by Power, P. S.
The Infected: Ripped to Shreds
Hush
P.S. Power
Orange Cat Publishing
Copyright 2015
Chapter one
Cindy smiled at the bloodshed.
It made sense to her, since she loved that kind of thing. Really, she kind of already wanted more of it, even as the job was being done in the moment. It was a sign of how much she truly loved her hobby.
Lovely red liquid poured from the man in front of her. The scarlet stream flowed from his pale skin in a wonderful cascade. His brown business suit turned a rust red below his neck, the sticky fluid being absorbed still. Wicked up by the cotton of his button up shirt, underneath it all. He looked up at her from his knees, into her blue eyes, and tried to gasp out a single word. The sound wasn't working right, his voice box already having been destroyed by the blade in her hand.
Still, she could read it on his lips. The word appeared over his head too, in the same red that his blood stained his clothing. He worked hard at it, moving over the single frame four times in a row. That one word repeating, almost flashing in space as she watched. The scent of copper and iron filled the air, as she moved close to him. He'd slipped sideways on his knees after about fifteen seconds, toppling to the left, and mad a wet sucking sound. Gasping as he started to drown on his own blood.
The word was just why.
They almost always asked that kind of thing. As if they didn't know the answer. No one was really that stupid though. They had to understand the real reason for it. She wanted them to die. What better reason could there be for killing, she didn't know.
Cin growled at him. That was a thing that no one in the world would have taken seriously. She was only about five feet tall, and weighed in at under a hundred pounds. Her hair was a soft blonde that gave people the impression that she was gentle and a bit bookish. Hell, she really was, most days.
Until she met evil people. The ones that did the wrong things, and hurt others. Things that she could kill them for. That thought nearly got her to laugh. Cindy was many things, but a secret do-gooder wasn't one of them. It was just an excuse she used from time to time, to amuse herself and the dying men.
"You were a very bad man, Lester. You know what you did. It's one of the worst things that anyone has ever done in the existence of the world. You cheated on your taxes. Knowingly. That can't be allowed, can it? You didn't think that you'd get away with it, did you?" She looked at him, locking eyes as he seemed truly baffled. It was clear he was about to go out, but didn't know what she meant.
She could read the words still, over his head. Her power let her see his dying thoughts, which were scared, and held almost no comprehension of his real crime.
As if the five hundred dollars that he'd taken from the government simply didn't count to his mind. He knew it however, or else the red words that told about what he'd done wouldn't have hovered over his head when they'd met a few days earlier.
Forcing her to sneak up on him as he went home for the evening, and ambush the man from behind. Again she wanted to laugh, feeling giddy about the whole thing. Her power didn't let her fight better than anyone else, so she had to use skill. Cunning and trickery. Moving in quickly, when no one would suspect anything could happen. Grown men didn't fear tiny women, and at times they really should have. That didn't mean she wasn't going to use that against them if they weren't smart enough to work that one out on their own. Her job was just to end their lives and revel in the aftermath. Not to correct people, or their actions. Even her accusations to Lester were part of a game for her. A way to leave him scared and confused as he died. It made it better for her that way.
The Infection had hit her several years before, just as she'd settled into her job as a resource librarian. Literally within weeks of taking her current position, not that it was related. She had a degree in the topic after all, which was a waste. Now that the library system was dying, she could see that. Not that it bothered her that much, even though she'd thought that there could have been. There were lots of ways to make money after all. Before, when she was younger, that had been too hard to see. It had really seemed hard to get things like that. A thing that people had to struggle for, all the time. Now it was easy. All she had to do was read the signs. The floating red words over the heads of everyone she met. The books of their lives. The ones that only she got to see and understand.
Most people were bad, inside. Not horrible at every turn, but not that great, no matter what they pretended to be for those around them. She could see that. It was incredibly clear most of the time, and one of the first things she read about when new people came up to her. She was pretty evil, too. Worse than most of the people around her even. She'd killed a lot of people in the last few years, after all. That was illegal. It wasn't about the law however. That wasn't why she did it.
No, she knew who had to die as powerfully as anything could ever be described. Telling them that it was over some minor crime was just a bit funny. The truth was that she could feel it. Like a buzzing in the back of her head. Annoying, but that wasn't why she did it, either. That told her who to kill. Who she needed to remove from the world.
The real fact was that she was just a serial killer. It gave her a thrill to end the lives of certain people. Possibly everyone, but she didn't just walk around killing at random. There was a method to the whole thing. A plan that came from deep inside her soul.
One of the ways she knew that was due to how very sexy the blood on the sidewalk looked. Being careful to wipe the blade off on his once nice jacket, destroying her finger prints, if any had been left from earlier, she stuck it into his throat from the outside, getting a squeak from him. It was adorable. Like a kitten that wanted a treat really badly.
Cindy loved cats. She even had one, back in her house. Blackie. It was a joke name, for an all white long haired Persian, but no one had ever said that she didn't have a sense of humor. Honestly Blackie was her neighbor's cat, but she gave her food, and the little beast let her pet it, so to her mind it was hers, too.
While she walked away, dressed in a disposable gray hoodie that was a bit over sized, she pulled off the rubber gloves that she'd worn. The clothing she had on would all have to be burned, as soon as possible. Not that there was anyone that could find her. She was careful, but also nearly invisible as far as searching for criminals went. Even if the police thought it might be her, they'd look at thousands of men in the area first. So far as she knew they didn't even have a task force yet. Most of the people she'd gone after had been dark haired men, all over six feet tall, and nicely dressed.
It was probably due to daddy issues, but she didn't really care about that. She had her needs, and really couldn't care about other people that much. It was psychopathic, naturally, but that had been there her entire life. A constant thing that she'd had even before the Infection had set in. It didn't bug her that much, really. The violence, now that was kind of new. Probably because her first mode, her default emotional state, had gone full out insane on her three and a half years prior. That she'd kept it together as well as she did most of the time was impressive, even if she did have to think of that fact herself.
It wasn't like she could just share her hobbies with everyone else in the world. No, if she did that, then people would feel obligated to stop her. She really didn't want that. Not because she feared being caught for her crimes. The real reason was that if that happened she'd miss out on all that lovely blood, and the last gasp that everyone dying made. At least if they had a knife in their throat.
So, she held herself close, and tried to make certain that no one would suspect her.
That was fine.
After all, she was considered to be nice by most people. It wasn't hard really. You smiled at them, pretended to care about the crap they said, and on occasion actually did something nice for people. That got most women on her side, and pretty much all of the men. That last bit wasn't hard for her even.
It was really kind of amazing given that she was just a bit past average in looks. Her figure was good though, and she worked out enough that she could pull off being toned. Unfortunately her Infected power hadn't given her super strength or speed. If that had happened a lot more random people would be dead about then. Her being careful was a little bit because of her physical abilities being so limited. She only had what working out and training could get her to work with. It really wasn't fair, but whining about things like that wouldn't help her.
Cindy walked, heading to the spot that she'd chosen to dispose of her things. There was a full change of clothing there, back behind the abandoned building across town. Hidden in a garbage bag. It was an unmarked thing, carefully chosen from things she stole from a thrift store bin. There was no way to trace them back to her, and until she wore some of it, there was nothing approaching DNA on it. Not hers, even if it was found. True, it was a risk, but she had a backup location, just in case something happened to her stash of goodies.
That was the real trick to getting away with murder. Being careful, and doing the extra little bit just in case. So far it hadn't really been needed. One time, but other than that security guard coming to check on something unrelated, nothing. Even then she'd just bluffed her way out of it, pretending to be out jogging, and getting away well before anyone had found the body. No one had ever mentioned her in the press about it. Probably because small white women just weren't involved in things like that. Even when they were.
It would have been easy to assume that not be caught meant she was smarter than the cops, or the FBI. They were the ones that should have been coming for her, but weren't.
A street lamp turned off as she walked underneath it. That was due to the reflection from her light colored hood, which was up at the moment, just so that any cameras wouldn't be able to catch her as easily. Not that this part of town had a lot of those, given that it was the wrong side for that, but the things were cheap now. Everyone and their sister had a thousand of them all over the place.
Even at work, behind the building where no one went to do anything except take a leak at night, or occasionally hooking up behind the bushes, they had them. Watching, always. Glaring little glass and metal eyes that spied on you, without ever even blinking. It reminded her a bit of George Orwell's Nineteen-Eighty-Four. Big Brother was always hovering over them all, in the most unlikely of places.
The invasion of her privacy left her raw, and edgy.
Feeling abused by the world.
That constant surveillance made it harder for her to do what she wanted. Killing was frowned upon, but so was spying. It wasn't hard for her to see the one thing, invading her privacy, as clearly trumping the right of people not to be killed. Those people weren't her, for one thing. They barely counted. The best thing most of them had ever done in their entire lives was to give her a few minutes of pleasure and relief as they died.
That part was the best. For a while, the first five or six times she'd killed someone, Cindy had felt elated for weeks. Scared, too. Not too much, fear not being a big factor for her, but enough that she'd read up on the topic of how to baffle the police and other law enforcement. How to make sure that her DNA wasn't left behind. With her it was mainly about hair, of course. Blood too, if she ever got injured in a fight. That had happened, a few times. She just wasn't huge. Even killing grown men with her first move, they'd still fight from time to time. That meant she had to lie to the people at work about it.
The first time she'd claimed that it had been a mugger, but that had cramped her style far too much. Wallace from work, the skinny guy with thick glasses and nervous tick in his cheek, had insisted on walking her to her car every time she worked. Even when he hadn't been scheduled, the guy had come in just to make sure she was safe.
That got her to shake her head as she walked.
Cin knew that anyone that had the story in total would have thought that she'd despise him for being what he was. Nerdy, geeky, and clumsy enough that some of the women they worked with had teased him about it. Not in a nice way either.
She knew better than to think of him poorly, however. He was the hardest worker they had at the library, and while he did want her to have sex with him, he also kind of wanted her to date him, at the same time. It wasn't just about getting into her pants, or anything nearly that crass.
It did flash over his head when they met, almost every time, but a lot of men did things like that. Most without more than a nod to her being a person. Wallace actually liked her. Several of the other women, and customers, were desired at the same time, but it was both harmless and cute enough for Cin not to be rude about.
Not that the bitches at the library didn't ride him like he was their personal whipping boy. That was due to the fact that he couldn't really fight back. If he tried, then Glenda, the Location Manager, would have fired him so fast his glasses wouldn't have even stopped spinning before he was out of there.
That would be a mistake, because even if Wally wasn't going to get any off of her, she would kill some people if that happened. That part of things always left her feeling a little odd, because she knew, for a fact, that she didn't care about most people. Still, anyone going after Wally wouldn't last long, if she had anything to do about it. Blackie either, which was at least as certain.
Her feet fell with a regular, but soft, patter on the pavement. It felt like every sense was heightened at the moment, even though she knew that it was all about her feelings, not actual improvement in her ability to see or hear. The cement sidewalk, rather than the street itself, felt decently smooth as she moved. Her goal was to seem normal, so as to not be noticed. Not that it was simple, being dark out already. Too cold for her simple hoodie, too. That meant anyone seeing a small woman might take note of her.
It was late November, which indicated, unfortunately, that she was going to have to take a few months off soon from her hobby. It was way too easy to track people in the snow. A fool could do it, and even if no one would think she was a suspect at the moment, if they got the idea of size six women's shoes moving from the scene of the crime, that could change.
So, hands out of her pockets, trying not to seem furtive, she moved with purpose. It took a while for her to find the right location, nearly an hour. Having it that far away was a risk, if she had blood on her, or any kind of injury. She didn't think that was the case at the moment, but it was possible. It had happened before without her realizing it, and in different locations. Once her entire back had been covered with bright red as she walked away.
No one had noticed, but that was luck. Counting on things like that would end up with her being caught. Then... Well, she didn't really have a plan for that. It would probably happen someday, since things could go wrong in life. If she got in front of a camera, or some other Infected ratted her out for instance. Telepaths were a thing to avoid in her life, she knew full well. Others might find her too. Like Proxy, the killer. The man could just show up and start fighting, taking the place of a victim. That he hadn't so far... She didn't really understand it. The man supposedly hit most of the serial killers in the U.S. As in that kind of thing almost didn't happen anymore. That one was the real risk in her life.
Being found by Infected that didn't like what she had to do.
The police just didn't look at small white women as criminals. Not the serial killing kind. Maybe the kind that would float bad checks or steal identities, but that was about it. It wasn't the real truth, because women committed at least half of all crimes, but that wasn't her problem. If they didn't think she could be what she was, that just worked in her favor. If the Infected Protection Bureau decided to look at what she was doing, then... She wouldn't last long. What w
ould take place then, she didn't know. Arrest at the very least, but she couldn't count on them being that soft with her.
She'd seen what had happened in the last year after all. It had been all over the television, and all that anyone had talked about at work for months on end. That girl, Impulse, had gone from place to place for the government and just killed anyone that fought against her. It was a wonderful slaughter. Done with a combination of raw power and skill that left Cin in quiet awe, if she were to be honest about it. Cindy had killed, it was true. On purpose and more than ten times. The tiny government agent had done a thousand times more than that. By herself.
Really, she probably wasn't a vast threat. No one was going to send that kind of force out just over her, not if the only sign was normal white bread men being killed by someone with a knife. She'd never so much as taken a wallet, but so far no one had put it all together. Not in any public fashion. They hadn't even been sniffing around behind her back. Not near her at any rate. If they had, then it would show in the script above people's heads.
The fallback area wasn't nice. It smelled like trash, human waste and dirt. The whole thing was constantly damp too, being in a small ravine, behind the three story brick thing that was protecting her from being seen from the street.
Under a leafy bush, Cin found the black bag, and trying to work silently, she moved downward, into the trench. It was about ten feet deep, so that would have hidden her too, but it didn't hurt to have a bit of extra coverage. Quickly she pulled the clothing out of the bag, along with the materials she'd need to start a small fire, and got to work. She went all the way to the skin, not bothering with underwear, either from her used clothing selection, or before that. Not for a kill. That could lead to mistakes, and blood soaked underthings.
She was decently small up top, so could get away without wearing a bra for special occasions. A 'B-cup'. It worked for her, so she didn't worry over it most days.