Ling and Lawson were walking up the street with Santos. Bailey followed along a couple of paces behind them. Harwood had shown no signs that they’d indicated they knew me. That made me nervous. The shadow was beginning to make itself felt again. Maybe it could sense the scalpels, or maybe it was driven by the lust for revenge. Whatever the reason, it urged me to confront Ling.
“Looks like Bill’s going to be busy?”
I gave Melissa a blank look.
She pointed at the man in the overalls. “Bill’s our DIY expert. He used to be a carpenter or something.”
One of the men standing on the watchtower whistled sharply. He gestured to Harwood, holding up two fingers, then pointed out, away from Sanctuary. Harwood shook his head.
“I guess the trip took a lot out of you,” Melissa said.
I was still staring at the workmen at the gate, but my thoughts were on Ling. How could I get him alone? How could I get my tools back?
Melissa sighed theatrically. “Well, you’re obviously not in the mood to chat. Maybe we can continue this later, over dinner maybe.”
That got my attention. “I—”
Melissa laughed. “Holy crap, Marcus. You don’t need to look so terrified. It’s just a couple of zombie apocalypse survivors having a meal. I’m not inviting you to meet my parents.”
I smiled and tried to look relaxed. Inside, my mind fought to find the right words to convince her that dinner was a bad idea.
The seconds dragged by until she finally shook her head. “Okay, I’ll take a rain check on that.”
I nodded. The motion elicited another sigh from Melissa.
“Right, I see the captain has brought some new gear for me to play with, so I’m going to go check it out.” She frowned at me. “You look tired. You should go and get some rest.”
She didn’t wait for my reply, but as she walked away she said, “We’re having a memorial for Jonathan this evening, just before we eat. Parker would like you to be there.”
I made a noncommittal noise and watched as she joined Harwood and the others and examined the tools we’d gathered from the construction site.
I spent over half an hour standing in the lee of a house, watching them unload the trucks. Bill, the carpenter, spent the first sixteen minutes of that time talking to Harwood. Once they’d finished speaking, he took control. He pointed and directed, putting about a third of the wood we’d gathered and the roll of plastic near the gate. The rest they moved into a single truck. A man I didn’t recognize drove it away toward the town center.
As daylight faded, the air took on a chill, and a few drops of rain fell. When I started to shiver, I headed back to my house. The shadow had twisted my stomach into a tight knot of anger, and it took all of my self-control not to try to find Ling there and then. Every step I took toward my new home seemed to add to my anxiety. My heart pounded faster and faster. It was as though my body itself was rebelling and teaming up with the shadow to force me to confront Ling. His guilt was overwhelmingly obvious, and I didn’t need the shadow to show it to me.
I half ran, half fell down the path to my house. I fumbled with the latch, and when the door finally swung open, I threw myself through it. Immediately, the walls seemed to close in around me. Claustrophobia clawed at my throat, and I sank to my knees. I managed to kick out with my right leg and knock the door closed.
A wave of dizziness washed over me, and I fell forward. The scent of pine, tinged with cigarette smoke, greeted me as I pressed my face into the worn carpet and closed my eyes.
Chapter 41
10:17
When I opened my eyes, I found myself lying on the floor of my cave. I could feel the soft leather of my case in my hand, smell the faint coppery smell that permeated the dry, dusty air of my sanctuary.
Reality hit me.
The leather case in my hand evaporated. The smell of blood faded, replaced with pine and cigarette smoke. I was in a different Sanctuary—a far less satisfactory one.
I rolled onto my back and stared up at the stucco ceiling. There was a dark smudge directly above me. I focused on it. Blocking out the rest of the world until it coalesced into a bulbous black fly. I shivered. My head was pounding. I had no idea how long I’d been lying there, but my arms and legs were stiff after my work at the construction site.
I counted to four then sat up, groaning as my aching muscles made their presence felt. The world wavered as I stood, but the debilitating emotions I’d felt earlier had gone. I could still feel the shadow nestled inside me, but it was silent for the time being.
The clock in the kitchen told me it was 10:17. I’d missed both dinner and the memorial. Neither fact bothered me. There were saucepans and dishes in the cupboards, along with a few cans of soup. I drank some water while the soup heated then poured it into a bowl and went into the living room.
I left the lights off, both to avoid attracting attention and to try to ease the pounding in my head. The shock of seeing Ling had stripped away most of my appetite, but the soup was good. As the first few mouthfuls went down, I realized how hungry I was. I ate the rest quickly.
With the food gone, my thoughts quickly returned to Ling. The tension I’d felt earlier immediately began to return. He was exactly the sort of person that Harwood would want on his side, and I had no doubt that Ling wouldn’t hesitate to join up.
I considered going to Parker and telling her that there were dangerous people in her town. The thought made me laugh. That might solve the problem, at least if Parker believed me. But it wouldn’t get me what I really wanted. Emotions seethed in my gut, stoked by the shadow. Ling had my tools. I was sure of it. I had to find a way to get to him—before he cemented his relationship with Harwood.
The thought of Harwood sent ice water flooding through my veins. Could he really see the darkness inside me? He’d said he’d served with people like me, but I doubted that was true—not exactly, anyway. The idea of me joining any kind of military organization was ludicrous. The armed forces might well attract a few people who derive pleasure from killing, but people like me have very specific needs. Needs that couldn’t reliably be served in the closely controlled environment of the military.
But Harwood must have seen something, some glimpse of my true nature. Whatever it was, it had been enough to get his attention. He seemed intent on recruiting me for his little militia.
The idea was repulsive to me. Harwood had implied that by rejecting him I was automatically on Parker’s side. My presence on the trip to the construction site might have blurred things, no matter what my motive, but it wouldn’t be long before Harwood acted—and I’d be forced to demonstrate my commitment to his cause.
I squeezed my eyes shut for the count of four and then began taking slow, deep breaths, counting them.
One.
Two.
Three.
Four.
I tried to focus on my breathing in an attempt to still my mind, but my thoughts kept returning to Ling and the scalpels, Captain Harwood and Parker, the crack of a zombie’s skull as I slid the knife into it.
The shadow writhed within me again. My mouth turned dry. I closed my eyes and breathed.
One.
Two.
Three.
Four.
When I opened them again, the shadow had gone, leaving behind the certain knowledge of what I had to do. I had a sense of purpose that I hadn’t felt for some time. I was back in the world of the hunter, a world I understood.
Chapter 42
Hunting
The streets were nearly deserted, and my footsteps seemed inordinately loud in the crisp, clear night. The moon provided enough light for me to see by, but the town looked different in the gloom. Shadows turned the houses a uniform gray and shrouded the alleys between them in darkness. The night also brought with it a measure of anonymity. Of the two people I saw, one passed me by without even realizing I was there, and the other acknowledged me with the barest of nods. Clearly, they didn’t recognize me as the
savior of their burgeoning town.
When I reached the town square, I paused to get my bearings. My house was on one of two residential streets. I doubted Parker would put me close to Captain Harwood. Which probably meant he lived on the street that ran east from the square. Ling and Harwood were kindred spirits of a sort. They both saw the world through blood-tinted spectacles. Harwood would have sensed that, I was sure, and he’d be looking to bring Ling and the others into the fold. That meant giving them a house close to his. The fact that Harwood had sent Santos to show them where they’d live only added weight to the theory. The shadow murmured its agreement.
As I walked across the square, I caught a glimpse of movement off to the right. A few seconds later, two men came out of the darkness. They were carrying guns, and although they were pointed in the general direction of the ground, the men were heading straight at me.
I raised my hand tentatively and greeted them quietly as they got nearer.
The older of the two, a wiry man with a beard so white it almost glowed in the moonlight, smiled amiably enough, but his eyes were watching me intently. The other man was much younger and walked with the confident swagger of someone who hasn’t had life beat him down yet. Despite his confidence, he hung back behind the older man. His finger was on his rifle’s trigger, but the weapon hung loosely at his side. Clearly, he’d never heard of trigger discipline.
“Good evening,” said the older man. “Can I ask what you’re doin’ out late?”
“I couldn’t sleep.” I rubbed my hand along my ribs. “My injuries still make it difficult.” It sounded plausible to me, and I figured most people in the town would know about my stint in the hospital.
The man sniffed and nodded. “I have the same problem—gout.”
I grimaced in sympathy. The younger man rolled his eyes as though he’d heard far too much about gout.
The older man frowned. “You’re the one that killed that zombie, aren’t ya?”
“Yeah, I am.”
“Ahhhh, I thought I recognized ya.”
The old man paused. Apparently, my status as zombie killer wasn’t enough to give me a pass. I could see him sizing me up, assessing my clothes, my hair, my face as he decided whether I was telling the truth.
After several seconds, he scratched the dusting of stubble on his chin. “Well, we’d best be getting down to the gate.”
“Ah right. Well, thank you, then. For keeping us safe. Captain Harwood runs a tight crew.”
Now it was the old man’s turn to grimace. It seemed Parker still had at least one supporter. Behind him, the young man had already decided I wasn’t a threat and was getting antsy. Instead of paying attention to me, he was picking some mud off the side of his rifle. At least he’d taken his finger off the trigger.
I nodded my goodbye and began walking down the street. I could feel the old man’s eyes on me. If he knew where I was living, he’d see I wasn’t going home, and I was sure he’d want to know where I was going. And what I planned to do when I got there.
Every step, every movement I made, seemed awkward and out of place. My shoulders were too hunched. My arms were swinging too wildly. I was walking too quickly. I slowed down then immediately regretted it. I was still walking too self-consciously. I sped up a bit, took a deep breath, and shook the tension out of my shoulders. Every bone and muscle in my body wanted to look back over my shoulder to see if the patrol had moved on. I decided to count to sixteen, and then I’d cross the street, using it as an excuse to check back the way I’d come.
I counted as slowly as I dared. As soon as I hit sixteen, I moved to the edge of the sidewalk and looked left as casually as I could. The street was empty. I walked across in case someone was watching from inside one of the nearby buildings. I took the opportunity to check down the road again, my eyes lingering on the shadows. There was no sign of the two men.
Halfway down the street, I reached a pair of houses that were still boarded up. I cut down the narrow gap between them. As soon as I was out of sight, I ducked and crept back the way I’d come. The two houses were built identically and had big porches with triangular roofs supported by thick pillars. The porches provided plenty of shadow, and I found a spot where I could see most of the street but still remain under cover. A cloudy night would have made the task easier, but I was grateful it wasn’t raining. I leaned my back against the side of one of the buildings and settled in to wait.
For the most part, the street was deserted. A couple of times, small groups of people made their way to their houses, but it was getting late, so most people were already home. It struck me that Ling might have retired for the night as well, but the shadow was quietly insistent. All I needed was patience.
It felt like a couple of hours later that I saw Ling and Lawson come out of the last house on the street. They were a couple of hundred feet away, but I recognized Ling’s confident swagger immediately.
They walked halfway along the block before turning down a path toward a house on the opposite side of the street as my hiding place. The building was dark, but there were no boards sealing the doors and windows. When they reached the porch, Lawson dug around in his pockets. He unlocked the door and went inside. Ling paused on the doorstep to look up and down the street. Instinctively, I pressed myself back into the shadows until he went inside.
A light in one of the downstairs windows flicked on. I allowed myself to smile. I still needed to be patient, but at least I knew where my prey was.
Voices drifted to me from somewhere up the street. I quickly jumped down from the porch. My legs were stiff, and I moved awkwardly as I retreated down the lane between the houses and into the shadow.
A couple of minutes later, two young men ambled down the road. They were far more interested in each other than me, and neither of them looked in my direction as they passed. I waited until they’d gone into the house opposite Ling’s before coming out of my hiding place.
I waited a few more minutes, eight at least, before making my way out onto the street. Each step brought with it a calmness, a surety that I hadn’t felt since Camp Redfern. I was on familiar territory, and I found myself smiling slightly.
My confidence wavered a few seconds later, however, when the light in the building the two men had gone into burst to life. A yellow strip spilled from the living room window, slashing across the road like a searchlight. I slowed then resorted to the oldest trick in the book. I knelt and retied my shoelaces.
As I fumbled with my shoe, I scanned the newly lit house. The drapes were open, and I could clearly see one of the men standing inside. He was holding a mug of something hot, thin wisps of steam rising in front of his face. He was staring at the wall above a fireplace. I could see the frame of a picture or maybe a mirror.
From where he was standing, he’d easily be able to see me entering Ling’s house. There was a good chance he wouldn’t think anything of it at the time, but if he had cause to consider the evening later, he’d almost certainly remember me.
There was no doubt in my mind that I’d have to resort to violence to get my tools back from Ling. The shadow and I were comfortable with that idea. What we weren’t comfortable with was being caught.
I turned off the street and walked down another of the gaps between houses. Both buildings showed signs of occupation. I moved as quietly as I could. Small windows—bathrooms, maybe—overlooked the alley. I kept glancing up at them for signs that I’d been seen, but the houses remained dark.
All the houses had large yards surrounded by wooden fences about ten feet high. There was a gate in each one that opened up onto a lane running parallel to the street. There was a matching set of enclosed yards on the lane’s opposite side, the backs of their associated houses clearly visible in the moonlight. Garbage bins stood beside a few of the gates, but otherwise, the lane was clear of debris.
I turned left, toward Ling’s house. The gates were numbered. I was at house number 410. A quick mental calculation put Ling’s house at 416. I checked
and double-checked the numbers until I was confident I was correct. Two more houses, and I’d be there.
Pale lights shone from the windows of some of the buildings. There were no streetlamps in the lane, but the moon was bright enough that I’d be clearly visible to anyone taking a moment to look in my direction. I sent out a silent prayer for a cloud bank to move in to obscure the moonlight and provide me with at least little cover. Then I hurried down the lane until I reached the gate marked 416.
It was held closed by a wrought iron latch. I lifted it slowly. It barely made a noise. The gate itself was less accommodating and creaked as I opened it. The sound seemed too loud, and I flinched. I ducked through the gate, flinching again as it groaned even more loudly as I closed it. A garbage bin was just inside the gate. I moved behind it and crouched down.
Most of the house was in darkness, but I could see a pale glow through the French doors that led from the yard. I strained to hear sounds of life from inside, but it seemed the entire town was silent. I took it as a sign that no one had seen me in the lane either, but I waited a few minutes longer, just to be sure, then began counting off the seconds. I counted to thirty-two before I decided it was safe and walked slowly along the concrete pathway to the corner of the house.
I crept up to the French door and peered inside. The room beyond was dark, but I could see a door leading into a hallway lit by a stark light bulb. I grabbed the door handle and pushed. The door shifted slightly but stayed shut. I wasn’t surprised. That would have been too easy.
I ran to the opposite side of the house and peered around the corner. A narrow alley ran between the house and what looked like a garage. It ended in another wooden gate. A few feet away, there was a door leading inside. The glass was warped into concentric circles like water in a rainstorm. Again, the lights were off, but the light from the hallway spilled into the room and provided just enough illumination for me to make out cooking appliances and a fridge.
Serial Killer Z: Volume One Page 48