The Ashleigh Rhodes Chronicles (Book 1): Dark Rhodes

by Michael Canon

  As I finished my assessment of him, I realized he was just sitting there staring at me.

  “Is this a game to you?” I exclaimed, sick of asking the same question.

  I think he realized I was getting pissed off. He walked over to join me on the couch.

  “My name is David Walker, please call me Dave. You can consider me a friend. I can help you understand and control your new body and abilities.”

  I asked, “By your little stunt on the bridge, I guess you’re like me?”

  “Not exactly like you, but close,” he replied, as he pulled a wicked looking combat knife from a sheath on his belt.

  I was on guard, but let him continue. He flipped the knife, handing it to me butt first, “Slice your left forearm just enough to draw some blood.”

  I raised my eyebrows and looked him in the eye, before taking the knife. I ran it across my left forearm and watched a thin line of very dark indigo blood follow the blade, with the wound healing right behind the trail of blood.

  Dave took the knife from me and cleaned it with a small alcohol wipe. He drew the knife across his left forearm. I watched as a thin line of red tinted black blood followed behind the blade, his wound healing slightly slower than mine. Black blood could only mean one thing!

  “Holy Hell! You’re one of them!” I exclaimed, involuntarily sliding to my end of the couch.

  He stood, cleaning the knife again, before putting it away. He started pacing across the small living room.

  “Not quite. I almost became one of them. I remember feeling myself slipping away as the virus invaded my system. But as I was turning, I was exposed to an agent that had profound effects on how the virus affected my body. It stopped or changed the process before the virus killed and reanimated me.”

  “What agent?” I asked.

  “It has to do with your DNA, I’ll explain more later,”.

  I had a feeling there was more to this than he was letting on, but he was talking, so I didn’t press the issue.

  Dave sat down next to me again and continued, “Like you, I breathe, I have a heartbeat and a pulse, and I eventually need to sleep. But I can only feed on the living, not both the living and the dead like you do. You can eat a lot of food I can’t. 99% of what’s out there is a no-go for me.”

  I frowned, “No food at all?” I said sadly.

  He shook his head in the negative and said “Nope, it comes right back up, violently, it’s not a pleasant experience. I can handle raw non-human meat in very small quantities and whey protein powders if they don’t have a lot of added sugar and crap. I cried the first time I had one, and it stayed down. It’s the only flavored thing I’ve had since turning. I’m not sure why I can’t handle regular meat since the undead can eat anything with a heartbeat. I can drink water, too.”

  Not being able to eat food was so sad, but the water made sense. Hydration seemed to be just as important to zombies as it was for humans. All the times I watched Georges tip their heads back in the rain, I never realized what they were doing until I watched one drinking from a roadside puddle. This was also the first time I made the connection between the zombies need for water and my family living in Tucson. Maybe the dry, desert Southwest gave them a small edge. It also meant that the zombies and the survivors would be vying for the area’s limited water resources.

  Dave pulled me from my internal speculation as he continued, “From watching you in action I know you are much stronger and faster than I am. I almost stepped in when you were ambushed by those six Hunters a few weeks back, but you handled them pretty well. We’ll need to work on your technique some, though; you are a little rough in your execution.”

  “You’ve been watching me?” I interrupted, “Why?”

  Dave frowned, obviously searching for the right words before he continued “I was hoping to be there to help you and the others escape the Davron building. But I was away, trying to get as much as I could in order before society fell. I lost track of you after you left those Lazarus Group people.

  I found you again before you met up with the group near Lee, Massachusetts, but I got ambushed by a large group of Speed Demons. I spent three days hiding from, and hunting them, then I had to lay low to heal up.”

  I was curious, “Why did it take so long, you heal almost as fast as I do?”

  He replied, “I was in bad shape after the zombies. You can feed on the undead, I can’t. I’m also very selective in who I will prey on. I had to wait for someone that fit the right parameters. I got lucky when some human assholes with blue Mohawks stumbled onto my hiding place.”

  He paused to drink some water, the continued, “By the time I was healed enough to travel again, you were gone. I found out you had left with some kids, to take them to find their uncle. I wasn’t sure if you were coming back to the compound, or heading west. So I waited just across the Massachusetts/New York border. I lost you again, but picked you up at the Pennsylvania border.”

  I was instantly put off with him. I said acidly, “So it took you from there to half the way down Pennsylvania to show yourself? What, did you enjoy the view when I cleaned up so much you were waiting for a rerun?”

  He didn’t blush - not sure he could, but he did look completely embarrassed.

  He stammered, “Before I found out what you did in Lee and how you helped those kids, I was worried about what type of person you had become. I needed to know what the turning did to your, your…”

  “To my what?” I demanded.

  “Your soul!” he yelled as he stood, pacing the floor again,

  “I was afraid you’d turn out like the assholes we’re on the way to kill, or worse! I was afraid I’d have to kill you!” with abject pain and desperation on his face.

  I looked at him sheepishly, apologizing without words.

  He continued, “When I realized what you’d become, but you still cared about others, I thought there might be a purpose to all that has happened to me.”

  I was a little confused with the level of his emotions, but I guessed turning affected us each differently.

  “It’s late, let’s get some more rest. Tomorrow morning we’ll gear up, and I’ll talk as we walk. There are people that need our help, and I can’t stand bullies, especially bully rapists.”

  The kindness on his face drained away, replaced with a grim mask of certain death. I shivered involuntarily, instantly pitying anyone this visage was directed at.

  55

  In the morning we collected our gear and left the small cottage home as we found it.

  I said, “I’m still confused how you knew I might become like you.”

  He explained, “The reason you survived has to do with a unique genetic marker in your DNA. I’m not an expert, so don’t ask me to explain it more than that.”

  I paced in a quick circle, fuming, and exclaimed, “How the hell did you know I had it in the first place?” Myers’ cold fire washed over me like a tsunami, and I embraced it.

  He replied, “Because I have it, too, and we have people worldwide looking for it. We try to place people inside of companies we don’t own to search for this marker, as well as keep an eye out for the Charon Z-Virus. This genetic marker appears to be hereditary to you, mine wasn’t. I’m a former Marine, my best guess is the marker was introduced to me due to a blood transfusion on the battlefield. Which is probably why we are different.”

  He continued, “I wasn’t stalking you as an individual. Like I said, we have people all over the world searching for the marker because of the terrible potential it could hold. There were two guys in the Bismarck area that have it, half a dozen in Oregon, as well as others around the U.S. I was trying to find anyone that could become someone like us.”

  As we walked, and Dave talked, I took in the Pennsylvania landscape. I marveled this area looked almost untouched by the fall of society. The road was 2-lane narrow with large, old growth trees lining both sides of it. The branches from these large trees gave the road a covered appearance. The houses that lin
ed the street were all set back from the road, with big front yards and long driveways. I half expected to see people washing cars or doing yard work as we walked down the road.

  “The group I work for created multiple shell companies across multiple countries using multiple identities. Our goal was to prevent this from happening, or try to be as prepared as possible if it did. I had family members involved; when they passed, I took over.”

  I jumped at my next thought, “You’re part of the Lazarus Group!”

  He shook his head no, “No, our group provides a lot of funding for Lazarus, but it’s too closely linked to many of the world’s governments for their liking. I had a friend at the Lazarus Group get the vehicles for you. We employ certain people on the inside, to help keep track of things. Diana Leeds is one of them.”

  I did a double take and grabbed his arm.

  “Diana! What happened to my friends? I had a whole group of people I escaped from the Davron building with.”

  He replied, “The last time I spoke with her she said everyone you arrived with is safe. They have been taken to an undisclosed area to wait out the apocalypse. Due to protocols set up by others, they are incommunicado for now.”

  I felt like a thousand pound weight had been removed from my shoulders.

  “So, Diana knew what had happened to me?” I asked.

  “Yes, she was looking forward to training you, and to understand how it happened in the first place. But the facility folded much faster than she intended.”

  I frowned, and said, “Just so you know, I won’t be anyone’s guinea pig.” in a voice that was as cold as space.

  He raised his hands and said, “Never going to happen. You have my word on it.”

  I was waiting for him to continue when a low whistling noise caught my attention. As I sought out the source of the sound, I was thrown forward and suddenly felt intense pain coming from the right side of my back and chest, just below the collar bone. The pain was so intense I could barely breathe, never mind scream. I thought I had been shot, but never heard any gunfire.

  I heard Dave shout my name as I felt myself being lifted off my feet. I looked down at my chest so see a large, bony hook had impaled me back to front, with about a foot of it sticking out of my chest. The hook made it impossible to get to my M4.

  As I was lifted skywards, I saw what impaled me. This new zombie variant looked like something out of an HR Giger drawing, or Lovecraft novel. It was about 20 feet off the ground and had its back to the trunk of the tree, like a grotesque figurehead on a ship. Its lower body was thin, almost emaciated, but the monster’s shoulders, chest, and arms were thick with added muscle. Both arms were bent backwards around the tree’s trunk at inhuman angles. The zombie’s hands and fingers were enlarged, the fingers ending in massive black claws that dug deep into the tree on both sides.

  The monster’s pelvis was twisted 90 degrees, the leg and foot in the front had been repurposed to create the long prehensile hook that was sticking out of my chest. The zombie’s other leg and foot matched the creature’s arms and hands, giving it a third appendage to hold onto the tree with. It was covered in rough tree bark-looking skin that blended in well with the tree it clung to.

  My right arm was not working properly, so I used my left hand to pull my knife out of my right boot, trying to sever the leg-hook appendage with it. The creature’s rough skin was as tough as real tree bark. The creature snapped the middle of its appendage at my hand, knocking my knife to the ground. I screamed and cursed as the movement sent a new shockwave of fiery pain through my back and chest.

  I heard a commotion and swearing behind me. Looking over my shoulder, I saw Dave struggling with two of these horrific new zombies. His Glock 9mm was on the road 10 feet from him. His left forearm had been skewered in the same fashion as my chest, giving him only one hand to fight with. His right hip bore a ghastly wound, black blood staining his jeans. A second hook was waving back and forth like a snake while Dave held it off with his combat knife.

  Refocusing on my own predicament, I turned to face my zombie captor. The creature hissed at me, having figured out I was a threat, not just a meal. Its remaining foot started to detach from the tree. I was really not looking forward to being on the receiving end those massive claws. I couldn’t get to my M9, so I pulled my backup .40 from its holster on my left ankle. Being impaled at the end of the zombie’s hooked tail made aiming difficult. My first two shots missed, one leaving a furrow in the side of the creature’s head. The zombie snarled and hissed at me.

  “Yeah, Yeah, fuck you, too!” I replied.

  Firing again, putting two of three .40 hollow points through its skull. I fell to the ground, still ran through by the dead zombie’s hook. I recovered my knife and hacked through the tough skin, sinew, and tendons that made up the creature’s deadly tail. No matter how hard I pulled, I couldn’t remove the hook from my chest. It just wouldn’t move.

  I reacquired Dave, he had severed the hook on his second opponent, the hook-less tail spraying black blood as it whipped around. With its tail wrapped around his right arm, he was engaged in a grisly tug of war with the zombie who impaled his left wrist.

  Following the zombie’s tail up the tree, I found my target. Firing left handed, the gun roared four times before the deadly tail went slack in Dave’s hand. I holstered my gun and set to work cutting Dave free. We paused for a moment, both of our chests heaving from stress, exertion, and adrenaline, Dave pointed to an empty, more importantly treeless, home lot about two houses behind us. We retrieved our dropped weapons moved to the lot as fast as our damaged bodies would allow.

  Falling to the ground, Dave said grimly “It’s barbed, so you’ll need to pull it through, not backwards.”

  I grimaced at the thought of having to do this to my own injury. Looking around, I saw a large garage behind the house to our right.

  “I’ll be right back.”

  He followed my gaze and nodding tiredly, flopped on his back again as I started walking towards the shed. Too tired and stressed to deal with formalities of a locked door, I kicked it just below the knob as hard as I could. The door frame splintered as the door blew inward on its hinges. Surveying the contents of the garage, I sighed gratefully, mentally thanking its former owner when I found a large pair of pliers and some larger garden shears. I grabbed the tools and hurried back to Dave.

  He looked up at me as I approached. “Will I live Doctor?” he said with fake anguish.

  “I’m sorry Sir, but you’re already dead,” I replied with mock sympathy.

  I used the shears to snip the zombie’s tail flush with his forearm, and the pliers to pull the barbed hook through his arm. Free at last, Dave went to his large pack. He removed four full medical blood bags, laying them on the ground.

  After I removed my jacket, he attempted to perform the same procedure on me, but even after placing a booted foot on my shoulder for added leverage, the hook wouldn’t move.

  He said grimly, “I think a barb is stuck on your collar bone. I’m going to have to go in to remove it.”

  He went back into his pack and removed a large leather roll. He untied it and spread it out next to me. I recognized most of the medical tools within it. He selected a large scalpel and handed me a wooden dowel wrapped in leather.

  He was all business “Bite down on this, screaming too much won’t improve our situation.” As he cut, I thought I was going to pass out from the pain.

  “There it is. I was right, it’s hooked on your collar bone. We’re almost done.” he said triumphantly.

  I watched him select a pair of medical shears, I felt and heard the shears as they cut through the barb, immediately releasing the hook’s tension. Dave used the pliers to pull the remains of the hook through, throwing it to the far side of the lot.

  Dave handed me two blood bags and said, “My own formula, tastes like shit, but it will help us heal and doesn’t need refrigeration.”

  Sitting down next to him, I popped the end of the fir
st bag open and drank. He was right, it was foul tasting, but I drank both bags anyway. I could feel my body healing the massive damage to my right side. Lying back in the tall brown grass, we let his blood concoction do its job.

  I broke the silence, “OK if any of these fuckers start flying, I’m done!”

  Dave laughed quietly as he stood, grabbed his rifle and headed back towards the road. I stayed where I was, letting my damaged torso heal a little longer before I had to move. After a few minutes I heard his rifle discharge twice, and then the area got quiet again. Dave returned about 20 minutes later, dragging one of the hooked monstrosities behind him.

  I said, “Man, you’re choice in women sucks.”

  “Hey, you’re going to hurt her feelings.” He replied as he dumped the zombie carcass next to me. “Even dead she was a bitch to get out of the tree; I had to break a couple claws to get her to drop. I bet they don’t move much after they get situated.”

  I studied this new zombie variant closely. I asked “Are they all female?”

  He nodded in the affirmative, “At least all I found were female. I would be surprised if they weren’t all related.” I was amazed that the virus was able to make such drastic changes to a human body so quickly.

  Dave said, “Now that I know what to look for, I checked every tree for another 100 yards down the road and found nothing. I really hope there aren’t a lot of these around because they suck.”

  I nodded in agreement, “Yeah, they kinda ruined the whole commune with nature thing for me.”

  Dave continued, “Since you got hit first, what do you want to call them?”