Serial Killer Z

by Philip Harris

  His skin was stretched tight over the bones of his skull, cheekbones clearly visible—diagonal slashes straining against the gray flesh. A few clumps of hair had fallen from his scalp. His lips were dry, and there was a split running down the middle of the lower one. A trickle of dark blood had run down his chin and pooled on his throat. It was almost black.

  The shadow could see his guilt, and now so could I. He was corrupted by it. It rolled off him like great waves of black tar, and a black aura hovered around his body like heat haze. It wasn’t the virus that was killing him; it was his guilt. The guilt that only the shadow could release.

  He turned his head toward me. His eyes were dark, and the whites had almost been swallowed up by the blackness of the irises. Gray smudges ran beneath each one. A scarlet-and-purple welt cut across his forehead. He opened his mouth to speak, but no words came out.

  “Good morning, Mike.”

  He tried to sit up, made it a few inches off the table, then fell back down. His head thumped onto the bench. The chains wrapped around him rattled.

  I walked over to the shelves, past the snare hanging on the wall. Mike watched me as I moved. I placed the knife on the table. Its blade was slick with blood, the viscous black liquid dripping onto the table’s pale wood.

  I opened the drawer and removed the case containing my tools. The smell of leather drifted up to me. I closed my eyes and ran my fingers over the lid, savoring its touch. The shadow and I sighed. I opened the case and pulled out the fourth scalpel.

  “Please…”

  I turned to Mike. His mouth was open, and his tongue nestled inside, thick and black. It looked like he was eating a giant slug.

  He swallowed and spoke again. “Marcus…”

  His chest rose and fell. Each rattling breath was harsher and shallower than the last. He coughed. Thick black blood spattered the floor around the bench, barely missing my foot.

  “Kill me…”

  I crouched down beside the bench so that my face was a couple of inches from his. “You want to die?”

  Mike dragged in another breath. “Y-Yes.”

  Even through the ragged breath, I could hear the desperation in his voice.

  I held the scalpel in front of him and raised my eyebrows. He nodded. What little white remained in his eyes was tinged with red. I could smell him. He’d fouled himself, but there was a trace of decay beneath that bitterness—subtle but definitely there. He coughed again. Black phlegm dripped from his mouth. Perhaps he was already dead.

  I reached over and rested the scalpel’s blade on his throat. He tipped his head back and closed his eyes.

  It would be so easy. I could increase the pressure until the blade sank into his flesh. I could drag it across his throat, freeing the guilt now flowing through his veins and corrupting his body. It wouldn’t be enough, of course. I would have to decapitate him. That was what he really meant when he said he wanted to die. He didn’t want to become one of them.

  Anger flared—the shadow. I shouldn’t waste this opportunity.

  I removed the scalpel.

  Mike opened his eyes. “No, please…”

  Oil-stained tears ran down his face. He grimaced in pain. I expected him to beg me to kill him, but he didn’t say anything.

  Instead, he arched his back and groaned. His spine cracked, and the groans became a guttural scream of pain. Metal rattled as he writhed on the table, his face contorted in agony. The pain seemed to ease, and he relaxed again. His groans were replaced by ragged breaths.

  I heard a noise—a sharp snap. It came from outside. Not close but still loud enough to break through the wheezing of Mike’s final breaths. Another crack, closely followed by a rapid series of pops.

  Gunfire.

  It couldn’t be the military. I hadn’t heard the helicopter. Unless it flew into the camp from another direction, whispered the shadow.

  “No.” This was not happening.

  Mike’s eyes widened. He cried out. It was a strangled, pathetic noise, but it might still be enough for someone outside to hear.

  I paced along the side of the workbench, my hands pressed on top of my head. The shadow urged me to ignore the gunfire. I should just focus on the opportunity fate had presented me.

  Mike struggled against the chains.

  More shots cracked and popped. I was sure it was closer now. Whoever was in the camp was heading this way.

  I slammed my hand against the table hard enough to rattle the knife. Pain shot up my arm and into my shoulder. I replaced the scalpel, closed the case, and jammed it into my jacket pocket. I reached for the knife. My hand stopped just above the handle. The shadow held it there. Patience.

  My fingers were shaking, just slightly. Then another burst of gunfire broke the shadow’s hold on me.

  The shadow screamed in frustration as I grabbed the knife. I swept it upward as I turned and brought it down on Mike’s neck. The blade tore through flesh and bone. His head tipped back, his eyes vacant. I sawed at his neck, slicing through flesh and severing his spine.

  More gunshots drifted to me through the trees. I dropped the knife and ran out of the workshop.

  Chapter 40

  Aim for the Brain

  The military were back.

  Four soldiers stood in the middle of the grassy clearing, more of the grunts like the ones that had been defending the helicopter. I didn’t recognize them, and there was no sign of Captain Faraday or the chopper itself. A group of zombies had arrived in the camp as well, and the grunts were picking them off one by one. Machine-gun fire came from somewhere beyond the lodge.

  I stayed out of sight, watching the soldiers gun down the zombies as they stumbled into the open. Even if I’d wanted to approach them, chances were they’d shoot me before I could show them I was still one of the living. If I was lucky, they’d clear out the camp and not find me or the workshop.

  Another soldier appeared at the side of the lodge. She was wearing a heavy flak jacket and a metal helmet. Her clothes were streaked with black. She shouted at the four soldiers. Two of them peeled off and jogged across the grass to her, and then all three disappeared around the lodge.

  A zombie, a lumbering hulk of a man, bare chested and with a wound in his stomach that had almost torn him in half, stumbled into the clearing. Both soldiers raised their guns and fired at the same time. The back of the man’s head exploded, and he fell to the ground. The soldiers laughed, high-fiving each other before turning to sweep the clearing again.

  There were no more zombies for the time being, but one of the soldiers, an intense-looking girl who barely seemed old enough to enlist, pointed toward the trees where I was hiding.

  I ducked.

  The gunfire I was expecting didn’t come, but when I risked a peek through the undergrowth they were walking toward my hiding place. They hadn’t seen me yet, but it was just a matter of time.

  I brushed my hand against the knife on my belt and felt a spark of approval from the shadow. But there was a big difference between a zombie and a trained soldier. I might take down one but not both of them. And they were armed. Their guns were lowered, but even so, there was no doubt in my mind that they’d put a bullet in my skull before I got anywhere near them.

  Instead, I shouted. “Please don’t shoot!”

  Their weapons snapped to their shoulders. The nearest soldier dropped to one knee. The other stood, her weapon trained on the forest.

  “Don’t shoot,” I said again.

  The girl swept her rifle toward the sound of my voice. “Stand up. Very slowly.”

  I raised my hands and did as I was told. “I haven’t been bitten.”

  Both of the soldiers were wearing earpieces that looked like Bluetooth headsets. The kneeling soldier touched his and said something I couldn’t make out.

  The girl flicked her rifle to the side. “Come out.”

  I picked my way through the undergrowth, being careful not to catch my foot on any of the roots or rocks that littered the ground. Sudden
movements have a tendency to get people shot.

  As I stepped into the clearing, the girl said, “That’s close enough.”

  The woman in the body armor I’d seen earlier appeared from inside the lodge and walked across the clearing. She was accompanied by two more grunts, one on either side of her. She was unarmed apart from a pistol clipped to her belt, but her companions raised their automatic rifles as soon as they saw me. The sound of gunfire crackled through the trees around us.

  She flicked her head at me. “Are you infected?”

  “No, I’m not.”

  “Turn around. Slowly.”

  I did as I was told, painfully aware of the blood that was spattered across my face and clothes.

  “Where did the blood come from?”

  I had the irrational feeling that she’d somehow read my mind.

  “I killed some of the zombies.” I gestured toward the bodies scattered around the clearing. The soldiers tensed, and I raised my hands a little higher.

  “You’re the one the others told us about. They said you’d been bitten.”

  The soldier kneeling on the ground straightened, and I was sure his trigger finger twitched.

  “Yes… no… I thought I was, but it didn’t get through my jacket.” I wanted to move my arm to show her, but it didn’t seem like a good idea.

  One of the grunts beside the woman turned to the right. “Sergeant, two zees at three o’clock.”

  The woman, the sergeant, didn’t take her eyes off me. “Vantage, Robson. And don’t forget, single rounds.”

  The two men flanking the sergeant took up position a few feet to the west. One of them fired two shots, and I heard the thud of a body falling to the ground. Three more shots and another thud.

  The sergeant took a deep breath, annoyance flickering across her face. She nodded toward the soldiers aiming at me, and they lowered their weapons. “What’s your name?”

  “Marcus Black. Thanks for not shooting me.”

  “Don’t thank me until we get you to safety.”

  “Oh right. Safety.”

  The sergeant smiled. “You can put your hands down now, Mr. Black.”

  I lowered my arms and let out a breath.

  “Come on,” said the sergeant. “Let’s get you to the vehicles. There’s a couple of Hummers parked outside the lodge.”

  Visions of a barbershop quartet flashed through my head, leaving confusion behind. “Hummers?”

  “Yeah. Crappy gas mileage but damn near impregnable. At least as far as the zees go.”

  I smiled, my brain finally catching up with the meaning behind her words. Maybe I had been bitten after all.

  “You didn’t bring the helicopter?”

  “No. That thing’s gas mileage is even worse. Cleanup’s done by a ground team. Just like the good old days.”

  The kneeling soldier raised his gun and fired off to my right. I ducked then moved out of the way as a zombie dragged itself out of the undergrowth. The soldier fired again, and the zombie’s head exploded.

  I hurried to the sergeant’s side—partly to avoid any zombies but also to get out of the line of fire.

  The sergeant pointed toward the workshop path. “Wentworth, there’s a trail there. Take Davis and do a sweep, but this time, if it gets too hot, back out.”

  “Yes, ma’am,” said the kneeling soldier.

  “There’s nothing down there.”

  “And what makes you think that, Mr. Black?” said the sergeant.

  “I’ve just come that way. It’s safe. That’s why I was hiding there.”

  The sergeant shook her head. “There’s a lot of forest for the zees to hide in. Go on, Wentworth.”

  I watched as the soldiers walked toward the trail. “There’s really nothing—”

  “Come on,” said the sergeant. “Let’s get you locked down.”

  She led me through the lodge with Vantage and Robson close behind. Soldiers were stationed in the living and dining rooms, with two more at the top of the stairs. They watched me as I passed. I tried to look relaxed, as though I was supposed to be there, but I could feel their suspicion hanging in the air around me. I was a civilian. I was a threat.

  With each step I took, my spirit sank a little deeper. I’d regained my sanctuary only to have it snatched away again. I couldn’t see a way out of this. I was getting a rescue I didn’t want. The shadow had fallen silent.

  There were over a dozen zombies lying on the ground around the camp. Most of them had come from the direction of the river, but a few were from the forest to the west.

  Three more zombies broke through the tree line. Robson saw them and let off five quick shots, the bullets punching ragged little holes in the zombies’ flesh until they went down and he stopped firing.

  The Humvees the sergeant had mentioned were parked in the middle of the camp, near the fire pit. There were only two of them, but they were bigger than I’d expected. One was painted in the standard browns and greens of a military vehicle. The other was black, complete with tinted windows and spinning silver hubcaps. It wouldn’t have looked out of place on the set of a rap video, apart from the tattered flesh hanging from its grill. One of the first soldiers I’d seen stood near the vehicles, and Vantage and Robson joined her.

  The sergeant pointed toward the black Hummer. “Get inside.”

  “I really don’t need rescuing.”

  “You don’t have a say in the matter. Get in the vehicle.” She was smiling, but the tone of her voice made it clear I wasn’t going to be allowed to refuse.

  The sergeant shouted at the soldiers, directing them to fan out and watch the perimeter. She gave the impression she wasn’t paying any attention to me, but that was misleading. She was careful to keep me in the periphery of her vision as I moved toward the Hummer.

  The vehicle’s back door was slightly ajar, and I was about to pull it open when Davis ran around the corner of the lodge. I froze. She was carrying my snare. I touched the leather case through my jacket, drawing comfort from it.

  “Sergeant Campbell!” she called.

  Campbell directed Robson toward a group of zombies that were making their way down the road into the camp then turned to Davis.

  I couldn’t hear what they were saying, but after a few seconds Campbell looked across at me. She said something to Davis and took the snare. Davis walked back toward the clearing behind the lodge. Campbell looked at the snare then leaned it against the side of the Humvee. Then she removed her pistol from its holster and walked over to me.

  “I’ll give you one chance to explain what my team just found.”

  Chapter 41

  Incoming

  I struggled to find the words that would satisfy Campbell. “I… I don’t know…”

  “Wrong answer.” She raised her pistol. “Turn around, and put your hands on the vehicle.”

  “But…”

  Campbell flicked the gun. “I won’t ask again.”

  I turned and placed my hands against the Humvee. She pulled my knife from its sheath then called Vantage over.

  “Check him.”

  Vantage patted me down and found the case. He pulled it out of my jacket and passed it to Campbell. She opened it, and I caught the familiar glint of silver. I thought I was going to vomit. She closed the box and threw it into the front of the Humvee.

  “Put your hands behind your back.”

  I did as I was told. Campbell slipped a circle of plastic around my wrists and pulled it tight. She spun me around and pushed me against the Hummer. “Stay with him. If he moves, shoot him in the head.”

  Vantage nodded and raised his gun until it was pointing at my face. The look in his eyes showed me he didn’t need to be told twice.

  Gunfire erupted off to our left. Campbell swore. She pressed her finger against the headset in her ear. “Everyone fall back to the vehicles. I repeat, fall back. We’re getting out of here.”

  “Errm… Sergeant,” I said.

  When Campbell looked at me I nodded
toward the road leading into the camp. Five more zombies were moving toward us, and I could see more, dozens more, outlined among the trees. Campbell ran to the front of the Humvee and retrieved an automatic rifle. She raised it to her shoulder and fired.

  Three soldiers ran out of the lodge. They hesitated slightly when they saw the zombies then raised their guns and started firing.

  I’ll give him credit, Vantage wasn’t distracted by the battle raging around him. He kept his gun trained on me. I’m not sure he even blinked.

  “I don’t want to tell you how to do your job,” I said. “But it looks like your friends could do with some help.”

  Vantage didn’t reply. Behind him, one of the soldiers pulled a grenade from his belt and threw it at the clump of zombies coming down the road. It rolled into the middle of them and exploded. Chunks of flesh flew through the air, hitting the trees and scattering across the ground. More zombies staggered out of the forest, replacing the ones taken out by the grenade.

  Gunfire echoed across the camp.

  Someone screamed.

  I raised my eyebrows. “If that’s a swarm, there’s a good chance we aren’t getting out of here alive.”

  This time, doubt flickered across Vantage’s face.

  I twisted, showing him my bound wrists. “I’m not going anywhere.”

  “You try something, and I’ll take you down.”

  “Understood.”

  Vantage backed away then turned to face the oncoming zombies. He fired, his teeth clenched as the weapon in his hands bucked and the creatures fell. There was another explosion. It came from the far side of the camp this time and was followed by more gunfire.

  Campbell shouted orders over the noise, directing her team to form a perimeter around the vehicles.

  I moved my hands, searching for a piece of metal sharp enough to cut through the plastic around my wrists. The door was the best I could manage. I leaned against it and ran the restraint up and down its edge.

  More explosions, this time accompanied by the sound of splintering wood. One of the lodge’s windows exploded, scattering debris across the ground.