Serial Killer Z: Volume One

by Philip Harris

  He dragged himself out of the way. I let the strut drop back down. Sweat covered his forehead, and his skin was pale in the gloom. He was breathing deeply, but the relief was clear on his face.

  “Thank yo—”

  A young girl with her face drenched in blood reared up out of the darkness. She lunged at the man, clamping her jaws down on his neck. He screamed as she tore through the flesh. Blood poured down his chest. A thick spurt sprayed across the cabin and splashed against the wall.

  Still screaming, he clutched at the girl’s head. He found her hair and pulled. I heard it rip, and a thick clump came away in his hands. The girl wrapped her arms around his shoulder, fastening more tightly. He swiped at her again. The girl’s fingernails raked at his chest, tearing through his shirt and opening up three deep gashes.

  The man’s hands fell to his side. He looked at me, his eyes wide and pleading. He coughed, and blood bubbled from between his lips.

  I pulled my knife out again. The girl lifted her head, tearing away a chunk of flesh. She flicked her head back, tipping the morsel down her throat like a lizard. Then she sank her teeth into the man once more. His eyes rolled back in his head, and he passed out.

  I stood over the two of them and watched the zombie at her meal. She was oblivious to my presence—too intent on her food to notice the killer in her midst.

  The blood had stopped pulsing from the man’s neck. His head bobbed slightly as the zombie fed, but his eyes had the vacant, watery stare of the recently dead. The girl’s animalistic grunts and slurps grew louder as she tore through the man’s throat without pausing to swallow.

  She was trapped beneath the twisted wreckage of a pair of the aircraft’s seats. She had enough freedom of movement to reach the man, but that was all, so I was safe for the time being. I didn’t know how long I had before the man turned. If he ever did. I knew from past experience that each of the contagion’s victims reacted differently. Some, like the girl, manifested the most extreme symptoms almost immediately. Others took days to turn. A few stayed dead.

  The smell of blood grew thick and suddenly overwhelming. My interest in the zombie was waning quickly. In one swift motion, I drove the knife into the back of the girl’s skull. She fell forward, her face resting on the man’s shoulder. I did the same to him.

  I felt nothing as I pulled out the knife and stepped away from the bodies. There was no quickening of my pulse, no pleasure. Nor was there any sense that I was doing the right thing or helping a fellow human being. It was just a cold, mechanical act with no more significance than the gutting of a fish.

  The man’s head had fallen against the girl’s. If it wasn’t for the blood and torn flesh, they might have looked like lovers caught in a tender moment.

  I wiped my knife on the man’s jeans and was about to search the aircraft when I heard a sound—voices.

  Chapter 4

  An Invitation

  “Green, check the front. Bailey, keep watch on the trail.”

  It was a man. His accent was American but with an Asian edge.

  Two more voices, one of them female, responded, and I heard footsteps on grass.

  “Come on, we’ll check the plane,” said a second man.

  The metallic click of rifles being adjusted, then more footsteps, these getting closer.

  My body went into overdrive. I considered then discarded trying to hide, run, or fight back in a matter of seconds. All I could do was put on my mask and pretend to be a normal human being. If I could remember how.

  I slipped my knife into my belt behind my back. A shape appeared in the door. The light behind the figure turned them to a dark shadow. The shadow leaned forward, coalescing into a thin-faced, muscular Asian man. He raised the barrel of an automatic rifle and smiled.

  “Good morning.”

  I raised my hands, just slightly, in an effort to look less threatening and nodded.

  He smiled. His nose seemed too big for his face, and it was twisted where it had been broken at some point in the past. It twitched oddly when he moved his mouth.

  “Perhaps you’d like to come out so that we can have a chat?” he said. His eyebrows flicked up at the end as though it really was an invitation I could decline.

  “Of course,” I said, matching his false sincerity with my own.

  I walked slowly across the aircraft, carefully picking my way over the wreckage on the floor. I didn’t want to trip and get myself shot. The man backed away as I got close to the door, giving me room to climb back out of the aircraft.

  As soon as my feet hit the ground, he said, “That’ll do.”

  I stopped moving and half raised my hands again. I could see two of the other people now. A man with another automatic rifle stood a little to the right of the man with the broken nose. His bald head was covered in scratches and nicks where he’d shaved his hair off. He looked vaguely familiar, but I couldn’t place him.

  There was a woman near the front of the aircraft. She was tall and bulky, her gray jacket pulled tight over muscled arms.

  “What’s your name?” said the man with the broken nose.

  “Marcus Black.” My voice was confident and didn’t waver, but inside, the blood was rushing through my system, driven by a heart beating so fast I was surprised it wasn’t loud enough for every zombie in the surrounding area to hear.

  “Well, Mr. Black. It seems we have a bit of a problem.”

  “Oh?”

  “Yes. You see, this clearing, most of this mountain, in fact, belongs to me. And anything on that land belongs to me. And anything that crashes onto that land belongs to me.”

  “Absolutely, I understand. In that case, I’ll get out of your way.”

  I didn’t bother trying to move. We both knew where this was going.

  He sucked a breath through his teeth. A thoughtful look came over his face as though he was really considering my words.

  “I don’t think that’s going to cut it.”

  “No, I didn’t think it would.”

  The man snorted.

  “Bailey, check him.”

  The woman didn’t hesitate. She was carrying an automatic rifle, too, but she slung it over her shoulder and switched to a pistol instead. She kept it trained on me while she walked over and then searched me—first for weapons, then for bites.

  I felt a wave of revulsion as she pawed at me, patting me down and pulling aside my jacket to get a better look at any exposed flesh. It wasn’t just the low-grade stench that seemed to hang in the air around her—there was something deeply humiliating about the situation. The shadow busied itself by projecting images of her lying on the floor, her throat slit, blood pooling around her body.

  When she found the knife, she yanked it free and tossed it contemptuously across the clearing.

  “Clean,” she said and backed away.

  She took up position a few feet away from the man with the broken nose and switched back to the rifle.

  I took some solace from the fact that Broken Nose had taken the time to check I wasn’t infected. He obviously wanted to keep me alive. At least for the time being. He lifted his hand to his chin and began stroking it like some melodrama villain. I half expected him to start cackling madly.

  There was a scar on the back of his hand. It ran from between two knuckles and disappeared beneath the sleeve of the tan-colored jacket he wore. The flesh around the scar was puckered and raw as though it was relatively new, and there were angry red blotches on the back of his hand. There was the pale band around one finger, where a wedding ring might have sat.

  “You look like you’ve been out here for quite a long time,” he said.

  I acknowledged the point with a nod. It had been weeks since I’d seen my own reflection, but I could see my own ribs, feel the thinness of my face.

  “Which means you’ve probably got a hideout somewhere, your own personal Bat Cave maybe.”

  Dread danced along my spine. Did he know about my hiding place? I went with the easy lie, the half truth
. “I was living in an abandoned gas station, but it was overrun a few days ago. I’ve been traveling north, trying to find somewhere new.”

  “Why not south, to the city?”

  “Too many zombies there—it’s safer out here.”

  “So, you’ve just been sleeping rough?”

  I nodded and gestured to the aircraft behind me. “I thought the plane might be a good place to shelter tonight.”

  “Yeah, that’s not going to happen.” The man let out a heavy sigh like the weight of the world was pressing down on him. “Perhaps I should just shoot you and be done with it?”

  “Or you could not shoot me and let me go.”

  He let out a little laugh. “I like you, Marcus. And I think you’ve got a knack for survival. You must have, given that you’re still breathing, what with the zees wandering around and all. So, I’ll tell you what I’m going to do. I’m going to give you a choice.”

  I doubted any choice he was willing to offer me was going to be particularly appealing.

  “I’ll let you join us.”

  “Why on earth would I want to be part of your gang?” The surprise in my voice was clear, and I regretted the words the moment I’d said them.

  Broken Nose’s eyebrows shot up. After a moment, he said, “There’s safety in numbers. We have food, supplies, shelter.” A cold look came over his face. “And I’ll kill you if you don’t.”

  I didn’t doubt it. At his words, the man with the shaved head tightened the grip on his rifle. The movement was subtle, the message less so.

  A third man appeared from a trail leading out of the clearing. Hope that it was the leading member of a distraction-providing swarm of zombies was quickly dashed. The new arrival was another part of Broken Nose’s gang. He was wearing baggy jeans and a loose-fitting padded jacket, and he moved quickly, a confident swagger in his movements.

  “Yo, Ling. They’re coming.”

  Broken Nose, whose name was apparently Ling, pointed past the aircraft, over my shoulder. “We’ll go that way.”

  As the others moved quickly across the clearing, Ling pulled a pistol from behind his back. He walked up to me and placed the gun’s barrel beneath my chin—the movement very calm for someone about to be overrun by zombies. “Time to decide.”

  I counted silently to four before speaking. “Lead the way.”

  Chapter 5

  Breaking Bread

  A Jeep arrived just as we reached the edge of the clearing, wheels tearing tracks in the grass as it slid to a halt. I glanced back over my shoulder. Three people rode in the vehicle—two men in the front, a woman in the back.

  Ling pushed me forward. “Keep moving.”

  Bailey led us through the forest. She ducked through the trees and switched from trail to trail with the confidence of someone who knew where she was going. Each step took us closer to the ridge where my cave was located, and each step increased the fear nestled in my gut.

  There were no sounds of pursuit, but we moved quickly and would reach the ridge soon. I still had no idea whether Ling knew where I’d been living, and his “Bat Cave” comment kept gnawing at me. As we walked, I looked for an opportunity to slip away, but Ling and the man with the shaved head stayed close. They weren’t exactly keeping their weapons trained on me, but I wouldn’t get far before they gunned me down.

  We reached a wider trail, one pitted with tire tracks, and turned onto it. I couldn’t be sure, but it seemed like we were heading south, parallel to the ridge. The fear eased a little. We slowed, too, the distance from the clearing apparently great enough that there was less need to hurry. Thick trees flanked the trail and formed an impenetrable wall. There were no signs of life, zombie or otherwise.

  The young man walked alongside Bailey. He kept stealing sidelong glances at her as though he was trying to pluck up the courage to say something. In the end he said, “So, about last nigh—”

  “It means nothing, Green. Don’t read anything into it.”

  He raised his hand in a placating gesture. “Okay, is cool, is cool.” He licked his lips. “But, you know, if you ever feel the need again…”

  She looked down at him. She was at least a foot taller, and her bulk only emphasized the differences between them. “Ain’t going to happen. That was a one-time deal.”

  Green’s hand came up again. “Okay, I hear ya.” He lowered his hand and didn’t speak again, but the sideways glances continued until we reached a narrow trail cutting across the one we were on.

  Without speaking, Ling moved to the front of the group and led us onto the trail. Green took one last look at Bailey and dropped behind me.

  “What do you think, Lawson?” he said. “I have a chance.”

  The man with the shaved head smiled. “You two would make a beautiful couple.”

  Bailey sighed and shook her head.

  Green grinned and flared his eyes. “I know, right?” He shook his head. “Man…”

  He saw me watching him, and the smile dropped away. He flicked his head, urging me onward.

  The trail was narrow, and we had to switch to single file. I was in the middle, being led through the trees like a prisoner in some war movie. And like a prisoner in a war movie, I was trying to work out how to escape. Ling’s offer seemed sincere, but I had no interest in becoming part of his entourage.

  It dawned on me that there might be other people in his gang. He was clearly the leader of this little group of thugs, but they might just be a scouting party investigating the plane crash. The realization hit me like a punch to the stomach. I stumbled slightly on the uneven ground. I’d been enjoying my own company for so long, I doubted I could even function around other people anymore. The urge to dive into the trees and make a break for it threatened to overwhelm me. Then Ling raised his clenched fist, and we stopped walking.

  He stepped to one side, and Bailey moved past him. She walked a few paces down the trail then cut off to the right near a tree with a grimy strip of orange plastic nailed to it. She pushed her way through a clump of bushes and disappeared.

  We waited on the trail in silence until we heard a shrill whistling sound—three short bursts followed by a pause and then a fourth, longer sound. At the signal, we followed Bailey into the undergrowth.

  We found her in a rudimentary camp nestled in a bowl-shaped depression in the ground. The sides sloped steeply, and it was surrounded by a wall of trees, making it impossible to see until you were almost on top of it.

  With relief, I noted just four sleeping bags in the camp, distributed around a blackened pile of charred wood. A blanket sat on one side of the remains of the fire, a pair of metal camping stools on the other. Bailey was rooting around in a pack, one of the generic green canvas tubes soldiers were issued.

  Green pulled aside a wall of branches and retrieved another pack and then half slid, half ran down the slope and into the camp. Lawson bumped my shoulder as he walked past me.

  Ling waited as I picked my own route down to the camp and then watched me slip and slide my way uncertainly into the bowl before following me.

  Bailey had found what she was looking for—a reusable plastic shopping bag emblazoned with a logo urging us to save the planet. Presumably so that the zombies wouldn’t get wiped out by climate change. She pulled four pouches out of the bag and threw one each to Ling, Green, and Lawson. She waited until Ling had nodded his assent before throwing me my own pouch. It was a vegetarian curry—complete with a small plastic spork.

  Bailey retrieved her own food then sat down on one of the metal stools. Ling took the other, while Green and Lawson sat on the blanket. I stood awkwardly for a moment then moved to a log at the base of the slope. It was a little way back from the fire and accentuated the fact I wasn’t truly part of the group.

  With some effort, I managed to tear open the bag of food, only spilling some of the sauce onto the ground. Even cold, the curry was a welcome change. My own diet consisted primarily of beef jerky and the occasional can of soup.

  I watc
hed and listened to the others as I ate. Green and Lawson were engaged in a discussion about their preferred zombie-killing weapons—a baseball bat and machete respectively. The debate quickly turned heated, with Green becoming quite indignant at Lawson’s insistence that a bat was less effective than a good blade. In the end, Lawson declared Green an idiot, and the two shut up.

  I kept looking at Lawson. I couldn’t shake the feeling that I knew him from somewhere. Maybe the bald head was throwing me off.

  “TV,” said Green.

  “Pardon?” I said once I realized he’d been talking to me.

  “You recognize him from TV. He’s one of those guys who appears in everything but don’t get their own show.”

  Lawson rolled his eyes but didn’t contradict him. Now Green had shown me what to look for, I could see it. If you ignored the aggressive haircut, the drawn face, and the dark shadows under his eyes, you could see the bland good looks of someone just handsome enough to act. He wasn’t destined to be the lead, but he certainly had enough appeal to be the special guest of the week. I’ve never watched a lot of television, but maybe that was it.

  Green leaned over and said something in Lawson’s ear. He smiled, but it was halfhearted.

  Ling and Bailey ate in silence. They focused entirely on their food, paying no attention to their companions. Or to me. If my chances of escape during the journey to the camp were slim, they were nonexistent now. The depression’s sloped walls would make it easy to catch or shoot me before I got very far.

  Ling’s movements were relaxed and confident. He ate slowly, savoring each mouthful. He’d unhooked a water bottle from his belt, and he took a sip every now and again. It was as though he were sitting in a restaurant somewhere, not perched on a stool in a camp that could, theoretically at least, be overrun by flesh-eating monsters at any minute.

  Bailey only seemed relaxed. There was a subtle tension in every move she made. It wasn’t fear or defensiveness or even aggression. It was just a natural alertness. Her muscles moved beneath her jacket as she scooped food into her mouth. When she reached down to pick up her own water bottle, her jacket stretched so tight across her back it looked like it might split. It wasn’t hard to see how she’d survived the apocalypse.