“Louisiana.”
“That’s a long ways away. Not as far as Australia, but still pretty far.”
“Where did you come from just now?” Cam asked. Lily’s eyes fell again.
“It’s okay,” Cam assured her. “We aren’t going to take you back.”
“I want to go home,” Lily said, lip trembling. “But I don’t have one.”
“Neither do we,” said Tripper. “But do you know what that means? It means bad people can’t find us.”
Cam put her hand on Lily’s back. The girl flinched a little, but quickly relaxed. “Where’s Australia?” she asked.
“It’s a really big island on the other side of the world,” Cam told her. “They’ve gotten rid of almost all the rotters over there. It’s a nice place.”
“Then why did you come here?”
Cam winked. “To kick zombie ass.”
It wasn’t far from the truth. She was a free spirit, to say the least. Working as a dancer in Adelaide, she’d seen the undead presence all but stamped out while reports were pouring in from around the world, all saying one thing: they were dying out there.
What could a twenty-four-year-old stripper do? As much as anyone else, she figured. Other countries were sending radio transmissions bouncing across the atmosphere begging for some kind of support—for anything. Were they simply going to ignore the cries? Was she somehow entitled to live in a world without the plague while everyone else suffered?
Her friends didn’t understand. They weren’t much for soul-searching. But they hadn’t lived her life either. She was a lot tougher than she looked.
The question was not just where to go, but how o get off Australia. It wasn’t as if planes and boats were leaving on a daily basis. No, the only people who were crazy enough to go out into no man’s land were the scientists.
She’d bought her way onto a ship bound for French Polynesia’s plague labs. From there, she caught another ship to the wasteland that was Mexico. And by the time she’d hacked her way to the southern U.S. border, there weren’t soldiers guarding it anymore.
She’d never felt more alive than she did among the undead. To live and die in Adelaide without so much as a whimper, that just wasn’t her style.
Settling here with Tripper hadn’t originally been part of the plan, but he had awakened her to humanity’s fatal flaws and the way they were manifest in these Great Cities. And, after he introduced her to a man named Thackeray in the badlands, she understood that, in order to defeat the plague once and for all, they first had to bring this system down.
Thackeray had told her about Cleveland, about how it was no longer part of the safe zone, even though the Senate claimed it was. Undesirables—criminals who wouldn’t bow to men like Meyer, or those who challenged the politics of the Great Cities, or those with communicable diseases—they were “relocated” to Cleveland, outside the Wall, and left for dead. And if Cam and Tripper were ever caught, the same would happen to them.
The same would likely happen to this little girl if she were ever recovered.
“We’ll take care of you,” Cam told Lily. Tripper nodded solemnly. Lily tried to smile, but something in her had broken and she couldn’t do it.
Fifteen / Inferis
Adam lay beneath a pile of refuse, silently observing the inhabitants of the latest town. They were typical rotters, standing in the road and in storefronts and under trees, staring at nothing, asleep for all intents and purposes until something came along to stir their senses.
This was the first time he had experienced the drop in temperature as winter approached. A thin layer of snow lay atop him and in the alley where he rested. It was prickly and bitter cold, permeating his flesh.
The dead began to move.
They were looking down the street, toward a point he couldn’t quite see, and they were starting to shuffle in that direction. Adam slowly pulled himself from the garbage and crawled toward the mouth of the alley.
There was a dead man in the road holding torches: two in one hand, one in the other. Attracted by the flames, unafraid, the other undead crowded around him.
He started throwing the torches into the air.
Juggling.
He began to walk backwards. He was leading them out of the town!
Adam leapt to his feet ad strapped the scythe on. He didn’t understand what this was, but it had to be stopped—
The hammer caught him in the base of the spine and sent him hurtling into the street.
Dizzy with pain, Adam started to push himself up. The Strongman’s massive weapon swung into his side and he was in flight again, sailing away from the Fire Juggler and smashing into the shell of a pickup truck.
The Strongman ran at him like a behemoth straight out of Hell. Adam threw the truck door open and deflected the hammer long enough to get on his feet. He broke for the other side of the street.
What was happening?
“He talked his performers into turning with him. They were willingly infected—most of them anyway.”
The Strongman, a tableau of inked horrors across his muscular torso, bore down on Adam with the hammer held high over his head. Adam feinted left, bolted right. The Strongman moved with him, graceful for his monstrous size; and Adam was knocked through a window into a general store.
He crashed through a counter and slammed into the wall. Pain erupted in every joint of his body. He saw red. He’d never experienced anything like this before—and he was afraid.
He felt something clamp down on his leg, and he was dragged back through the wreckage of the counter and swung into a metal shelf. Jags of pain like long, thin needles ripped into him. He was picked up and smashed down again. It was almost as if he were going to sleep now, the world darkening and slowing down around him. Was this unconsciousness? If he were knocked out, what would happen to him then?
He knew what would happen. He would be destroyed.
Adam lashed out with the scythe. He struck something hard. The hammer.
The Strongman stumbled back as Adam swung viciously, the blade streaking through clouds of dust scant inches from the rotter’s flesh. The Strongman looked around for an exit.
Adam ran at him—
And a cluster of rubbery limbs ensnared him, dragging him back into the shelves. He felt at least three arms tightening around his throat. He tried to swing the scythe backwards—the blade struck a wall and was pulled off his arm.
NO!
A smothering weight forced him into the wall. Struggling to free himself, Adam got his first glimpse at his assailant—a four-armed man with gaping, fish-like jaws.
The Geek’s arms were malformed, underdeveloped, but still strong enough to hold onto his prey. The elasticity of his flesh meant there was no slipping free. He had Adam wrapped up in his limbs and was gnawing at his face.
Adam forced his hand up through the tangle of arms and drove his fingers into the Geek’s eyes. The rotter snapped at him, thrashing his head about, but Adam pushed harder and sunk his fingertips into the sockets of the undead’s skull. Now he was the one with a handhold.
The Strongman could be heard heaving shelves aside. He was coming.
The Geek released Adam and pawed at his eyes with all four hands. Adam kicked the rotter into the Strongman’s path and ran for the back of the store. He hit a door, plowed right through it, and was outside again. The cold slapped his shredded face.
The scythe was still inside! He didn’t stand a chance without it. Before he could think of what to do, he heard footfalls, dozens of them—runners. They were coming around the building.
It was true. The King of the Dead and his traveling circus were real. As Adam fled down the back street, the image of the Fire Juggler flashed through his mind. Drawing the dead in with those spinning torches...
The circus was recruiting.
Something barreled into his legs and he went sprawling. It was a dwarf, with a pinched rotten face and spurs of bone, like horns, growing from its skull.
&nb
sp; Adam scrambled down an alley and back toward the main thoroughfare. If he could just make it to that store!
A literal human pincushion staggered across the street toward him, skewers of all lengths stuck through its body. The metal rattled loudly as the thing came at him. From the sidewalk approached a stiff-legged, cadaverous giant, not as wide as the Strongman but taller. Yawning wounds in his flesh had been filled entirely with bone tissue, and outgrowths of bone threaded through the rotter’s limbs and ribs, weaving in and out of gray flesh. The aberrant skeletal growth made the Petrified Man look as if he were armored.
Transfixed with horror, Adam almost didn’t see the Geek pushing through the dead in the street. The locals were mesmerized by the Juggler; only these sideshow curiosities were pursuing him. They behaved more like animals than rotters. They must have developed a pack mentality, complete with hierarchy... which meant the King himself was nearby.
And he was.
As Adam ran away from the rotters, further into town and away from his scythe—he saw Eviscerato standing alone in the road, cane twirling in his bony hands.
Leaping into Adam’s path, he sent the cane crashing into his knee. Adam tried to stay upright and keep running but the rotter jumped onto his back, and then Adam was on his knees and the cane was choking him. There was no risk of suffocation for Adam—but there was the risk of his head being torn off.
Eviscerato bit into Adam’s scalp. Adam grabbed the cane and tried to force it away, but Eviscerato was too strong! The world began to go dark again.
He went limp. The very last thing he saw before losing consciousness was the Fire Juggler’s approach, and the last thing he felt was searing heat.
Sixteen / Seeds of Fear
Casey brought everyone into the squad room early the next morning. There were a few P.Os Voorhees had never seen before; but then he was barely acquainted with his own partner.
“Senator Manning is going to be giving a public address at the amphitheater in about two hours,” Casey told them. “Something about plans for a new hospital. We’ll be doing security. This shouldn’t pull you away from your regular beat for too long.”
Emily Halstead rolled her eyes at Voorhees. Casey caught it. “This might not seem like much of a priority to some of you, but it’s the job. Orders are from Gillies himself. Your streets can wait.”
Under Finn Meyer’s watchful eye, Voorhees thought.
He hadn’t told anyone about his lakefront exchange with Meyer and Pat Morgan. Probably wouldn’t have done him a damn bit of good.
He glanced Halstead’s way. Maybe he’d tell her about it. She seemed to have her head on straight.
He and Blake were assigned to stand out on the stage where Manning would speak. They’d be surrounded on three sides by Gaylen’s citizens. Their primary responsibility would be to keep people back from the stage. Voorhees hefted his baton in his hand and sighed. It’d be worthless against a shooter, but of course no one in Gaylen owned a firearm.
The other cops would be positioned in the backstage area and throughout the audience. “Guess I won’t be seeing you out there, partner,” Voorhees said to Halstead.
“Let’s grab lunch after this is over. Then we’ll head into the Red.”
“The what?”
“Lake district. It’s red on the city map. Keep up, Voorhees.”
He smiled at that.
* * *
Backstage at the amphitheater, Georgia Manning looked over her notes, memorizing the lies, affirming them in her mind so that they’d come out of her mouth as gospel truth. She told herself it was necessary; the airfield had to be completed.
And why should you feel bad for lying to these people? You’ll be leaving them behind, won’t you?
She had tried not to think about that. She had hoped not to acknowledge the great betrayal until it was over and done with. Gillies had forced her into this damn speech. Why couldn’t he have taken care of this? He was the sociopath who loved playing man of the people. This was his grand plan—
And you’ve gone along with it like an obedient dog.
She closed her eyes, swallowed the doubt and the shame, and composed herself for her public appearance.
Something sharp stuck her in the back. She turned with a loud cry. “What was that?”
“Sorry,” came the reply. Manning rubbed her back with a scowl, then returned to her notes. Jesus, that really hurt. She’d have to find out which of the civvies shuffling around behind her had done it. Might have been on purpose. A thankless lot.
Out on the stage, Voorhees looked over the thin crowd. Maybe a hundred fifty people. He’d anticipated a real security issue when Casey pulled every officer off the street for this.
Manning came out from the backstage area to sparse applause. She moved slowly, hands on her lower back, looking more than a little out of sorts. Voorhees tried to catch her eyes, but she looked right through him.
It hurts. It hurts a lot more than I first thought. Oh God, it hurts...
Senator Manning stepped to the edge of the stage. The crowd quieted down. Voorhees and Blake exchanged concerned glances.
I don’t feel right... everything seems so far away... it’s like I’m not really here.
Manning’s eyes were glazed over and half shut. She let go of her back and slumped forward. She was going to fall. Voorhees moved quickly toward her.
I don’t... I’m not...
It doesn’t hurt anymore...
I don’t hurt anymore.
She fell forward.
Voorhees caught her arm and pulled her back, lying her down on the stage. Blake rushed over, speaking into his radio. “We’ve got a situation out here. The Senator’s down. I repeat—”
The Senator’s eyes were closed, her body limp. She felt like a corpse. Voorhees checked her pulse: none.
“Oh my God.”
Then she woke up.
She lunged at Voorhees’ arm, snapping her teeth, and he stumbled back and fell on his ass and scrambled for either his radio or his baton, he wasn’t sure, while the Senator got to her feet and stared out at the crowd with dead eyes.
Murmurs turned to screams.
Manning ran at Blake, who dropped his radio and swung out with his baton, cracking her over the head. She stumbled, but continued headlong into him, and they both collapsed in a tangle of thrashing limbs.
“VOORHEES!” Blake screamed. The other cop looked up, just as he drew his baton... and he saw Manning tear a thick strip of meat from Blake’s left forearm.
The amphitheater was in chaos. People threw one another down toward the stage as they fled. Killian and Halstead ran out from backstage and saw Blake running from Manning, blood spurting from his arm.
Tackling Manning, Voorhees drove her face first into the stage. He slammed the baton into the nape of her neck. Why in the fuck didn’t he have his widowmaker? She struggled beneath him with shocking strength, trying to claw his legs and bite his wrists. He brought the baton down on her over and over. He heard her skull give and felt his weapon sink into gray matter. Still she fought, and hissed, and then she threw him off of her back and off of the stage.
Manning rose with wild, feral eyes—Killian smashed her mouth with her baton. Manning caught it in her claws and wrenched it away from the cop. Halstead shoved Killian aside and met the Senator’s broken, gnashing jaws with her own baton. Black blood gushed forth.
Killian recovered her baton from the stage as Voorhees climbed back up. Most of the audience was gone, save for those frozen with terror.
Manning had been a lovely woman, poised and painted and always ready to be presented to her constituents. Now she was a gruesome parody of her former self, racing across the stage like an animal and flying back as she was hit again, and again, and again.
Blake was howling. Manning saw him lying prone at the end of the stage and charged. Voorhees clipped her knee with his baton and she went sprawling. Halstead and Killian fell upon her, smashing her head into a lumpy pulp, sending bi
ts of bone flying and blood spewing from what remained of her face.
Her arms and fingers kept twitching. She was still undead. But she’d been immobilized.
Other P.Os swarmed onto the stage, and Casey came rolling down the center aisle, barking into his radio.
All was madness. Voorhees peeled off his overcoat and shook the gore from it. Blake screamed in agony, seeing Manning’s quivering corpse and knowing what he was to become. Emergency services arrived, and the techs recoiled from Blake when they saw his gaping wound.
“Oh God,” he wept, grabbing at Voorhees’ leg, “I’m dead... Voorhees, I’m dead.”
The techs finally got up the nerve to approach the man and set down their equipment, wrapping gauze around his arm while they took his vitals. Blake just rocked back and forth, shaking his head. “Dead. Dead. Deadeadead.”
The he saw the scalpel, wrapped in plastic, in the tech’s treatment kit.
You can never know until it happens to you. How you would react, what thoughts would race through your mind... and what dark, primal instincts might take hold. Blake saw the scalpel. There was no further thought. He snatched it and pushed the blade through the plastic into his carotid and he dragged the blade through his windpipe with a gurgling scream.
Voorhees watched numbly, his baton slipping from his hand.
Killian shrieked and tried to grab the scalpel, but she was far too late.
Halstead turned away with a shivering grimace, a look that said she had seen it a dozen times before and knew she would see it again.
Casey simply set down his radio and sighed.
Blake hit the stage, and one of the techs stifled the arterial spray with a rag and everyone sat in silence as a man became a memory.
Seventeen / Autopsy
“It shouldn’t have happened,” Killian said, pale-faced, as she stood with the others in a hospital corridor.
A door marked MORGUE opened, and Casey stuck his head out. “Voorhees?”
Empire's End Page 8
