The researcher’s pants were relatively clean, so I knelt and wiped my hands on them as best I could. I was about to stand again when I saw the outline of a wallet in his front pocket. I pulled it out and flipped it open. The driver’s license showed his name as Marcus Black. He had about forty bucks in bills, a couple of credit cards and a large selection of store loyalty cards.
I slipped the wallet into my pocket. The cards were probably useless, but the ID might come in handy. I started to stand then paused. Black’s face was badly damaged, unrecognizable. He was roughly my height, a bit heavier but not much. I pulled out my own wallet and slipped it into Black’s pocket. If the police pulled his dental records, they’d know it wasn’t me, but it might buy me some time.
The automatic lights flicked off. The darkness was actually comforting once I’d gotten used to the sudden change. I felt around and checked Black’s other pockets and found a set of keys. I left them where they were.
Satisfied there was nothing else of use on his body, I stood up again. I was disappointed when the lights detected my presence and came back on.
I considered taking Campbell’s gun, but I had no experience and no license. If I was stopped, it would raise too many questions.
Reed’s radio crackled, and a female voice said, “Reed, you there?”
I made one last attempt to wipe my hands clean then made my way back up to the outer parking lot. I could see the police officer still sitting in the car. She was holding a microphone up to her mouth. Presumably, she was the voice checking in on Reed. As far as I could tell, the journalists were in their vehicles, too.
With my heart pounding and the leather case clutched to my chest, I ran along the fence to the car park’s entrance. At every step, I expected to hear shouts or the crack of gunfire. Even when I’d made it back onto the street and out of sight, my discovery seemed inevitable.
Halfway down the block, I slowed to a walk. I took four deep breaths and tried to look natural, but my mind was racing. I could smell the gore on my clothes. I needed to change.
A pair of headlights turned onto the street a couple of blocks ahead. The car passed beneath a streetlamp, and I saw the familiar light bar of a police car. Maybe it was part of a routine patrol or relief for the car at the lab. Either way, they wouldn’t ignore a blood-soaked figure walking around in the middle of the night.
I turned down the next street and, as soon as I was out of sight, ran. Thirty feet or so down the road, there was a narrow lane running between a coffee distributor and a lamp factory. I sprinted toward it.
The leather case almost slipped from my grasp as I turned the corner. I clutched it tighter and threw myself behind a dumpster that smelled only slightly better than I did.
I stood there with my back pressed against the wall, straining to hear any sign that the police car had come after me. A vehicle passed the end of the lane. I couldn’t tell if it was them or a late-night traveler. Either way, they didn’t stop.
I checked my watch. It was 1:32 a.m. A 1:30-shift change maybe?
A siren wailed. I flinched and almost fled, but the sound was distant. It grew louder then began to fade again. In all likelihood, the carnage in the parking garage had been discovered. That meant more police would be on their way soon. I needed to move on.
The lane stretched four blocks, and I heard two more police cars and an ambulance race past while I made my way along it. By the time I reached the end, the shadow had a plan.
Chapter 15
At the Edge of the End
Avoiding the main roads, I jogged along half a dozen side streets before cutting through the sparse wood that filled one corner of the park where I’d spent the day. Beyond it was a small lake and the gray concrete box that housed the washrooms.
At one time, the doors had been fitted with a lock. Now, the hasp was twisted, and the city had given up replacing it. I pushed open the door, and the bitter stench of urine wafted over me. I reached in and turned on the lights. Aging fluorescent tubes flickered to life.
Ten minutes later, I’d managed to wash the gore from my hands and face. The hoodie was a lost cause, and I was back to my blood-spattered shirt. The stains on it matched those on my pants. It wasn’t ideal, but it would have to do.
Now that I was relatively presentable, I needed a ride out of the city. The idea of stealing a vehicle was tempting, but I was a killer, not a car thief. Unless I just happened to find someone who’d left their doors open and their keys slotted in the visor, I wasn’t going to get very far.
Using a taxi would leave a trail, maybe even a photograph, but walking would take too long. I checked Black’s wallet again. Forty-six dollars. That would be enough to get me to somewhere out of the city.
The first two cabs I saw slowed but didn’t stop. The drivers took one look at my disheveled appearance and suddenly had other customers to pick up.
The next driver looked equally dubious, but he pulled alongside me. I smiled and waved my thanks. The doors remained locked, but he wound his window down.
“Where you going to, sir?”
“The North Shore.”
I’d deliberately picked a more affluent area of the city, and those three words were enough to convince the driver I was worth his time. The doors clicked open. I climbed into the back of the car. The driver did a U-turn and set off toward the bridge that would take us out of the city.
“You mind?” said the driver, pointing at the car’s radio.
I shook my head, and he turned up the volume.
The car was filled with the voice of a news presenter.
“Police are so far refusing to speculate about the numerous outbreaks of violence that have taken place across the city tonight. At least nineteen separate incidents have been reported with as many as thirty-one people thought to have been injured, many of them critical.
“The violence appears to be centered around Saint Paul’s Hospital, where the victims from today’s bizarre attack at the Hunter Neurologics Research labs were taken.
“Captain Lin of the Vancouver Police Department is expected to give a full press conference at 9 a.m., but in the meantime residents in the area are being urged to stay inside.
“In other news, the city’s hockey team continued its losing streak tonight with a 3-1 loss against—”
The cab driver looked over his shoulder at me. “Things are getting crazy out there tonight?”
I murmured my agreement.
“Me? I think it’s the full moon.”
I didn’t know if that meant he thought it was the work of werewolves, but I made a noncommittal grunt and hoped he’d take the hint.
He got the message and turned back to the road.
A few minutes later, as the car climbed over the bridge toward the North Shore, he looked over his shoulder again. “So, where do you want to go?”
I looked at the fare meter. $17.25. “Do you know Malaspina Park?”
He raised his eyebrows. “Not the best time to be out exploring.”
“I’m meeting a friend; we’re going camping.”
“Uh-huh.” He nodded thoughtfully. “He got some new clothes for you?”
I smiled sheepishly. “Yeah, he’s got all my gear. I was supposed to meet him earlier, but I got into a bit of an argument with someone.” I gestured to the blood on my shirt.
The driver grinned. “I should see the other guy, right?”
The shadow thought of Campbell’s body lying on the garage floor. I laughed. “Something like that.”
“Okay, you’re the boss.”
I leaned back in the seat and stared out into the darkness. My tool kit was on my lap. I rested my hand on it. The leather was warm beneath my fingertips. The shadow stared at the back of the driver’s head, but there was no desire there. It was content to wait.
A siren cut through the endless chatter of talk radio. I tensed at the sound, convinced it was coming for me. Then I saw the flashing lights ahead of us. The driver slowed, and two ambulances rushed
past on the opposite side of the road.
I relaxed again and closed my eyes. Behind us, more sirens echoed across the city as the collapse of civilization began.
Serial Killer Z
Part I
Chapter 1
Dead Eyes
The dead man lunged across the road toward me, too-white teeth clacking as they chewed at imaginary flesh. Its eyes were sharklike black orbs, and they tracked me as I moved. Its right foot had been crushed and was dragging behind the zombie, slowing it down. Rancid breath laced with the smell of carrion and blood washed over my face and caught in my throat.
Backing away, I swung my knife at the creature’s face. The blade swept across its forehead and sliced through the gray flesh. Thick black blood ran from the wound and spattered the ground at my feet. With its eyes locked on mine, the zombie took another lumbering step. My knife’s handle was slick with sweat. It felt like I was trying to hold on to a fish. One wrong move, and it might break free, leaving me defenseless.
The zombie shuffled forward, clawed fingers grasping at my face. The air was thick with the smell of decay. I attacked with the knife again, an upward sweep that caught the creature’s left hand and carved a deep slash in its palm. More blood sprayed across the road.
I looked past the zombie’s shoulder toward the truck it had come from. My backpack was lying where I’d dropped it, beside the driver’s door. It was almost empty. What little food I had was close to running out, but that bag held something far more precious. The one thing I couldn’t leave behind.
A shape moved inside the truck, and another zombie reared its rotting head. It pressed its face against the glass. I groaned. Behind me, something echoed the sound.
I spun around, just in time to see another zombie reach for me—a woman dressed in jeans and an orange-and-yellow safety vest. I twisted sideways, but the creature’s hands caught my shoulder. Its fingers clamped down, sinking into my flesh. A burst of pain shot down my arm. The knife slipped free and fell to the ground. Bright lights flashed across my vision.
Twisting, I wrenched my shoulder out of the female zombie’s grip. The movement triggered another wave of pain. I kicked and caught its knee. There was a meaty crack as bone shattered. The joint bent sideways, and the zombie crumpled to the ground. I kicked again, this time aiming for its head. My boot caught it square on, eliciting another satisfying crack. The zombie went limp.
The first zombie reached for me. I dodged backward and retreated over the fallen woman. The zombie let out a low moan and took a couple of steps toward me. One of its feet landed on the woman’s hand, and for one glorious moment, I thought it was going to fall. But it regained its balance.
My knife was lying on the ground a few feet away, half covered by the grass at the roadside. Not taking my eyes off the advancing zombie, I moved toward the knife. The creature let out a strangled moan. A thin trickle of gray fluid oozed from the side of its mouth.
My foot tapped against the knife. The zombie lunged again. I crouched and grabbed at the weapon. My hand found grass.
The zombie fell on me and knocked me over. I brought my arm up, wedging it across the creature’s throat as it bore down on me. Turning my head to one side, I pushed up. The creature groaned again, and something wet and viscous spattered against my cheek. Rotten air washed over me, hot and vile. Teeth snapped at my face. I pushed again, forcing the zombie up and away as I searched blindly for the knife. My fingers brushed against something cold and hard. I grabbed it, praying it was the knife.
I swung, aiming for the side of the creature’s head. Bone cracked as the knife blade sank into the zombie’s neck, just below its ear. Black blood poured over my hand as I drove the knife deeper, twisting as I went. The zombie made a wet, gargling sound. I rolled sideways, sliding free, then rammed the knife harder into the thing’s skull. It twitched and shook, legs bouncing against the asphalt. I pulled out the knife and scrambled away. The creature let out one last grunt, short and sharp, and was still.
I pushed myself to my feet and stood over the fallen zombies. I was shaking. It wasn’t that I hadn’t killed before. For their transgressions, the guilty had paid the price at my hand many times, but it was always under my terms. I was the one who chose the time and the place. It was a very different thing to be on a deserted highway, fighting for your life against the living dead.
And yet…
The shadow that lives inside of me came forward. It flowed through me like smoke, suffusing my body and wiping away my everyday self. That shadow has been a part of me for as long as I can remember. It gives me a unique perspective on the world and allows me to see people for what they truly are. But succumbing to the shadow leaves me exposed, vulnerable. It takes over completely, drowning my senses and opening me up to whatever dangers lurk nearby. Before the outbreak, that meant the police. Now the living dead are the biggest threat.
The shadow tightened its grip on me. The world retreated until it was as though the zombies and I were the only things in existence. My senses sharpened. The dark blood seeping into the ground became a lightless cavern. The lines on the man’s face became fissures so deep I could almost feel myself falling into them. A smudge of dirt on the woman’s cheek was an island floating in a sea of gray.
And then the shadow pulled back.
I could feel its disappointment as it burrowed deep inside me. The kills were necessary, but they’d also been quick and clumsy. The shadow expected more. It needed more. I took four deep breaths. The shadow would have to wait.
I rubbed my gore-soaked hands across the grass and willed them to stop shaking. Eventually, they did, and I returned my attention to the truck. It lay at an awkward angle with the left side tilted down to the ground. The front left tire had been removed and was now lying in a nearby ditch. The remains of a jack were scattered across the road. A dark streak swept along the truck’s body as though some demented painter had splashed a can of rust-brown paint across it. Its front left corner was crumpled. A scrap of blue cloth hung from the corner of the fender.
I checked the trees behind me for signs of life then cautiously crossed the road. This part of the highway cut through the dense forest that covers large portions of the Pacific Northwest. Even before the so-called LDN-4 pandemic, you could walk for miles without seeing any signs of human civilization. That was why I’d come here in the first place—to get away from people. But there were still enough of the dead wandering around for them to be a real threat.
I’d seen how dangerous even a single zombie could be, but after six weeks of traveling, I’d grown careless. The zombie had come at me while I was checking the truck for food. It had appeared from behind the vehicle and caught me off guard. I’d almost paid the price, but I wasn’t going to make the same mistake again.
As I approached the truck’s cab, I heard the familiar moans of the living dead coming from inside. I grabbed my backpack. My eyes fixed on the truck’s window, I pushed my hand into the bag and checked its contents. My fingers found the corner of a box. I ran them around its edge, making sure it was the leather case I was expecting, not some other container I’d forgotten about. Reassured, I moved closer to the truck.
A hand, gray and withered, slammed against the window, forcing me back a step. A moment later, the zombified remains of the truck’s driver appeared. Like its hands, its face was gray. The skin was drawn tight over its skull. The trucker’s hair was black, and it was a stark contrast to the pale skin. Its lips were dry and cracked. They pulled back to reveal two rows of blackened, splintered teeth. It watched me.
I leaned forward until my face was a couple of inches from the window and stared at the creature inside. I couldn’t quite pull myself away. The familiar shadow stirred again. I pushed it down, stifling it for the time being. A voice, quiet but insistent, urged me to rethink what I was doing and let the shadow free. I clenched my hands into fists, digging my nails into my palms. This wasn’t the place.
The truck driver let out a dull moan and th
en threw itself forward. Its face smashed into the window. I started and raised the knife, ready to plunge it into the creature’s skull if it managed to break through.
It slammed itself against the glass again, and again. A split opened up in its forehead. Black blood smeared across the window. The corpse hit the glass again, and it cracked. The sound was unexpectedly loud in the otherwise silent forest. The creature strained against its seat belt as it tried to tear itself free. It head-butted the window again. The crack turned into a spiderweb of fractured glass.
Retreating from the truck, I reached into the backpack, checking for the box. Once I was satisfied it hadn’t fallen out, I pulled the pack’s drawstring closed and sealed it inside.
The driver threw itself at the truck window again, and it finally broke. Shards of glass scattered across the ground. It leaned through the opening. The seat belt across its shoulder was the only thing stopping it from crawling out to tear me apart. It moaned—a long, drawn-out cry of frustration.
I swung the backpack over my shoulder. The highway stretched out before me, winding up the mountain. The paved road was convenient, but it was also open and exposed. A few hundred feet away, a hiking trail split the forest in two. I checked back down the road. A cluster of zombies had stumbled into view in the distance. They might be a solitary group, but they could also be the vanguard of one of the swarms that tended to form along main travel routes.
They were too far away to be a real threat. Still, I’d been following the road for too long, pushing my luck. Travel would be slower through the trees, but it would also be safer. I adjusted the position of my backpack, took four deep breaths, and walked toward the trail, the shadow within me restless and alert.
Half a mile along the hiking trail, I spotted the telltale glitter of sun reflecting off water. One of the few good things about living in the Northwest is the easy availability of water, but the weather had been hot and dry for almost a month. I checked my water bottle. It was almost empty again.
Serial Killer Z: Volume One Page 8
