by a swarm of zombies.

  “You were the one who was supposed to warn me if there were any Walkers approaching while I searched inside the damn bus. Instead, you almost get your stupid fucking face chomped off and, as per usual, I had to save your sorry candy-ass.”

  “You make it sound like it’s all my fault. I didn’t see them coming from behind the back of the bus. Besides, saving my ass comes with the job, Captain Commando. What kind of marine sucks at his job?!”

  Noble pressed his fingers and thumb together and moved them like a yappy puppet—as a way of ridiculing Zanato’s constant whininess. Then, with his other hand, he made the form of a gun and pretended to blow the hand-puppets brains out.

  “Ha-ha. Very funny,” Zanato informed.

  From across the street a door creaked open and out from the darkened entrance of the local bar, an Irish styled pub called Finnegan’s, stepped a cowboy. Not just any old redneck either. But a boot and chaps, fully decked out in leather, Marlboro Man.

  “What in the…” Noble asked in a puzzled voice that trailed off. Still unable to believe his eye rubbed them and took a long hard look.

  “Yup. A cowboy,” Zanato affirmed. “Boots, hat, and everything. Right here in the city.”

  The cowboy wore snake skin cowboy boots, black jeans, and a black duster jacket with coattails down to his calves. He looked like a young Clint Eastwood on a bad day and his face sported the dark shadow of 4AM stubble. He held a high powered MP7 submachine gun in one hand and a bottle of Johnny Walker Black in the other. Effortlessly, he tossed back the bottle and finished it off in one go, then tossed it over his shoulder, sending it high into the air. He raised his gun, squeezed the trigger, and by the time the empty bottle crashed to the pavement and shattered had already mowed down a dozen of the zombies that were pinning Noble and Zanato down.

  The sudden bursts of fire caught the attention of the other dead-heads who loitered about the street. Growling, they turned toward the noise and mindlessly staggered into the line of fire. The gunslinger reached behind his duster jacket and pulled out a second MP7. With both weapons blazing he severed the heads off the walkers with high velocity fire.

  Piles of dead zombie meat littered the city street. Barrels smoking, the cowboy slid the guns back into their holsters, pulled out a fresh bottle of booze from inside his jacket, opened it, and took a long hard drink. Wiping his mouth, he looked over at the dynamic duo sitting atop of the
bus with mouths agape, and without saying a word, the cowboy turned and walked away. The spurs on his boots clanked up the road as he went.

  Noble and Zanato just looked at each other as they shared a “What the fuck?” moment.

  Just then they heard the rumble of an truck engine. Both men turned in time to see a midnight blue Chevy Silverado barreling toward them. It swerved around the piles of dead bodies and then pulled up next to the bus. The driver’s side window rolled down and Barnes poked out his head and looked up at them. “You guys look like you need a lift.”

  Noble could see Jennifer Hurley sitting shotgun. She smiled and waved to him. He smiled back. “Man, am I glad to see you guys!”

  Ulysses Noble jumped down off the bus directly into the bed of the pickup truck. Zanato began to follow but Noble put his hand up and stopped him from hopping down. With a stern look he pointed toward their gear still lying in the street.

  Zanato sulked as he slid off the other side of the bus. As he proceeded to climb down he tripped over the pile of dead Walkers and tumbled to the pavement. Zanato sprang back up, pretended nothing had happened, and scurried over to where he’d dropped the bags. He tossed them up to Noble, and asked, “So are you going to tell them about the cowboy? Cuz you gotta’ tell them about the cowboy.”

  “Cowboy?” Barnes laughed. “What cowboy?”

  “You wouldn’t believe us even if we told you. Let’s just get the fuck out of here and get to the base, fucking ASAP.”

  Peeling out, the midnight blue Silverado kicked up a spray of gravel and tore down the deserted streets and made for Bradley’s Air Force Base—the last safe refuge in the entire disease ridden city.

  21

  Necrocracy

  FLICKERING SPASTICALLY ABOVE RACHAEL’S HEAD, the single 60-watt bulb buzzed, faded, and went dark. It suddenly lit back up with a vengeance and buzzed energetically, as if it were a firefly hanging on to its final spark for dear life. Just like she was—hanging on by a thread.