Necropolis PD

by Nathan Sumsion

  I sleep in too late, hitting the snooze instead of getting ready. That puts me ten minutes behind. I always have a hard time getting going in the mornings, but I can usually pull it together when I need to. This morning though, I’m dumb. Careless. Late.

  I don’t even say goodbye to her. Every morning I say goodbye, but this one time, I forget.

  It is the last time I ever see her.

  Driving in my car, I’m sure that if I can hit the lights just right and win the parking space lottery, I’ll make it to my first class on time. Traffic usually isn’t a concern in Lincoln, at least not on the route I typically take.

  I’m late enough that there is a line in the left turn lane near campus, so I decide to roll the dice and go right, hoping to shave off some time.

  But there’s an accident. It happened maybe seconds ago. If my radio hadn’t been so loud, I probably would have heard it. I might have avoided it.

  I am on the verge of being late, and with this professor, I can’t afford that. There will be repercussions. But the accident is bad. I see blood. I could drive around, maybe still manage to get to class on time.

  No. I have no choice here. I would regret the decision for the rest of my life if I were to drive on. I stop. I get out of my car. After everything that’s happened to me, all the wrong decisions I have made, this one I have no qualms about. I just wish things could have worked out differently.

  There is so much blood. A car has slammed into something and the hood is crumpled—like it wrapped around a telephone pole that isn’t there. What did it hit?

  The passenger has come through the windshield, slumped over the hood of the car, his body below the waist still inside the vehicle. His neck is at an odd angle, and I can see brain through part of his missing skull. This is the first dead body I’ve ever seen up close. It’s not what I expected.

  There is movement on the other side of the car. The driver’s door is open. I hear something. It is still dark, and we are too far from a street lamp for me to see more. I walk around the back of the car to the other side.

  I don’t understand what I am seeing. The door is open. The driver, she has her seatbelt on. She is dazed, and blood covers her face. Someone is helping her, leaning in close to check her out.

  No, that isn’t what’s happening. As I draw close, the driver is reaching out to me.

  “Help . . .” she whispers. “Monster . . .” as her eyes roll up into her head.

  It doesn’t make sense, but it is the last thing she says. The man crouching over her has his back to me, but I can tell that whatever he’s up to, he isn’t concerned with helping her. Is he groping her body? Rifling through her pockets? What is he doing?

  “Hey!” I shout in confusion and anger. I just watched a woman die in front of me, and this guy can’t be bothered to stop sniffing her or pawing at her or whatever he is doing. The driver looked to me for help while I stood there and did nothing.

  The man freezes at the sound of my voice. I can’t see him clearly, but he doesn’t turn to face me. He is wearing a suit that is old, tattered and worn. It is a dark shade, but in the dim light, I can’t tell the color.

  “What the hell are you doing?” I yell at him, my voice an octave higher than normal. Pieces of the shattered windshield cover his left side, some embedded in his skin. The glitter of broken glass twinkles from his left sleeve. He doesn’t look hurt; he doesn’t look like he notices it at all. I don’t understand. It just adds to the surreal quality of the scene.

  He stands up slowly, and for the first time it hits me that I might be in danger. He’s tall, taller than I am. And he knows I’ve seen him doing something to the driver of the car. What will he do to keep me quiet?

  I take a hesitant step backward, expecting him to turn and face me. He cocks his head and looks slightly to the side. He turns enough that I can see blood on one side of his face, but I can’t see anything else.

  I raise my hands to defend myself, but instead of attacking, he squats, grabs the driver’s purse, and takes off. I just stand there stupidly, my mouth hanging open. Seriously, did he just steal from a dead person?

  He doesn’t just jog away; he runs full-tilt, like his life depends on it.

  I glance over my shoulder, but I don’t see anything. I realize I’ve been holding my breath, and I gasp in a lungful of air, dizziness poised to overwhelm me. The street is empty. The street lights are still on, and dawn is threatening, the sun nearly at the horizon.

  “Are you serious?” I yell after him.

  I watch him run away. I’m still stunned, in absolute shock. There are two dead bodies in front of me, but my eyes keep going to the driver slumped to the side, her arm still reaching out to me. And the blood. So much blood. She has a ragged wound at her neck, the edges exposing muscle and spine, the blood still oozing out on to her shirt. All this has probably taken at most a minute or two, but it seems like ages since I got out of my car.

  I’m shaking, and I roughly wipe away the tears I hadn’t noticed in my eyes. I could stop right here. Just stay at the scene, wait for the police. I could report what I have witnessed. Have a story to tell my professor, my friends. Silently mourn the life of the woman I couldn’t help. But that story would end with this sick, crazy psycho running away.

  I can’t stand that. He ignored her dying breaths, and then, instead of helping her, he stole her purse. Given how dark it is here, I didn’t even see his face. If I talk to the police now, I wouldn’t even be able to give them a description.

  He’ll get away with it.

  I don’t know what I plan to do, but I can’t let him just walk away from this. I have to catch him. He has to pay for what he has done.

  It seems like such a naïve decision now, but at the time it was the only choice my conscience would allow me to make. So I ran after him. Chased him. And eventually found him. Right before I met Marsh.

  Chapter 2

  Why do you keep coming back to this dump?” Marsh asks me, holding up a hand to call for some beer. “Warner is an asshole.”

  I’m still trying to get my head right after the liquor that’s now burning its way through the lining of my stomach. His features haven’t completely come into focus, but focusing isn’t necessary; no one else can be that huge. I’m not small myself, I’m just over six feet. He dwarfs me, a solid mass of muscle, gristle, and rage. I’m nothing to Marsh, a splash against a wall of stone. I’ve been in a fight or two, but this guy has been killing for lifetimes.

  Annabelle places two pints of beer on our table. He downs his entire glass in one swallow, grimaces, and before I can reach for mine, he grabs that too. He signals for another while guzzling, then brings his attention back to me. The waitress grumbles under her breath and wanders away.

  Unfortunately, my vision finally clears, and I can see Marsh despite the gloom. His face is wrinkled, creases so deep they nearly divide his skull. Unlike most people here, his skin is intact, leathery, not rotting or exposing tendons and muscle underneath. His flat nose, broken dozens of times, overshadows a mouth that somehow smiles and scowls at the same time. He squints at me, not to get a better look, but because one eye is permanently pinched together. The overhanging brow throws his eyes in shadow, though I can detect a menacing gleam when he turns. I’m glad he’s sitting in the corner’s shadow. I don’t know if I want to see clearly the ugliest face in all creation right now. His thick brown sideburns are more than a few decades out of style: thick, curly, straight down to the bottom of his jaw. The liquor isn’t sitting well in my stomach, and his presence isn’t going to settle it much. His gray-green skin and his few remaining teeth aren’t visible, but I know this man’s face better than almost anyone else’s I’ve met, especially when its ominous gaze falls my way.

  “Kid, it’s time to talk,” he says. I’ve been considered an adult for a few years now, but compared to him, I might as well be in diapers. I have no
idea how many decades or, hell, centuries older than me he is. His body looks near its prime, but the gaze from behind his eyes seems like he has seen centuries pass.

  “Jacob Green. Jake. We’ve made our decision,” Marsh says solemnly. His smile is gone, and his default scowl is in its place. He uses my actual name this time, formal. It does not reassure me.

  We, he says. He’s speaking as a representative, then. He’s not just here to torment me in his spare time but in the official role of Captor, capital C. The other noises in the room fade away, and he has my undivided attention. His deep voice sounds like an engine rumbling to life. Even in the best of times, it sends shivers down my spine. But what he says clarifies things for me real quick. This is it. I’ve been expecting someone to come to me today and inform me of my fate. And if they sent Marsh to talk to me, killing me is definitely on the table. No matter how fast I am, I’m within his reach. No struggle. No problem.

  During my short, unending stay here, Marsh has been tasked with keeping me alive long enough to answer their questions. And I fear I’ve reached the end. I have no answers left. So, now, what does that mean for me?

  Anywhere else in the world, being in a crowded room would offer me some protection from harm, but I doubt this crowd would mind much if Marsh ended me. I try to remain calm, but I can’t read anything from his expression. He’s not lying; I’m reasonably sure of that. I usually read people fairly well. The people here are much harder to read. I’ve always had a knack for sensing what people are thinking, but I’m too nervous tonight. I can’t tell if it’s going to be good news or bad. Bad seems to be the most likely outcome. I stare at his good eye as he leans forward slightly, part of his face emerging into the light. His eye is a watery dull blue that looks back at me without interest or concern.

  Waiting him out is pointless. He’ll just sit there staring at me until the cold death of the universe, not blinking. The bastard never blinks. He barely moves, sitting deadly still in his cheap, dark suit that struggles to keep his muscles in check. His outfit is similar to my own, dark gray, and about four times as large. His shirt is stretched so tight, a sneeze will send it exploding into streamers. It may have been white once, but that day is long past. His tie hangs loose at the collar, but only extends down to about mid-chest. No tie in existence could wrap around his neck and reach his belt at the same time. He’s got a trench coat on over the top that looks like it could double as a cover for my car.

  He doesn’t react when Annabelle places two more glasses of beer on the table. She stares at him for a moment, glances at me, rolls her eyes, and walks away once more.

  Finally, I break. I’m pretty certain Marsh could sit for nights on end if he wanted to.

  “So? What’s the decision? You going to kill me? Keep me quiet about this place?” It comes out as more of a squeak than I wanted.

  I’m not going to beg. I’m scared, I’m resigned, but I’m determined to maintain a minimum amount of dignity until I know for sure it’s bad news. Then, once I confirm it’s bad, I’ll start crying like a baby, pride be damned. Marsh’s expression doesn’t change. He holds still, not blinking, more like a column of stone than a body of flesh. Finally, he leans farther forward, his face fully emerging out of the gloom. It’s as bad as I remember. I can smell the fetid rot on his breath, see the glaze over his pinched eye. And then I shudder as his lips split into a feral grin, revealing his large, browning teeth.

  “No, kid. We’re not going to kill you. Not today, anyway.”

  He slams both his hands down on the table. I can’t help it; I jump, my knees slamming into the underside of the table. I try to regain my composure as I look at the two items he has put on the table. They both gleam in the dim light. Neither makes any sense to my brain.

  One is a gun, but not like any gun I’ve ever used before. It’s like a revolver bred with a shotgun; it’s huge, like a bazooka’s lost little cousin. It is crafted out of dark iron, symbols carved into the metal of the barrel, with a polished wooden grip. I’m scared to touch it. I’ve seen one like it aimed at me before and never want to experience that again. Staring down the barrel pointed in my face, I thought it seemed to reach on forever, like I could fall into the tunnel of darkness aimed at me. I can barely tear my eyes away from it. This time, though, it’s the grip extended towards me, not the barrel.

  And next to the gun, a badge.

  Marsh still isn’t blinking, and his grin remains fixed on his waxen features. He shifts in his seat, leaning closer still. Marsh’s face is inches from mine, his one good eye looking out from a cold, green face.

  “We’re giving you a job, kid. Congratulations!” The chuckle that accompanies his words doesn’t reassure me at all, nor does the cruel gleam in his eye. “You’re the newest member of the Necropolis PD. We’re going to be partners!”

  Two months ago . . .

  The chill from the barren floor seeps into my bones; there is no escape from it. My tattered clothes provide scant comfort, barely holding together after repeated abuse and damage over the past few weeks. I’ve been fighting off sleep for hours, huddled on the ground in the corner of this dark, freezing room. There is no escape from the cold. I’ve been trying to wrap myself into as small of a ball as possible, arms wrapped around me to trap in as much heat as I can. A heavy mist curls lazily across the floor, and the carcasses of some large animals hang nearby. Horse? Cow? Ox?

  I’m in a meat locker, I’m terrified, and I don’t dare close my eyes for more than a moment.

  There are things in here with me. I can hear them, nearby in the dark. Chittering. Scratching. Scurrying across the floor. I thought they were rats, but rats don’t get that big. When I nod off, they get close enough to bite, their teeth tearing through my clothes like paper. I’m bleeding from several bites and from the raking of tiny claws across skin. Sometimes I swear I hear their laughter. Occasionally, I’ll see their little eyes reflecting red in the dim light. They stay away when I’m awake, when I’m moving, but over the hours, they’ve been growing bolder, inching closer.

  My arms are numb, my shoulders a dull ache. I can no longer feel my hands, toes, or wrists. Breath fogs in front of me, and I shiver uncontrollably, miserable and alone.

  Near the door, one of the carcasses begins to swing. Then another. Something large is approaching me in the gloom. A shadow lurches into view, followed by a low chuckle that causes my shivers to intensify. Marsh arrives and squats down, hovering over me. Behind him, I can hear the scrabbling of dozens of other naked feet on the floor, the scratching of ragged claws and nails. What horrors lurk in the dark behind him?

  “What do you want?” I cry, tears escaping my eyes. I’m relieved to see him. The things in the dark won’t get near while he’s here.

  “Answers, of course,” Marsh responds with a smile, and despite everything, I hear sympathy in his words. “Answer my questions, kid, and I’ll call them off.”

  I look past him, helplessly envisioning the things behind Marsh. He is all that stands between them and me. If he leaves and doesn’t take them with him, they’ll be on me. I’ve seen what they do to the carcasses hanging here, gnawing at the flesh, at the bone. I’ve seen what little remains once the creatures are gone.

  “I’ve told you everything I know,” I plead. Hell, if I know the answer to anything he wants, I will tell him. I’ll do whatever it takes to get this to end. I’ve been here for hours. This guy Marsh, this dead man, is all that is keeping me alive. He could crush me without a thought; his strength is beyond anything I’ve seen before. He could kill me with one hand and dump my body before walking away and not thinking twice.

  Or he could simply walk away.

  Marsh loosens his tie. “I’m sure you believe you did, kid. But you know what’s been my experience?”

  I am too tired to answer. I can only shake my head.

  “In my experience, there’s always more to know. Don’t keep dragging
this out. Tell me what I want to know, and this will all be over.”

  I stare at him, without hope. I’ve answered all their questions, but they don’t like what I have to say. I can’t give him the right answers; I don’t know what they are.

  He’s terrifying. He hit me the first time we met. It felt like a bus crashed into me, but it was clear he took no joy in it. When he saw the other things closing in, he kept them off of me. He broke bones, pummeled anyone who got too close, letting them know he was serious. Whenever I see his face, I know he’s there to keep the creatures and the dead things from eating me. When Marsh shows up, I’m safe for a short while. If he doesn’t lose his patience with me. If he doesn’t just give up and leave me to my fate.

  “OK,” he says, sadly. “I’ll check on you again in a few hours. Get comfortable.”

  The carcasses swing as he passes through them on his way out of the room. The chittering resumes and closes in as I fight to keep my eyes open for as long as I can.

  Chapter 3

  I just stare back. My brain keeps misfiring, trying to process what’s happening. Are the gun and the badge anything other than some kind of punishment, some kind of trick? I try to say anything. I go for something articulate. Something eloquent.

  “I, uh, what?”

  Nailed it.

  Marsh leans back and folds the tree trunks in his sleeves in front of his chest. “You got a problem with this?” His scowl is beginning to look unfriendly. Unfriendlier. Having been on the receiving end of Marsh’s unfriendliness before, I wasn’t eager to repeat it. But my brain isn’t working for me. For the past few months, I’ve lived every day in terror of Marsh, afraid of what he would inflict on me, or what would be inflicted on me because he wasn’t there. Afraid of what questions he would ask that I had no hope of answering. And now, instead of my Captor, still capital C, he’s going to become my what? Babysitter? Coworker? Partner?