The first zombie had run into me. The fact that its arms were still trapped at its side by the lasso had probably saved my life. If it had been able to grab me, it would have sunk its teeth into my neck before I could react. It lunged toward me, mouth open and dripping a viscous black fluid. I reached for my machete, spending a few heart-stopping seconds searching for it before my fingers wrapped around the hilt.
The zombie fell on top of me. The impact cracked my head against the hard ground and knocked the wind from my lungs. Blackness seeped around the edges of my vision. The zombie reared up in front of me, its gray skin stretched taut across the sharp bones of its skull. I lifted my arm as it attacked, and its jaw fastened around my forearm. Its teeth felt like razor blades, and I screamed as it chewed at my arm. I swung the machete in one last, desperate attempt at survival.
I felt the blade sink into flesh and connect with bone. I’d hit the creature’s neck. It wasn’t enough to kill it, but it loosened its grip on my arm. I pushed the machete away from me, trying to force the zombie backward. It was too heavy and barely moved. I struggled sideways and managed to partly free myself. My legs were still pinned beneath the creature, but my upper body was free. It snarled and spat as I yanked the machete from its throat and attacked again.
This time, my aim was better. I jammed the machete up through its jaw. Black fluid burst from the wound, soaking my hands and splattering my face. A putrid stench washed over me, and I found myself fighting for air. It let out a strangled, wordless cry then collapsed. Dead again.
My arm was covered in blood, but it was thick and black and belonged to the zombie I’d just killed. The jackets had protected me. I muttered a quiet prayer of thanks that I’d put up with the heat rather than discarding the extra layers.
I dragged myself from beneath the corpse and pushed myself upright onto wavering legs just in time to face the second zombie. It charged toward me. These zombies were moving so much faster than the others I’d encountered. I held the machete out in front of me, at about head height.
The zombie ran straight into it.
The blade’s point sank into its eye. The impact knocked me backward. What little sense I had left made me let go of the machete and throw myself sideways, out of its path. It barreled past me and continued for five or six steps before collapsing to the ground. The fall drove the machete deeper until its silver tip protruded from the back of the zombie’s skull. I grabbed the machete’s handle and pulled, but it was wedged tight.
The female zombie was slower than the men, perhaps because of the extent of its injuries, but I could see it bearing down on me as I struggled to free the machete. I didn’t have long. Reluctant to lose my weapon, I tried to twist it free. It held firm, and with the female zombie almost on top of me, I gave up.
Cursing at my stupidity, I ran down the trail, away from the logging camp.
Chapter 12
Regrets
I sat at the table in the lodge’s kitchen with my head in my hands. Partly it was out of despair, partly to stop them shaking. I was an idiot. I’d been unprepared, careless. I was lucky to get away alive. My hunting jacket was lying on the ground outside the lodge where I’d thrown it in frustration. Despite the protection of the leather jacket, my forearm was bruised and sore. It was a wonder the zombie hadn’t managed to break any bones. To add insult to injury, I’d left the rope, my backpack, and the machete behind. And there was no way I was going back to get them.
Panic hit me—my case. I thought I remembered putting it in the drawer in the workshop, but had I dreamed that? Was the case still in the pack, out in the forest? I clenched the table and closed my eyes.
No, I could see the drawer and the junk I’d used to hide the case. It was safe. I ignored the voice whispering in my ear insisting that someone had broken into the workshop.
I took four deep breaths and focused on what to do next. Part of me was convinced I should give up and concentrate on surviving, not indulging the shadow’s desires. No matter how keenly I felt its influence, if I let it control my decisions, it would be my downfall.
But another part of me was convinced I couldn’t let an opportunity like this slip through my fingers. I don’t believe in a deity, benevolent or otherwise, but if I did, my discovery of the camp and the workshop could be interpreted as a sign that I had waited long enough. It was time to unleash the shadow again.
Yes, I’d been careless, and yes, I hadn’t prepared, but I had survived. It seemed not all zombies were created equal. These, the two men at least, had been quicker and stronger than any I’d seen. But I’d gone up against them and gotten away with my life.
I wasn’t willing to abandon my plan. Overall, it was a good one. It was my execution that had been lacking. With the benefit of hindsight, I could see exactly where I’d gone wrong. I’d let my excitement and the influence of the shadow overwhelm my judgment. It wouldn’t happen again.
The rope had also been a bad idea. I’d envisaged myself pulling the zombie along behind me as I traveled through the forest, treating it like some sort of oversize dog. My pace would prevent it from attacking me. If it did stray too close, a tug on the rope would knock it off balance and enable me to keep out of the way. At least, that had been the idea.
Clearly, that wouldn’t be good enough. I had some rope left, but I needed something that would let me hold the zombie at a safe distance while we made our way through the forest.
I must have spent at least an hour sitting at the kitchen table, considering and discarding ever more ludicrous ideas before I saw the broom leaning up against the wall. The pieces clicked into place. I grabbed the broom, kicked off the head, and brought it over to the table. I measured the rope against the width of the broom handle, and a smile spread over my face. I could drill a couple holes in the handle, feed the rope through it, and create a noose. It would act like a sort of zombie snare. Once I’d gotten it around a zombie’s neck, I’d be able to control its movements using the broom handle.
My problem was solved.
It took me almost three hours to get to the workshop, drill the required holes, and create the snare. I tested it multiple times around the back of the workshop, using a branch on a tree to represent my prey. The noose worked perfectly. It wouldn’t be enough to hold a big zombie like the ones I’d found at the logging camp, but from now on I’d stick to weaker subjects. Put like that, it makes me sound like a coward, but I prefer to think of it as a healthy reaction to the close proximity of death’s bony hand.
By the time I’d finished and I was sure my new weapon would work, it was getting late. Part of me wanted to go out anyway, but I knew that was stupid. Even if I bumped into a suitable subject, it was going to take me a while to get them back to the workshop. I didn’t fancy trailing through the forest in the dark with a slavering zombie in tow.
As I walked to the lodge, I convinced myself I was being smart by waiting, not a coward.
The shadow stirred, but I quashed it.
“Tomorrow,” I said. “Tomorrow, I’ll get it right.”
Chapter 13
Snared
I headed west again, following the same route as the day before. I’d found another backpack, this one red, and had felt a burst of frustration as I’d put a couple of protein bars and a bottle of water into it. I couldn’t afford to keep wasting this much food.
When I reached the point where I’d turned south down the path that led me to the camp, I carried on along the wider logging road. I checked the path as I passed. It was clear of zombies, but I still didn’t want to risk trying to get my pack. Maybe some other time.
The previous day’s clouds had broken without depositing their rain on the forest. The sky was clear apart from a few scraps of white that would soon burn off. It was still early and not too hot, but in a couple of hours that would change.
A few minutes down the logging road, I paused to take a drink. An insect buzzed past my ear, and somewhere off in the distance a bird cried out. I’ve never been o
ne for hiking or other outdoor activities, but standing there in the sun, with the forest coming to life around me, I could at least understand the appeal.
As I put my bottle of water away, there was a snap. It was the sound of wood breaking. Across from me, twenty feet or so into the forest, was a zombie. I crouched down then maneuvered off the road and behind a nearby tree.
The zombie was a short, thin young man with bright blond hair. It was wearing shorts and a basketball jersey, both of which were about three times too big for it. Its back was twisted as though suffering from some sort of spinal injury. Its neck was broken, too, and its head tilted downward, looking at its feet. That was probably why it hadn’t seen me. I watched as it approached the road, annoyed at myself for not seeing it sooner.
I could hear it moaning. Every time it placed its right foot on the ground, it let out a short grunt as though putting weight on that foot hurt. The zombie stumbled a couple of times, eliciting more moans, but otherwise, it just kept moving relentlessly forward. It was completely oblivious to me and the rest of the world.
I moved out of the zombie’s path, keeping a careful eye on the forest around me in case it wasn’t alone. It stepped onto the road, and I got ready to run if it saw me. It didn’t. It just plodded on.
As I’d suspected, its spine was damaged. I could see pale splinters of bone protruding through the shirt from three different places. How it managed to stay upright, I couldn’t tell you. Other than that and a general appearance of overall decay, the zombie was relatively intact. It didn’t even smell that bad yet.
My anxiety grew, but it brought the shadow with it. Slow-moving, small, and not particularly muscular, the zombie was exactly what I was looking for.
I shook out the snare at the end of the broom, loosening the rope until it was big enough for me to get over the zombie’s head without too much difficulty. I circled around behind it, alert to any sign that it had noticed me. It shambled on, apparently still oblivious to my presence. My hands felt hot and sticky. I took a deep breath and closed my eyes, willing my racing heart to slow before it tore itself from its mounts.
The zombie was three-quarters of the way across the road now, and despite its steady pace, there was a danger it would reach the forest before I could catch it. If it did that, my task would be that much harder—and harder was not something I needed. I took another deep breath, counted to four, and stalked after the zombie.
I raised the snare. The wooden broom handle was unexpectedly unwieldy. The circle of rope wavered in the air. The zombie let out an agitated groan. I let it take four more steps forward then dropped the noose over its head.
The zombie moaned and turned toward me. I pulled the rope to tighten the noose. It caught on the zombie’s chin, and I felt things slipping out of control again. I loosened the snare, just a fraction, and shook it.
Now that it was facing me, the zombie had finally realized I was there, and it let out a loud groan. The rope flipped upward and landed in its mouth. I flicked the broom handle again, and this time the rope came loose and dropped around the zombie’s neck. I pulled it tight.
The zombie bucked and twisted, trying to free itself. I braced my feet. Then it took another uneven step toward me. I responded by pushing back with the broom handle. It stumbled backward. Excitement took the place of my anxiety. It was working. The rope still had some give in it, and the broom handle wasn’t as long as I’d have liked, but it was really working.
Now I just had to get it back to the workshop.
I tugged at the broom handle, giving the zombie a little encouragement. It let out a soft groan and stumbled toward me. Every time it took a step, I took one of my own, keeping the distance between me and the creature consistent.
Slowly, I backed down the path. The ground was uneven beneath my feet. Under normal circumstances, it wouldn’t have been enough to cause me any difficulties, but with a zombie in tow, each ridge and rock became a potentially fatal hazard. And I had to keep an eye out for other zombies as well.
This was going to take a while.
I adjusted the noose’s position a couple of times, trying to find a way to hold it comfortably, move quickly, and still keep the zombie at bay. In the end, I had to content myself with moving sideways, crab-like. That way, I could look ahead at where I was going and keep an eye on the zombie. Every couple of minutes I swapped sides to stop anything creeping up behind me.
It was slow going, and by the time I got within sight of the camp, the sun was high in the sky, and sweat was running down my back. I could feel heat baking into my skin. I hadn’t dared stop to drink or eat since I’d snared the zombie, but I still had to get to the workshop.
Distracted by thoughts of water and sunblock, I caught my foot on a tree root and fell. I hit the ground, and a thick branch stuck into the soft flesh of my thigh.
The zombie staggered forward, a gargling rumble forming in its throat. The broom handle slipped out of my hand and bounced across the ground away from me. The zombie lumbered closer, its jaw dropping open. The subtle smell of mold and death I’d caught from it earlier was stronger now, accentuated by the heat of the midday sun. I twisted to my right, lashing out with my feet and hoping to connect with the zombie’s shins and at least slow it down.
I missed.
I rolled across the trail, four complete revolutions that covered me in dirt and leaves but put several valuable feet between me and the creature. It stumbled after me. It was hunched over, arms stretched out. Under different circumstances, the sight would have been comical.
I ran out of room to roll and struggled to my feet. Blood rushed to my head, and a wave of dizziness washed over me. The world blurred, and my legs buckled, threatening to dump me back on the ground. I bent over, mirroring the zombie’s pose, and again I was struck by just how ridiculous this would look to someone not in harm’s way.
The blood stopped rushing to my head, and the world came back into focus. I backed away from the zombie, moving up the trail toward the camp. Worst-case scenario: I could run and take cover in the lodge. The zombie turned to face me, its head flopping on its broken neck. It was dragging the snare along behind it now. The handle was well out of my reach, but I was back on my feet and surely quick enough to escape—if I stayed calm.
Something snapped behind me. I whirled around, scanning the forest for movement, but the trees were too thick. I couldn’t see more than a few feet beyond the edge of the path.
The zombie let out a gurgling cry and took three quick steps toward me. I was almost ready to declare my plan a lost cause and run.
The shadow wormed its way into my consciousness. It fought against my fear, bringing with it a grim determination. Letting out a cry of rage, I ran at the zombie. I curved around it in an arc that kept me out of reach of its clutching arms. As I ran past, I scooped up the broom handle. The slick wood slipped through my fingers, and I almost lost my grip. Almost but not quite.
I rammed the broom handle at the zombie’s face. The noose had gone slack, but the handle caught its jaw and forced it backward. It let out a snarl of frustration. I jabbed with the broom handle again, this time hitting it in the shoulder. The trailing end of the noose was lying on the ground nearby. While the zombie was off balance, I grabbed the rope and pulled. The noose slid tight around its neck again.
The zombie pushed forward, trying to get at me. I stood firm, the broom handle held out before me, keeping the creature at a safe distance while my heart slowed and the adrenaline coursing through my system faded to more reasonable levels. Once they had and I was convinced everything was under control again, I circled carefully around the zombie and continued along the trail.
I approached the camp slowly, looking for any indication that someone had discovered my sanctuary. I doubted I was the only living being in the forest, and I didn’t want to have to explain what I was doing traipsing around with a zombie in tow. Everything looked as I had left it, but I waited outside the camp for a few minutes anyway before leading
the zombie around the lodge toward the trail to the workshop.
Once I was on the trail, I felt a lot more comfortable. My thigh was sore where the branch had stuck it when I fell, and somewhere along the line I’d grazed the knuckles on my right hand. But the trees provided shelter from the oppressive heat, I knew where I was going, and I was getting the hang of crabbing my way along. The zombie lumbered after me with very little encouragement, its carnivorous instincts more than sufficient to keep it moving as though I were a man-size carrot dangling from a stick attached to its head.
About halfway to the workshop, I heard the familiar whump-whump-whump of a helicopter. I searched the forest for a place we could hide, but there was nowhere suitable. Trying to lead the zombie off the trail would just be asking for trouble.
The sound of the helicopter grew louder. I ducked my head slightly in a worthless attempt at concealment. The zombie moaned and strained against the noose. I shoved at it with the broom. Its groans grew louder. I flinched as though the helicopter’s pilot might somehow hear the sound.
The helicopter roared past, close but still not visible. As the sound faded away, I felt my shoulders relax, and let out the breath I’d been holding.
I straightened the broom handle and got a better grip that wouldn’t slip free. Then I moved along the trail as fast as I could, leading the zombie toward the workshop.
Chapter 14
The Shadow
The building was as I’d left it. I checked the twigs I’d leaned against the front doors, and it didn’t seem like anyone had been inside while I was away. Unless they’d seen me put the twigs in place and replaced them after they’d entered the cabin. Or maybe they were just waiting somewhere beyond the tree line to come out, guns blazing, as soon as I was looking the other way.
Serial Killer Z: Volume One Page 14
