As soon as I stepped into my room and closed the door behind me, I started to shake. Not just slight tremors, full-on shudders. Panic hit me, and for a few seconds, I was convinced my heart was going to explode. I removed my knife and placed it on the dresser then sat on the edge of the bed and willed the attack to subside.
It did, eventually, but my hands were still shaking. I felt sick to my stomach. My carefully protected life was unraveling, and I could feel the shadow pulling at the threads, helping them along.
I lay down and closed my eyes, but sleep eluded me. I could hear the intruders talking downstairs. At least, there was a muffled scattering of words that maddeningly stayed just beyond the reach of my understanding. I tried to console myself that if they were talking about me, they were doing a poor job of making sure I couldn’t hear them. But then the voices would fade to almost nothing, and I’d be left wondering whether it was a natural lull in the conversation or they’d lowered them to discuss me. As the light outside dimmed, draping the lodge in darkness, I began to wonder if they were ever going to go to bed.
Finally, I heard the rattle of plates and the shuffle of people moving around. Fresh worries played at the edges of my mind. Maybe they’d moved to the kitchen to be sure I wouldn’t overhear them and were now discussing how to murder me in my sleep before I attacked them.
The shadow whispered to me—I should take the initiative, kill them first. I fought against it. I was outnumbered. All I had to do was wait a couple more days, and then they would go of their own free will. They’d promised, and they were good people.
Were they?
Clearly, Alex was hiding something, and Lucy was afraid of more than just the living dead. Ever since I was a child, I’ve embraced the darkness that others shy away from, and it’s given me a unique perspective. I knew these people were guilty, and they were the perfect subjects for my work. I didn’t need the shadow to show me that.
The wooden staircase creaked, and a few seconds later footsteps passed my door. Alex whispered a good night. Lucy and Mike replied. The doors to the other two bedrooms opened, almost in time with each other, then clicked shut. I could just about make out the sound of a lock clicking, probably from the third room. Assuming Lucy and Mike were together, they’d almost certainly chosen that one. Which meant they were concerned about safety, even if Alex wasn’t.
I listened to the muffled sounds of three people getting ready for bed and hoped sleep would come to me quickly.
The shadow was still waiting for me when my eyes snapped open a few hours later. An iron band tightened around my chest. I sat up, each breath an effort of will. The bedclothes were drenched with sweat, and my hands were shaking. I clenched them together as though I were praying and willed them to stop.
My head was thick, my thoughts slow. A shadow in the corner of the room caught my eye, threatening to trigger another panic attack until I realized it was just the chair. The tattered remnants of a dream still clung to my mind. Images of Lucy and Mike interrogating me, dunking my head into a bucket of ice-cold water again and again until I confessed my sins.
Fueled by a potent mix of hunger and fear, my stomach twisted and rolled. Why had I let them stay? I could have refused and insisted they find their own sanctuary. Anger flared, displacing the fear. What right did they have to challenge me? They were guests in my home. I’d welcomed them, shared my food.
The shadow reared up again. Alex would be an easy target. I could picture him clearly. He’d be sprawled across the bed on his back, so deeply asleep that I’d easily be able to slide the knife across his throat. He might wake up, but it would be over before he knew what was happening.
Lucy and Mike would be harder. The door was locked, but maybe the knife could solve that problem, too. They’d be lying in bed in each other’s arms, naked perhaps. I’d take Mike first but quickly enough that Lucy would be dead before she had time to react. If something went wrong and either of them woke before I was finished, I could handle them. Mike was still weak from the fever, and I was bigger than Lucy. I could overpower them both.
But part of me knew that wasn’t true, and there were too many ways it could go wrong. I’d be taking an unnecessary risk. I just needed to wait them out. I dug my nails into the backs of my hands. Pain flared, a pinpoint of clarity in the haze of emotion. I pressed harder and felt the shadow recede. But it was still there, urging me to act.
The skies were clear, and the light from the moon was bathing the dresser in a pale glow and revealing my knife in all its lethal glory as though the heavens themselves were conspiring against me. The knife called to me, adding its own seductive voice to the shadow’s. My head was pounding, the pressure inside building until I felt it might actually explode.
I rolled to the side of the bed and sat up. I had to do something to release that pressure, or I was going to get myself caught.
Chapter 22
Relief
I clutched my knife as I picked my way along the trail to the workshop. The path was dark and treacherous. The moon provided some light, but the plants and trees that cloaked the trail in the day worked to make it all but impassable at night. Again and again, I stumbled on a rock or an outstretched root. Branches clawed at my face, threatening to blind me.
Even without nature impeding my progress, the darkness provided more than adequate cover for the living dead. I’d never seen any indication that they slept at night. I could literally walk into the arms of one and not know it was there until its teeth were clamped around my throat.
But I pushed on. Every step I took toward the workshop eased the pressure in my skull. The shadow was still there, urging me on, but now we were working together. I hacked at the undergrowth blocking my way, my knife singing through the air, as eager as I was to get to our destination.
As the workshop came into view, I felt a rush of excitement. I slipped the knife back into its sheath and went inside. My snare was hanging on the wall, waiting for me. The excitement flared stronger as I unhooked it and headed out the back of the workshop. Bones crunched beneath my feet as I walked heedlessly over the remains of the fire.
Conscious that the others might wake and find me missing, I moved as quickly as I dared. I’d spent some time out behind the workshop, but in the dark, the shadows turned the forest into an alien landscape. I picked my way past the tree hung with chains and found a narrow trail that I vaguely knew.
I’d barely made it thirty feet before I found my prey. He was short but thin, probably in his thirties, and his Hell’s Angels leathers hung loosely on his emaciated form. He was stumbling through the forest, making so much noise he didn’t hear me walking up behind him. It wasn’t until I dropped the snare over his head that he realized anything was wrong. He twisted around as I tightened the noose, moaning urgently.
Part of his jaw was missing, and maggots cascaded from the wound as he ground his remaining teeth together. I gave a little tug, and he stumbled toward me, his groans sounding more annoyed than threatening. I tightened the noose, and he grunted. He reached instinctively for his throat, clawing at the rope but doing little more than scraping shreds of his own flesh away. I tugged the noose, getting his attention, and then led him back through the forest.
Biker Guy was surprisingly docile. It wasn’t until I got him inside the workshop that he put up any resistance. Maybe he could sense what had happened to others of his kind. Perhaps their spirits still hung around the workshop.
The moment I lit the lamp hanging from the ceiling just inside the door, he started thrashing and moaning. I pulled on the snare, dragging him across the room. He was smaller than me, and lighter, and it didn’t take long for me to get him into position beside the workbench. This was always the most difficult part of the operation—the transition from snare to table. I’d gotten better at it, but it was still a bit hit-and-miss.
I shoved Biker Guy backward. His legs caught the side of the table, but he immediately twisted, swinging his arms up in an attempt to dislodge the sna
re. I tightened my grip on the pole and pushed again. This time, he fell back onto the workbench. Still holding the noose in place, I circled around and threw the first chain across his neck.
He managed to sit up. I rammed one of the snare’s blades into his shoulder and forced him back down. He let out a scream that sounded like someone grinding rock with a cheese grater. He reached for me. Clawed fingers clutched at my face as I pulled the chain tight across his neck. It took a couple of attempts to get it fed through the bracket. Not for the first time, I wondered if I might someday find someone with the same proclivities as me that could act as my assistant.
With the zombie strapped down, the rest of the task was a little easier. He kicked and thrashed as I draped the second chain across his legs, and again when I secured the third around his waist, but it was fruitless.
Once the chains were in place, I could relax and savor the moment. I removed the snare and hung it on the wall. Biker Guy twisted and moaned. I stood over him, watching his struggles gradually fade to nothing, taking my fears and worries with them. The presence of the intruders seemed less important. Now that Mike was well, I could ask them to leave, maybe even make them leave. Either way, they’d be gone soon, and my life could return to normal. The biker moaned, sending out a wave of fetid air and bringing me back to reality.
I went around the workshop and lit the rest of the lamps, bathing the room in a cold but oddly comforting white light. He watched me as I moved. The bones in his neck cracked as he strained to keep me in view.
I crouched down beside the workbench. Biker Guy groaned and snapped at me, the remains of his jaw flapping just inches from my face. Another wave of excitement swept through me as he strained against the chains. I stared into the black pits of his eyes and smiled.
The shadow whispered in my ear.
It was time.
I walked over to the bench beneath the windows. I didn’t doubt for an instant that the leather case would still be there. It was waiting for me. I hesitated with my hand on the drawer, building the anticipation once more, then slid it open.
The case was just as I’d left it. I lifted it out and placed it gently onto the table. Then I removed a piece of cloth from the drawer—a square cut from one of the T-shirts I’d found at the camp. It was mostly white, but there were some black stains smeared across it. I smoothed out the cloth and put it next to the case. Biker Guy let out a low-pitched growl. Chains rattled. I lined the case up with the edge of the table before closing the drawer.
I ran my fingers over the case’s soft leather. A stillness came over me, bringing the shadow with it. I took four deep breaths, drawing the case’s energy inside my chest. I flicked my fingertips lightly over the catch and opened it.
Five scalpels. Old friends.
I traced a Z across the handles, repeating the motion until one of them, the center one, spoke to me. I slipped it out and closed the case’s lid. The moonlight reflected off the blade. Behind me, the zombie moaned again. Did he know what was happening? On some primal level, maybe?
A normal person might have considered that possibility longer. They’d pause to consider the ethics of the situation. I didn’t.
I picked up the piece of cloth and walked back to the workbench, covering the distance in four steps. The closer I got, the more the zombie struggled against the chains. He snapped and snarled. Blackish saliva dribbled from his chin and splattered across the floor.
I pressed the scalpel’s handle against my lips as though I were kissing it. “Shhh…”
Biker Guy lunged at me. The chain around his neck shifted but held firm.
I unzipped his leather jacket and pulled it apart to reveal a black T-shirt with a picture of the devil on it. I smiled at the imagery—he’d met a new devil now.
The scalpel made light work of the T-shirt. The blade sliced through the cotton so smoothly, I could barely tell it was there. I pulled the shirt open to reveal the zombie’s emaciated chest. The skin was tanned, but patches were turning gray. He’d stopped moving now and was watching me with dead eyes.
I took four deep breaths. I’d grown used to the stench of decay filling the room, but still the air was bitter, and it caught in my throat. I put my hand on the zombie’s chest, a few inches in from the left-hand side, and set the shadow free.
Time stopped.
The shadow rushed through me, filling my body utterly. The workshop, the benches, the outside world were all wiped away until scalpel and zombie were the only things left.
My heart slowed. The fear that had brought me to the workshop was gone. The zombie groaned again, but the sound was distant and muffled. I could see his guilt now. Dark threads permeated his body. Black liquid poured from his mouth and ears and streamed over the edge of the table like a waterfall of oil. I could smell it, too—a bitter, metallic tang in the dusty air.
The shadow surged, and I was infused with a purity of purpose I’d never find on my own. I raised my hands toward the ceiling, tipped my head back, and let the shadow’s will embrace me.
Chapter 23
Aftermath
I don’t know how much time passed before the feeling disappeared. It felt like days, but it could only have been a few minutes. The world quickly returned to its normal, banal self. I resisted, clinging to the last vestiges of the shadow’s energy for as long as I could. But eventually, there was nothing to hold on to.
An overwhelming sense of loss permeated my soul, but I felt calmer. My fears, though still there, were somehow diminished. The threat of the intruders felt manageable. They had no proof of what I really was and no real reason to go looking for it. Mike was nearly well enough for them to leave. Another day, two at most, and everything would be back to normal. I allowed myself a slight smile.
The zombie moaned, straining against the chains. The shadow had made four neat slashes across his chest. The flesh was pulled back to reveal his rotten, guilt-sodden core. His heart was missing. My hands were covered with thick black blood. More of it soaked the table and pooled on the floor. The creature held no interest to me now. It was nothing more than meat.
I took my hunting knife and rammed it into the base of the zombie’s skull. He kicked and twitched for a moment and then fell still. I removed the blade and wiped it on his shirt before slipping it back into its sheath. I wanted to deal with the zombie’s remains, but the eastern sky was beginning to lighten. There was no telling how early Lucy and the others would wake up, and I didn’t want to push my luck. I could come back and get rid of the body later. Once they’d gone for good.
I picked up the scalpel, wiped it with the square of T-shirt, and clipped it into the leather case with the others. I hated leaving them in the workshop, but I couldn’t take them back to the lodge now. It was too risky. One of the others might find it. I counted to four then snapped the lid shut, checked the catch was still working properly, and slipped the case into the drawer. The blood-soaked cloth went into a metal drum. It was too dirty to use again, and there were plenty more where that came from.
The smell from the corpse had grown stronger already. Again, I considered disposing of it straightaway. I certainly couldn’t just leave it lying around for long—the smell would attract creatures from miles around, living or dead. I normally dumped the remains of my subjects in the forest, but I didn’t have time to do that now.
I did a final check of the workshop then went outside. The sun had risen. It was still low in the sky, but the journey back through the forest would be less hazardous now that I could see where I was going.
I closed the door behind me and began making my way back toward the trail.
Then Alex stepped out of the forest.
Chapter 24
Far Enough
“Hey!” Alex said. “You’re up early.”
A cold dread ran through my veins, and the confidence that I’d felt mere seconds earlier evaporated. “Hi… yeah… I couldn’t sleep.”
Alex smiled. “Me neither.” He looked past me at the works
hop. “More of the camp?”
I took a few steps toward him, blocking his path. “Could be, yeah. I think it’s a lot older, though.” My throat was dry, and the words came out fractured.
“Anything interesting in there?”
“Not really.”
I moved forward again. I was hoping to push him back toward the path and the camp, but he held his ground.
Alex frowned as he peered through the window. “There’s some tools and stuff, though. Could be useful for something.”
“Everything’s rusted. The whole place is rotten. The rain probably got in during the winter.”
Alex shrugged. “Maybe we can salvage something. Mike’s pretty good with his hands.”
The shadow twitched.
“Maybe later. It’s not safe in there.”
Alex scratched his chin, nodding, but he was still frowning.
I moved my hand toward my knife. As my fingers touched the leather grip, Lucy’s voice called out. “Alex!”
We turned and ran through the forest, Lucy’s voice pulling us along the trail. When we broke out of the undergrowth into the clearing behind the lodge, she was standing beside the back door. She slumped with relief when she saw us. When she saw Alex, anyway.
“What’s the matter?” Alex said.
Lucy let out a long breath.
Mike appeared in the doorway behind her. “You’d better take a look at this.”
He led us through the lodge and out onto the walkway at the front. We both looked around the camp, searching for whatever had caused Lucy’s distress. It wasn’t until she joined us and Mike swung the lodge door closed that I spotted it. A moment later, Alex gasped.
Serial Killer Z: Volume One Page 19