by Ryan Casey
“Wait!” Kane called, brushing some of the rotting flesh from his khaki bomber jacket.
The man kept on walking. Then when he realised Kane wasn’t going to stop following him, he stood still. Turned around. “You should find someplace else to stay. Someplace safe.”
“I just wanted to thank you. For what you did back there. I—I’m so clumsy. You saved my life.”
The man narrowed his eyes. Grunted.
Then he turned and kept on walking.
Kane wasn’t expecting the man to be quite so steely to break down. But it didn’t matter. He liked a challenge. He was in the mood for one. It’d been a long time since he’d had a challenge like this. He was going to make the most of it.
“I don’t have any place to go,” Kane said, stumbling as he tried to keep up with the man’s long strides. “My—my wife. She got taken back there. And I was in a bigger group, but they all got ripped apart. But the ones with the long, sharp teeth. You know. The demons.”
The man stopped again. He stared at the grass below. “You can find someplace safe. There are places over to the west. Log cabins, unoccupied. But you can’t follow me.”
“Please,” Kane said. He reached out to touch the man’s arm.
The man swung around, knocked Kane’s hand back.
“You don’t follow me. You don’t follow my family.”
Family. Kane felt tingling inside.
“I need food,” Kane said. “And my—my feet. They’re blistered. Blistered bad. I just need some place to stay.”
“It’s not happening—”
“Just for the night. Please. I’ll be gone before sunrise. I promise.”
The man narrowed his eyes. Kane felt him scanning him like he was looking for some kind of crack in his story.
“Okay,” the man said. “But you’re gone by sunrise. Or I’ll get rid of you myself.”
Kane smiled. Laughed. “Thank you. Thank you so much. I’ll make it up to you somehow. I promise I will.”
The man nodded. “Your name?”
Kane smiled. “Anthony. Anthony Williamson.”
“Nice to meet you, Anthony. I’m Bret.”
Bret. Good name. Good, strong name. He was going to enjoy Bret.
He followed Bret back to his home. It was a little log cabin, much like those you find at Centre Parcs, places like that. He followed Bret inside, wiping his shoes on the mat as he entered. When he walked in, he took a deep breath, and could smell the remnants of someone’s perfume, past or present.
“My wife, Nora, she’s through there. Grab some food, but not too much.” Bret threw down some of his supplies, his weapons. He tossed his jacket aside, revealing his muscular frame under a skinny fit T-shirt. “You’ll sleep on our bedroom floor, where we can see you.”
“Thank you,” Kane said, nodding. “Thank you so much.”
Bret tilted his bald head to one side. He still didn’t look totally impressed. “It’s not fine ’til I’ve run it past Nora. But I have a feeling she’ll open her arms to you, just like she does to everyone.”
Pity. Kane preferred a challenge, like Bret. A toughie, who like a hard nut, wasn’t easy to crack.
But he’d take whatever he could get right now.
“Do you have a bathroom?” Kane asked.
Bret nodded. Pointed to the left. “Up the stairs, first door ahead of you.”
Kane smiled. Nodded. “Thank you, Bret. Thank you so much.”
Again, Bret did that thing with his face. Scanned Kane like he didn’t know what to make of him.
And then he walked through into the dining area, where he went to chat with Nora.
Kane didn’t go up to the bathroom. He just stood there in the hallway, taking in the smells and the sounds of Bret and Nora chatting together. Then he walked over to the wooden cabinet to his right. He crouched down. Brushed the dust off the surface.
When he opened it, he found the long blade he’d stashed inside two nights ago, and he smiled.
See, he hadn’t done any running away from zombies. He hadn’t been with another group before now. He’d been watching Bret and Nora for days, and he could tell you right now that they weren’t called Bret and Nora—they were called Peter and Mandy, so he’d make sure they paid for that little inconsistency in trust. That’s why he’d told them he was called Anthony fucking Williamson. A lie told is a lie returned.
He pulled out the blade that he’d managed to sneak into this house so easily and wiped it against his jacket. He felt a tingling sensation creep up his arms. He’d done this so many times already, used it on so many. But Peter and Mandy were his first in a long time. His first with any real worth, anyway.
He walked slowly over to the kitchen door. Stood outside it, smelled the food cooking inside there—some kind of stew. He listened to Peter and Mandy chatting to one another, and if he closed his eyes, he could convince himself that he was part of a family. That he was just one of them.
But that thought brought a bitter taste. Because he wasn’t part of a family. He never had been part of a family.
And that’s why families had to pay.
Peter opened the door and walked out into the hallway. He was still chatting to Mandy.
He stopped, suddenly. Looked wide-eyed at Kane. “Anthony? What—”
Kane pressed the blade right into Peter’s stomach and he felt an instant release.
He dragged the blade across Peter’s belly. Dragged it across so it opened him up. He heard Mandy scream. Watched her lunge for her pistol as her husband’s innards dribbled out of the sack of his gut, as his crimson blood and wormlike intestines covered the perfect white tiles of the kitchen floor.
“I wouldn’t bother shooting, Mandy,” Kane said. Regardless, he heard the pistol clicking anyway. “I’ve taken care of that gun already. Should always check it’s loaded. Careless. Very careless.”
He saw the horror on Mandy’s face as she lowered the gun, then ran over to the back door.
He saw the life drifting from Peter’s face. The horror covering him as he tried to scoop his own innards back inside.
Kane smiled. “I’ll leave you to it, Peter,” he said, his body buzzing with electricity; with an unmatched adrenaline rush. “I have other things to deal with.”
He watched Mandy try to open the back door.
Watched her scrap and bang and try to get out, try to escape.
He stood there and listened to her screams, listened to Peter’s pained groans, and he felt perfection. He felt alive.
“Now,” he said, licking Peter’s blood from the blade. He stepped closer to Mandy. “Where was I?”
CHAPTER EIGHT
Kane walked away from the log cabin with a spring in his step and a beaming smile.
The morning was beautiful and clear, more beautiful and clear than the mornings usually were. He knew why, of course. Killing brought a kind of meditative clarity to his state of mind. A peacefulness to his thoughts that could only be described as euphoria. He knew this was what people must feel like when they’d just won football tournaments or had sex with the girl they’d been lusting over for years. Only to him, the feeling of adrenaline was much sweeter. Much, much sweeter.
The sun was bright, another fine autumn day in full tow. Peter’s jacket, way too big for him, hung heavily on his shoulders. All around him, he saw trees, and in the distance, a long, winding road that he would follow as long as he could. As much as many people tried to stay protected, it was amazing how many people stuck to the roads for their places of refuge. It was as if staying by the roads created an illusion of normality, somehow. Like it kept people at one with the world how it used to be.
Not that Kane was complaining. People sticking nearer to the roads meant people were easier to find.
Which meant people were easier to kill.
He licked his lips. He could taste the sweetness of blood against them, a taste that always ignited in his body an unmatched pleasure, as the birds sang all around him. His feet weren�
�t blistered like he’d convinced himself they were. Well, a little rubbed, but nothing too intense. Plus, it wouldn’t matter if he’d just taken a knife to the gut. He was in euphoria state right now. Nothing could break through that.
He knew he’d have to make the taste of blood and the buzz of the kill last. After all, it’d be a long time before his next one. Sure, he could kill a few people on the road. Take them down and get a temporary release, much like masturbation. But the beauty was in the real deal—the sex. Watching someone. Watching them for days, for weeks. Getting so used to watching them that you feel a part of their family; that you feel bonded with them.
And then, making them trust you.
And then, killing them.
He kept on trotting down the road, whistling with delight. There was something bothering him, though, but he was trying not to let it break his euphoria. He’d killed Peter. He’d had a lot of fun killing perfect fucking muscular fucking cunt fuck fuck Peter with his fuck cunt face.
But Mandy.
He’d gone to kill her. But as he’d looked down on her, begging away in that pitiful fucking way they always do, he’d felt something. A weird kind of attachment. He’d felt sorry for her. An emotion he wasn’t sure he was comfortable with.
He’d stabbed Mandy in the hands. Got a bit of fun out of her. But then he’d let her crawl away from the log cabin. To probable death? Sure. But he hadn’t killed her directly. For the first time in his career, he’d let a victim go.
He wasn’t sure why. He wasn’t sure what it was he’d felt when he’d held off killing Mandy when she’d looked up at him with her doe eyes.
But he’d let her go. Which meant he’d have to more than make up for it with the next people he came across.
After walking a few more miles down the road, he stopped. Looked out at the vast landscape ahead. The fields. The buildings. The roads. All of them so quiet. All of them standing there like they didn’t house any life at all. But they did, of course. Life was all around him, even if it was in its dead form.
And where there was life, there was Kane to snuff it out.
He hadn’t always been like this. Well. There was a spell between the age of one and like, eight, where he felt like a pretty normal kid. He got beaten by his parents, sure. Got abused by his stepfather, right. Even got his head flushed down the toilet a bazillion times at school. Granted, the casual serial killer setup.
He’d never tortured any animals, though. God, who’d do such an awful thing? Animals were beautiful. They were innocent and wonderful, not like humans. He’d never wet the bed either. He’d shat it, just the once, but he didn’t remember seeing anything about shitting the bed in the serial killer handbook, so he figured he was quite the anomaly.
Oh. Wait. He might’ve burned an ant with a magnifying glass once. But come on. Hasn’t everybody?
He took a sip from the flask of water he’d taken from Peter’s house. Ahh, Peter and Mandy. He missed them already. Missed watching them sit together in the kitchen. Missed them clearing the area of zombies, looking like they enjoyed it. He missed the little moan she made when Peter made her climax, which, credit to the guy, was pretty regularly.
But now it was time to move on. Now, it was time to find someone else.
This time, he wasn’t going to hold back.
He looked down at the village in the distance. Imagined all the life within. All the people he could kill. All the lives he could ruin. Usually, after a kill, he was like a lion. He’d take some time off. Bask in the joy of his actions, his hunger satiated.
But this time, he wanted to build on what he’d achieved. Especially after letting Mandy go. He wanted to make up for that error. What even was it? Had he bonded with her? Had he felt sorry for her?
Or had he seen a flash of a life that he really, deep down, wanted to live, in Peter and Mandy?
He laughed. Shook his head. Then he put the cap back on the flask and stood up, whistling away.
He looked down at the village once more. Smiled.
And he walked down towards it, blade in hand.
He had work to do.
CHAPTER NINE
Spud never trusted anyone, not even before the monsters started walking the world and ripping people to pieces.
It was warm, way warmer than Spud’s summer holidays used to be, even though it was later in the year than that. He wished he’d got to enjoy proper warm summer holidays. The last few had been rubbish. He’d spent all his time inside playing FIFA, which sure, he probably would’ve done anyway even if it was sunny, but that wasn’t the point. It was just typical that the sun was here now when there wasn’t the world around to enjoy it. When all his friends were dead. When his home was gone.
The place he lived now with his mum and dad was nice, though. It was a little farm just outside a village in the Lake District. They were surrounded by hills on one side, with a long road leading down from it so they could always see what was coming. On the other side, there was Lake Windermere, which Spud liked to swim in to cool off after a day. He didn’t have a bad life considering the rest of the world was falling. He had it okay.
He just wanted something… more.
He listened to the sounds of the birds singing as he walked over from the farmhouse to the greenhouses. The farmhouse was more of an old barn that’d been turned into a proper luxury home. He liked it in there. There was an Xbox and lots of games, but obviously there wasn’t any electricity, and they had to save the generator for more important stuff so he didn’t get to play on it much. He didn’t mind. He liked reading the manuals, really studying the covers and the cases. Sure, he used to get bored, but not so much now. He was okay now. He was just happy to be here.
He walked past the outhouse, where he saw three people playing some kind of board game. Shelley, Bill, and Paulo. They all looked around at Spud and waved as he passed. He forced a smile, waved back, his heart rising to his throat. He tried to like them. Pretended to like them. But truth be told, he didn’t. He just didn’t.
“Beautiful day, Spud,” Paulo said.
“Yeah. Yeah, it is.”
He carried on walking, eager to get away from them. The closer he got to the greenhouses, the more the beautiful smell of fresh tomatoes grew. He could almost taste the juiciness of them from right over here. He was going to miss them when winter came around.
He pulled the soft tomatoes from the branches and threw them down into a basket, resisting the urge to eat one right away. He heard laughter from the three people he’d just walked past. The three people he didn’t like. He couldn’t like.
It wasn’t that they’d done anything wrong. It’s just Spud had always been funny about new people. He preferred it when it was just him, Mum, and Dad. Or just him. More people meant more mouths to feed. More mouths to feed meant more problems when there was nothing to feed them with.
He’d thought about ways of getting rid of them when he lay in his bed and closed his eyes at night. He’d thought of strangling them in their sleep. Of poisoning their food. Of letting the monsters in to tear them to bits, then locking the room and throwing away the key.
But it was all just imagination. He was a kid. A kid who felt older than fourteen, sure. But a kid all the same.
He went to pluck the final tomato when he heard a scream from up the hill.
He looked around. Stepped out of the greenhouse, outside, so he could see where the scream came from.
There was a man running down the road. Behind him, five, ten monsters, a few of them the old, slow kind, but a couple of the faster ones with fleshy heads leading the way.
“Please!” the man shouted. Spud couldn’t see him properly from here, but he could tell he was quite tall, skinny, with dark curly hair like his. “Please! Someone help!”
Spud stood there, basket in hand. Part of him wanted to watch this man fall. He didn’t want to have to invite him into his home. He didn’t want any of that.
“Help! Someone help me!”
Spud s
tood still and watched as the monsters closed in on him. He found himself rooting for them. He didn’t want to have to give up more tomatoes. He didn’t want to have to open the gates for someone else. He didn’t want to—
A bang. Then another bang.
Spud saw the monsters behind the man fall to the road, one by one. Then, when there was just one left, Mum and Dad went running out up the road, after the man.
“Good people, your parents,” a voice to Spud’s left said. Shelley. “Always looking out for others.”
Spud tried to hold that smile as his parents helped take down the final monster. Then, they put the arms of the survivor over their shoulders, helped carry him down towards the farm, and Spud knew right then they were going to have another guest staying with them.
Solemnly, he joined the welcome crowd. Got to the gates just in time for his parents to bring the man inside.
The man was tall. Really tall. He was skinny, with bright blue eyes. He was wearing a black jacket that looked too big to fit him. He was limping along. Something didn’t seem right about him. Something seemed… off.
“You were lucky back there,” Dad said, in that way he always did when he’d just saved someone’s life and wanted them to know about it. “Anyway, I’m Ralph. This is my wife, Kerry. This here’s my son, Samuel. But everyone calls him Spud.”
The man’s eyes turned to Spud. He was covered in sweat, still entranced in the throes of fear.
But when he looked at Spud, when he looked into his eyes, Spud saw a spark of something. Something he couldn’t recognise, but at the same time, something that was so familiar, something he couldn’t figure out, like a tough maths problem in class.
“Spud,” the man said. “Spud.”
Spud felt his cheeks heating up. “Yeah.”
The man looked around at everyone. “Thank you, so much. I owe you. You saved my life. All of you.”
“It was nothing,” Mum said. “Really.”
There was a long, drawn out silence between everyone.
“Oh, I’m sorry. Allow me to introduce myself. I’m Kane. And I’m very, very appreciative of your… hospitality.”