Serial Killer Z: Shadows

by Philip Harris

I rolled my eyes in exasperation. “I’m sorry, that’s the wrong piece of paper.” I patted my pockets then sighed. “I must have forgotten to pick it up.” I backed away from the desk. “I’ll have to go get it and come back. I’m really sorry for wasting your time.”

  The woman glanced over my shoulder at the soldier.

  “Thank you,” I called and hurried toward the door.

  The soldier hadn’t been watching the exchange. He was focused on a young man walking toward the building from across the street. I pushed open the door. The soldier took hold of it and held it open. I thanked him and walked as quickly as I dared around the corner, desperately trying not to look back.

  I walked two blocks before daring to check behind me. I was expecting to see the guard trailing me but the street was almost empty, and none of the people I could see were heading in my direction. The rain was coming down heavier now. I found the nearest unoccupied store—a retro clothing boutique that looked to have been ransacked a long time ago—and ducked beneath its awning.

  I was no closer to knowing who had signed the pass or why. I dug through my memories again, still trying to unearth the name. Nothing. I’d had a teacher in third grade called Mr. Chinson. It was close, but he was old even then. He’d certainly be dead now.

  A car raced by, its wheels almost leaving the road as it roared across the next junction and down the hill.

  I shook my head. I should ignore the pass. Maybe there’d been a misunderstanding, a miscommunication somewhere up the line, and I’d ended up on a list in place of someone else. Or maybe a good Samaritan had just randomly picked my name.

  The idea it might be a ploy by Faraday to get me out of the camp began tickling the back of my mind. One of his soldiers could be following me, ready to kill me at the first opportunity.

  I tried to dismiss the thought, but it stuck there, stubbornly refusing to be ignored. I glanced down the street. Two men were walking up the hill toward me. They were moving quickly, shoulders hunched against the rain, hands stuffed into their jacket pockets.

  I began walking again.

  A couple of cars rolled past, but the road was clear when I got to the next junction. I cut across the street. I could see the reflection of the men in the window of a hairdresser’s. They were looking up and down the road, checking for traffic before they crossed.

  My heart rate quickened. So did my pace. I walked around the next corner and had to force myself not to run. If they knew I was on to them, they might call for backup or start shooting. There were no more convenient store windows. Not knowing where they were was gnawing at my nerves. I moved to the edge of the sidewalk, as though I was looking to cross again, and looked behind me.

  The men were on the opposite side of the street. They’d stopped walking and were talking to a woman with a pink umbrella. None of them were paying me any attention. I stayed on my side of the street and took the next turn anyway.

  I jogged along, my boots splashing through the puddles. I took another couple of corners until I was sure the men weren’t following me then slowed again.

  Was I being paranoid? Why would Faraday bother to send someone after me when he could just have found an excuse to have me killed in the camp? He hadn’t expected the pass, though. It might have gotten in the way of his plan and forced him to change tactics. Why would he be trying to kill me, though? Had Lucy convinced him I was that dangerous?

  I searched for the shadow, hoping its calming presence would help me deal with the situation. There was still no sign of it. I’d have to deal with this myself. But how?

  At times like this, I always went back to first principles.

  I’d come to the city to find whoever had stolen my scalpels. I should be focusing on that. It had to be someone from my past; they’d used my real name and told me it was time to come home. That made them part of a very small list of people. The chance of any of that small list just happening to be in the same part of the forest as me was remote at best. There had to be something more going on.

  Frustration growing, I ran my fingers through my damp hair. Whoever it was must want me to find them. Or they were planning on finding me. The question was how? And why not just come get me from the camp?

  I stopped walking and almost slapped myself on the forehead. They’d told me exactly where to go: home.

  I checked the street for cars, then headed east toward my old apartment.

  Chapter 13

  Home Sweet Home

  At some point since I’d left the city, my apartment building had been reduced to a burned-out husk. All that remained of the four-story building was the ground floor and half of the second. A few blackened posts jutted up into the sky; the charred ribs of the rest of the building. Remnants of yellow police tape hung dejectedly from the corners of the carcass. The wood nailed over the door and ground floor windows was warped and stained where the elements had taken their toll. A river of sooty rainwater streamed down the concrete path that led to the front door. The fire had spread to neighboring buildings. They hadn’t been as badly damaged, but they still had their own strips of police tape.

  I stared at the building, searching for some emotional reaction. My apartment was gone. I supposed I should feel sad. I’d lived there for over fifteen years. It had been my home. A lifetime’s worth of possessions had been in that building.

  I felt nothing.

  I watched the stream of grimy water run across the pavement and into the gutter. I couldn’t remember even thinking about my apartment and the belongings I’d left behind since I’d gotten out of the city. That part of my life had been lost well before the fire claimed it.

  A gust of wind sent rain rolling down the street. The water was ice cold, and I shuddered and tightened the zipper on my jacket.

  Did the person I was trying to find know my apartment had been destroyed? Maybe I’d been reading too much into the message and their reference to my home. They might have just meant the city itself, not this specific place.

  Another blast of wind sent fresh chills down my spine. I needed to find somewhere to go. At the very least, I had to get out of the rain. I should have asked the woman at the Internal Migration office where I could stay. Or maybe Jasper. He’d seemed eager to help.

  I continued down the street past another building that had been almost entirely consumed by fire. All that remained was a pile of blackened rubble. A wreath lay wedged between two chunks of concrete, the plastic flowers covered in dirt.

  When I reached the end of the block, I stopped. I felt lost. I’d left the cave filled with rage and determination. The events since then—the departure of the shadow, the zombie horde, Faraday’s camp—had sapped me of any real drive. I needed to find my center again, my sense of purpose.

  There was only one place left that held any meaning to me at all: Hunter Neurologics Research. I turned east and began to walk.

  I’d spent nine years working at Hunter Neurologics. It had never felt like home, not exactly, but as I walked across the parking lot toward the main entrance, I felt a pang of nostalgia. Not for the company itself or the people. For the clarity.

  Back then my life had been simple. I’d spent the days pretending to be a normal human being and the nights researching, stalking, and, ultimately, killing my subjects. The disparate shards of my life had fitted together perfectly. There was no overlap, no confusion.

  And then I’d received the video. Fifteen minutes of secretly recorded footage of me killing a man—Derek Hinkler. The existence of the recording had shattered my carefully constructed life and changed everything.

  As I got closer to the entrance, I found myself unconsciously scanning the ground. There were a few patches that might be old blood stains but could just as easily be my imagination looking for meaning where there was none. There was no police tape this time, and the building was intact.

  I pushed against the door. Some part of me, the part that was used to working in this building, had been expecting to be able to walk right in but i
t was locked. I cupped my hands against the glass and looked inside. The interior was dark, and there were no signs of life.

  A couple of chunks of rock lay near the door. I briefly considered trying to break in, but I doubted they’d make an impact on the toughened glass. Instead, I walked around to the entrance at the side of the building. It was mostly used by maintenance staff. It was how I’d gotten out the last time I was there. A handful of cigarette butts were scattered on the ground nearby. Someone, presumably the smokers, had propped the door open with a block of wood. I went inside, careful to ensure the door didn’t lock behind me.

  I found some light switches just inside the door and flicked them on. Weber had told me the city had power, but I was still surprised when LED lighting flooded the corridor with harsh light. My heart rate increased as I made my way toward the main lobby. Being back in this place was resurrecting memories that had been buried a long time.

  The lobby was far cleaner than I’d expected. The dust on the floor and the receptionist’s counter was undisturbed, but there was no vandalism, no graffiti, none of the urban decay I’d expected to find.

  I started toward the stairs that would take me up to the offices where I’d worked, then changed my mind and went through another door toward the main operating theater.

  The door to the main lab was closed but unlocked, and as soon as I opened it, more banks of lighting turned on. I went inside, through the monitoring room and into the operating theater itself.

  It looked… normal. A gurney sat in the middle of the room, plastic sheeting pulled tight across the padded top. Monitoring equipment was stacked neatly on carts. The metal trays that had held instruments and the serum we were developing during the experiments were empty but stacked neatly on the shelves. The floor was dusty but otherwise clean.

  It was a stark contrast to the last time I’d been here—the day of the outbreak. Then, the floor had been slick with blood from the corpse of Jack Hunter, the head of Hunter Neurologics and the man responsible for pioneering the coma research that had led to the creation of the first zombie. Fittingly, he’d been the first victim, too.

  I looked through the observation window into the room beyond. The glass was clean. There was no smeared blood, no hand prints. There was a centrifuge I didn’t recognize, but otherwise the room was just as it had been when I’d worked there. Just as it had been when I set that first zombie free.

  “Good afternoon, Edward.”

  I started at the voice and whirled toward the door.

  Instinctively, I reached for the gun at my belt then remembered I was unarmed. There was only one way out of the lab, and the new arrival was blocking the door.

  Chapter 14

  An Old Friend

  It took me a few seconds to recognize the woman standing in the doorway. Her name was Cali Hart. She was one of the researchers I’d worked with at Hunter Neurologics. She seemed a little thinner, but her black hair was still cut short, still artfully untidy. She wore more casual clothes—new looking jeans, a white T-shirt, and a black leather jacket—rather than her lab coat and slacks.

  Cali’s eyes flashed with amusement.

  I struggled to decide which of the dozens of questions running through my mind to ask first. In the end, I settled on something safe. “What are you doing here?”

  Her eyebrows raised. “No ‘Hello Cali, glad to see you’re still alive?’”

  “Sorry, I— You startled me. I wasn’t expecting anyone to be here.”

  She laughed. “Don’t worry about it. Small talk never was your thing. I was looking for you, actually.”

  Half a dozen more questions roiled in my mind. “But how did you know I’d be here?”

  “I figured you’d go somewhere familiar once you got out of the camp.”

  Realization dawned on me. “You got me the pass.”

  She nodded, and my confusion deepened.

  It must have shown on my face because she said, “This is a small city now, much smaller than it was. New arrivals tend to attract attention. I heard there was a man that sounded a lot like you at the camp. Once I’d confirmed it was, I arranged a pass.”

  “But who’s Rex Cho?”

  “Just a friend in a high place.”

  “That still doesn’t explain how you found me here.”

  “I figured you’d go to your apartment, so I had a friend wait for you. He followed you here and called me.”

  I’d been followed? Anger welled inside me.

  “I’m sorry, I’m not trying to intrude. I know you like your privacy—so do I—but I want to help you.”

  I opened my mouth to speak, but I didn’t know what to say so I closed it again.

  The silence stretched between us for a few seconds until Cali spoke. “Now would be a good time to thank me.”

  “Sorry. Thank you.”

  She dipped her head slightly. “You’re welcome.”

  I couldn’t help glancing toward the observation room. Cali was still blocking the door and after months of struggling to stay alive in the forest, I’d grown wary of being cornered.

  “It’s getting dark,” she said, “do you have a place to stay yet?”

  I doubted she needed me to answer, but I shook my head anyway. “No.”

  “There’s plenty of room in my building. I can set you up with your own suite.”

  My immediate reaction was suspicion. Cali and I knew each other, yes, but it was purely a workplace relationship and a distant one at that. Despite my extensive qualifications, I’d been sidelined at Hunter Neurologics and mostly given menial work far below my pay grade. It had suited me, but meant I was largely ignored by the rest of the researchers.

  “Why are you helping me?” I asked.

  “Because we were friends before the outbreak, and it’s good to see a familiar face.”

  How could she think we were friends? Cali and I had rarely worked together and our social interactions were limited at best. We’d speak maybe once or twice a day if we ran into each other in the corridor or at the coffee station. Other than that, the only time we talked was if we were discussing the work.

  I held Cali’s gaze, trying to read her face for any sign that she was lying or maybe joking. I couldn’t tell which it was until she started laughing.

  “Okay, we weren’t friends,” she said, her voice laced with humor. “I have an ulterior motive.”

  Suspicion rushed back to the front of my mind. The idea this was an elaborate trap orchestrated by Faraday for his own twisted purposes hit me again.

  I moved toward the door. “I think I’ll do better on my own.”

  Cali held her hands out to stop me. “Hold on, let me explain.”

  “No. Thank you for your help, but I need to find somewhere to sleep tonight.”

  “Please—”

  “No!” My voice came out harsh, but Cali didn’t flinch. I was almost at the door now, and she hadn’t moved. I locked my eyes on hers and tried to look determined.

  After a few seconds, she stepped aside without speaking.

  I walked past her, through the observation room and out into the corridor. I could hear her following me as I made my way back to the lobby. The animal part of my brain was convinced she was about to literally stab me in the back. It wanted me to turn and defend myself. I almost did.

  Cali must have come in through the front doors because one of them was propped open. Outside, a middle-aged man was leaning against the front of a black SUV. He was dressed in a black suit with a dark blue shirt and a scarlet tie. He was bald, but his jaw was covered with a thick layer of graying stubble that looked out of place next to the suit. It looked like he was her chauffeur.

  I went outside and when he saw me, the chauffeur straightened up. His hand moved toward his jacket.

  “It’s okay, Jon,” Cali said from behind me.

  The man relaxed slightly, but he watched me closely, clearly poised to step in if I caused any trouble. I didn’t recognize him and was pretty sure we’d never m
et, but I got the distinct impression he didn’t like me. It didn’t matter. My only concern was to get away from this place and find somewhere safe to sleep.

  The rain was still falling and thick clouds obscured the setting sun. A chill wind cut across the parking lot, slicing through my jacket. As I stepped out of the lee of the building, a gust of wind slashed rain across my face. I flinched against the cold.

  Jon stood beside the rear door of the SUV. As I approached, he pulled on the handle. The door clicked open.

  I shook my head. “I’m not coming with you.”

  His only reaction was to look over my shoulder at Cali.

  “Wait, please.” she said. “The weather’s terrible. At least let me take you for a meal. My treat. Then we’ll give you a ride wherever you want to go.”

  The wind battered me again, as though siding with her.

  The offer was tempting. I was hungry, and I had no idea whether food was as freely available as clothing. I’d be foolish not to take her up on the offer. The dire nature of my situation finally sank in. I was in what amounted to a strange city—I knew the layout of the streets but little else. I had no money or whatever passed for it in this corner of the post-apocalyptic world. I had no contacts, no idea how to find food or shelter. Without help, I was going to starve or die of exposure. And that was assuming I wasn’t murdered in my sleep for my precious pass.

  I was out of my depth, and Cali knew it.

  I stopped beside the SUV. Up close, it gleamed. The little light available was captured in the highly polished bodywork despite the rain. It was a far cry from the vehicles I’d seen outside the city. Was Cali one of the privileged few that Mason had talked about?

  She walked up beside me. “Come on, Edward. I promise I don’t bite.”

  Again, the use of my old name caught me off guard. It made sense, she’d only ever known me as that, but it reinforced the alien-ness of the situation I’d gotten myself into.

  Jon opened the door. The interior light came to life, glowing like a beacon in the storm and illuminating the pale leather seats inside. It looked warm, dry, comfortable. There was even a bottle of champagne chilling in a metal bucket. Two champagne flutes sat beside it.