Christopher's Blade

by Ron Ripley

  Stupid, Jane thought bitterly. Absolutely stupid.

  She turned, spit angrily, and continued at a steady pace.

  ***

  Joyce lay in the snow, the spit still steaming in front of her as Worthe’s hunter walked away.

  Earlier in the night, she had discovered the woman’s tent, but had resisted the urge to see who was inside.

  She vaguely recalled seeing the woman in Worthe’s retinue, but only briefly. Whoever she was, the madman had trusted her with the task of hunting Joyce down.

  She watched the woman glance left and right as she walked, but it didn’t seem as though the hunter was truly paying attention to her surroundings.

  I could kill her from here, Joyce thought as the woman moved farther away.

  But that knowledge was tempered with uncertainty.

  Joyce didn’t know if the woman was in constant communication with someone back at Worthe’s camp. Or if the stranger was merely bait in an elaborate trap.

  I’m overthinking this, Joyce thought.

  No, she decided a moment later. Not necessarily. Both are viable. I’ll need to track her for a bit. If she’s alone and not in regular contact, then I’ll take my chance.

  Until then, I stay alive.

  With the decision made, Joyce watched the woman vanish behind a thick evergreen, and waited for time to pass before starting after her.

  Chapter 12: Roaming Questions

  “We should break our contract,” Gabby said.

  Andy looked at his partner and asked, “What?”

  “Our contract with the professor,” Gabby said. “We should break it.”

  “That’s not going to happen,” he said.

  The sound of the snowshoes crunching in the snow filled the air for a moment.

  “Well, why the hell not?” she demanded.

  “Two reasons,” Andy said, turning left at the corner of the fence and keeping a dozen feet between himself and the wrought iron. “First, we break our contract, that’ll go out into the world, and we will be hard pressed to find any jobs in the future. Second, Timmy didn’t even break his contract, and he ended up in the Village.”

  “Timmy’s a psycho,” Gabby said sullenly.

  “True,” Andy agreed. “However, most of our coworkers have a little bit of a psychotic temperament. We wouldn’t be here if we didn’t.”

  “Well, what’s the point about Timmy then?” she asked.

  “Timmy was set up with the kill order on the town,” Andy said.

  “Yeah,” Gabby said. “I know. Everyone knows. That’s why he lost his mind and killed everyone he could.”

  Andy didn’t argue about whether or not Timmy had killed everyone. The man had taken out a few of their coworkers, but Andy couldn’t see it as unreasonable. If the rumor mill around the compound was true, it was because the professor wanted Timmy’s girlfriend, the medium.

  “The point is, Gabby,” Andy said, “the professor could have cut his contract and let him into the wind. Instead, he ramped Timmy up and then, after he’d gone a little batty, they slapped him into the Village. If Timmy couldn’t get his contract cut, what sort of chances do you think we have?”

  “None,” she said, and then she came to a stop. “Andy.”

  She pointed at the fence, and he turned, surprised to see a man in his twenties standing on the opposite side. Behind him was the Village, and he held a large, wicked looking bayonet with a serrated edge in his hand.

  “Hello,” the man said, his face tight and pale.

  Damn, Andy thought, He’s a ghost. But that bayonet isn’t. That’s the real deal. How the hell does that work?

  “Hello,” Andy replied.

  “So, you’re a woman,” the dead man said, focusing his attention on Gabby.

  “Yeah,” she snapped. “Get away from the fence.”

  The dead man shook his head. “No. I can’t do that. I wish you would come closer.”

  “Nope,” Andy said. “Not going to happen.”

  The dead man frowned.

  “I only want her to take off her helmet. I want a closer look,” the dead man said.

  “You should get the hell away from the fence and go back to whatever place you came from,” Gabby snapped.

  “You should take your helmet off.” There was a strange, predatory note in the man’s voice. “Take it off.”

  “Get out of here,” Andy ordered.

  Without warning, the dead man lobbed the bayonet up and over the wrought iron fence. The blade twisted in its path through the air, the old metal glinting with the sunlight.

  Andy watched the bayonet land in the snow a few feet away from the fence, and he wondered what the point was. He looked back at the dead man, but he was gone.

  “Andy,” Gabby said, speaking his name with a coldness that sent chills racing through him.

  His head jerked back to her, and she pointed.

  The dead man stood a short distance away, grinning at them.

  “I just want you to take your helmet off,” he said, staring at Gabby. “I don’t want you to hide your face from me. Don’t hide anything from me. I need to know what you have hidden in you. We can open you up, take a peek. Wouldn’t that be nice?”

  Gabby brought her shotgun up and fired.

  The pellets passed through the dead man, causing him to vanish.

  “Patrol Two to command actual,” Andy said, but no one answered.

  His radio was dead, the battery drained.

  The dead man appeared in front of them.

  “Unpleasant,” he said, “but not unbearable.”

  He grinned at Gabby.

  “Take your helmet off.”

  As Gabby fired again, Andy drew his flare gun, aimed it at the sky and fired. With the round arcing towards its zenith, the dead man walked toward the fence, crouched down a short distance from it, and stood up.

  In his dead hand, he held the bayonet.

  “Come now,” he whispered to Gabby. “I only want to look inside you.”

  Swearing, Andy raised his shotgun, and the dead man threw the bayonet at him.

  It traveled end over end, and before he could move away, the blade slammed into his left breast. The weapon’s sharp tip penetrated his armor and clothing, causing him to howl with surprise and pain as it ground against bone.

  He took a single step back and saw the dead man vanish as Gabby fired again. Nearby, he heard the roar of an engine, and he knew the quick reaction team was scrambling.

  Yet even as these thoughts passed through, the dead man was in front of Gabby. She tried to fire again, but he knocked the weapon out of her hand.

  “Take your helmet off,” he commanded, reaching for it.

  Gabby drew her sidearm and fired twice.

  Again, the man vanished only to reappear a heartbeat later.

  Andy tried to reach his pistol, but it was pointless. He was a lefty, and the weapon was in a lefthanded holster. He also knew it would only be a matter of time before he succumbed to shock. Numbly, he watched Gabby fight off the dead man, who was laughing with each attack.

  Andy turned his head slowly to the wrought iron fence and knew what he had to do.

  He walked stiffly toward it, his legs threatening to buckle with each step. When he reached the fence, he tried to pull the bayonet out and screamed as the weapon’s serrated edge caught on his bone.

  Stars exploded across his vision, and he vomited inside of his helmet. The liquid splashed back onto his face, and the stench caused his eyes to water as he leaned against the fence. He reached his hand up and steadied himself, then grasped the crossbeam, pulling himself up one-handed, whimpering as the handle of the bayonet struck a bar and vibrated against his bone. His vision went black for a moment, but he continued up even as it cleared.

  A heartbeat later he was rolling over the top of the fence, the points jabbing him and threatening to catch on the bayonet. With a miserable hack, Andy went over the top and landed on his back in the snow.

  The pi
stol fired again, and the dead man was suddenly standing over Andy, screaming with rage.

  “I just want to see what’s inside of her!” the dead man howled, and he ripped the bayonet out of Andy’s chest.

  Andy was still screaming when the dead man drove the weapon through the visor and into his open mouth.

  Chapter 13: Witnessing

  Marcus stopped in mid-lecture, the finer points of Ambrose Bierce’s ghost stories forgotten, interrupted as they were by the roar of engines.

  Timmy entered the room and crossed it, stopping at the window and looking out onto the street. He tilted his head slightly to the right, nodded, and turned away, walking back the way he had come.

  Without looking over his shoulder, Timmy said, “Quick reaction team. Something’s gone wrong.”

  “How wrong?” Alex asked.

  “As wrong as can be,” Timmy responded, and then all was silent as the man continued on with his self-assigned task of plotting the destruction of Christopher’s home.

  “Do you think it’s Elaine?” Alex asked, and there was a note of worry in his voice.

  “No,” Marcus said, smiling gently. “I don’t think it’s Elaine at all. Something else is going on.”

  “Something bad,” Alex whispered, and Marcus had the terrible premonition the boy was absolutely correct.

  ***

  Retrieval of the corpse was difficult.

  No one knew where Christopher was, and few of them wanted anything to do with him.

  David didn’t blame them. He wanted to be home, enjoying his day off.

  There is no rest for the wicked, David thought and pulled his scarf up over his mouth.

  “Lift it,” he said.

  Everyone at the scene turned and looked at him.

  “Pretty sure I didn’t stutter,” David snapped. “Take the damned section up and off its hooks, then, when it’s gone, we move in as a team, retrieve the corpse, and get the hell out of the Village. Understood?”

  Those around him nodded.

  “Good, get it done,” David ordered. With all the moving parts doing their sharp, individual tasks, David turned his attention back to Gabby.

  “Gabby,” he said. “What’s the situation here?”

  “I’m not sure,” she whispered. She shook her head. “One minute, he’s on the other side of the fence. Then, in the next, he’s over the fence.”

  “How did that happen?” David asked, trying to keep his patience.

  Gabby looked at him with strong, brown eyes and whispered, “He threw the bayonet.”

  David couldn’t suppress a shudder.

  Gabby saw it and nodded.

  “My thoughts, too,” she whispered. “He threw the bayonet, up and over the damned fence. As soon as it cleared, well, there he was. Big as life and twice as ugly. He kept telling me he wanted to see inside me.”

  “Great,” David muttered. “Absolutely fantastic.”

  Sighing, he crossed his arms over his chest and waited for the extraction to begin.

  ***

  Abel was in a decidedly foul mood.

  Meredith had refused his invitation to dine with him.

  She had, in fact, asked if there was any indication as to when Timmy might return, and the look on her face implied she knew Abel was keeping him from her.

  She’s mine! Abel thought angrily. Not that foul little murderer’s! I should show her what he did! All those children he killed, the screaming mothers. How will she care for him then?

  A knock at his study door silenced his thoughts and caused him to bark angrily, “Enter!”

  The door swung open, and David trudged into the room, his helmet under one arm.

  It was, Abel realized, the first time David had entered still fully equipped from a trip to the Village.

  “What is it?” Abel asked, some of his fury with Meredith falling away. “What has happened?”

  “We have a new situation, sir,” David said wearily.

  Abel motioned for him to sit, and David settled heavily into the chair.

  “Explain,” Abel said.

  The information was, at first, almost too fantastical for Abel to believe. Yet the more David spoke, the more Abel realized the man was telling the truth.

  When he had finished, Abel asked, “The body’s been retrieved?”

  David nodded.

  “Do we know where Christopher is? Do we have eyes on him at his home?” Abel asked.

  “No, sir,” David answered. “We don’t have enough people left to mount a steady observation of the house.”

  “What do you mean?” Abel asked, confused.

  “Sir,” David said carefully. “Between the deaths and the injuries, we are running at a minimum staffing requirement for this facility and the Village. In fact, most of your employees will be finishing their initial contracts in a matter of weeks. I think it is fairly certain the majority of them will not be seeking a renewal.”

  “Then we’ll make them,” Abel said indignantly.

  David shook his head. “We cannot, sir. There will be more people preparing to leave than there will be remaining. We’re looking at violence if you try to stop them.”

  Abel shook his head, feeling a fit of impotent anger rise within him.

  “Then what do you suggest?” Abel asked bitterly.

  “We’re going to need to bring in new staff, sir,” David said. “I would say at least three full shifts, so, sixty new hires. I would even go so far as to recommend bringing on an additional twenty to make sure there’re enough to rotate and cover any absences.”

  “Where would we get them from?” Abel asked.

  “Foreign outfits, sir,” David explained. “Russia has been putting out some excellent contractors lately, following all the issues in the Ukraine. Balkans always have some fine troops, but they can get carried away. If you don’t mind paying top dollar, there are some UK units that are operating well. Even a German company I know of. The point, sir, is we are going to need to adapt if we’re going to overcome the dead and continue on with your project.”

  “Yes,” Abel said slowly, nodding in agreement. “I see what you’re saying. All right, David, start seeking some information, find out who is available and how many we can get. The choice of from where to get them is up to you. I trust you.”

  David smiled tiredly. “Thank you, sir.”

  “You must go and eat,” Abel said. “There should be some roast left, if you so desire. My cook has it.”

  “I think,” David said, stifling a yawn, “that would be fine, sir. Thank you.”

  The man rose to his feet and left the room, closing the door softly behind him.

  Abel formed a steeple with his fingers and rested his chin upon his thumbs. He considered the information David had given him and imagined Christopher hurling his bayonet over the fence and into the snow.

  How had he discovered that? Abel asked silently. Or perhaps, it was mere hubris that caused him to try it in the first place. Regardless as to the reason behind it, the dead man knows what he can do, which means we’ll have to be careful and keep an eye out. There is no telling where he will go, or how far.

  Abel lifted his head and thought about turning off the power in the Village completely, but decided against it.

  No, he thought. I’ll turn the power off to the other houses. Only Christopher’s and 114 Broad will have any sort of electricity. I will, in fact, turn up the amount of energy delivered to Christopher’s home.

  Perhaps, Abel thought with a widening smile, an increase in power at his home will help Christopher stay indoors. Or, at worst, he will go after those neighbors who have power, too.

  Abel smiled at the thought of Christopher casually disemboweling Timmy and rang the bell to ask Nurse Schomp for some tea.

  Chapter 14: A Pleasant Conversation

  Meredith was displeased with the world in general, and with Abel Worthe in particular.

  The man was hiding Timmy from her. Of that, she had no doubt. Timmy was alive, sh
e knew, but it didn’t mean Worthe wasn’t planning to kill him.

  Or me, she thought angrily, if I don’t fall madly in love with him.

  She could see it in his eyes, a sort of madness that ended in destruction.

  Frowning, Meredith pulled the blanket over her, turned onto her side and tried to think of a way to get in touch with Timmy. She shivered, pulled the blanket tighter around her, and closed her eyes. The cold air stung her cheeks, and Meredith understood she wasn’t alone in the room.

  A dead woman, dressed in little more than rags, stood in the bedroom. She was looking intently at Meredith.

  Sitting up, Meredith asked, “Are you alright?”

  The dead woman came into the room, looked around and spotted a book. She pointed at the book, and then to Meredith. Silently, the dead woman mimed the act of opening the book.

  “You want me to open it?” Meredith asked.

  The ghost nodded her head vigorously.

  Meredith stood, picked up the book and opened it.

  Unsure as to what the woman wanted, Meredith asked, “Is there a particular page you want?”

  The dead woman shook her head, leaned close, read for a moment, and then pointed to the word, ‘you.’

  “You?” Meredith read aloud.

  The ghost nodded, then pointed to the word, ‘are.’

  Meredith repeated it.

  The dead woman scowled and searched for what she wanted before she singled out the letter ‘m.’

  Meredith nodded, and the dead woman pointed out a series of letters.

  M. E. R. E. D. I. T. H. Meredith thought, feeling her eyes widen.

  “Yes,” she said, “I’m Meredith.”

  A look of relief swept over the ghost’s face.

  “Who are you?” Meredith asked, but the dead woman only shook her head.

  The ghost quickly pointed out a new set of letters, spelling Timmy’s name.

  “Where?” Meredith asked, her heart suddenly pounding away at her breast bone. “Where should I meet him?”

  The dead woman spelled out the word, Village.

  “When?” Meredith’s body shook with the forced pause between the asking of a question and the answer it received.