Chicago Undead (Books 3-4): Encounters

by Weaver, Shawn

Jennifer punched the old man across the shoulder. He rocked to the side. But his feet stayed planted firmly on the floor. With a speed that didn’t seem possible at his age. He reached out, curling his fingers in her hair. With a hard yank, he pulled her down to the left.

  Bent sideways, Jennifer grabbed his thin arm, trying to force herself free. But his fingers were wrapped too tightly in her hair. Pain radiated from her scalp as a large clump ripped free.

  A burst of foul breath came from the old man as he bent towards her. Terrified, Jennifer twisted to the side as he opened his dry lips. They landed on the side of her face, teeth sliding along her skin. With a snap, they found purchase on her ear. She felt his tongue flick her lobe before a searing pain ate across the side of her face as his teeth sunk in. Yanking his head to the left, he tugged on her ear as if it were a piece of beef jerky.

  His teeth slipped as the soft cartilage of the helix of her ear popped between his teeth. Clamping back down tight, he latched onto her earlobe. She then felt a sharp sting as her lobe tore and he swallowed it along with her earring.

  Pushing against the old man’s chest, Jennifer tried her best to get some distance between them. Lifting a bare foot, she drove her heel down on the old man’s ankle. His aged bones snapped on contact.

  Buckling backwards, the old man struck the back of his head against the driver’s seat. His flat rump landed hard on the floor as his shoulder struck the gearshift.

  Knocked into drive, the gears ground hard and the bus started to move forward. Sliding with the forward motion, the old man fell in front of the seat, striking the gas pedal.

  Freed of his grasp, the motion of the bus sent Jennifer sprawling across the old man’s hip. Landing on the floor, she tumbled down the steps. Hands out, she grabbed for anything to stop her fall. Striking a shoulder against the metal wall on the passenger side of the steps, she found herself airborne for just a second as she came off the third step. Taking the brunt of the fall across her upper back she landed hard against the blacktop. Wind knocked from her lungs, she lay there stunned.

  Slowly the bus continued forward. Unable to move out of the way in time, the rear wheels of the heavy machine rolled against her feet. Thick rubber treads grabbed at her skin. Unable to withstand the slow-moving weight, Jennifer screamed as she felt her feet split like an overripe fruit. Blood spurted in every direction as her bones were crushed to a pulp.

  Waves of fire shot up her legs from ravaged nerves as the bus stopped. Jennifer’s vision went fuzzy around the edges as the world swam. She fought hard not to blackout, even though her brain said that was the only way to be free of the pain.

  From the corner of her eye she saw a car drive by. She tried to call for help. But only a gasp came out.

  Spilling from the open door of the bus. The old man landed hard against the blacktop. His head taking the brunt of the fall.

  Jennifer’s vision faded, then flowed back in. Through half open eyes, she watched the old man lift his head. Blood trickled from a multitude of cuts where loose rocks had dug through the flesh of his face.

  Blackness came with another slow blink as Jennifer felt the searing start to ebb away. As she came back she saw the old man pulling himself towards her. His legs dragging uselessly behind from a shattered hip.

  Feeling a weight develop behind her eyes, Jennifer tried to fight the feeling of drifting off. The weight was too much and her lids closed for just a moment. Dragging them open, she saw that the old man was almost on top of her. She felt his hand land on her shoulder. Then blackness fell in not letting her drift back to the light.

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  The buzzing in the back of my skull suddenly rises. I feel a growl rip from my throat. Pushing my hands underneath the gurney. I flip it over as if it weighed nothing. A resounding boom echoes through the enclosed space as stainless-steel made contact with cold tiles.

  I turn towards the other gurney. With my feet still encased in the bag, I shuffle across the room. The body under the sheet is calling me. Begging for me to take a bite. I find the idea revolting. But something deep inside is driving me to do it.

  As I reach the gurney, one foot comes free of the bag. I grab the sheet and pull it off the body, dropping it to the floor. A woman in her mid-forties lays before me. Naked as the day she was born. Short blonde hair, pale skin, and no outward signs of injury except for the Y shaped incision across her chest, coarsely stitched shut after her autopsy.

  As I look at the body, my hunger grows. Pulsing, urging me on. Without realizing what I am doing. I open my jaw and lean forward. The need to sink my teeth into her flesh rises. Suddenly I stop, as something deep inside tells me that she can no longer satisfy the hunger. She’s dead. Not the dead that I have become. But the lucky dead who will not rise, and feed on the flesh of the living.

  The sane part of my mind doesn’t want to feed. I’m not a monster like you see in movies. Then again, I feel like the kid who robbed me this morning, an addict. A junkie who needs a fix. Only mine isn’t drugs, it’s warm, living, flesh.

  With a growl, I push the gurney away. It rolls a few feet to the right, striking the wall.

  I know there are others here. The goth girl, the jock who trying to impress her, and the man with the horn-rimmed glasses. But where. My mind is clouding. The bees are pushing rational thought down. Letting the monster take over.

  Stepping out of the body bag, I move to the door. I push against it, but it doesn’t budge. I try the knob. My fingers won’t grasp it. I’m trapped in this room. Unable to feed my desire.

  Leaning against the door. I bounce my head off of it. The action of knocking my head against the white painted wood, drives the cloud back. Slowly turning, I look over the room and see the other door.

  Shuffling across the room, I expect to have the same outcome I had with the other door. Leaving me trapped. Waiting for dinner to walk in. But to my surprise as I lean against the door, it yields under my weight.

  I step into a hallway that stretches a few yards on my right. While down the hall to my left stands double doors and an elevator directly across from them. At the end of the hall, a stairwell leads to a lower floor.

  A sensor connected to the florescent lights in the ceiling catch my movement, and turn on with a flickering hum.

  I hear a chattering and realize that it’s my teeth beating against one another.

  A happy shriek rolls down the hall from the stairs. I turn toward the sound, and the need propels me forward. Feet shuffling, my balance isn’t what it should be. I fall against the white wall. Leaving a wide streak of blood against it.

  The sound of traffic comes through the double doors. Large, hard plastic, windows set in each door give me the view of a loading dock, and a parking lot framed by a chain-link fence.

  Stopping at the door, I watch a few cars pass by on the other side of the fence. There’s food out there and I need to feed. I push against the door. As it opens, I hear a ding as the elevator opens. I stop moving for the dock, and cross to the hall.

  As I reach the elevator, the door begins to close, striking my shoulder. Sensing the resistance, the door starts to retract. Unbalanced, I fall back into the hall. Before I can get to my feet the door slides closed.

  Using the wall, I finally get back on my feet and start for the stairs. My mind is a clouded mass of incoherent thoughts, and before I know what I am doing, I turn into the stairwell. Missing the first step, I go crashing down.

  As I hit the hard-concrete steps, I feel my right shoulder dislodge, and my arm break just above the elbow.

  Reaching the bottom, I roll across a short landing. Coming to an abrupt stop against the wall. Three more steps extend down into another hallway, stretching to the left and right.

  Grunting, I get to my feet. My left foot is twisted inward, broken at the ankle. I don’t feel pain as I put weight on it. But I can see the bones straining against the skin, ready to rip through.

  With my right arm dangling at my side. I look back up the stairs,
and see that somehow a loop of intestine from my stomach had caught on the end of the bannister. It dangles in the air, stretching fifteen feet from me from where it had caught.

  A laugh rolls down the hall. Hunger swells, as I take a step. Missing the steps, I crash to the tiled floor.

  As I land, I’m jerked to my side. A gush of bile, and what intestines still coiled in my body spill out like a snake.

  Voices flow down the hall. Reverberating in my skull. Making the bees go wild. Urging me forward, as tiny feet walk over my brain. Setting my nerves on fire.

  Standing, I shamble down the hall in the direction of the voices. My intestines lift off the floor. Becoming a hindrance to my progression as they grow taunt. My legs want to keep moving, and as I tug against my intestine, a puddle of blood and viscera build around my feet.

  Snapping free, my intestine drops from the banister. Like a rubber band, it shoots down the stairwell. With the pressure released, I step forward. Caked with bile, my shoes hold no traction to the floor, and I slip in my own fluids. Coming off my feet, I land on my useless arm, as my intestines snake around me.

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  Coming through the swinging door to the preparation room. Mr. Briggs let the door go, and Raymond caught it with the flat of his hand before it struck him in the face. To their left, Mrs. Wilkens lay uncovered on the gurney. The sheet that she had been covered with lay on the floor tangled in the wheels of the gurney. Another gurney lay tipped on its side in the center of the room. Between them, a thick plastic body bag lay open on the floor. A semi-dried puddle of blood stretched out from the bag. Shinning white against the deep red of the drying puddle, Raymond spotted a broken tooth. While droplets led towards the door to the loading dock.

  Surveying the mess, Mr. Briggs exclaimed, “What the hell went on here?”

  “A body came in a while ago,” Raymond replied. “A John Doe found this morning near Chinatown. Do you think it is possible that one of the students could have done this?”

  “I wouldn’t put it past anyone,” Mr. Briggs answered. Picking up the sheet, he covered Mrs. Wilkens.

  “What purpose would two teenagers have with a body?” Raymond said, kneeling to take a closer look at the tooth.

  “A bad joke,” Mr. Briggs said, as he crossed the room.

  “Very distasteful if you ask me,” Raymond answered.

  Avoiding the bloody handprints on the white paint. Mr. Briggs pushed the door open and stepped into the hall. Smears of blood stretched down the wall to his left. “They dragged him this way.”

  “They can’t be far,” Raymond said, as he stepped to the dock doors and looked out the window. “The gate is closed. So, they can’t be far.” He then noticed that the rear door to van number two was open. “Maybe they’re in there,” he continued, pointing at the van.

  Pushing through the doors, Mr. Briggs headed down the dock towards the ramp.

  Taking a hesitant step to follow, Raymond questioned, “Should I call the police?”

  Not looking back, Mr. Briggs replied, “No, I’ll handle it.”

  Starting down the steep ramp, he took no more than three steps before he noticed a body laying between the ramp and dumpster. Thinking that he had found the stolen corpse. Mr. Briggs was about to tell Raymond to fetch the gurney. But as he took another step, the body became the all too familiar shape of his nephew.

  “Brice!” Mr. Briggs shouted, as his steps quickened down to the blacktop.

  Hearing the young man’s name, Raymond rushed to the edge of the dock and saw Brice laying there.

  Reaching his grandson, Mr. Briggs put two fingers against Brice’s neck, feeling for a pulse.

  “Is he alright?” Raymond asked.

  A shuddering sigh escaped Mr. Briggs as he looked up at the mortician and shook his head.

  “I will call the police,” Raymond said, turning for the doors. But he hesitated not sure whether to leave his employer or not.

  “Go call them,” Mr. Briggs said flatly.

  Giving a nervous nod, Raymond started for the door. As he pushed through, he looked over his shoulder to see that Mr. Briggs had left his grandson and was heading towards the vans.

  “What are you doing?” Raymond asked.

  Without looking back, Mr. Briggs answered, “If they’re still here their hiding by the vans.” His voice cold and hard.

  Glancing towards the van, the mortician felt sorry for the teens if they had anything to do with Brice’s death. If they were truly hiding by the van, he wished them luck for even he had no idea of what was going through his employer’s mind at this moment.

  Walking briskly, Mr. Briggs passed the vehicles making sure that no one was hiding between them. Stopping at van number two, he grabbed the rear door and looked in. Nothing seemed out of place. It was clear that if the kids were here. They had fled over the fence. But there was no way that they could have had dragged the missing body with them.

  He then noticed a body slumped over the front seats. Closing the rear door, he stepped around to the driver side. Across the blacktop lay a large puddle of blood with a sprinkling of glass within it. Smears of blood stretched down the sides of each van.

  Figuring that the kids had ditched the body on the front seat when they had unsuccessfully tried to steal the van. He grabbed the door handle and found the door not to be closed fully. Pulling it open, blood splashed from where it was puddled in the well of the door.

  The dead man slid towards him. The glass imbedded in his skull caught the edge of the seat stopping him. With his head twisted to the side, the dead man stared up at Mr. Briggs.

  “Damn kids,” Mr. Briggs left the door open and walked back to the end of the van.

  The police were going to be investigating all day. Not to mention the newspapers would have a field day with this. Worse of all, how he was going to tell his daughter, Audrey, that her son was gone. Generations had passed within this business, and everyone dealt with death on a daily basis. But that was death from other families. Dealing with losing one of your own was torture on another level.

  Stealing himself, Mr. Briggs left the van for the dock. In the distance, sirens rose. As the green dumpster came into view, his stomach dropped as he noticed that his grandson was no longer laying on the blacktop.

  He was gone. With no pulse, there was no way Brice could have just gotten up. Hope sparked in the back of Mr. Briggs mind. Could luck be with him and Brice was alright. Looking around the immediate area, Mr. Briggs did not see his grandson anywhere. Could he have gotten up and somehow walked back into the funeral home?

  The heaviness that had seeped into his feet lifted, and Mr. Briggs started up the ramp. Hoping to find his grandson alive in the hall.

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  Rushing through the preparation room, Raymond pushed out into the main hallway. The voices of the teens still in viewing room two made him slow to a casual walk, so not to alarm anyone.

  Smoothing down his lab coat to wipe away any wrinkles that may have worked their way into the starched fabric. He glanced towards the viewing room, and forced a smile as a few of the students, including Mrs. Foust, noticed his fast entrance into the hallway.

  Not stopping, he made his way to the reception office and around Samantha’s desk. Sitting down on the rolling chair, he grabbed the phone and punched in 911.

  The line rang twice. On the third ring, an automated voice came on. Raymond didn’t wait to listen to the mechanical voice to tell him to wait on the line for the next available operator. Hitting the disconnect button, he redialed again. Getting the same response, he slammed the phone down, and let out an angry huff.

  Feeling that someone was watching, Raymond looked towards the doorway to see Mrs. Foust.

  “Did you find them?” She asked, embarrassed that any of her students would venture off.

  “No, but…,” Raymond paused, as he looked up at the monitors above the door.

  The school bus was no longer in the frame of camera one. But was on
camera two, near the green space around the funeral homes sign. By the rear tires of the bus, Raymond saw a human shaped lump laying on the blacktop.

  Standing, Raymond walked around the desk to get a closer look at the monitor. Lifting his glasses, he peered at the lump, realizing that it was a female form. Then it dawned on him just who was lying there.

  “Jennifer,” he said as he watched the saleswoman’s hand rise from the blacktop, and then drop heavily down as if she had no strength.

  Without the politeness that he usually possessed. Raymond pushed past Mrs. Foust and dashed for the front doors.

  A thin framed boy walked across the hall. “Hey, did they find Violet?”

  “I’m not sure,” Mrs. Foust replied, looking back at the boy. “You should go and hear what Miss Lewis has to say.”

  “She’s done,” he said, a board look across his face.

  One by one the other students filed from the room Hoping that something interesting was to be had. Samantha followed, looking flustered from trying to fill in time until Mr. Taylor took over the tour.

  “I’m sorry,” she said to Mrs. Foust. “Mr. Taylor’s part of the tour is next.”

  Mrs. Foust gave a nod towards the front doors. “He just ran outside.”

  “Outside?” Samantha questioned.

  Stepping into the office, Samantha looked up at the monitors. Not seeing him on the first screen. She caught Mr. Taylor on screen two reaching the back of the bus and kneeling next to a body.

  Seeing this, Samantha moved for the front doors. “Call 911.”

  As if pulled by a magnet. All of the group, except for Mrs. Foust and Arlo Berry, followed Samantha.

  “Everyone stay here,” Mrs. Foust said. But no one listened. Something exciting was happening outside, and their herding mentality had taken over.

  Hesitant, Arlo decided to join in with his friends. Before he got two steps, Mrs. Foust said, “Mr. Berry stay.”