Serial Killer Z: Shadows

by Philip Harris

  The day passed slowly. I alternated between lying on the bed and wandering the apartment, trying to convince myself to leave. I had the answers I was looking for when I came back to the city. Someone, probably Jon, had retrieved my leather case and put it on the coffee table. I could take it, leave the apartment and the city, and go back to my life in the forest. I could head south to avoid winter.

  At one point, I picked up the scalpels and started to leave. I got as far as the door but stopped with my hand resting on the handle. There were a dozen reasons to stay. It was far safer in the city. Eduardo had said that Seattle had been overrun. For all I knew, there could be a swarm heading toward us. I had a place to stay, good food, and clothes. Cali might expect me to spend some time with her, but that was a small price to pay for my own space.

  I ended up compromising. I’d do as I’d promised and stay for a few days to rest and build up my energy reserves. I could use that time to find out what was going on outside the city and decide on the right course of action. Then I’d leave.

  Just before eight o’clock, I found the suits Cali had mentioned along with a dark gray shirt, and dressed. I considered, then discarded the idea of wearing a tie. There were shoes, too. They were a little uncomfortable, but my boots didn’t really go with the suit.

  I knocked on Cali’s apartment door at exactly 8 p.m. She opened the door herself. She wore a sleek black dress and high heels, and carried a small silver purse. I couldn’t imagine her looking any less like the medical researcher I’d worked with. Or less like a killer.

  Cali looked me up and down, nodding appreciatively. “Very nice.”

  She hooked her arm into mine and guided me toward the elevator. Jon followed along close behind. He was wearing a suit, too, similar to the one he’d been wearing when I’d first met him. He closed the door to the penthouse, and the three of us rode down to the garage and the SUV.

  Cali had two glasses of champagne poured before we were out of the garage. She handed me my glass and drank half of hers in one go. I took a more restrained sip of mine. She gave me a reproachful look.

  “Where are we going?” I said.

  “It doesn’t really have a name. It’s a bit more… exclusive than where we were last night. Most people just call it The Club.”

  I immediately wished I’d chosen to leave.

  Cali patted my leg. “Don’t worry, you’ll have fun.”

  I forced a smile.

  I’d expected Cali to interrogate me about my day’s activities, but she didn’t. She seemed content to look out the window and drink her champagne.

  I finished the last of my drink as Jon pulled up outside a cinema. When I’d last been there it had been showing obscure, limited release movies and documentaries. Now, the windows and doors had been boarded up. Large red Zs had been spray painted on the wooden panels.

  Jon turned off the engine and we got out of the car. There was a double beep as he locked the SUV.

  “Actually, Jon,” said Cali, “I spoke to P.K., and she’s limiting the numbers tonight.”

  Jon frowned and glanced at me. “What?”

  “I’m really sorry, I tried to convince her, but you know what she’s like.”

  Jon pursed his lips. Hostility radiated off him in waves, all of it headed in my direction.

  Cali apologized again.

  He hesitated for a few more seconds, then gave a sharp nod and got back into the SUV. Cali turned on her heels, slipped her arm through mine, and walked me toward a narrow alley that ran down the side of the cinema.

  The air was heavy with the smell of oil and rotting vegetation. We passed a dumpster overflowing with garbage, and Cali stepped carefully over some vegetables that lay scattered across the ground. Our surroundings didn’t seem to concern her. She slipped her arm through mine and gave it a squeeze, her eyes sparkling. About halfway down the alley, we stopped at a door. It too was marked with a Z, this one in silver paint. A metal plate was set into the door at about head height.

  Cali knocked on the door, three hard raps that echoed around us. With a metallic click, the plate slid open. Cali waved at the opening, a broad grin on her face. The plate closed again. The door rattled and swung open, revealing a man with thick, ginger mutton chop sideburns. He was big, twice as wide as me, and his black suit strained under the pressure of his bulk.

  “Good evening, Ms. H. Good to see you again.” His accent was cultured, the crisp pronunciation at odds with his bouncer’s appearance.

  “Good evening, Harvey. This is my friend, Mr. B.”

  I nodded to the bouncer. He returned the gesture as he stepped back, allowing us inside. Once we were in the building, he closed the door. Metal rattled as he locked it. He sat down on a stool and began reading a magazine.

  We walked down a short corridor and through another door. The cinema’s exterior gave the impression of an abandoned, potentially zombie-infested building. The reality couldn’t have been further from the truth.

  Beyond the door was an extravagant lobby. Huge crystal chandeliers hung from the ceiling, bathing the room in warm yellow light and illuminating dozens of art deco sculptures that lined the walls. The lighting wavered slightly, but it did nothing to lessen the impact. Thick, red carpet covered the floor. A bar made of luxuriously polished mahogany ran along one side of the room. Behind it, three young men with Hollywood faces served drinks to the club’s visitors who stood in small clusters of three or four, dotted around the lobby.

  Cali waved at someone, a middle-aged woman wearing a thick fur coat. The woman had massive rings on each of her fingers, and they caught the light as she waggled her fingers at Cali.

  Cali leaned close to me. “That’s Mrs. A. Her husband is the sickly-looking beanpole next to her.”

  She was right. The man next to Mrs. A. was tall and thin, his gray flesh glistened with sweat. He mopped his brow with a handkerchief, but it appeared to have little effect.

  “P.K.!” Cali squealed.

  She swung me around to face a woman who appeared to have stepped straight out of a 1920s speakeasy, complete with black beaded dress, a matching black cloche, and a cigarette in a long black holder.

  The woman hugged Cali. “Sweetie! I’m so glad you could make it.”

  She stepped back and looked me up and down. “And who do we have here?”

  “This is my friend, B.”

  P.K.’s mouth twisted into a lascivious smirk. “A friend? I see…”

  She switched her cigarette into her left hand and delicately offered me her right. “My friends call me P.K. and any friend of you know who, is a friend of mine.”

  I shook her hand. “Pleased to meet you.”

  P.K. held my hand for a second or two longer than was strictly necessary then returned her attention to Cali. “No Jon tonight?”

  “No, he couldn’t make it, unfortunately.”

  “That’s too bad. Tell him I said hi.”

  “I will, thank you.”

  P.K.’s attention shifted again. Her mouth opened in an O, and she let out a gasp. “Sorry, sweetie, I have to go be a gracious host. You two have a fantastic evening, we’ve got a real treat lined up for you.” She grabbed my arm and gave it a squeeze. “So glad you could come.”

  Then she was gone, leaving me oddly disoriented.

  Cali watched P.K. go. She smiled and slowly shook her head. “Don’t be fooled. She’s a sharp businesswoman. One of the few people who managed to carve out a niche when the city went to hell.”

  I watched as P.K. zipped around the room, deftly making everyone feel important.

  I was still trying to understand mankind’s obsession with power and connections, even when faced with the unimaginable, when P.K. clapped her hands and shouted, “Good evening, everyone. Tonight’s event will be starting shortly, so if you’d like to go through into the auditorium and find a seat. I would hate for you to miss anything. We have a remarkable treat in store tonight.”

  A murmur of excitement rippled through the assembled
crowd, and everyone began walking with exaggerated nonchalance toward the door.

  Cali put her arm on mine. “We’ll wait a couple of minutes.”

  She watched the groups walk past us. The majority of them seemed to know each other, but there were one or two couples who walked alone, their faces tight with nervous excitement.

  We waited until there were just a handful of stragglers in the lobby, then went through the door ourselves.

  Chapter 24

  Monstro

  We found ourselves in a large, open auditorium. A circular stage about four feet high and at least forty feet wide dominated the room. The outside was ringed with ropes, like a boxing ring. There was a rectangular shape in the middle, covered by thick black velvet. A scattering of round tables with matching chairs lay dotted around the stage, and a dozen or so booths ran down each side. Most of the tables were full, and the air was filled with the babble of conversation. I glanced at Cali, uneasy. She was scanning the room, her eyes flicking from table to table.

  There were a couple of empty booths. Cali pointed toward one of them, and we went to it and sat down. A waiter appeared almost immediately with two glasses and a metal bucket containing ice and a bottle of champagne. He placed them on the table and deftly poured us both a drink before disappearing again.

  Seconds later, the lights in the room dimmed and thunderous rock music drowned out the chatter. The music quickly rose to a crescendo. Floodlights hanging above the stage burst to life and revealed a bald man in a black suit, white shirt and blood red tie. The music finished. A cheer rose up from the crowd.

  Cali leaned over to me. “That’s Otto.”

  Otto raised his hand in greeting, and the noise died down.

  He lifted a microphone to his mouth. “Gooooood evening, ladies and gentlemen, veterans and newcomers alike. Welcome to The Club!”

  A round of applause filled the room. The noise faded when Otto lifted the microphone to his mouth again.

  “We have a wonderful event planned for you this evening. Regulars will recognize some faces. First timers will get to experience the very best The Club has to offer.”

  He paused for a few seconds, letting the tension rise before continuing. “As always, I’d like to thank everyone here for their kind donations. Your contributions will of course go to the most deserving of charities and help underprivileged zombies get the start in life they deserve.”

  The chuckles that ran around the room seemed more polite than anything, but a young man seated at a table near us roared with laughter loudly enough that the woman with him blushed and looked nervously around.

  Otto waited until the noise had died down again then raised a hand, two fingers pointed upward. He flicked it forward. The lights in the room dimmed to almost darkness. The stage became a glowing beacon. Music rose—a barely audible orchestral rumble.

  Otto leaned forward conspiratorially and spoke in hushed tones. “Ladies and gentlemen, without further ado, I present to you… The flesh eater… The bone breaker… The one you love to fear… Monstro!”

  He turned toward the center of the stage and swept his arms upward. The black velvet covering the rectangular object ascended quickly into the darkness. Smoke billowed outward. The music rose to a crescendo, drums and violins and piano united in an orgy of musical excess. Thin beams of white light cut through the darkness, sweeping back and forth across the stage as the smoke dispersed to reveal a glass box containing the biggest zombie I’d ever seen.

  It was like looking at some bizarre exhibit in a museum of the macabre.

  The zombie was well over seven feet tall. It wore black overalls covered in dozens of rectangular pieces of body armor. There were dents and scratches in the plates and thick gray pus seeped over the edges, staining them. A helmet completely covered three-quarters of its head, leaving only its jaws visible.

  The creature turned slowly around. There was no urgency in its movements, and the normal desperate thirst for human flesh seemed to be missing. It was just looking at the audience that was cheering and shouting, chanting its name—“Mon-stro! Mon-stro! Mon-stro!”

  Otto reappeared, seemingly from nowhere, gliding through the smoke. The music faded.

  “Ladies and gentlemen, please.”

  The chanting died down.

  Otto walked slowly across the stage. Monstro watched him, but there was no sign the zombie was going to try to attack the man.

  “Now,” Otto said, “without further ado, let’s bring on the challenger.”

  Fresh music began to play. This time it was electronic—just keyboards and a low, rumbling bass. It was in sharp contrast to the orchestral excess of Monstro’s entrance.

  “Ladies and gentlemen… Give it up for Falcon!”

  The room erupted in a chorus of cheers.

  A spotlight swept across the audience a couple of times, then settled on a doorway at the back of the room. A young man walked through it. He moved with a confident swagger, his mouth curved into a broad grin.

  I’d thought the crowd had given Monstro a hero’s welcome, but the cheers and clapping Falcon received seemed almost loud enough to physically lift him up and carry him to the stage. He walked across the room, giving out high fives as he passed the tables.

  He was dressed in black leather from his feet to his neck. At least four knives hung from the belt around his waist with one more clipped to the side of each of his boots. Four small daggers, handles pointing downward, were in sheaths attached to a pair of leather straps that crossed his chest. He held a black fencer’s mask in one hand. He circled the stage, his arms outstretched, flicking his fingers upward to encourage the crowd.

  The tables of people who had, just a few minutes ago, been the picture of calm sophistication had turned into a pack of baying dogs. Men and women alike hammered on the tables or stamped their feet or both.

  One woman got up and ran to Falcon, her arms outstretched. She threw herself at him, wrapping her arms around his neck and pulling his face toward hers. She planted an enthusiastic kiss on his lips then turned and ran back to her seat, arms raised in triumph. The crowd let out a roar.

  Falcon finally ascended the stage. Slowly, he approached Monstro’s glass case. The zombie watched him, still not responding but obviously aware that this was someone it needed to pay attention to. Falcon placed his hands on the case, then leaned closer to the glass until his face was pressed right up against it.

  Monstro’s attack was quick and violent. It threw itself at Falcon, its helmet smashing into the barrier. It jammed its mouth up against the glass, smearing black ichor across it. Again and again, the creature threw itself against the side of the case but the glass held.

  The crowd burst into a fresh wave of exuberant cheering. Falcon kept his face pressed against the glass for several seconds, then turned and raised his arms, soaking in the adoration.

  I looked across at Cali. She sensed me looking and turned. She smiled at me for a few seconds then returned her attention to the stage.

  Otto approached Falcon, his hand outstretched, and the two men shook. The roar of the crowd gradually died down.

  When the room had finally descended into something approaching silence, Otto raised the microphone to his mouth again. “Thank you, thank you. I’m sure I speak for the mighty Falcon when I say that we are truly grateful for your support. You are the reason why Falcon spends hours every day honing his skills. You are the reason we track down the most dangerous dead in the country and bring them here.” His mouth curved into a broad smile. “You are the reason I drive a Ferrari.”

  Laughter echoed around the room.

  Someone called out, “A pink Ferrari!” and the laughter increased.

  A flicker of annoyance passed across Otto’s face before he continued. “So, thank you. And now, the time has come for us to unleash the beast, to free the fear, to tame the terror.” He paused, leaning toward the crowd. “It’s zee time!”

  The lights went out.

  Chapter 25
/>   Zee Time

  Panic surged through me, but a moment later, Monstro’s case was bathed in bright white light. The zombie looked up at the spotlights. Another spotlight flicked on, this one illuminating Falcon. He stood at the edge of the stage, the fencer’s mask on his head, a huge machete in each hand.

  It took me a handful of seconds to realize Monstro’s case was gone. A few more seconds after that, the zombie realized it, too. It let out a low moan and charged across the stage toward Falcon. Despite its bulk, the zombie moved quickly, its footsteps thundering.

  Falcon swung the machetes, sweeping them back and forth in an X shape in front of him. Light glinted off the blades.

  The audience was silent, but I could feel the tension in the air and see the shadowed forms of people leaning forward toward the stage in anticipation of the fight to come.

  Falcon struck first. As Monstro reached him, he ducked and swept one of the machetes across the zombie’s knee. Metal clanged against metal. Sparks flashed. A muted gasp came up from the crowd. Falcon spun out of Monstro’s reach.

  The zombie’s momentum carried him past and into the fencing around the stage. Falcon swept one of the machetes at Monstro’s head, but either by luck or design, the zombie shifted position just as the blow came down. The blade slammed into its shoulder and embedded itself in the joint between two pieces of armor.

  Monstro let out a deep-throated growl and swept its arm down on Falcon’s wrist. It was a heavy, lumbering blow, but Falcon was too slow. He had to let go of the weapon or risk broken bones. The machete clattered to the floor.

  The zombie pressed its advantage. It took two massive steps toward Falcon and swung a meaty fist at his head. Falcon ducked but put himself off balance. He staggered back and almost fell. A gasp rippled through the audience.