by M. D. Massey
She told herself that they were after someone else, but when the police car cut off her path, she knew that it was meant for her. She looked around, searching for an escape, but she knew this was it. Officer Brown headed toward her. Every time this douchebag saw her, he pulled her over. It didn't matter if she had a bike or not.
"Sasha Marks," he said, fingering the pistol on his hip. "That's an awfully nice bicycle. Now how does a girl like you afford a bike like that?"
"What would make you think that I can't afford a bike like this?" she asked curtly.
"Don't mess with me, Sasha. We both know that you hoisted that bike. And I'm sure I’ll have a report on it at any minute.”
He pulled out his plastic handcuffs and walked toward her. The cars in the street were whizzing by as he told her to get off the bike. He yanked her hands behind her back and zip tied them securely in place. He muttered her rights and threw her into the back of his cruiser.
"I didn't do anything," she objected. But Officer Brown didn't listen.
The radio in the cab of the patrol car scratched to life, the voice on the other end confused and frantic.
“All units, report to headquarters,” it rang out.
Officer Brown slid into the front seat of the car, lifted the speaker and clicked it on.
“This is Officer Brown. Please clarify,” he said.
“We have reports describing something similar to the events in New York and Chicago,” the woman on the radio said. “The chief has called everyone back for a briefing.”
“I have a suspect in tow,” he said.
Sasha squirmed in the back seat of the patrol car.
“Hey, Officer Brown, you can just let me go. You have more important things to do. I’ve learned my lesson. I won’t do it again.”
“Can it, Sasha. We both know that’s not true.”
“I heard the news from New York. It’s all anyone can talk about out on the street. Do you think it could happen here?”
“Last I heard, they’d contained the infection,” he grumbled, making an illegal U-turn in the middle of the street, leaving her hoisted bike behind.
She watched it longingly as they drove away. What a waste! She could have gotten at least a few hundred bucks for that thing on the black market. Now someone else would take it.
As they made their way down the street, the dispatcher’s warning became more real with each yard they drove. People were running in the opposite direction, followed closely by an army of undead ghouls running after them.
“She wasn’t kidding,” Sasha remarked.
Officer Brown began to groan in the front seat, the sound a sickening combination of gargling phlegm and a frothing dog.
“Officer Brown?” she asked, growing concerned. He was an asshole cop who was always harassing her, but he was also a human being.
His face snapped back toward her, a gruesome hiss coming from his mouth. Sasha leaned back, her eyes wide with shock.
“Officer Brown?” she asked again, this time at a whisper.
He chomped at the bulletproof glass that separated them. Still buckled into his seatbelt, he could barely move from his place. That didn’t keep him from biting at her through the crack in the sliding window. Sasha moaned and inched away from the horror show in the front seat. As the undead outside hurried after the living, the cop car swerved wildly onto the sidewalk, smashing into a café window. Sasha’s head slammed backward and then forward, slapping the glass separating her from Officer Brown.
Blood trickled down her face as darkness crept around the corners of her eyes. She blinked, trying not to pass out. The throbbing in her head and the fuzziness of her vision made it hard to concentrate on where she was or what she should do. The zombie residents of the café crept from the broken front window and climbed out into the street, joining the throng of undead chasing after the living.
Sasha whimpered, looking around her to devise a plan. She’d been living on the streets for three years, ever since she’d run away from her deadbeat mother and her mother’s cokehead, pedophile boyfriend. Better to take her chances on the streets than to live in that mess. He’d never gotten his mitts on her, but it wasn’t for lack of trying.
Sasha muttered a string of swear words she used as a mantra when frustrated. It usually worked to calm her down. The throbbing in her head cooled down just enough to allow her to think more clearly. Officer Brown continued his guttural groaning and snapping at her through the window. Luckily the safety glass between the cab and backseat had remained intact. She examined the car and found the back window had sustained a crack from falling debris.
Sasha twisted herself around in the backseat, her arms still helplessly strapped behind her back. Resting her head and shoulders against the median between the back and the front seats, she pulled her legs up to her chest. Officer Brown desperately snapped at her, inching closer through the opening in the window. He was pulling himself out of the seatbelt and would soon be freed. She took several quick breaths and slammed her feet into the back window. The pain reverberated up her leg like an earthquake. A gasping groan slid from her lips and a tear slid down her cheek.
“God damn, motherfucking, shit!” she yelled, repeating her swear mantra.
She pulled her legs back again, determined to get herself free. She wasn’t prepared to die at the hands of zombie cop Brown. She kicked out again, her heels connecting with the cracking glass. The pain sliced up to her hips, but she could see the impact crack had grown wider. Groaning and gritting her teeth, she prepared to kick the window a third time. Officer Brown slid his chest from the seatbelt and pushed his face through the open window, chomping like a rabid dog and foaming at the mouth. Sasha pulled further away from him, desperation building in her chest.
She kicked again. This time the crack extended throughout the window and the entire pane of shattered glass fell into her lap. She desperately flopped forward and inched out of the opening like a worm with her hands tied behind her back. The broken glass sliced into her chest and shoulders, but she pulled herself out and slid across the back of the patrol car. Landing chest first on the ground, she grunted and rolled to her side. She took a deep breath and struggled to her feet, head spinning.
She crept to the opening in the cafe, looking up and down the street as she went. A few groups of zombies knelt over the corpses of the fallen, gleefully pulling out intestines and chomping on flopping bits of skin.
She backed up and turned into the cafe, hoping to find a better escape out back. Jumping over fallen tables and chairs, she landed on a pool of spilled milk and slid down the hallway toward the bathrooms. She pushed through the swinging door into the kitchen, and found the cook feasting on the bus boy. The back door was open to the alley, the light of day and freedom beckoning her.
The zombie cook’s head snapped up at the sound of the door swinging open. Blood coated his face and white chef’s coat. Sasha froze in place, cursing herself internally, but the zombie seemed more interested in the swinging door than her. He lunged toward it and she took the chance to run past him and out the back door, stopping long enough to slam the door closed behind her.
It latched just before the cook smashed against it. She heard him hit the wood as she scrambled down the alley. She knew this part of town like the back of her hand. If she could just get back to the small room where she squatted with a few other homeless kids, she’d be able to get out of these zip ties.
At the end of the alley, the street was clear of the dead, so she dashed over the pavement in the direction of her derelict parking lot. After she’d run about five hundred yards, she heard groaning and shuffling feet behind her. Turning her head to look over her shoulder, she saw a group of zombies running toward her.
They were fast. Maybe as fast as her. She had a lead on them, but with her hands tied behind her back, she didn’t know how long that would last. Pumping her legs as hard as she could, she rounded the corner and continued down the abandoned street. The city was eerily quiet,
the traffic lights directing motionless cars. The people still trapped inside grotesquely snapped at her as she passed.
As she rounded a sharp corner at a crammed intersection, a hand reached out from nowhere and grabbed her, pulling her into a minivan. Sasha screamed and kicked at her attacker. A hand covered her mouth to mute her screams. As her eyes adjusted and focused on his face, she realized he wasn’t a zombie. His long brown hair hung in thick dreadlocks around his handsome face, a scraggly goatee on his chin. He was maybe a few years older than her, wearing a sleeveless Grateful Dead t-shirt and cargo shorts.
Outside, the herd of zombies passed without noticing she’d disappeared.
“Why are your hands tied up?” he asked, reaching into a toolbox in the back of the van.
“Arrested.”
“Oh? What did you do?”
“Stole a bike,” she said with a sniff.
He gave her a hard look, and sighed, pulling a pair of wire cutters from the toolbox.
“What?” she demanded, giving him back his disdainful look.
The world had just been overrun by an army of undead, now wasn’t the time for judgment.
“I loathe bike thieves,” he said, cutting her free. “Always said they should be strung up like horse thieves.”
“Whatever,” she said, rubbing her wrists. “Thanks for saving me. Now that everyone is dead, I’m sure you can have whatever bike you want.”
7
Muffled screams echoed off the walls of the basement as Neville Thomas Wagner stepped slowly into the gloom. His captive had spat out her gag.
“I see you are awake,” he said, looking down into the pit.
She looked up at him with sheer terror in her eyes. How he relished that haunted expression. It made it all worth it at the end of the day. He couldn’t wait to play with her. The scars on her arms had probably healed enough to slice open again. Then he’d let her scream all she wanted. His dick got hard just thinking about it.
“Does the girl want to play?” he asked her.
She backed up across the pit, gasping and whimpering like a pathetic whore. He licked his lips. This was going to be so fun.
“Please, let me go. My husband will pay you whatever you want. I’ll do anything. I won’t tell anyone. Just please let me go?”
“I already have everything I want,” he said slowly.
She broke down in sobs, falling to her knees and covering her face. They’d had this conversation every day since he’d brought her here. You would think that eventually she’d catch on. No one ever claimed women were intelligent creatures. Least of all Neville. He knew better.
All the woman he’d brought here... they were all the same. Whimpering, pleading, stupid sluts who would do anything to get free. Several of them had offered to fuck him nicely if he just let them go. That was the biggest turn-off of all. Those ones he lost interest in keeping alive. But he did enjoy killing them slowly.
When he opened an artery and let them bleed out drop by drop, he marveled as the color slowly slid from their faces; how the light faded from their eyes. Those images kept him going between victims. When he needed to conjure the feeling, he’d look at the meticulous photographs he’d taken of his sessions. It almost always ended in frantic masturbation. The photos were never as satisfying as the real thing, so he would inevitably be compelled to find another.
After all his years of careful killing, no one had ever suspected him. His work as an real estate appraiser was a perfect source of victims. The trick was to never associate himself with his prey. He chose closed cases, served by a variety of appraisers, years before.
This new girl lived in a house that had recently been sold. The house had been appraised by his company ten years ago, so he had a perfect impression of the layout from the images in the case files. All he had to do was watch and wait. Wait for the husband to be gone. Wait for the lights to go out. It always amazed him how many people left their doors and windows unlocked at night. Other people’s stupidity was his gain.
The girl continued to plead. Her naked flesh glistened with sweat and grime from the pit, the bandages on her arms stained with her blood.
“It’s time to come out and play,” he stated.
“No,” she said flatly. As he lowered the ropes into the pit she began to scream, “No!” Over and over again, as if he’d change his mind if she said it enough times. It only made him harder than he had already been.
Neville hooked himself into his harness and rappelled down there. She cowered in the corner, all blubbering and muddy curves. He grabbed her by the top of the head, and swung her across the pit, smacking her head against the dirt and stone wall.
She cried louder then, the sound of despair and hopelessness alive in her sobs. He grinned, his dick twitching. He pulled the rope toward her and hooked the manacles around her wounded wrists. She bellowed in despair as he let go of her.
Neville hooked his harness back to the climbing ropes and pulled himself out. Once at the top, he unhooked himself and moved to the wheel, cranking the girl up by her wrists. She screamed in agony the entire time. When he’d pulled her clear of the pit, he put a wedge into the wheel and removed her manacles from the chain.
Pulling her up to her feet, he tugged her across the basement and threw her down onto the gurney, chaining her body down onto the freshly laundered sheet. He congratulated himself on his attention to hygiene as he contemplated the instruments on the tray beside the gurney. He had access to wholesale medical supplies, a life saver when it came to his work. Torture was harder than it seemed in the movies.
Neville slid his finger tip across the implements, trying to decide where to start. He chose a simple scalpel and sliced off her bandages. The flesh underneath had just begun to heal. He smiled at his prior handiwork of crisscrossing cuts, just deep enough to inflict real pain, but not deep enough to kill her. Not yet. He wasn’t done playing with this one.
She thrashed about against the restraints, screaming and carrying on. He sighed with exasperation. Pulling the ball gag from a drawer behind him, he considered if he wanted to quiet her. Usually, he enjoyed the screams when he played with them, but today, the constant wailing was getting on his nerves. He needed some peace and quiet to contemplate his handiwork.
“Why can’t you just be quiet,” he said, sliding the gag over her head.
“No,” she groaned before the ball slid into her mouth.
“There, much better. You look so lovely, my dear,” he said, admiring her grime-smeared flesh as saliva rolled out of her mouth around the gag. “Just perfect. Now you will be a pretty little lady. I’ll keep you with me forever.”
He held the scalpel in her line of sight. Her eyes rolled back in her head in fear just before she passed out.
“Well, damn,” he muttered.
He set his scalpel down on the tray, considering what he’d done wrong. Had he neglected to feed and water her enough? No, that couldn’t be it. He had her feeding on a strict schedule. Had the bitch refused to eat? That was possible. They got stubborn like that sometimes. If they didn’t eat, they didn’t have the strength to withstand his games.
He peered into the pit and shined a flashlight into the gloom. Sure enough, he saw a pile of food hidden behind the water bucket. He returned to his captive and rubbed her forehead with the pad of his thumb.
“You’ve been naughty,” he stated.
He pulled the smelling salts from the tray and waved it under her nose. Her eyes fluttered open. She began to squirm so violently he was worried she might break free of the restraints. She coughed deep from her lungs, barely able to breathe through the ball gag on her mouth. She’d been fine yesterday when he’d lowered her water bucket into the pit.
Blood oozed from around the sides of the ball, streaking over her cheeks and chin. He held the scalpel lightly in his right hand, nearly forgotten as he stared at the blood streaming down her face. She began to choke and shake, her body convulsing. He put down the scalpel and pulled off the gag.
If she choked to death, this would all be a waste of time.
She gasped for air, and her ragged cough sprayed blood all over the white sheet under her. He stood back, avoiding the spray as he crossed his arms and scratched his chin, considering what to do now. He’d heard of this cough all over town. Talk of a virus had been in the news, mixed with the latest celebrity gossip. Neville hadn’t given it much thought. He had other things on his mind.
The girl had been in the pit for a week. How had she gotten sick? Why hadn’t he? With one final groan, she went rigid. Her eyes went glassy as her body grew still. In a panic, he put his fingers to her throat. No pulse. Great, just great, he thought. He began to pace the room, trying to figure out how he’d let her get infected.
Was she sick when he’d brought her here? Was it in the food? The water? Had he carried it in on his clothing? Or the air? There was no way of knowing. The news didn’t know either. He’d only heard of a few deaths from the virus so far. Mostly foreigners. He didn’t take it any more seriously than the last Ebola outbreak that stirred everyone up for a few months and then fizzled out of the news cycle. As he stared at the girl’s dead body, he realized this was much worse than he’d expected.
The girl who had been dead a moment before began to jerk against the restraints, groaning and gnashing her teeth. Neville grabbed a scalpel, the surprise catching him off guard. He circled the girl, and her glassy white eyes followed him, her teeth snapping. Blood oozed from her mouth.
Fed up with all the ugliness, he stabbed her right in the heart, hoping to put an end to it. But she didn’t stop. Completely undeterred by the scalpel in her chest, she frantically snapped and bit at him. Then he became concerned. She was surely dead. No one could live through a scalpel in the heart.
Her once pretty face was smeared in the black, clotted blood that poured from her mouth. Her eyes had gone stark white, and she snapped her blackened teeth like an angry turtle. He couldn’t take it anymore, so he picked up the sledge hammer he used to break bones. Hefting it in his arms, he considered where to hit first. With a weary sigh, he lifted the sledge and slammed it down onto her forehead. He skull gave a satisfying crack and the monster went silent.