Dead Men (and Women) Walking (12 page)

James knew that he was
smart, smarter than the average serial killer at least, and even
though he’d done away with his victims quickly, he’d always made
sure to take his time when hiding their remains. Each time, he
carefully buried the small bodies in deeply dug holes, covering the
newly turned earth with debris to make the ground seem undisturbed.
The killer hoped that his luck held out, and the graves went
undiscovered for years to come. That way, he’d be able to keep
hunting as he pleased, without constantly worrying about being
hounded by the police.

“
I see him over there!”
James exclaimed, pointing toward a dense copse of trees.

“
Where? Where?” Jenny
shouted, jumping up into her seat and pressing her small face close
to the windshield, trying to locate the spot that “George” was
pointing too.

“
Right over there, he just
ran behind those trees!”

As he brought the car to a
sudden halt, James reached for the girl’s shoulder to keep her from
tumbling headfirst into the glass. He held her not because he cared
for her safety, but because he didn’t want even a scratch to mar
her velvety skin before he had a chance to explore its perfect
smoothness for himself.

“
Come on, Jenny, let’s go
catch him before he gets away again!” James said breathlessly,
grabbing the little girl’s hand and pulling her across the seat and
out of the car before she even had a chance to respond. The child,
barely able to keep up with the large man’s fast-paced strides,
almost tripped and fell more than once before they made it to the
thicket.

The killer realized that he
was safe now. There was no one living for miles around to hear the
child’s screams, so he could finally drop the Mr. Nice Guy persona,
which he hated so much, and let the real James make an appearance.
Jenny’s abductor turned to look at her. Instead of the smiling,
happy stranger she’d come to trust, the little girl was faced with
a panting, leering monster that was intent on her
destruction.

“
I’ve got a secret to tell
you, Jenny.” The killer held the girl by both arms and pulled her
so close to his sneering countenance that she could smell the odor
of decay that wafted from his mouth with every word he spoke. “My
name isn’t George, and I didn’t lose a puppy.”

James stood immobile as he
waited for the child to realize the life threatening danger that
she was in. He loved this part of the game. When the truth finally
dawned on the children, their little faces would crumple into
tear-filled grimaces of terror, and then the screaming and begging
would begin. Oh how he loved the screaming and begging!

That wasn’t happening with
this little girl though; she was still calm and tranquil. The only
noticeable difference was that her innocent smile was now replaced
by a twisted little leer, while a definitely unchildlike
intelligence emanated from her hungry eyes.

James frowned in confusion.
Why wasn’t she crying? Why wasn’t she screaming? Why did a look
from this defenseless, little girl suddenly turn his legs rubbery
and his stomach into a nervous, clenched knot?

“
I’ve got a secret to tell
you too, George,” the child whispered, grabbing her captor by the
flesh of his cheeks and pulling his face close to her own. “My name
isn’t Jenny, and I’m not really a little girl.”

The child’s breath reeked,
but it wasn’t the fetid odor of decaying teeth or the stink of
rotting food that permeated her every exhalation; it was the
pungent stink of old blood. Too late, James understood that
tonight, their roles would be reversed: he would be playing the
part of the victim, and she, the monster. He tried to struggle, but
the vampire’s grip was like velvet-gloved steel: baby soft on the
outside, but hard and inflexible underneath.

“
You know, I was sitting in
that park for so long, that I thought I’d begun to lose my touch,”
the creature hissed, “but then you came along and showed me that,
even after 300 years, I've still got what it takes to attract men
like you.”

And with that, the tiny
bloodsucker twisted her victim’s head to the side and bit into the
meaty, sweat-scented flesh of his throat.

By Lee Pletzers

Mack walked the city of the
dead. He strolled across deserted streets and stepped over bodies,
littering the area. For months he had walked and walked and walked.
Scrounging food from wherever he could, and hoping to find someone
else alive in this hell-hole of corpses and sweltering
heat.

Crashed cars and busses
filled with the dead, blocked all exits from the city. He was cut
off from the rest of the world, if there was a world
left.

Litter skittered across the
ground; newspaper sheets, candy wrappers and other paper-like junk.
A few beer cans turned in semi-circles, headed for the gutter. God,
he’d love a beer right now, but all the stores were empty; beer,
wine, sprits -- all of it gone.

On his right was a park
where just months ago, he had enjoyed a day there with his wife and
son. They had skipped stones across a small duck pond and laughed
at ducks racing out of the way.

Mack spied a wicker chair
and a fishing pole with a small bucket next to it close to the
pond. The owner was nowhere to be seen.

This city was dead. This
city was for the dead.

The sun was high in the
clear blue sky and its light reflected off shiny office windows
with estate-like names; Barron’s Hall, Yellow-bird Manson,
etc.

Each had a good view of the
park.

A flash of movement from
Barron’s Hall, caught his eye. He turned to face the building
straight on. From the blackened glass, he could just make out a
pair of eyes looking at him.

He stared at the watcher as
the watcher stared at him.

Had he truly found someone
alive, after all these months? Hope swelled in his chest, the
thought of no longer being alone was almost impossible to
believe.

The watcher vanished from
the window.

He crossed the
street.

The blackened glass
reflected his dirty clothes, unkempt brown hair, sunken cheeks with
a grayish tinge to them, brown eyes wide. He watched his feet
shuffle forward.

Up against the glass, he
cupped his hands and peered in. Whoever was up against the window
wasn’t dead, ‘cause he or she was gone. It was very dark looking
from the outside to the inside, so Mack decided he should enter the
building.

He tried to see some sign
for the building apart from it’s pathetic name, but couldn’t see
anything that would give away the offices inside. He remembered the
days before Death visited, the days of family happiness and joy. He
recalled seeing this building with a guard posted outside every day
and night.

He pushed on the X shaped
door and entered the large foyer. Sunlight gleamed on the highly
polished floor. Directly in front of him was a metal detector and
next to that was an x-ray machine, like those found at airports.
Along the side was a long reception desk and beside that were
elevators. Close to the windows at the far end of the hall was a
large, heavy looking door -- which was open an inch or
two.

He walked through the metal
detectors. Two quick beeps from the machine startled him. He turned
to it and stared in amazement at the flashing light. This place has
electricity, he thought in amazement. There hadn’t been electricity
in the streets for months. He turned to the elevators and saw the
yellow number one was lighted.

Cupping his hands over his
mouth, he yelled, “Hello?” His voice echoed in the large space,
bouncing off the walls and returning to him. “Would like to know if
I’m the only person alive in this city.” Mack waited for a
response. He stood statue still, almost held his breath.

The door at the end opened
slowly. A woman in her twenties or thirties, Mack was never good at
guessing ages, stood framed in the doorway. Her hair was long and
straggly, she looked as if she hadn’t washed in ages; the clothes
she wore had mud stains on the miniskirt and grime on the blouse.
She stared at him coldly, her arms behind her back.

Mack held his hands in front
of him and took a step forward. She flinched. “Don’t worry,” he
said softly. “I come in peace.” What a stupid thing to say, he
thought but it did the trick. Her face relaxed. “What’s your
name?”

She shook her head and
smiled. Her teeth were brown and several were cracked. Strips of
white and black flesh were jammed in gaps. She pulled her right
hand from behind her back. The skin was gone, peeled away. The
exposed flesh looked dry and cracked. Between her thumb and index
finger, she held a white billiard cue ball.

Mack took a step
back.

A cough, long and rough
ripped forth. Her head tilted to the floor and she seemed to study
her feet a moment as the coughs continued to rack her. A gurgling
sound issued in the back of her throat. Her body convulsed and
suddenly vomit spewed to the floor. Blood and undigested skin
splattered her feet.

“
Hungry,” she said in
hoarse voice. “Starving.” Slowly she looked up at Mack.

“
You...ate...?” He could
barely catch his breath. His stomach twisted inside with the rancid
smell of the vomit seeping into his nostrils.

Her arm moved like
lightning. The cue ball flew forward. Mack had little time to
react. His hands rushed to cover his face as he dropped to the hard
floor. A window behind shattered, the sharp sound screeched in his
ears as large unbroken chunks dropped from the frame and hit the
marble floor.

This bitch was fucking
crazy.

She sauntered toward him,
swinging her arms lazily at her side.

Mack picked himself off the
cold marble floor, black mirrored glass sparked the outside light
into his eyes, forcing him to squint.

Through blurred sight, he
saw people outside, a large group. At least twenty, a few he
recognized.

They all stared at him, all
frowning. Their eyes were dead, dull orbs. He bumped something, and
the woman screamed in his ear. The shock punched him sideways, his
hands automatically covered the side of his face.

Crunching glass got his
attention. They were coming in through the empty window frame. Some
seemed not sure of their steps and moved slowly forward, while
others were very sure. They grimaced as if they saw something so
disgusting, it made their insides boil.

Mack didn’t want to admit it
to himself, but he knew he was facing an army of the infected, yet,
they’d gone past the virus and evolved into something more.
Something hungry.

A small group advanced
first, as more gathered at the broken window; faces bloodlessly
white, eyes bloodshot and some were blood-red from burst
capillaries or shattered veins.

The fastest amongst them
wore a black as coal suit, his hair was neatly styled and he wore a
nametag with his picture on the corner. This man was
smiling.

The woman hissed in Mack's
face. Mack, his full attention on the man advancing, shoved her
aside, knocking her to the floor.

The black suited man was
closing in, drawing nearer in slow even steps. He seemed to be
studying Mack with intense curiosity; his eyes often squinting in
thought or mistrust.

The woman stood, her body
bent at one side. Blood ran from the corner of her mouth. She
lunged at Mack, her fingers ripped into his neck. She was strong
and the struggle hard. Her fingernails dug under his skin, pulled
at the loose flesh. Pain jolted through his body; his head jerked
involuntary. She leaned in as if to bite him, but he managed to get
his forearm between her face and his.

Stretching, his hand grabbed
a fist full of dirty, matted hair. He yanked her head back, raised
his fist to end her now, when her eyes caught his attention. They
weren’t dead eyes like the others -- they held a sparkle only the
living had. A certain sheen.

He released her and she hit
the floor hard. Instantly, the woman struggled to her feet. She
stood fully erect within seconds. She smiled; her tongue rolled
over her broken teeth.

The front of her head
exploded.

A small object bounced off
his cheek. The ripped forehead skin hung down over her eyes. The
bloodstained skull was burned, the blood dried and brown; a
fragment of bone lay on his shoe. Not a single drop of blood
escaped from the hole.

The woman stood, perfectly
balanced until her body sagged and crumpled to the floor. Behind
her stood the man wearing the black suit and clasped in his hand
was a black bulky gun of a type Mack had never seen
before.

“
She failed,” the man said.
He motioned, pointing the gun over his shoulder. “They all failed.”
He frowned as if suddenly in thought. “Many in fact. Too many,
except you.” His eyes locked on Mack. “Why not?”

The army of the infected
advanced, only a few steps behind the man in the suit. Mack back
stepped. The dead stepped around the man as if he were a pillar or
other obstacle.

“
They don’t sense me,” the
man said as if he’s just read Mack’s mind. “Pheromones.” He smiled.
“We can control them.”