Serial Killer Z: Volume One

by Philip Harris

  I walked slowly across the road to the wreckage of the gas station. The concrete apron around the pumps was buckled and broken as though the tanks beneath had exploded. A ragged sheet of metal about ten feet long had torn through the ground. It looked like the fin of some sort of mechanical shark cutting through the earth. The truck was a twisted, charred mess. I smelled burned metal and rubber.

  The building’s supports had given way when the truck had slammed through the front wall, and the concrete roof had collapsed. The top of the cab was folded into a V-shape. The windshield had shattered, and the resultant fragments crunched under my feet as I examined the interior of the building. The inferno had destroyed anything that might have been of use. The general store would be a better bet.

  Metal creaked. There was movement inside the cab, and then a zombie’s face appeared in the space between the crushed roof and the front of the truck. He let out a low, paper-thin groan. The thing’s skin had been burned to a thick black crust. The opening was far too small for him to get through, but that didn’t stop him from trying. He pressed his head into the gap. The roof’s sharp edges dug into his cheeks, and a chunk flaked away. He made a high-pitched keening sound as though in pain. The cab doors were buckled, and there was no way for him to get out or for me to get in. Ignoring the shadow’s disappointment, I moved on.

  The fire had left black stains along the store’s walls, but somehow most of the building had remained standing. The windows were also intact, but they were smeared with thick smudges of dry, black blood.

  I circled the entire building. There was a large parking area out back. It was littered with chunks of rock and discarded car parts that I didn’t recognize. A few meager patches of grass had managed to take hold, but otherwise, it was just a broad expanse of gray concrete.

  A couple of abandoned cars stood near the building. One of them was empty, but I could see someone moving inside the other. The shadow urged me to investigate, but I ignored it and continued around to the front of the store.

  There had been zombies there at some point. I could see signs of their passing—a hat, a couple of mismatched shoes. There were marks on the concrete, scattered patches of blood mostly, but no bodies. If there’d been anyone inside the building trying to survive, they hadn’t taken down any of the zombies.

  The front door was undamaged, but there was more blood, mostly smeared across the glass. I almost kicked it open without thinking, but I stopped myself. I pushed the door, and it opened. Surprised, I stepped into the small hallway that lay beyond. The air was dry and musty, with the familiar stench of death underlying the more mundane odors. I waited in the gloom, letting my eyes adjust.

  A door lay ahead of me—plain, blue, and closed. A STAFF ONLY sign sat at about head height. It was slightly crooked. The restaurant was on my right. It was the type of roadside diner I’d seen in movies and on TV a dozen times but never actually been inside.

  The general store was on my left, and the name was overstating its scale. It was small enough that having more than seven or eight customers at one time would upset a fire marshal. Three narrow aisles ran the length of the room. A small counter with a till on it sat next to the door. I didn’t care about the size of the store. What I cared about was that the shelves that lined the aisles were still virtually untouched.

  Half of them were filled with pointless knickknacks—mementos aimed at the stream of tourists that rolled through the mountains during the summer. But the rest held an array of food items chosen for their durability and convenience. There were cans of soup and chili, boxes of protein and energy bars, packets of noodles, and bags of the ever-present jerky. Combined, it was more than enough to last me through the winter and beyond. I just needed to get it back to the camp. There was even a pile of small propane bottles that would fit my stoves.

  On foot, it would take me ten or more trips to get everything transported to the camp. And that was assuming I didn’t run into a swarm. I could leave the camp and move into Sally’s, but it was far more exposed. There was no way to set up the kind of perimeter I’d grown used to. More importantly, I’d need to find a new place for the shadow to work. So, moving wasn’t an option, but I couldn’t just ignore the supplies. I’d need to find some way to cut down the number of trips. I thought of the quad bikes. I could probably ride one, and there was plenty of room to carry supplies on the back. Even having to stick to the roads instead of using Salvation Alley, it would make things a lot quicker.

  I walked out of the store and crossed the hallway into the restaurant. It, too, was mostly undisturbed. There were six tables and four booths. All of them were neatly laid out with knives, spoons, forks, napkins, menus, and condiments. The menu was small and basic, but the descriptions of the Early Riser Breakfast and Classic Blueberry Pancakes left my mouth watering and my stomach rumbling. I chewed on an energy bar as I walked around the rest of the room, but my stomach wasn’t fooled.

  A narrow service counter ran along the left-hand side of the room, with four stools lined up in front of it. Another worktop held a small coffee maker and space for the person working the counter to prepare some food. A doorway led into the kitchen, and when I saw it, I realized why the menu was so limited. It was tiny. There was barely enough space for one person to work in, and the fridge, stove, and microwave oven were equally compact.

  There were more supplies in the kitchen, mostly the raw materials for making the specials. When I opened the fridge, I was greeted by a wave of rancid air filled with the stench of rotting meat and vegetables. I thought I saw a tub of blueberries just before I gagged and quickly swung the door shut.

  The possibilities of the restaurant exhausted, I headed back out to the hallway and the STAFF ONLY door.

  I’d grown used to the reek of death that permeated the building, but as I opened the door the stench grew stronger. The source of the smell was hanging from the center of the room—two corpses, a man and woman in their sixties. They’d fastened electrical cord around a metal beam running across the ceiling, climbed on top of two chairs from the restaurant, and put nooses around their necks before kicking the chairs away.

  The window on the opposite side of the room told the rest of the story. There were no zombies pressed against it now, but the glass was covered with smears of blood and cracked in places where something had tried to get in.

  The room was simply decorated with a three-seater couch that had seen better days, a low glass coffee table, and a couple of bookcases that held four books and a scattering of trinkets from around the world. There was a television in one corner that had probably been state of the art thirty years ago. Part of me doubted it would have been able to receive broadcasts, even without the disruption of the zombie apocalypse. Three more doors led out of the room; one of them was the exit to the parking area at the rear of the building.

  I walked into the room, and the bodies stirred. The woman raised her head, revealing black eyes and a purple, bloated face. A cluster of flies rose up out of her blue-rinsed hair. She let out a low moan. The sound caught the attention of the man hanging beside her. He, too, raised his equally bloated head. He reached out toward me, legs kicking. His movements started him swinging. He bumped against the woman, eliciting more throaty growls from the woman. I backed away from the twitching zombies a little. The electrical cords creaked as they moved but held firm.

  The hairs on the back of my hands rose, the shadow making its presence felt. I looked around the room again, really taking in the table, the couch, the bookshelves. It had potential. I could see the possibilities.

  I shook my head. I had my workshop. My sanctuary.

  I moved around the room, staying out of reach of the zombies. They moaned and twisted as I passed near them.

  One of the doors led to a tiny bathroom with a toilet and a shower. The walls were hand-painted with flowers, and a row of poppies ran along the bottom of the shower curtain. A desiccated block of solid air freshener hung from the ceiling, lending the room a faint sm
ell of flowers.

  The second interior door opened up onto a bedroom that was just big enough for a double bed. It was covered with a floral bedspread, and despite the decaying corpses next door, the air smelled of lavender.

  I heard a soft thud and went back out to the living room. One of the man’s slippers had fallen off, revealing a threadbare sock. His foot twitched as he strained to get at me. The cord around his neck was cutting into the flesh. His mouth dropped open, revealing a purple tongue. He groaned. It was a thick, wet sound, repulsive.

  I walked past the struggling zombies to the bookcase and scanned the shelves. They contained a three-volume Modern History of North America and a Bible. The history books were heavy, but I put them in my pack anyway. I’d need something to get me through the winter. I left the Bible behind. If there is a God, he gave up on me a long time ago.

  The woman moaned, and a dribble of black fluid seeped over the edges of the cord around her neck. I knew I should kill them. If I was going to come back to the store for supplies, I needed to make sure it was safe. Leaving two zombies in the building was a stupid idea.

  The shadow agreed, in its own way. I was safe here, it whispered. I could take advantage of my good fortune and set it free, right here, right now. Together, we could purge these two of their guilt.

  Temptation gnawed at me. I even started to drag the coffee table over so that I could cut the man down. Then I stopped. Looking back, I don’t know why. It just didn’t seem right. The workshop was the shadow’s domain—this was just an old couple’s living room. I straightened the table and walked out of the room, making sure to close the door firmly behind me.

  I went inside the store and grabbed as much propane, soup, chili, and energy bars as I could comfortably carry and put them into my backpack. I hesitated when I reached the packets of jerky but ended up taking four and sliding them into the pack’s front pocket—I might have hit the mother lode, but I couldn’t get complacent. There were some generic painkillers behind the counter, and I took those, too.

  The pack rattled as I settled it on my back. I adjusted the straps so that it didn’t slip as I walked. It was heavy. Thankfully, I didn’t have a lot of hills to climb on the way back.

  Outside, the wind had picked up, bringing a few clouds with it. I was glad for the break from the sun, but they held the threat of rain. A heavy thunderstorm could make the trails almost impassable. I checked the front door was closed then set off home.

  By the time I got back to Camp Redfern, I was hungry, the cans of soup were digging into my spine, and I was beginning to regret picking up the books. The end result of all those distractions was that I was halfway across the camp by the time I noticed the door to the lodge was open. I cursed and ran, half crouched, to Cabin Two. I pressed myself up against the side of the building and removed my knife.

  The backpack was slowing me down, but I didn’t have time to remove it before an ungainly young man with dark hair hanging to his shoulders came out of the lodge. His face was thin and as awkward as the rest of him. A straggly beard clung to his neck and chin. His hands were raised above his head. I tensed when I saw him, my grip tightening on the knife. I regretted not taking the rifle with me when I left the camp.

  “It’s okay; we’re not here to cause trouble!”

  He was shouting, and the sound made me wince. If there were any zombies nearby, he’d bring them right down on top of us, although maybe that would be for the best.

  The man had obviously seen me; he was looking toward Cabin Two and my hiding place. He moved to the edge of the walkway and called again. “Please! We just need some help. Our friend is hurt.”

  Our friend. That meant at least three people, possibly more. The world tilted a little and threatened to throw me onto the ground. I leaned against the cabin, focusing on the pack’s metal frame digging into my back until everything righted itself again. When I risked another look, the man was still standing there, hands still raised.

  I could run, hide, go back to sleeping in trees. I had food and the river for water. There might be another camp to the north or maybe something even better. My tools were in the workshop, but I could go around the camp to get them. It seemed like the smartest option. I straightened up, ready to slip into the forest and be gone. And then the man called again.

  “Please! We’re so tired. We just need a place to sleep. Even for one night.”

  The shadow flickered to life. Already awakened by the discovery of the old couple, this latest development had it intrigued. Now there were other possibilities, other ways to gain satisfaction.

  I walked out from behind the cabin.

  As soon as he saw me, the young man started talking. “We’re not here to cause any problems, I promise. Our friend is hurt.” He must have seen something in my face because he held his hands out toward me and started talking even more quickly. “No, no, he wasn’t bit. Nothing like that. He’s got a fever or something. That’s all. He’s not a biter.”

  I stopped a few feet away from the lodge, the knife held out in front of me in what I hoped was a threatening manner.

  “What’s your name?” I’d managed to force some confidence into my voice, but it felt odd to be face-to-face with someone, having a conversation.

  “I’m Alex. Lucy and Mike are inside.”

  “And that’s all? There’s only three of you?”

  “Yeah, just three.”

  “Where did you come from?”

  “Me and Mike are from Seattle. We met just outside the city. I got cornered by one of the biters, and he got me out of there. We met Lucy, and… We met Lucy a week later. She was hiding out in a house, but she’d run out of food.”

  It all seemed plausible enough. “Why come north? Why not stay in the city?”

  “Biters, man. There’s packs of them everywhere. And the people are even worse. The military is trying to build walls and create a safe zone, but there ain’t nowhere safe anymore.”

  I thought back to the swarm I’d seen on the road. Hopefully, this trio hadn’t led it to the camp. “How did you find this place?”

  The young man pointed to his left. “The river. We were following it north and looking for somewhere Mike could rest when we found the camp. That’s it, man. I promise.”

  A shadow moved across one of the lodge’s windows. I tensed. “Bring the others out.”

  Alex called inside, and a few seconds later a woman in her midthirties appeared in the doorway.

  “Come out!” I called.

  The woman, Lucy presumably, stood next to Alex. She didn’t raise her hands, but she watched the knife.

  “Where’s Mike?” I said.

  “Inside sleeping,” Lucy said. “He’s hurt. He slipped down a slope and hit his head on a rock. He isn’t infected.”

  “How long ago did it happen?”

  “Two days, almost three.” She took a step toward me. “Please, we need somewhere to rest. Just until Mike’s fever breaks. We can help out here, keep watch for you and the others.”

  I didn’t understand. “Others?”

  Lucy frowned. “You mean… you’re the only person living here?”

  I cursed my stupidity even as I considered trying to lie.

  “But what about the stuff in the cabins?” Alex said.

  He’d been exploring. Did that mean they’d also found the path to the workshop, maybe even the workshop itself? I began to panic until I realized that if they had, they wouldn’t be just standing there talking to me.

  “You’ve been in the cabins?”

  Alex had begun to lower his hands, but he held them out in front of him again. “No! No. I just looked through the window, just quickly. We needed to know if there was anyone here. I didn’t go in, just in case. Those biters get everywhere.”

  I rubbed my hand across my chin as I tried to think of a way out of this. I might be holding the knife, but I was the one at a disadvantage.

  I waved the weapon toward them. “Where else have you been?”


  Alex pointed his thumb over his shoulder. “Just the crapper, man, I swear.”

  I raised my eyebrows at the woman, and she nodded. Again, I considered leaving—abandoning the camp to these interlopers and retreating to the forest. Maybe I could move to Sally’s Home Comforts after all. If I took the map with me, they might never find it. But someone else would. Eventually.

  I lowered the knife. “Show me your friend.”

  Chapter 18

  Intruders

  Lucy and Alex led me inside to the couch where Mike was lying. He was Asian—Chinese or Japanese maybe—and wearing dark blue jeans and a paler blue shirt. He was unconscious, his face beaded with sweat. He had a grimy bandage stuck to his forehead. It was stained with blood and starting to come loose. A damp cloth lay on the coffee table next to the couch. Blood had dripped across his left shoulder, staining the shirt, but it looked like it had come from his head wound.

  He murmured softly as I approached, but it was the sound of someone dreaming, not the mindless droning of a zombie. I checked around his body, searching for bites without touching him. As far as I could tell he was clean. I looked at Lucy. She held my gaze, determined, ready to respond if I tried to force them to leave.

  “You can stay one day,” I said.

  It seemed like a fair compromise, but Lucy shook her head. “Please, we need a few days. Until Mike has recovered. Then we’ll leave.”

  “Please, man,” Alex said. He ran his fingers through his hair, tugging at it. The knuckles on his right hand were grazed.

  I was ready to tell them no, that they had to leave, but the shadow cut off the words.

  Instead, I nodded. “Okay, just until he’s better.”

  “Thank you,” Lucy said. “We’re very grateful, and we’ll leave as soon as Mike’s well enough to travel.”

  Alex grinned. “Thanks, man. You’ve saved our lives. Literally.”