Bury Me in Black

by Royce Caradoc

  They stuck to the tree line, spotting not a soul. The roads were empty. So was, it appeared, the forest and the farmsteads they passed. So much empty land, so much seemingly uncharted green earth. Early on, as a Stray, he’d felt like an explorer, like he was mapping new territory with each step he took. That charmed way of looking at the world was short-lived.

  Leon pulled off the main drag onto a bumpy gravel road that travelled through the woods. The ride was anything but comfortable. They sputtered along, kicking up rocks as they passed. The path was meant for two lanes, though the truck alone barely fit.

  “I hate these back roads, man. I don’t understand why anyone would wanna live so far away from everything.”

  “I think that’s kind of the point,” Marco said.

  ~

  Tucked away in the woods were little shacks and hovels. Meticulously, they searched each room by room. Leon marked each off with a red marker on a map. Time and again he’d look over at Marco as if he could offer something they hadn’t thought of, but he had nothing to add. These guys knew what they were doing, far better than he did.

  They searched seven, now eight houses out in the sticks. Marco was always last in the door. He didn’t ever draw his pistol, instead holding an open hand beside it, as if he intended to draw it at the first sign of trouble. Thus far, there hadn’t been a need. These houses were all empty. They found no secret passageways, previously overlooked. No trapdoors.

  At the eighth house, Marco halted when he stepped inside. He glanced around. This had been someone’s living room once. Two leather couches were at the center, side by side in a V formation, facing a big-screen T.V. The paintings remained on the walls, as did the family pictures. Scavengers never bothered stealing that stuff. Food and ammo were pilfered, as were the expensive looking heirlooms. All the mementos, though—the photo albums and the soccer trophies—were left in stasis. The door had been busted in and some furniture had been overturned, but other than that, it appeared as if this house was awaiting its owners to return from a late night at work or a trip to the movies.

  Knox and Leon cleared the upstairs, room by room, and then commanded Marco to go outside and get a bag of cans. They were staying here tonight. Taking trips back to the Armory every night wouldn’t have been much of a hassle, but Leon made clear before they’d left that the plan was to spend three solid weeks on the road: day and night. They would take shelter in the abandoned houses they searched, sleeping in shifts, sometimes searching by nightfall so that they might catch their quarry unawares.

  That night, the four of them dined at the wooden dinner table like one big, happy family. Four servings of Shokuji brand food, right out of the can. Oh joy. Marco opened his can, dipping a spoon into the green paste. Vegetable sludge. Whatever the hell the mysterious contents were, they were bland. Weak. Easy to force down, but never satisfying. His was the yellow flavor. The label itself gave nothing away. From what he’d seen, there were three kinds: red, green and yellow. The backpack Marco lugged around had been full of the yellow flavor.

  Thus far, he’d been unable to find any distinctions in taste between the three. They all seemed to have the same unique metallic taste, like tomatoes mixed with copper, or something.

  “Think we need to do shifts tonight?” Knox asked.

  “Better safe than buried,” Leon replied, through a mouthful of food. “Which one you want?”

  “Put the Stray on first. The later it gets, the more likely it is there’ll be trouble.”

  “Right. Marco, don’t engage nobody if you see em,” Leon said. “Just chill out here or on the porch, nice and still and quiet. And if you hear or see suttin strange, come wake us up.”

  “You trust his eyes? When you’re crazy, everything you see is strange.”

  “Nah, he’ll do just fine. My man is gettin more normal by the minute. Ain’t ya?”

  “Fine,” Knox dropped his spoon into his empty can and stood up. “Just don’t wake me unless it’s something real.”

  He walked away.

  “Don’t mind him. He’s just whiny cause he’s gotta sleep in the little girl’s room. It’s all pink, surrounded by ponies and shit. Tell me if you need somethin to stay up. I got all kinds of shit in the car: Adderall, blow, whatever.”

  “I’m good. Thanks, Leon.”

  “You know where I’m at if you change your mind.”

  ~

  Out on the front porch, he ended the night just like the last one. He could barely see the moon through the trees. He lit up with a white bic lighter he’d found behind the Armory. As a kid, he’d always avoided white lighters. They were supposed to be bad luck. Whatever. He inhaled, feeling sweet release.

  A few leaves rustled in the wind. He perked up, but continued to smoke. Far off, he swore he heard a whisper. One voice conversing with another. He put out the paltry remains of his cigarette for fear of someone spotting the cherry and stood, listening. It was a voice, to be sure, a woman’s voice. He wasn’t hearing things. He wasn’t crazy.

  Oh, right.

  Marco stepped out into the grass, eyes darting this way and that.

  “Shelby?” he whispered. More faint rustling. He raised his voice. “Shelby?”

  Some twenty feet away, a shadow emerged from the brush. It jogged away, fleet of foot.

  “Hey!” he whispered. “Hey, wait!”

  He took a deep breath and followed. His footsteps were swift and near-silent, as always. So too were hers. He watched as she split through the trees, emerging into a clearing out on the main road. Moonlight painted her form, and for the first time Marco saw her clearly. It was a woman, blonde, with her hair pulled back into a tight ponytail. She lifted herself onto an orange dirt bike, parked in the road. She glanced back at him, once. A bandana was tied over her mouth—black, with the likeness of a skull. She hit the ignition and took off. Marco remained amongst the trees, breathless.

  Quick as he could, he burst back inside, quickly taking the stairs.

  “Leon?” he hissed, voice low. The hallway had three bedrooms: one on either side and a master bedroom at the end of the hall. All three doors were shut. “Leon?”

  From the master bedroom, a groan erupted. Marco heard what sounded like the thud of a body dropping to the floor. And then wincing, panting, and another low growl. He took measured steps towards the door. He reached down to draw his weapon, but a pair of tiny roaches were skittering across it, from barrel to butt and back again. Revolted, he left the weapon where it sat.

  Up ahead, the voice emitted another muffled scream, snapping him back to reality. Marco drew closer. He reached out to grasp the doorknob. He was shaking. He turned it, and pushed the door open.

  Inside, a man was hunched over beside the bed, shirtless. His shirt was rolled up and stuffed into his mouth, where he’d bit down to soundproof his own agony. His body was contorted, fists both clenched, head low, black hair in his eyes. He reached up, cupping both hands over his ears, writhing in place. He looked up at Marco with those crimson eyes, his chest heaving in and out, exhaling through his nostrils. The veins in his neck seemed to protrude, blue and hideous. He appeared possessed by an animal rage. Primal, with every nerve clenched tight.

  “Knox,” Marco whispered.

  From the hall behind him, a door swung open, and Leon slipped past, bumping Marco aside. He knelt by his friend and reached out to touch him, but Knox recoiled.

  He spat the jersey and bared his teeth, clenching them, lips wide apart. Digging his nails into the carpet, Knox lowered his head and screamed.

  2

  -FIRE SIGNS-

  -Justine-

  THEY WERE IN A NEW HOUSE NOW, this one a bit larger, with a pretty shoreline view. They left the fireplace unlit this time. Morning was coming fast. Her body screamed for sleep, but she didn’t heed it. She forced herself to stay conscious, to stay in this moment. He’d set her down on the couch and covered her in a dead man’s blanket. She kept her eyes on his, wearing that look of disgust. He hovered by
the doorway. Of course she knew why.

  “Get some rest,” he said. “I’ll be back later.”

  “He went back to the house, I’m sure, to loot those dead guys,” she told David. “He didn’t come back with anything, though. Zeke was storing this stuff somewhere, probably multiple places around town that only he knew. That’s where he went at night. During the day, all he was doing was humoring me. Night time, under cover of darkness, that was when he really went to work.”

  “I’m sorry, Justine. Were you shaken up?”

  “Yeah. And for some reason, my instinct wasn’t to be thankful to him. He’d abandoned me there. And he...” she said, her words catching in her throat, “he should’ve showed up sooner.”

  David lowered his eyes. He seemed to sense that it was better not to say anything. She respected him for that.

  “He left the fireplace going all night,” Justine said. “How could he not know better? It was bound to attract people. You know? Maybe he wanted them to come.”

  “You think he wanted to lure them in?”

  “I only know what I saw. The places we went to, they’d all already been scavenged. Digging through houses got us barely anything. So, instead, I think Zeke started hunting people.”

  When he returned a few hours later, she was still awake. She’d been waiting.

  She shivered on the couch, too cold to make any effort to speak. Zeke was crouched on the floor in an awkward, uncomfortable looking feline squat, watching her. He hardly ever seemed to blink. Justine swallowed. Her stomach ached. Her mind wandered. What had she just witnessed? Who was this person before her? The curtains were pulled open, allowing light from the full moon flooding into the room. It cast shadows upon that beautiful face, marred by that one jarring imperfection. That hairline fracture. More than anyone else she’d seen since rising from her steel-walled tomb, Zeke fit the part. These vampire-like qualities—the red eyes, the wan, porcelain skin—each fit him perfectly. The pony-tailed scavenger back there had been oh so wrong. This wasn’t a man. This was something else entirely.

  “Let me warm you.” Those simple, stunted sentences. Never a change of tone or expression. He awaited a response and, hearing none, stood and circled the couch. Slowly, carefully, he slithered those lanky arms around her. She closed her eyes, a tear leaking out, unsure if she was shaking now from the cold or the fear.

  But, he was warm. Unnaturally warm. He stood behind the couch, arms hooked around her, chin on her shoulder, radiating. She was quickly encapsulated in this aura, this unreal warmth. He was a stone-faced killer. A psychopath. And if he even thought about letting go of her she’d scratch his fucking eyes out.

  Finally, she found her voice.

  “…Did you have to kill them?”

  “You didn’t want me to?”

  “I...” It hurt to think it, that she would actually wish death on someone. But, that man...that monster of a man... “The young one, out front...”

  “Yes. I had to kill him too.”

  She took a deep breath, filling her chest with air before exhaling. Tears continued to well in her eyes. None, however, had the nerve to fall.

  “Why?” she croaked out the word, voice dry and raspy.

  “If any of them survived, they would seek me out. Find me, kill me.”

  “You’re stronger than them. If they came to get you, you could just beat them again.”

  He was silent for a long moment.

  “If I let every man I encountered live, there would be an army at my door. Survivors become enemies. I don’t make enemies. Understand, this is for my safety. And yours.”

  “If you didn’t take me with you, would you have killed me?”

  “…I couldn’t ever hurt you.” He let her go, standing. “Do you feel better?”

  “I’m warmer. Thank you.”

  He walked to the window, placing a hand flat against the wall, again gazing out into the night.

  “People don’t freeze to death often, do they?” she asked. He glanced back at her, contemplating the bizarre question a moment.

  “No. Not that I’ve seen.”

  “Do you think that’s weird? When you walked into that lake…you…you weren’t even shivering.”

  “I don’t get cold much anymore.”

  “Much?”

  “At all.”

  She nodded. They were quiet for a moment. But, she had more questions. She always had more questions.

  “Those men...they knew your name.”

  “I doubt that.”

  “No. They knew. They knew exactly who you are.”

  “Not so loud.”

  “They knew you,” she hissed, lowering her voice to a whisper. “They knew you. They were frightened of you.” He paced towards her, hands at his sides. “You kill people, Zeke.”

  “Only when I have to.”

  “Do you feel guilty about it?”

  “Justine-”

  “No, tell me. Do you ever feel guilty?”

  “I…I try not to think about it.”

  “So, you just compartmentalize it. You take a human life and you can just set it aside.”

  “You don’t understand. Things are different now.”

  “You set it aside like nothing. Do you know what that makes you? Huh?! Do you know what that makes you?!”

  “I said quiet!” He bounded onto the couch like a lion onto its prey, one leg up on the cushion. His hands were balled into fists at his sides, those red eyes alive with fury. He stood over her a moment, holding the pose, breathing deeply, staring into her icy blues. His expression softened. He placed a warm palm upon her cheek. “I can’t hurt you. I won’t ever hurt you. Please keep your voice down,” he said, his face an inch from hers. “Please.” A tear dribbled down her cheek. She took his hand and stood, wrapping her arms around him, tucking her head at his breast. He was so damned warm. She could stay nuzzled there forever, cocooned in comfort. She let go, looking up at him. An Aries, no doubt, same as her. He pushed her hair behind one ear. “It’s growing so long,” he said.

  “I hate it long. My mother and my stepfather told me it was the only way for a woman to style her hair. Anything else was improper. I always wanted to cut it short. Way short,” she said, running a hand over the top of his head. Those natural spikes.

  Even just recalling that moment, she couldn’t help but smile. Her eyes flickered towards the window, behind David.

  Soon, the sun would rise over the treetops, and Jacob Crowe’s sprawling manor would come alive. David would meet his wife and young son for breakfast, eyes bloodshot, unable to hold back a yawn. He would see Justine later, in the hallway, and pass by as if she were made of glass. She was no one during daylight hours. With the sun risen, hanging high in the sky outside these safe, secure stone walls, whatever they had meant nothing. Their connection was nocturnal. And tonight, they had such precious little time left.

  “He was right about killing. You leave an enemy alive, it’s only a matter of time before he gets even.”

  He looked at her like so many high school boys had. Craving her, in silence. Enraptured.

  She drained her glass.

  “David,” she said, “you should walk me to my room.”

  ~

  He followed her up the stairs. Nice and slow, she went, feeling his eyes on her from behind. She did her best to keep calm, breathing deeply. Justine halted before the door, David just a few paces away, silent and stiff with nerves. She glanced back at him and smiled.

  “Do you want to come in?”

  He didn’t answer right away, eyes low. She could see the wheels turning. Whether he truly was torn, or whether he was just playing at guilt, she couldn’t tell. But, he had to have seen this coming, to have wanted it on some level. She’d seen the way he looked at her.

  She closed the door behind them, and took off her necklace in the mirror, placing it down among the others. When she turned back, he stood by the bed, hands in his pockets. The suave young gentleman who had invited her for t
hat first fireside chat was long gone. In his place was a man as frightened as a schoolboy. Justine moved close to him. She exhaled, adjusting his tie, feeling his supernatural warmth. He moved in for a kiss, but she placed a gloved hand against his chest.

  “No kissing,” she said. She moved her hand downward, to his navel, then lower. “Lie down on the bed,” she said. She slid off the panties from beneath her dress as he unbuckled his belt. She climbed up on the bed. He reached out to touch her, but she caught his hand in her own.

  “No touching,” she said.

  She lifted her dress and lowered herself down upon him, letting out a small moan.

  “My God,” he gasped, “you’re…you’re so cold.”

  She gazed down at him.

  “Shut up, David.”

  ~

  He left just before daybreak, still buttoning his shirt and zipping his fly as he scurried out the door. She pushed down her black dress, laying on her back atop the lavish four-post bed. Her panties lay discarded on the floor beside her. She smiled. She’d spent so much time being used, it felt good to be on the other side for once.

  Outside, the sun was coming up. She closed her eyes.

  “You’ll need to hold still,” Zeke said. “What are we doing?”

  She sat in front of him, facing a dirty bathroom mirror. He had one hand on her shoulder, hair clippers in the other. She trusted his ability. His own hair, even jutting in all directions, looked somehow tidy. Controlled. Chaotic by design.

  “Something short.”

  “Yes?”

  “Something stylish.”