Metahumans vs the Undead: A Superhero vs Zombie Anthology

by Eric S. Brown

  “See you tomorrow, Leena,” Janet said.

  “Right,” she replied. “Bright and early.”

  Janet made a face at her, then smiled and exited. A few more of the senior staff followed and Leena was left alone with her thoughts.

  I better hurry home, she thought. We still have to patrol the city and get some measure of sleep tonight.

  She heard a scream and a droning voice, both of which seemed to come from somewhere within the library. Without hesitation, Leena shot up and out toward the library’s circulation desk. What she saw there chilled her to the bone.

  Janet lay to the side of the creature—a woman, though it was hard to tell, for there was not much flesh or skin left on her frame of bones and rags—whimpering as the skeletal creature shuffled past her.

  “Janet, stay perfectly still and calm,” Leena said. Her training kept her steady.

  “Leena,” the woman moaned, her voice raspy and ethereal. “I have come back. The library needs me.”

  What on Earth? How does this thing know me? No. It’s not possible. But that hairdo. That voice. Could this be . . . Astrid?

  “Astrid,” Leena said softly, “is that you?”

  “Yes,” she droned. “The library needs me. I have come back.”

  She shuffled toward Leena with outstretched arms. Janet looked aghast but somehow remained quiet.

  “Astrid,” Leena said, moving backward with each step from her former friend and colleague. “How can you be here? You . . . died . . . a couple years ago.”

  “Don’t remind her,” Janet muttered. “You might make her mad.”

  “Astrid, you must stop. You must listen to me.”

  “Library . . . the library needs me. I have come back,” Astrid said, not listening, perhaps not capable of listening.

  Leena realized the futility of trying to get through to her and slowly circled Astrid and moved over to Janet, helping her to her feet.

  “Come on, we better get out of here,” she said, and they quickly exited by the front door, Leena locking it behind her. “That should hold her.”

  They rushed down the steps, out onto the sidewalk, the staff parking lot their intended destination. However, they stopped in their tracks, barely believing what was before them.

  Zombies. Or at least, that’s what they looked like. Hundreds of them, roaming the streets, their ghastly moans on the air, causing chaos in every direction.

  2

  Paul stood by the library door, intending to open it and retreat further into the house. At the moment he was about to do so, the door swung open and Max appeared.

  “Chief, I wonder if . . .” His voice trailed off as he caught sight of the monster in the room.

  “Max,” Paul said, “just back out into the hallway. I’ll follow.”

  The Irishman did as he was told, with Paul following behind him.

  “What the heck is that thing?” Max said quietly.

  “You wouldn’t believe me if I told you.”

  “Wait a minute,” Max said, “isn’t that . . . ?”

  “Max, I want my life back. Give me back my life,” Sanderson moaned.

  The look of revulsion on Max’s face spoke volumes.

  “We have to get him away from the library,” Paul whispered, “so we can circle back and make it safely to the Lair. I’ll keep his attention while you go get Simpson and take him with you to the library. I’ll follow as soon as I’m able.”

  Max nodded and slowly moved away from Paul, out toward the lobby and then to proceed up the grand staircase.

  Sanderson moved to follow, but Paul did his best to prevent that.

  “Hey there!” he cried. “Over here. I’m the one you want, remember? Michael Reeve?”

  Sanderson, bits of skin and rag crumbling from his body, turned, seeming to forget all about Max. “You stole my life. I want my life back. Give me back my life.”

  “I didn’t steal your life,” Paul said, trying to get through to him and lead him elsewhere in the house. “You gave it to me. You did this to me, don’t you remember?”

  For a brief moment, little more than an instant, Sanderson seemed to almost understand, slowed his shuffling gait, but the moment quickly passed, and once again he continued his slow march, arms spread, as much a threatening signal as a sign of helplessness.

  “Give me back my life,” Sanderson continued. “Give it to me.”

  There’s no getting through to this . . . zombie, Paul thought. I hope Max and Simpson get here soon.

  As if in answer to his thoughts, Paul heard approaching footsteps and saw Max and Simpson appear at the far end of the hallway before quickly ducking into the library.

  “My life, give me back my life,” Sanderson moaned, marching toward Paul with an eerie menace.

  Reaching the end of the lengthy hallway, Paul opened the door there and squeezed inside, bolting it shut behind him. He scanned the room. There was no other way out of this guest bedroom save for the door he had just entered and the window in front of him. Moving over to it, intending to make his escape that way, the door suddenly burst open, breaking from its hinges, as Sanderson pushed through as though it was made of paper.

  “Give me back my life. Give it to me.”

  There was nothing else for it, and no time for any more thought. Paul took one step back and launched himself at the window, crashing through it and landing deftly on the front lawn, shards of glass raining around him.

  What’s that? he thought. Up there . . .

  In the night sky he saw several large birds flying low, though it was too dark to properly identify them. But they somehow appeared to be . . . vultures?

  Noise at the window roused him. He looked up and saw Sanderson about to climb out of the window in pursuit. He took the advantage of the monster’s slight delay, and was up on his feet and sprinting for the building’s front door. He doubted the zombie could pursue at any great speed, but he dared not slow down all the same.

  He entered quickly and was in the lobby, the library door visible to his right. He quickly marched for the door.

  “My life. Give it back to me.”

  He turned and saw Sanderson at the far end of the hallway, now coming straight for him. He rushed into the library and closed the door behind him.

  Little good that will do.

  Reaching into his pocket, he removed from it a small remote control device. In seconds, the hidden door to the Lair—a wall of bookshelves to the left of his impressive oak desk—slid forward and to one side. He ducked inside and the door instantly closed behind him with a mild thud.

  Even as experienced as he was, he couldn’t help but breathe a sigh of relief. The secret doorway to the Lair was thicker than the door to the most impregnable of bank vaults. There was no way anyone, not even a powerful zombie, could get through there.

  “Chief,” Max cried. “I sure am glad you made it.”

  Paul descended down the small, oval elevator and soon joined both Max and the butler Jonathan Simpson in the main area of their stronghold.

  “I, too, am very glad to see you safe, sir,” Simpson said.

  Paul placed a hand on each of their shoulders and smiled.

  “That couldn’t possibly be the . . . I mean, the original . . . chief, uh, Chief?” Max said.

  “It appears so,” Paul said, “though I have no idea how that is possible.”

  “We . . . we buried him here on the grounds,” Max mumbled further. “In unconsecrated ground.”

  “Get a hold of yourself, Max,” Paul said sternly. “Do you think this could have anything to do with that monster Orcus, whom we fought some time ago? It was able to raise the dead in its mad quest for universal domination.”

  “I . . . I don’t know,” Max said, calming a little. “Anything is possible, though I thought all you heroes vanquished that demon?”

  “I thought we had, too. But then . . . wait a minute.” Paul stopped short. “Outside, out on the front lawn. There . . . there were some very large
birds up in the sky, circling over the city. I couldn’t make them out fully in the dark, but they seemed to me to be vultures.”

  “What?” Max said. “But that’s not possible, not here in the city.”

  “And yet, I feel sure that’s what they were.” Paul moved over to the main chair at the communications terminal. “Could they somehow be . . .?”

  A beeping from the computer in front of them interrupted him.

  “Yes, Leena.” He paused to listen. “Good heavens. Are you and Janet all right? Can you get safely to your car? Good. Get Janet over to the police station, then get back here as quickly as you can. But, once here, be careful. I’ll make sure the coast is clear here when you return.”

  “Don’t tell me,” Max said under his breath, after Paul had laid down his headphones.

  “Yes,” Paul said, “this seems to be a widespread problem. Zombies, all through Metro City.”

  3

  Leena placed her makeup compact communications device back into her purse, making sure Janet, who was already seated in the car, did not see the dual device. Leena had contacted Paul the instant she had bundled Janet into her Mini and advised him of the situation there. Now she wondered what awaited her at home. The thought chilled her.

  “Is everything okay?” Janet asked, rolling down her window. “Leena, watch out!”

  She turned and saw a group of zombies, all as emaciated and foul-smelling as the rest, marching straight for them. She jumped into her car and made sure the central locking was activated. Janet quickly wound up her window.

  “What are those . . . things?” Janet spluttered. “And, that one in the library. You . . . knew her?”

  “She was a colleague, my old supervisor, before you joined us,” Leena said. “She died in the virus attack on Metro a couple years back.”

  “Died. I . . . I don’t understand.”

  “Zombies, Janet. I don’t know how, or why, but they’re here and we have to get out of here.”

  Without further word, Leena gunned the little car to life, and sped past the looming, lifeless creatures, their arms still spread in menace.

  Making their way through the city streets at high speed, the situation soon became even grimmer as innumerable zombies filled the streets, causing chaos at every turn. They chased innocent people, some entering and exiting various buildings, others attacking men and women, attempting to devour them. It was sheer, horrendous madness; Leena swerved the car wildly left and right to avoid the deadly creatures. Even then, she could not help but plow into a few, their limbs being flung up and over the car from the impact. There was little blood, for most of the re-animated had clearly been dead for quite some time.

  “I can’t take you home, Janet. It may not be safe there. I’m heading for Metro Police Plaza.”

  “But . . . but my husband, John. And my kids.”

  “Hopefully these creatures haven’t yet hit the suburbs. Either way, the safest place for you is with the police.”

  Wishing she was able to help all those suffering around them, Leena nevertheless did as Paul instructed, and drove as quickly as she could toward police headquarters. At times, both zombie and citizen alike jammed the thoroughfares, causing them to zig and zag suddenly to avoid them. Within minutes, though, they had made their way to the safety of the police plaza. Indeed, armed officers had cordoned off that section of the street, already well aware of the threat the city now faced.

  “You’ll be safe here,” Leena said, dropping Janet off, an armed officer helping her from the car. “Tell them about your family.”

  “But what about you?” she said, deep worry etched onto her face. “Where are you going?”

  “Home,” she said, as officers began to open fire on an approaching cabal of the undead. “I have to go home.”

  As she was about to gun the car back out into the city, against the fervent wishes of Janet and the police, she spotted a flock of very large birds circling overhead. Leena blinked, tried to clear her vision.

  She could have sworn they were vultures.

  “Let’s check the cameras, see if my progenitor is still there,” Paul said.

  He sat at the communications terminal in his Lair, with Max seated in the chair beside him, Simpson standing behind them. Paul pressed some keys on the oversized keyboard, bringing to life a series of monitors before them, images from throughout the Sanderson mansion displayed there.

  “Still in the library,” Max said, pointing to the monitor highlighting that room of the house.

  Sanderson was shown to be there, banging away at the bookshelf door to the Lair, causing a mess, with books lying scattered over the polished timber floor.

  “He’s not getting in here,” Max said with some relish. “I designed that door myself. Once it’s locked in place it is nigh immovable.”

  “He has a one-track mind, it seems,” Simpson said.

  “He does indeed,” Paul agreed. “He’s clearly after us and nothing will deter him from that aim. But with Leena on her way home . . .”

  “We use the house security systems,” Max said. “Bombard the house with liquid nitrogen. That will take care of anything, including zombies.”

  “If he stays in the library, we need only flood the library briefly,” Paul said. “Just enough to take care of that thing and allow Leena to get through. Exterior security is fully active?”

  “Activated as soon as I got down here,” Max said. “Perimeter fencing is live. Not even the undead could get through that much current.”

  “Good. Leena should be here soon. Flood the library now. Let’s get it over with.”

  A wave of emotion washed over Paul as Max pressed a button on the terminal. They watched on the monitor as a gush of liquid nitrogen flushed through the library, engulfing Sanderson in a cloud of icy white smoke. It was as though a part of himself was being destroyed. Though that much was true, he needed to remind himself that Sanderson was not truly alive, that he was re-animated somehow, to some small semblance of life. The question that burned in his mind was how? And by whom?

  “That should be enough, Max.”

  The Irishman flicked the switch, and the cloud of white smoke soon dissipated. What emerged from the pall was the sight of the zombie Sanderson, frozen solid where he stood, his arms still outstretched in yearning and despair.

  A beeping sound emanated through the Lair. Max checked the exterior security cameras. Leena’s car was seen easing up the drive.

  “Thank goodness she’s home,” Paul said, jumping to his feet and dashing over to the compact elevator.

  In seconds he was upstairs and out into the library. A few moments more and Leena met him there, coming up short at the sight of the frozen corpse standing in front of her.

  “What on Earth? Who is that?” she asked.

  “Would you believe my illustrious predecessor?” Paul said. “The man who started it all?”

  Leena could not suppress a slight gasp of surprise. “Paul Sanderson? I mean, the original?”

  “The one and only,” he said, taking her in his arms and kissing her. “I’m glad to see you’re okay.”

  “It’s a warzone out there,” Leena said a few moments later. “These things are everywhere, creating carnage wherever they go.”

  “Are they actually attacking people? Causing harm?”

  She took a deep breath. “Worse. They appear to be eating people, or trying to.”

  Paul’s face went hot with fury. He vowed there and then that whoever was responsible for this outrage would pay.

  He returned his attention to Sanderson’s prone figure. Paul hoped he stayed dead this time even despite who the creature was.

  “I don’t want there to be even the remotest chance of this guy coming back to life once again,” he said, and let fly with a powerful spinning scissor kick, connecting with the frozen figure’s torso, causing its entire body to shatter into a thousand pieces. “There’s no coming back to life for him. We can clean that up later. Let’s head back into th
e Lair for the time being.”

  Re-opening the secret entryway, they slipped inside and the door slid shut behind them.

  4

  “What the heck?!” Detective Bob Sloan craned his neck upward as he scanned the night sky. Several vultures circled the city in loose lazy eight formations. It was unlike anything he’d ever seen before. “What are those things, Perez? Vultures? Out here?”

  His partner, Detective Rosa Perez, a tough and plain-looking Latina woman in her late twenties, looked up in the same direction. “Looks like it. I noticed them earlier. They just keep circling like that, never changing their course, never flying away.”

  “Let’s get some spotlights trained on them,” he said to a nearby officer, who nodded his understanding and moved away to meet Sloan’s request.

  They were outside by the perimeter the authorities had set up around Metro Police Plaza. They were no longer under direct attack, as they had been for the previous hour or so, but a flotilla of zombies could still be seen at the far end of the street, aimlessly milling about

  “I wish we could bust outta here, help those people out there caught in the middle of those . . . things,” he said, averting his vision from the birds overhead.

  “Zombies, or something like them,” Perez said. “Though we don’t know where they came from or how and why they’re here.”

  “I think we can take a pretty good stab at where they’re from,” Sloan said with some sarcasm. “The hows and whys we still have to find out.”

  “Either way,” she said, “we have orders to hold our position here and wait for reinforcements. Thankfully the attack occurred at night, so there were less people in the city than if it had happened at midday.”