by P. J. Burgy
Lizzie made a noise at her, and the girl sent her a scathing glare. Helena mouthed ‘No’ and shook her head.
“Here. Flashlight. I’m coming down.”
“Change of plans. Stay there!” Helena hissed.
“No. Coming down.” Lizzie threw the flashlight down to Helena and it spiraled in the air, throwing wild shadows across the walls and floor.
Forced to grab for it, Helena grunted and snatched it up, whirling around to point it at the closed coffin.
Lizzie reached the ground too, her descent far less graceful than the other’s. She licked her lips, holding her hand out for the flashlight. Helena did not hand it over.
“Your ax…”
Lizzie shook her head.
Helena rolled her eyes, turning back to the coffin. She gestured at Lizzie, urging her to stand back.
While Lizzie backed up into the darkness, the girl moved forward again, crucifix in her mouth once more. In one hand she held the stake and in the other the mallet. The flashlight was stuffed under her arm, aimed at the coffin. She slowly made her way to the first black panel and, using the hand holding the mallet, pried it up with her fingertips.
She hoisted the lid and exposed the silk lining within.
Lizzie went cold at the sight of his empty coffin. She swallowed thickly, fear prickling at the back of her brain as she stared around the cellar as far as Helena’s flashlight would allow. That spotlight flew around, the girl searching the area with wide motions until she stopped on Martin where he stood in the far corner.
He looked… horrendous.
Face pale white with black veins visible under the skin. Eyes so dark and pitted that they appeared to sink into his skull. The white pinpricks of his pupils had disappeared, replaced by the void. Each tooth was a gnarled fang hanging out of his mouth, the top and bottom rows bared as he let out a low, grinding snarl. He looked hollowed out – dry and sickly. Unnaturally waxy.
“He’s awake!” Lizzie hissed.
When he spoke, his voice sounded like rusty nails in a rock tumbler. “I… stayed… awake… for you.”
Helena held up the crucifix. “Doesn’t matter. I can still kill you, you piece of shit.”
“Lizzie,” Martin implored, his clawed hands opening to her. His fingers were long and hooked. His expression warped, his brows knitting. “It doesn’t… need to… be… like…”
“Shut up!” she hollered. “It’s ending right now.”
Helena took a step closer to him and grinned when he shrunk back a little. “This is for my brother. And my Dad. For my grandmothers. For all of them.”
Martin sighed, his head lowering. He threw out his hand toward Helena, raising it at the last moment. A part of the ceiling fell on her, chunks of cinder block raining down and knocking into her skull before she could react. She stumbled, dropping the mallet and stake, and Lizzie grabbed for her arm. Toppling to the side, Helena’s shoulder gave out and the backpack fell from her, landing in the corner by the broken bottom steps. The crucifix went skidding across the floor and Martin was upon them.
He threw Helena into the wall on the other side of the room, where he’d been standing only moments before. She slammed into it, gasping in pain and terror, the wind knocked out of her as she hit the floor. He pushed Lizzie’s back into the coffin and leaned in close, his fangs almost against her cheek.
“Got… you.”
Lizzie couldn’t breathe with his fingers wrapped around her throat. All she could do was gag in pain. He squeezed a bit tighter, staring into her with those black holes on his frightening face. She grabbed his arm, trying to pry him off. It was useless.
“Let her go!” Helena cried weakly.
“If… I kill you… if I… turn you…” he whispered. “You’ll lose… your spark… but then… we could be… together…”
Lizzie choked, kicking at him as he pushed her over the coffin. Her eyes watered, her lungs burning as she tried to get a breath in and failed. He squeezed again and flung her to the side. She landed on the floor, coughing, holding her throat.
Martin turned on Helena again, grabbing her up by her neck and staring at her as he lifted her into the air. Lizzie ran at him, stumbling along the way, and jumped onto his back.
“Put her down! You want me! Me!” she cried.
Helena gurgled, eyes rolling back in her skull.
Lizzie ran her fingernails across his face and felt his skin tear. She’d expected him to heal, but he did not. Instead, he turned to glare at her, the dry muscle exposed from his injuries. He slapped her to the side, sending her flying to the floor.
Her ribs screamed, her stomach threatening to escape out her throat. Something deep inside of Lizzie felt like it had snapped or burst, her guts sore and her hip in agony. She could hear Helena’s whimper from ten feet away and, dragging her fingers across the cement floor, saw the backpack lying within reach.
Some of the contents had spilled out.
The water bottles.
She imagined dumping one on his back, but then the subsequent fire would engulf Helena as well. Lizzie’s weak arms and sore stomach told her she’d be unable to summon the strength to stake him from behind.
So, she did the only thing she could think of in the moment. It only took a few seconds, but she could sense that each moment counted – Helena would be dead if she didn’t act fast.
She drank the water bottles, guzzling them down greedily. Her stomach ached from the pressure, and she dry heaved, holding herself as she fought to her feet.
“Martin! Put her down!” Lizzie came up behind him, limping, her knees buckling as she fought to stay upright. “Look at me, Martin! Look at me!”
He held the girl in the air, her face pale, her legs barely kicking. Turning to the side, he eyed Lizzie with those black pits and managed a weak smirk. The sound he made at her no longer resembled anything human.
“Put her down. Please. I give up. You can have me.” Lizzie swallowed, lowering her chin. Her hands went to her sides, palms out. “Please.”
“Lies… and tricks…” he muttered.
“Let her go. She’s just a kid,” she said. “Let’s just leave, Martin. You and me. I’ll go with you this time.”
He snickered, fingers loosening around Helena’s throat. He lowered her to the ground and dropped her, not even glancing down at her when she crumpled into a ball. “Can’t… go anywhere… now.”
“Then I’ll leave with you tonight.” Lizzie staggered over to him, clutching her stomach. Once again, she felt the urge to vomit and gulped. She reached up to her lips when she tasted the blood and touched her mouth. Something had indeed broken inside. Looking up at him, she forced a smile.
His brows knit. “You’re hurt.”
“I guess I am.” She bent at the middle, the pain intense. Eyes watering, she hobbled closer to him. “It’s my own fault. I’m sorry, Martin. I’m so sorry.”
“Are you?”
Lizzie stumbled into his arms, feeling the cool touch of his clawed fingers on the sides of her face. She pressed her cheek to his chest, her shoulders tense as she nodded vigorously. “So sorry. I was afraid. Afraid for my soul.”
He stroked her hair, a low growl escaping his lips. “It won’t… be yours… for much longer. I will… take it. Keep it. Keep you.”
“I’m hurt bad.”
“I will… tend to you.”
“I feel so cold,” she whispered. “Kiss me, Martin.”
Pulling back, he gazed at her face. Those black pits shimmered oddly at her as he tilted his head and forced his fangs back as far as they could retreat – not very far, but enough to allow for a less treacherous kiss.
He bent down and Lizzie pushed up, their mouths meshing. That cool, dry tongue touched hers, the taste of metallic copper flooding her senses. She breathed into him, the stench of decay rising from his throat and burning her sinuses. It was enough to make her sick. And it did make her sick – she vomited into his mouth.
The holy water met his to
ngue, spilling into him as he accepted her breath. He might’ve retched a split second before fire belched from his open lips and he screamed. Martin shoved her with such force that she broke the concrete wall when she hit it. The void flooded her senses.
Flailing at his mouth, a cavernous, gaping fire pit, he screamed and screamed, eyes melting out of his skull like hot candle wax. His chest glowed a faint orange under his shirt, and he ripped it open just as the flesh under his ribs withered away, curling back along the blackened bones underneath, an inferno raging inside of his body.
He fell to the ground, thrashing, clawing at his chest and throat, warm light now showing through his stomach and midsection. His wails grew fevered and shook the foundation of the house above them, bits of the ceiling falling like flurries.
Helena was on him in a second, the stake and mallet in her hands. She let out a rattling war cry, her eyes bloodshot and wide as she slammed the stake into his chest and with one, fell swoop hammered it in. His chest caved in, the flames licking up at the wooden stake and burning her fingers. She screamed again and brought the mallet down a second time, thrusting the stake in deeper until a spray of steaming, black blood burst from him and splattered across her face.
Martin stiffened, head back, lips peeled away from his fangs. His skin blackened, flaking in the flames. Bits of him crumbled off, his flesh turning to ash, the bones underneath exposed – charred and steaming. No longer did he scream.
His body simply fell apart, the structure collapsing.
Helena scooched away from him, pushing herself to her unsteady feet. Above her, the mansion shuddered. A support beam fell in the cellar, nearly crushing her.
She ran over to Lizzie, shaking her. “Get up. Come on. This place is coming down. Lizzie? Hey.”
Lizzie didn’t move.
Helena knelt closer and saw that Lizzie’s soft brown eyes were open, staring into the void. The girl checked her pulse, panting hard as she listened to the house shaking itself to pieces around them. Biting her bottom lip, Helena closed Lizzie’s eyes with a gentle sweep of her hand. She grabbed her bag from the floor and threw it over her shoulder.
Climbing back up the rope, she pulled herself into the kitchen and rushed out of the house, gripped by a powerful urge to keep running. She made her way down Main Street, passing dead ghouls on the road.
Exhausted and needing shelter, she found the door to the dentist office unlocked. She entered and collapsed to the floor in the waiting room, falling asleep in seconds.
Night had come by the time she reached the business district, having woken only a couple hours earlier. Ghouls lay dead around the cars, on the sidewalks. The town was still on fire, the flames bright and casting strange lights across the streets below.
She’d been trudging down Main Street for another ten minutes when she saw the three figures standing in the street. Dressed well, like they were prepared for a night on the town, they noticed her and paused whatever conversation they’d been having.
She realized when she got closer that they had a certain gravity to them, their smooth, pale faces unearthly in their perfection. She kept her crucifix lifted firmly before her as she stopped many feet away from their little gathering.
“A survivor,” one of them said. A woman. Lovely. Dark skinned. She smiled, showing off white teeth. “Only one so far.”
“He’s slipped up this time,” another said. A man. Handsome. Tall. Blonde. He shook his head.
“I know what you are,” Helena stated, scowling.
“And we know who you are,” the woman said. “Where is he? Where is Martin?”
“He’s dead. Dead-dead. Slayed.”
“Interesting. Did you slay him?”
Helena glanced down at the bloody snow.
The third, another man, his hair long and dark, let out a low laugh. “It doesn’t matter. Dead or not, he’s left another mess.”
“It’ll be a relief to get a break from this,” the blonde man said. He rolled his shoulders. “I was getting so tired of cleaning up after that fool.”
“What about the girl?” the dark-haired man asked.
“What about her?” The woman shrugged. “Let’s just burn the place to the ground. It’s already on fire.”
“You’re leaving a witness?” He grinned.
“Who believes them? Come on.” She nodded and the three disappeared, dark smudges whisking through the streets.
Somewhere, a building exploded, the sound rumbling through the town. Helena hurried down Main Street, her breath caught in her throat.
She’d left the town far behind when she saw the set of headlights bumping along toward her. Stopping, she stepped to the side as the car – a little white KIA – slowed beside her and skidded to a halt. The driver opened the window and Kate stared out at her, wide eyed.
“Helena! What are you doing out here?”
Helena swallowed and went to her car, fingers curling over the top of the lowered window. “Kate, we have to get out of here right now.”
“What happened? What’s going on?”
Helena reshouldered her bag as she walked to the passenger side of the car. Tossing her bag to the floor, she sat, shut the door, and belted herself in. Only then did she begin to tremble, her lower lip jutting out. “I’ll tell you on the drive. Let’s just get as far as we can from Puhtipstie.”
Kate Grimes backed her little KIA up, did a U-turn, and started off down the snowy little road leading away from town.
About the Author
P.J. Burgy is an avid watcher of horror movies and a nut for sci-fi thrillers. Since childhood, P.J. has enjoyed writing and drawing. After graduating with a degree in Illustration in 2005, they went on to begin honing their craft in the field of writing. Sci-fi, fantasy, and horror are their favorite genres. Currently, P.J. resides in good ol’ Pennsylvania where they continue to write and draw.
Also by P.J. Burgy
Paladin 33: revival
When three young Rebels board a derelict ship looking for supplies to scavenge, they find something else entirely. Out in the deep, uncharted territory they find Riley, a woman frozen in stasis for ten years. They also find her companion, an alien creature which Riley calls her sister. Riley not so politely takes command of the Hijo, the Rebel’s small salvage ship, and changes their plans. It quickly becomes apparent to the hapless youngsters that Riley isn’t entirely human anymore.
The Plague Runner
Thirty years after the near extinction of mankind, small pockets of survivors hide away behind fortified walls. Only the Runner braves the world outside…In the wake of a viral outbreak, those who remain live in huge forts, guarded from the nocturnal Infected and roaming gangs of bandits. Kara, a Runner – an individual who travels by foot between the forts to deliver supplies – never wanted to settle in a walled community. To her, they are death traps, just waiting for an inevitable wall breach. She longs to return to the life of a Rover – a gun for hire driving a large, armored vehicle. When her lover’s fort sends an SOS and is found empty the next day, Kara chooses to search for the missing people, alone. She encounters abandoned, crumbling cities, marauders, mindless infected, and cults of fanatical survivors. She also discovers that there is more to the Infected than she could have ever imagined. To stop moving is to die. To run is to survive.
