My problem was solved.
It took me almost three hours to get to the workshop, drill the required holes, and create the snare. I tested it multiple times around the back of the workshop, using a branch on a tree to represent my prey. The noose worked perfectly. It wouldn’t be enough to hold a big zombie like the ones I’d found at the logging camp, but from now on I’d stick to weaker subjects. Put like that, it makes me sound like a coward, but I prefer to think of it as a healthy reaction to the close proximity of death’s bony hand.
By the time I’d finished and I was sure my new weapon would work, it was getting late. Part of me wanted to go out anyway, but I knew that was stupid. Even if I bumped into a suitable subject, it was going to take me a while to get them back to the workshop. I didn’t fancy trailing through the forest in the dark with a slavering zombie in tow.
As I walked to the lodge, I convinced myself I was being smart by waiting, not a coward.
The shadow stirred, but I quashed it.
“Tomorrow,” I said. “Tomorrow, I’ll get it right.”
Chapter 13
Snared
I headed west again, following the same route as the day before. I’d found another backpack, this one red, and had felt a burst of frustration as I’d put a couple of protein bars and a bottle of water into it. I couldn’t afford to keep wasting this much food.
When I reached the point where I’d turned south down the path that led me to the camp, I carried on along the wider logging road. I checked the path as I passed. It was clear of zombies, but I still didn’t want to risk trying to get my pack. Maybe some other time.
The previous day’s clouds had broken without depositing their rain on the forest. The sky was clear apart from a few scraps of white that would soon burn off. It was still early and not too hot, but in a couple of hours that would change.
A few minutes down the logging road, I paused to take a drink. An insect buzzed past my ear, and somewhere off in the distance a bird cried out. I’ve never been one for hiking or other outdoor activities, but standing there in the sun, with the forest coming to life around me, I could at least understand the appeal.
As I put my bottle of water away, there was a snap. It was the sound of wood breaking. Across from me, twenty feet or so into the forest, was a zombie. I crouched down then maneuvered off the road and behind a nearby tree.
The zombie was a short, thin young man with bright blond hair. It was wearing shorts and a basketball jersey, both of which were about three times too big for it. Its back was twisted as though suffering from some sort of spinal injury. Its neck was broken, too, and its head tilted downward, looking at its feet. That was probably why it hadn’t seen me. I watched as it approached the road, annoyed at myself for not seeing it sooner.
I could hear it moaning. Every time it placed its right foot on the ground, it let out a short grunt as though putting weight on that foot hurt. The zombie stumbled a couple of times, eliciting more moans, but otherwise, it just kept moving relentlessly forward. It was completely oblivious to me and the rest of the world.
I moved out of the zombie’s path, keeping a careful eye on the forest around me in case it wasn’t alone. It stepped onto the road, and I got ready to run if it saw me. It didn’t. It just plodded on.
As I’d suspected, its spine was damaged. I could see pale splinters of bone protruding through the shirt from three different places. How it managed to stay upright, I couldn’t tell you. Other than that and a general appearance of overall decay, the zombie was relatively intact. It didn’t even smell that bad yet.
My anxiety grew, but it brought the shadow with it. Slow-moving, small, and not particularly muscular, the zombie was exactly what I was looking for.
I shook out the snare at the end of the broom, loosening the rope until it was big enough for me to get over the zombie’s head without too much difficulty. I circled around behind it, alert to any sign that it had noticed me. It shambled on, apparently still oblivious to my presence. My hands felt hot and sticky. I took a deep breath and closed my eyes, willing my racing heart to slow before it tore itself from its mounts.
The zombie was three-quarters of the way across the road now, and despite its steady pace, there was a danger it would reach the forest before I could catch it. If it did that, my task would be that much harder—and harder was not something I needed. I took another deep breath, counted to four, and stalked after the zombie.
I raised the snare. The wooden broom handle was unexpectedly unwieldy. The circle of rope wavered in the air. The zombie let out an agitated groan. I let it take four more steps forward then dropped the noose over its head.
The zombie moaned and turned toward me. I pulled the rope to tighten the noose. It caught on the zombie’s chin, and I felt things slipping out of control again. I loosened the snare, just a fraction, and shook it.
Now that it was facing me, the zombie had finally realized I was there, and it let out a loud groan. The rope flipped upward and landed in its mouth. I flicked the broom handle again, and this time the rope came loose and dropped around the zombie’s neck. I pulled it tight.
The zombie bucked and twisted, trying to free itself. I braced my feet. Then it took another uneven step toward me. I responded by pushing back with the broom handle. It stumbled backward. Excitement took the place of my anxiety. It was working. The rope still had some give in it, and the broom handle wasn’t as long as I’d have liked, but it was really working.
Now I just had to get it back to the workshop.
I tugged at the broom handle, giving the zombie a little encouragement. It let out a soft groan and stumbled toward me. Every time it took a step, I took one of my own, keeping the distance between me and the creature consistent.
Slowly, I backed down the path. The ground was uneven beneath my feet. Under normal circumstances, it wouldn’t have been enough to cause me any difficulties, but with a zombie in tow, each ridge and rock became a potentially fatal hazard. And I had to keep an eye out for other zombies as well.
This was going to take a while.
I adjusted the noose’s position a couple of times, trying to find a way to hold it comfortably, move quickly, and still keep the zombie at bay. In the end, I had to content myself with moving sideways, crab-like. That way, I could look ahead at where I was going and keep an eye on the zombie. Every couple of minutes I swapped sides to stop anything creeping up behind me.
It was slow going, and by the time I got within sight of the camp, the sun was high in the sky, and sweat was running down my back. I could feel heat baking into my skin. I hadn’t dared stop to drink or eat since I’d snared the zombie, but I still had to get to the workshop.
Distracted by thoughts of water and sunblock, I caught my foot on a tree root and fell. I hit the ground, and a thick branch stuck into the soft flesh of my thigh.
The zombie staggered forward, a gargling rumble forming in its throat. The broom handle slipped out of my hand and bounced across the ground away from me. The zombie lumbered closer, its jaw dropping open. The subtle smell of mold and death I’d caught from it earlier was stronger now, accentuated by the heat of the midday sun. I twisted to my right, lashing out with my feet and hoping to connect with the zombie’s shins and at least slow it down.
I missed.
I rolled across the trail, four complete revolutions that covered me in dirt and leaves but put several valuable feet between me and the creature. It stumbled after me. It was hunched over, arms stretched out. Under different circumstances, the sight would have been comical.
I ran out of room to roll and struggled to my feet. Blood rushed to my head, and a wave of dizziness washed over me. The world blurred, and my legs buckled, threatening to dump me back on the ground. I bent over, mirroring the zombie’s pose, and again I was struck by just how ridiculous this would look to someone not in harm’s way.
The blood stopped rushing to my head, and the world came back into focus. I backed away from the zombie, moving
up the trail toward the camp. Worst-case scenario: I could run and take cover in the lodge. The zombie turned to face me, its head flopping on its broken neck. It was dragging the snare along behind it now. The handle was well out of my reach, but I was back on my feet and surely quick enough to escape—if I stayed calm.
Something snapped behind me. I whirled around, scanning the forest for movement, but the trees were too thick. I couldn’t see more than a few feet beyond the edge of the path.
The zombie let out a gurgling cry and took three quick steps toward me. I was almost ready to declare my plan a lost cause and run.
The shadow wormed its way into my consciousness. It fought against my fear, bringing with it a grim determination. Letting out a cry of rage, I ran at the zombie. I curved around it in an arc that kept me out of reach of its clutching arms. As I ran past, I scooped up the broom handle. The slick wood slipped through my fingers, and I almost lost my grip. Almost but not quite.
I rammed the broom handle at the zombie’s face. The noose had gone slack, but the handle caught its jaw and forced it backward. It let out a snarl of frustration. I jabbed with the broom handle again, this time hitting it in the shoulder. The trailing end of the noose was lying on the ground nearby. While the zombie was off balance, I grabbed the rope and pulled. The noose slid tight around its neck again.
The zombie pushed forward, trying to get at me. I stood firm, the broom handle held out before me, keeping the creature at a safe distance while my heart slowed and the adrenaline coursing through my system faded to more reasonable levels. Once they had and I was convinced everything was under control again, I circled carefully around the zombie and continued along the trail.
I approached the camp slowly, looking for any indication that someone had discovered my sanctuary. I doubted I was the only living being in the forest, and I didn’t want to have to explain what I was doing traipsing around with a zombie in tow. Everything looked as I had left it, but I waited outside the camp for a few minutes anyway before leading the zombie around the lodge toward the trail to the workshop.
Once I was on the trail, I felt a lot more comfortable. My thigh was sore where the branch had stuck it when I fell, and somewhere along the line I’d grazed the knuckles on my right hand. But the trees provided shelter from the oppressive heat, I knew where I was going, and I was getting the hang of crabbing my way along. The zombie lumbered after me with very little encouragement, its carnivorous instincts more than sufficient to keep it moving as though I were a man-size carrot dangling from a stick attached to its head.
About halfway to the workshop, I heard the familiar whump-whump-whump of a helicopter. I searched the forest for a place we could hide, but there was nowhere suitable. Trying to lead the zombie off the trail would just be asking for trouble.
The sound of the helicopter grew louder. I ducked my head slightly in a worthless attempt at concealment. The zombie moaned and strained against the noose. I shoved at it with the broom. Its groans grew louder. I flinched as though the helicopter’s pilot might somehow hear the sound.
The helicopter roared past, close but still not visible. As the sound faded away, I felt my shoulders relax, and let out the breath I’d been holding.
I straightened the broom handle and got a better grip that wouldn’t slip free. Then I moved along the trail as fast as I could, leading the zombie toward the workshop.
Chapter 14
The Shadow
The building was as I’d left it. I checked the twigs I’d leaned against the front doors, and it didn’t seem like anyone had been inside while I was away. Unless they’d seen me put the twigs in place and replaced them after they’d entered the cabin. Or maybe they were just waiting somewhere beyond the tree line to come out, guns blazing, as soon as I was looking the other way.
I didn’t have time to worry about it. My arms were tired from dragging the zombie around, and I still hadn’t had anything to eat or drink. I pushed open the door to the workshop, took a quick look around to make sure there was nothing out of place, and then dragged the zombie inside.
As I led it toward the workbench, I felt the shadow wake. A warm burst of energy shot through me, restoring life to my tired limbs.
Forcing some small degree of caution into my actions, I maneuvered the zombie until it was standing with its back to one end of the table. It snarled at me, teeth clacking, black eyes locked on to my throat. I raised the broomstick until the snare was level with its neck and pushed. The zombie leaned back then started to struggle. The rope dug into its flesh as it fought against me. Somewhere, a bone snapped. I gave the handle another shove, hoping to unbalance the creature, but it was too strong, and I barely made any impact. The rope cut into its neck. A scrap of flesh fell to the floor.
A tiny nugget of doubt formed at the back of my mind, but the shadow rose up, smothering it before it could take root. I rammed the broomstick forward, driving the zombie as far back as I could, then let go and dived toward its legs. Before common sense could dissuade me, I wrapped my arms around its calves and lifted.
The snare bounced across the workshop floor. The zombie let out a desperate growl. It tipped backward, its head slamming into the table with a heavy thunk. I let go and circled around the table, grabbing the broom as I passed. I pulled on the handle, dragging the zombie down as it tried to sit up. I shouted at it, a wordless scream equal parts excitement and fear.
The zombie’s head rolled backward, dead eyes searching. As soon as it saw me, it reached toward my face. Its arms flailed in the air. Praying I wasn’t about to tear the creature’s head right off, I backed away from the table, dragging it by the neck. It clawed at the rope around its throat—it still had enough intelligence to realize it needed to free itself from my snare. The noose sank into its flesh. Its groans turned to wet, gargling coughs.
I dragged the creature across the table until its head was almost at the edge then dropped the broom handle and lunged toward the chains. Its moans grew more insistent as it lost sight of me. I grabbed the first chain, threw it across its neck, and ran to the other side of the table.
The zombie spotted me and reached out as I passed. Its fingers caught my jacket. A surge of terror swept over me. I twisted out of its grip, almost tripping over my own feet. The chain rattled as the creature began to sit up. I grabbed the end and pulled, forcing it back down onto the workbench. It groaned and swiped at me, but I was out of its reach.
I threaded the chain through the brackets and pulled it as tight as I could. Confidence surged through me as I slid the bolt through the chain. The zombie tried to sit up again, but the chain held. Black blood seeped from its neck where the chain held it down.
The zombie kicked out and almost slid off the table. I grabbed its legs, hauling them back onto the bench and wrapping the second chain around them. It kicked again as I pulled the chain through the brackets. It almost managed to work itself free, but I got the chain tightened and locked just in time.
The zombie was tied down now, but I secured the third chain across its waist, just to be sure. It kicked and thrashed. The chains rattled but held.
I circled around the workbench, my movements slow and deliberate. The shadow filled me. It brought with it a sense of calm. I could feel it pressing against my skin, eager to burst forth. My hunger, my thirst, my fears of infection and death evaporated. They were nothing. Neurons fired deep within my brain. Possibilities opened up in front of me, flashes of dark genius that fed the shadow, drove its desires.
This was the shadow’s time.
This was my destiny.
When I reached the bench’s head, I slipped the backpack off my shoulder and placed it on the floor. I retrieved some scissors from a pegboard on the wall and cut away the zombie’s basketball jersey to expose its chest. Its skin was gray and stretched tight across its ribs. It made a halfhearted attempt to free itself then dropped its head back to the bench.
I replaced the scissors then opened the drawer containing my tool kit. My fin
gers were immediately drawn to the case, and a tingle of excitement rippled through me as they brushed against the soft leather. I pulled it from the drawer. Time slowed.
The zombie grew still. It was lying there watching me as I delicately unclipped the brass catch and opened the lid. Five scalpels lay inside, along with six replacement blades still wrapped in semitransparent paper. I ran my fingers over the scalpels, savoring the touch of the cold metal. I closed my eyes and let the shadow guide me until my fingers came to rest on the second one from the left. The scalpel popped free with the barest pressure. I weighed it in my hand for a moment.
A quiet calm descended over me. The cacophonous world, the myriad of banal thoughts that normally battered my senses, dropped away until all that was left was the zombie lying on the table.
My subject.
My victim.
The shadow flowed through me and revealed the zombie’s true form. Black, oily ribbons of guilt grew from deep within its chest. They drifted in the air like seaweed floating on the current. A deep cut in the man’s side revealed a spiderweb of black fibers woven through the gray flesh. Corrupted blood seeped from the wound. It pooled around its body, thickening and becoming a lake of obsidian guilt.
I pressed my hand against the zombie’s chest, seeking out the perfect point for the first incision. I found it just above its heart and placed the scalpel’s tip against its skin. Black veins exploded outward and spread across its body. Its skin tightened, crackling. Dark pustules erupted across the zombie’s face as the guilt bubbled to the surface.
Serial Killer Z Page 7
