Queen Killer

by M. H. Johnson

  "You talking to the principal about getting your old job back? Won't help much if your caught beating students with your stick," John warned, clenching his fist. A part of him wanted that bastard to use his stick. Wanted an excuse to unleash all the fear, rage, and terror he felt.

  But the former teacher, high on terror and perhaps something else, wasn't having any of it.

  "It's asshole punks like you that ruined my career!" he said, putting himself in front of their group. "You shitheads already know that teachers are now officially deputized, the minute any national crisis is declared. So if you don't want me to arrest your sorry asses, I suggest you..."

  His words were abruptly cut off, having time only for a surprised blink at how quickly Mitch had disarmed him before sweeping the man's legs out from under and finishing him off with a spinning heel kick. Mitch's boot slammed against Harveson's jaw so hard they all heard the crunch of splintering bone.

  The former football coach collapsed, out cold.

  Lucy screamed.

  Mitch's hard gaze washed over his stunned companions. "We don't have time for bullshit. Come on."

  John’s held tight to Emily's hand as they raced for the entrance. Clearly, his best friend had been holding back during their sparring matches.

  "Did you see his eye?" Emily whispered.

  John jerked a quick nod. Chilled, though he wasn't quite sure why. Just looking at the professor had given him a headache. The scariest part of it was, had Mitch not acted so quickly, it would have been John doing his best to take that bastard down. Even now, looking back, he wanted to rip the bastard's throat out.

  What the hell is wrong with me?

  John shivered as they huddled against the chilly breeze, the temperature having dropped significantly in the short time they had been inside. He spied just a few students still on campus, most having fled past the wide-open gates, though John could tell by the honks and beeps that traffic had ground to a halt beyond their private school. Sure, they technically lived in the suburbs, but everything was now so urbanized it was basically pretty city blocks with lots of trees. Only their school, walled off like a gentleman’s club with lots of greenery and sports fields aplenty, was anything like the wide-open spaces John's mother had fallen in love with, years before. Of course, the colonel's research was also here, and even if the city had ended up swallowing their town, there was no way they could ever move. His father's work was just too important.

  "Now what?" asked Carl.

  "Now we wait," was Mitch's curt reply.

  The football captain scowled, but John could tell he was no fool. "Because you're our best shot at getting out of this shit alive."

  Lucy whimpered at those words, huddling into herself, Emily wrapping her arms about the petite girl. "It's going to be okay," Emily soothed. "I'm sure this is just another practice drill, right John?"

  She glanced his way, clearly looking for him to back her up. John swallowed, heart racing, not wanting to disappoint those beautiful violet eyes.

  "I’m afraid this is as real as real gets," he said, not willing to lie. Not here, not now.

  Emily sighed, nodding, holding Lucy until her sobs finally eased.

  "I can see you’re not one for pulling punches," she said a few minutes later.

  John shook his head. “Sorry, Emily. At times like these, keeping it real is more important than anything else."

  Carl scowled, pulling out his phone, powerful fingers adroitly tapping away. Whatever he saw made him blanch. It was an awful sight, to see the naked fear in his eyes. "Oh God. It’s even worse than nukes!"

  John's heart lurched at those words, catching sight of a shaking camera panning on a massive crowd of screaming, terrified people. For a second, John had no idea what Carl was talking about. If anything, they should be relieved. No bright flashes or mushroom clouds anywhere. Then John heard low guttural growls, catching sight of twisted loping figures suddenly tearing into the crowd in an explosion of screams and blood.

  John wondered if it was some lost footage of a spree killer panicked by end-times fantasies. But just one look at the obsidian black eyes of the twisted figure growling over a gurgling woman whose throat had been savagely ripped open, her feet kicking weakly in a pool of her own blood, made it clear that things had just gotten very bad indeed.

  The hunched over creature suddenly jerked its misshapen skull, glaring at the video taker. A guttural roar revealed vicious-looking fangs covered in gore.

  There was a sudden screech, and the camera went spinning in a dizzying display of the world seeming to flip on itself. Only then did John realize it had been a live feed.

  A pale-faced Carl turned to John. "Shit. Just... shit."

  Lucy began to keen, sobbing into Carl's confused arms.

  Strangely, Mitch alone seemed to be free of the fear John could see in everyone’s eyes.

  Instead, he looked furious, gazing back towards the school.

  John felt a sudden jolt of dread. "Fuck. You saw his eyes... Mr. Harveson."

  Mitch gave a quick nod, turning to Carl. "Guard the girls and wait for the chopper."

  Carl blinked. "What the fuck are you talking about?"

  But John and Mitch had already dashed back inside, dodging a couple panicked students sprinting down the hallway.

  Then they heard the scream.

  "Come on!" Mitch snapped, darting ahead, John right behind him.

  And when they turned around the corner, John froze for a single moment in horror, seeing Harveson snarling over the mangled bodies of a pair of underclassmen he had played basketball with just that afternoon, laughter and smiles long gone as glassy dead eyes stared sightlessly into the endless void.

  The two students had been completely disemboweled. Mr. Harveson tore into their flesh like a wolf devouring his kill. His jaw was still twisted and warped, but now very much intact, with loops of intestines spilling out of a mouth now full of elongated fangs the same color as his obsidian eyes.

  Harveson looked up from the pair of students he had been devouring. Twisted, muscular hands held his stick once more, now covered in matted hair and blood.

  "You!" He snarled.

  But John had already sprung forward, possessed by a sudden hot wrath that filled him with fire. He felt strange pressure as Harveson's stick slammed into his thigh, momentum still carrying him forward as he smashed into the monster's chest, leading with his knee, roaring as he pummeled the abomination before him with a furious barrage of elbow strikes to the cheek, temple, and throat, feeling a surge of satisfaction when he felt an eye ridge crack, the former instructor giving a howl of pain as he stumbled back.

  John, who had never before gotten in a fight in his life save for sparring with his best friend, felt no regret or shiver of horror whatsoever. Not even when Harveson’s cheekbones crumpled, just heartbeats before John crushed the murderer’s nose in a spray of blood. He felt nothing but furious satisfaction as he tore flesh and shattered bone, his fists pulverizing the corrupt coach’s horribly warped face.

  "John."

  Words meant nothing as red rage consumed him. All that mattered was making this horror pay.

  "John!"

  John gasped as Mitch’s shout sliced through his frenzy like a knife. He gazed down at his throbbing knuckles and the bloody ruin that had once been Harveson's face.

  The former coach gave a gurgling groan, spitting up a clot of blood.

  Some part of him was horrified by what he had done, all the more so as the simmering rage slowly eased.

  Strangely, Mitch was flashing him a rare smile of approval. "Nicely done."

  John winced, grateful he hadn't actually killed the man. Wasn't he? His mind flashed back to brutal blows he and Mitch had once enjoyed learning how to master. Strikes that could all too easily end a life, if used with serious intent to kill.

  But throbbing knuckles aside, the writhing bastard was very much alive. The knife-hand strikes he recalled delivering to Harveson’s jugular and trachea ha
d to have been a product of his frenzied memory. If he had truly damaged the ex-coach as badly as he thought he had, the man would be dead.

  John's gut twisted, suddenly realizing the gravity of what he had just done. "Shit. I'm going to jail. Aren't I, Mitch?"

  Mitch smiled. "How do you feel?"

  “More alive than I ever felt PvPing online," he admitted. "No. Wait. I feel awful. Or, I should feel awful. What I did was savage. Brutal. Criminal."

  He blinked, pinned by Mitch's stare, chills racing down his spine. His friend’s brilliant gaze seemed to take up his entire world.

  "All that’s bullshit. Forget all those asinine platitudes our teachers stuffed down our throats. It’s me you’re talking to. Now tell me how you really feel, John. What do you regret not doing? What do you hunger to do even now?"

  John felt the hot fury wash over him again. "That bastard. I think he killed those kids. If I could, I'd rip out his throat!"

  Mitch nodded. "Exactly."

  John winced and looked away, alarmed by his own words.

  "Mitch, I..."

  His friend held up a hand, gazing clinically at the snarling man now making guttural growls no human throat should be capable of. The sound was almost as horrific as the black fangs and hideously crackling jaw that seemed to be growing right before their eyes.

  Then Mitch calmly pulled out a pistol and shot the horror twice.

  The back of Harveson's skull exploded in blood and brain, the remains collapsing, hissing and shriveling and turning to dust like nothing human should.

  Mitch tilted his head, reholstering his gun. "Tearing out his throat would have been the best move, since you're unarmed. Good call. How do you feel now?"

  John shivered, his mind caught somewhere between exultation and horror. "Mitch..."

  He was handed lemon-scented wipes.

  "Clean your face and hands. You don't want to scare the girls. Your shirt is dark enough, you should be fine."

  "But what about the two kids he was..."

  "Dead. He had begun killing and feeding, losing the last of his humanity the second he recovered from your blows. The fault's mine, John. I should have taken him out the first time. I didn't think the transformation would be so quick. He should have been at least nominally in his right mind for a full day after seed exposure."

  John gazed at his friend, speechless. What the hell is going on?

  Mitch gave a curt shake of his head. "Say nothing. We'll talk later, assuming we get out of here alive."

  John nodded, still shocked by his own violent fury and how close he had come to killing that monster he now thought he should have been terrified of. A real life, flesh-eating zombie. But there had been no fear. Instead he had been consumed by an odd sense of righteous fury. Why?

  Emily’s smile was an odd mixture of anxiety and relief when he returned, and they said nothing for long moments, just staring at her smartphone in unison, watching scene after scene of frantic reporters giving blow by blow accounts of the National Guard trying to contain outbreaks of the Berserker Virus, as it had been named, or what Selftube videos were more apt to call a genuine zombie apocalypse.

  He couldn't help but think she must know about what he and Mitch had done. She must have heard the shots. She and the others were probably looking for any excuse to dart away, and John couldn't blame them. Not one bit.

  “John?”

  “Yes?”

  "When you were talking with your father on the phone, did you mean what you said?"

  John swallowed the sudden lump in his throat. Emily was gazing right at him, her violet eyes pinning his soul. Her soft hand was now squeezing his own and he was surprised she couldn’t feel the sticky residue he wasn’t completely sure he had removed from his fists, or spot the droplets of blood and gore that had spattered on his dark shirt.

  But she didn’t seem to suspect a thing. All her focus was on the words he was taking too long to say.

  “I said the only thing I could think of so my dad would rescue all of us. If he thought we were a couple, there's no way he'd risk me playing the fool and staying here when he comes to pick us up."

  "Oh," she said, an odd lilt to her voice. "That makes sense." She forced herself to laugh. "Honestly, I'm grateful. Either way, you're saving my life, right?"

  John winced, gazing at his feet. "Yeah. That's the important thing."

  "Oh no, oh no, oh no, those things are in our neighborhood! It's really happening, it's really happening!" Lucy was staring at her phone in terrified panic.

  As fast as thought, Mitch snatched her phone, glaring at her as he slipped it into his pocket. "It doesn't matter, Lucy. All that matters is keeping it together. There’s no point in psyching yourself out."

  Carl was shouting into his phone. "Mom, can you hear me? Mom?"

  John swallowed, sensing the ephemeral cords of happenstance binding them together fraying as stress and terror overwhelmed them. He knew how easy it would be to give in to mad impulse and just pick a direction and start running, or hunker down and hide, far away from everyone, knowing they were doomed no matter what they did.

  Mitch was fast. But John had heard the terrified voice of the normally unflappable news anchor.

  He had seen the recorded flash.

  He knew what it meant.

  At least one politician had thought nuclear annihilation was a better alternative than the horror that had infected their world.

  It was a miracle more bombs hadn't been dropped. John couldn't help but wonder if they were all doomed to die no matter what happened. The way Harveson's flesh had warped and regenerated... nothing should be able to do that. Nothing.

  He gazed down at his own knuckles, praying the scrapes he had received in that desperate struggle hadn’t been infected by that monster he had been stupid enough to take on with his bare hands.

  To his shock, there were no nicks, cuts, or abrasions. There was no sign that he had been in a life or death struggle just minutes before. And even when he looked for it, he saw no trace of blood spatter on his shirt. He felt no sticky residue at all.

  What the fuck was going on?

  "John?"

  John gazed into Emily's anxious eyes. "I'm here."

  "This isn't how I wanted to spend my first date, but... hold me? No matter what happens, don't leave me?"

  John wrapped the suddenly sobbing girl in his arms, lips pressed against the top of her head, sensing her terror, determined to give what comfort he could.

  She arched her neck, meeting his lips with her own.

  Her kiss was soft and sweet, tasting of strawberries and fear. John's heart pounded so loud it drowned out all other sound.

  No, wait, those were helicopter blades.

  "John, come on, we’ve gotta move!" Mitch's voice pulled him back into the moment. The five of them raced for the military helicopter that had landed just feet away, stopping abruptly when armed soldiers stepped off.

  John was grateful they didn't point the guns right at them, but the threat was clear.

  "John Reacher, Mitch O'dell?"

  "Present," Mitch said with a salute. "And we're taking the other three. Lieutenant colonel's orders."

  The soldier frowned, saw the way Mitch was now holding a terrified Suzie's hand. John found himself squeezing Emily close under the soldiers cool appraisal, his unspoken declaration plain for all the world to see.

  Carl gazed anxiously at the four of them before turning back to the soldier who had addressed them. "Damn, I know I'm not a hot chick, but please don't leave me here. I was going to sign up the minute I graduated, I swear!"

  The soldier gave a tired shake of his head. "Hop on, kids. We don't have time for bullshit."

  And within seconds they were onboard, flying at a steep tilt before they had even fastened their seat belts, all of them now wearing tinted visors. John did his best to not look back, to not even think about what was happening when Lucy screamed. John's eyes stung with a brilliant flash he was glad he hadn't seen directly.
His heart lurched at the captain's suddenly panicked shout, the man doing all he could to steady their craft as the air got violent and choppy.

  "Oh shit, oh shit, oh shit, man, please tell me that wasn't our school!" said Carl.

  "Unlikely," Mitch assured. "We're not blind, and we're still airborne for the moment. Count your blessings.”

  "Count our blessings? Are you crazy? Our country just got nuked!” Lucy screamed.

  "We're alive, and the shock wave didn't knock us out of the sky."

  "We still got nuked!"

  "I know that! You might not believe this, but it had to be done."

  "What the hell are you talking about? A million people probably lost their lives or will soon, thanks to radiation poisoning!"

  "Harveson was infected. That means that there was a hostile vector downwind. Just be grateful it wasn't a hell of a lot closer. That was a low yield bomb, the cleanest in our arsenal. If we're damn lucky, and everything goes according to plan, we might just live to see tomorrow."

  "My family's down there!” Lucy sobbed. “What's the point of living if everyone I love is dead?"

  "Any time you want to hop off and join them..."

  "Dude. Not cool!” Carl said.

  John winced, suddenly dizzy, desperately gripping his chair as the helicopter twisted in the air.

  "John! Hold it together!" Mitch shouted, the alarm in his voice at odds with his cool gaze.

  John grimaced and did just that, even as the helicopter bucked and weaved.

  "John?" Emily squeezed his thigh, her voice filled with concern.

  John took a shuddering breath, nausea and dizziness fading just as quickly as they had come. Despite the horror of the situation, he was grateful not to have thrown up all over his shoes. "It's okay," he said. "Just a bit of dizziness is all." He chuckled weakly. "I guess helicopters aren't really my thing."

  But the soldiers who had been taking in everything through their shades were now peering at him coldly.

  "You okay, son?" said the closest, and something about the way he was gripping his M4 carbine made it clear John better say whatever the man wanted to hear.

  John jerked a nod. "Um... yeah. I just felt woozy with the dips and weaves, is all."