by Jack Parker
"We'll keep to the side-streets. The main roads will be crawling with them, I bet." John said, still wincing every now and then from the bite on his wrist. He still hadn't shown any sign of infection.
We passed a series of little shops, and I examined their contents. There were clothes, sofas and televisions. The window had been broken in and someone had helped themselves to a TV.
How stereotypical.
"How far are we now?" I asked John, who began to consult his map with one hand.
"There's still quite a bit to go, but I'd say we're about halfway there." replied John, pointing to another corner that we had to turn.
Walking onto the next street, we noticed a decent number of infected scattered here and there across it. John motioned for us to get down and one-by-one, we assumed a crouching position behind an overturned white van, waiting for John to say something.
"Shit.. There's a lot of them." Dave cursed, flicking his cigarette across the road, where it hit a puddle and fizzled quietly. This action had seemed to have given John an idea, as he grabbed a relatively large stone from the ground and lobbed it over the van.
There was a loud smashing noise as the stone found its way through a large window, the sound was followed by a shrill alarm which blared out, echoing through the street. Peering around the side of the van, I saw all the infected dash over to the source of the noise, climbing into the store.
John suddenly dashed from car to car, motioning with his free hand for us to follow, and we made our way over to him, stopping here and there as John made sure the coast was clear. We were still crouched down low, to avoid bringing any unwanted attention to ourselves.
It was still there, that feeling of being watched. That presence.
Turning the corner onto a square park area, there were buildings visible beyond the trees. There wasn't a single infected in sight as we tread our way across the muddy grass, towards a couple of benches in the middle of the park. We decided to take a little break and relax on the benches.
"We must be more than halfway now, I think." John said first, pulling back his sleeve to examine the bandages around his wrist, where little spots of blood could be seen, having bled through the cloth.
"I hope we all, it looks like it could snow again." Dave sighed. The last thing we wanted was to have to trek through more snow, it wasn't exactly the best terrain to fight your way through the zombie apocalypse on.
We sat there for a few minutes, chatting casually. We pulled out drinks from our bags, cracking one open, I began to sip at it and turned my head to face Paul as he spoke.
"I remembered this park, always seemed out of place to me." he said, taking a swig of his water, before placing it back in his bag.
"What can you expect from this city? It's not exactly the heart of architectural design." John stated, wiping the blade of his kukri with a piece of clothing he had found on the floor, wiping the blood away.
"Not really the heart of anything." I muttered, my distaste for the city was apparent in my tone of voice.
That's when it happened. Out of nowhere, a voice called my name, echoing from above. A few birds flocked out from the trees, flying into the sky above us as the voice called again. I looked around to determine the source of the noise.
And then I saw him, a black silhouette on top of the building at the end of the street, he was waving around a thin object in his hands, but I couldn't make out what it was. I know who it was straight away, but had no idea what his motives were.
All I knew was that the 'Executioner' wanted me.
Chapter Ten
Day Six (26th December – 11:32AM)
Several minutes later, we were running through a series of narrow and dimly lit side-streets that ran through a section of office buildings. Noticing a door that was open slightly, we ducked into the shelter of an office complex.
The sound of shoes and boots pattering against the tiled floor rang through my ears as we carefully trod our way up a flight of stairs.
My mind wandered back to a few days before this had all even begun. Sitting at my desk, I had been reading an article on a certain serial killer and his apparent move north. I remember feeling odd about the whole scenario and about how something just didn't seem to sound right about the latest killings.
No hiding place would be good enough.
"Quiet now, don't want to make too much noise." John whispered to the rest of us, still taking the lead and still fine, apparently. John had been the first to take action when he heard the shouts in the park. We all agreed that it would be best to flee, and so we did.
But now we were silent and slow, crouching down to the ground as we slowly walked past the cubicles and desks that littered the floors of the building. One-by-one, we climbed a flight of stairs as quietly as we could.
The sun hung high in the sky above us as I peered out of a window, examining the rooftops of the buildings nearby. Seeing nothing, I continued to follow John and the others onto the next floor.
Our eyes were met with the sight of two infected, rambling to themselves, thrashing their arms through the air as they shouted. They had yet to see us, and we crouched down low again. There was one on each end of the room and John pointed at me to take out one of them while he got the other.
"No guns, be quiet and we'll be fine." he said in a hushed tone of voice, gripping the handle of his kukri as he began to make his way over to one of the infected, weaving through the cubicles and desks that lay between them.
I pulled out my cleaver and slowly paced forwards a few steps, ducking down into a cubicle as the infected I was after turned around. Waiting for a minute, I heard the shuffling of feet and a quiet groan as the infected turned to stare out of the window.
What was I? A ninja?
Ducking out from behind the cubicle, I continued my little game of stealth, moving past a copy machine as I heard a quiet sound of something hitting flesh. John must had dispatched his target already.
After another minute of sneaking around, I managed to get myself behind the infected woman, who was still staring out of the open window at the street below. I raised my cleaver into the air and grabbed the woman, planting it into her head. The woman twitched for a moment before going limp.
I let her fall to the ground before I gently pulled my weapon out of her skull, wiping it on her clothing before sliding it under my belt. Standing up, I closed the blinds over the open window, but as I did I thought I saw a shadow move past it, heading upwards.
"I think he's here!" I hissed at John, who smirked as he walked over towards me along with the rest of the group.
A sound like boots on metal could be heard for a second or two, and then there was silence. Somebody was definitely up on the fire escape, but I found myself unwilling to peer out of the window.
What could this guy possibly want from me? What had I ever done to invoke the wrath of a serial killer, I thought to myself as we huddled together once more, making our way towards the next staircase.
Dave accidentally bumped into me as we slowly, but surely made our way up the flight of stairs.
Dave was an interesting sort of person. My thoughts went back to only the other day when we had been sat around the fire, sharing stories of the world before all of this.
Dave had been a doctor for fifteen years, before that he had been an army medic, but he'd never told us where he had been stationed. When everything went to shit, he'd locked himself up in his house with his wife and kid. But unfortunately, his wife opened the door to a man calling for help, and got herself infected.
His wife turned within seconds and attacked her son before Dave put her down. Every now and then, when Dave thought nobody was looking, I could see an immense sadness play across his face and I wondered why he was trying to hide his feelings; it was a brutal piece of imagery.
Perhaps he was trying to be strong for us.
John on the other hand, I knew barely anything about. He had supposedly been some sort of private eye, a detective of sor
ts. But I was hard pressed to believe him as everything about him seemed kind of off. I hoped that he would tell his story soon.
Several seconds passed by as we calmly made our way up the staircase onto the next floor, which looked identical to the one before it; work cubicles scattered across it, but not an infected in sight. Perhaps there had only been the two we encountered before.
One could only hope.
Every so often, I would wonder if the infection had reached my home town, and with it my father. Father led a solitary life in the quiet little town, keeping himself to himself. He only had a few friends, which he saw rarely.
Despite all that had happened between us, I felt a pang of sorrow when I realised that he may not have survived. I didn't harbour hatred nor grudge against my father, but we didn't exactly see eye to eye most of the time.
"So what do we do now? Why did we even come in here?" Paul hissed at John, who shrugged before speaking.
"Think about it, we're more exposed out there then we are in here!" whispered John, glancing over his shoulder at the rest of us.
He was right in a way, though we may have made more headway continuing through the alleyways. It didn't really matter that much anyway, since I was pretty certain that the person outside had gotten into the building.
We continued our little journey up the building, reaching the second to last floor; light filtered through the blinds and all was quiet. In the middle of the room lay a corpse, whose head had been sliced open, his brains exposed for all to see. I felt a little sick just looking at it.
"You're sure he's in here?" Dave asked me in a hushed tone of voice, trying to mask his anxiety. As much as I didn't want to say it, I had to nod in acknowledgement. I was certain that he was here.
"Why is he after you?" Claire enquired curiously, though she was as clueless as I was. I had no idea what a serial killer of all people could want from me. Perhaps I was merely his next target.
I sincerely hope not.
"Of all the things to run into, a serial killer? That's just great. Really, great." Paul sneered sarcastically, glancing up the staircase to the next floor.
"I think it's perfect." John said calmly, blinking a few times as everyone looked at him in bewilderment.
"Why do you keep saying this is a good thing!?" I asked, unable to contain it any longer.
"I have my reasons, you'll find out soon enough." John retorted, still as vague and mysterious as ever. That was one trait I just couldn't stand.
Then, as we all crouched down on the floor, huddled together like a flock of sheep, I heard it. The calling once more, calling my name.
"Now, now. Would Mr. Fletcher come to the manager's office. Alone." a voice called from beyond the staircase to the last floor, there was deliberate emphasis on the word 'alone'.
I climbed to my feet, my fingertips crawling up my jeans until they reached my pocket and wrapped themselves around the handle of my handgun, gripping it relatively tightly.
"You're not seriously going to listen to this maniac, right?" Dave uttered, looking up at me in apparent shock.
"Why not? I'll be fine." I replied, making my way over to the staircase. John grabbed the back of my jacket as I walked past him, pulling me back into a crouching position as he whispered a request into my ear. I raised an eyebrow in curiosity as he pushed me forwards.
"You're crazy, man." said Dave, staring down at the floor.
"I know." I chuckled, spinning the handgun around on my finger for a second or two before gripping it tightly once more, flicking the safety off.
First step.
Placing my foot on the first step, I began to climb my way up the flight. One hand on the railing and one clutching my weapon, I made my way up the last few stairs.
Last step.
I felt a sudden feeling of dread as my foot touched the last tiled and grubby step. What the hell was I doing? Did I have a death-wish or something? I was just going to walk into a room with a serial killer and expect to come out fine?
I hesitated for a minute, looking over my shoulder at the rest of the group, who exchanged worried looks that they shot at me. Gulping loudly, I swung open the double doors at the top of the staircase, which creaked and whined loudly as I closed them behind me and span around.
There he was, sat on a fancy desk chair with his feet propped up on the desk.
"Why, hello there Mr Fletcher. Please take a seat." the man said, motioning to an empty chair in the corner of the office.
What the hell am I doing?
Chapter Eleven
Day Six (26th December – 12:03PM)
There's no time to think.
Swinging my arm upwards, I steadied the aim of my handgun to point at the head of the strange man sat at the desk before taking a second to get my bearings.
I can only act.
There he was, slouched back in his fancy office chair, legs across the desk like he owned the place. He was clean-shaven and didn't look like he would stand out in a crowd at all; it was the perfect disguise for what he did.
"Hey now, can't we just talk? What's all this pointing and anger?" he chimed merrily in a sing-song tone; he reminding me of John, it would be a sickeningly accurate impersonation.
"Talk? Why should I talk to you?" I retorted, tilting the handgun slightly in the air, placing my finger on the trigger.
The instant I slid my finger around the trigger, the atmosphere in the room changed drastically. There was a brief blur of colour as the man stood up, grabbed his weapon and placed it to my neck; it happened in less than a second or so. He was insanely quick on his feet.
The weapon was a long, curved sword with an elaborate hand-guard. It appeared to be a katana of sorts, but I was no expert on the identification of bladed weapons; I knew only one thing.
I had to have it.
"Are we done playing games? Let's just sit down and have ourselves a little chat now, Mr. Fletcher." he said, lowering his sword and striding back over to the desk, where he resumed his original position. I could have shot him there and then, but morbid curiosity was holding me back.
I lowered the gun and hesitantly sat opposite him in a more humble looking office chair, the sort you'd have at your desk at home; I had one just like it, before it all got blown up. I missed my apartment quite a lot these days. It may have been crummy and cramped, but it was home to me.
The Executioner really did look ordinary; he had short black hair, trace amounts of chin stubble. But there was something about his eyes, something was off with them. They were electric-blue, and seemed as though they were looking right through you at something in the distance, like x-ray vision.
"And what are we going to talk about?" I queried, curiosity taking over my mind once more. He merely shrugged, opening his mouth to speak.
"Not sure, I just wanted to meet you!" he exclaimed vaguely, he seemed to have some sort of ulterior motive.
"Why me?" I asked, still holding my finger to the trigger of the gun, which was now hanging idly at my side.
"There are a few reasons, but that would be telling! Let's just say I'm interested in you. And please, call me Lucas." said the serial killer, raising an eyebrow at my blank expression.
I had my poker face on, trying not to show my anxiety and the distinct fear for my life.
The way he dressed seemed oddly familiar. He wore a pair of baggy, dark green cargo pants, a black t-shirt and a hooded sweatshirt; he looked a bit like me, to be honest.
"First of all, who are you to judge who lives and who dies? So your victims are criminals, what gives you the right to kill them? Do you think yourself as a god?" I spat, narrowing my eyes at the man.
"God knows I don't want to be an angel, Ethan. Or a god for that matter! I'm simply the hand that justice uses to strike down those who go against it." Lucas casually responded, shrugging slightly once more.
"But your last few victims, they weren't criminals were they?" I asked, still clutching at my handgun, watching his every movement.
> "Oh but they were! Found not guilty in court, but I know they were." Lucas sang, leaning forwards in his chair a little, making it creak quietly. He had placed the sword back on the desk as we continued our little talk.
I seriously had to have that sword, it was wonderful.
"And that gives you the right to kill them? You're playing judge, jury and executioner!" I shouted, nearly standing up from my seat.
"That is where the name comes from, after all." the serial killer said, a smirk creeping along his face, it was eerie.