A Little Undead Read online

  'Not cool. If he doesn't mail me my purse I'm suing, werewolf or not.' That brought to mind an important thought: 'Werewolves don't exist, I saw Alex turn into a wolf, and therefore, I must be insane.' Rational logic was obviously not my friend. Maybe chocolate ice cream and denial would suit me better? 'Though it would be murder to my hips – and my wallet.' The memory of the blonde barista at frozen goods store bubbled up, yet another unsolved mystery. Penny I had called her, but she never told me her name. It was too much to think about now. My lost memories were like fish in a river, always just out of reach and darting away whenever I went to grab them. Whatever familiarity I felt with her was probably just an illusion. It was hardly as if my memories had never betrayed me before. In the early days after the accident I would look at my sister and it would be like seeing a stranger, yet other times I would turn around to look for her as if I was used to her never leaving my side. 'Haven wasn't all that friendly, but I swear it was never this stressful.'

  The car slowed to a stop, traffic light glowing an angry red against the dark. 'Argh. There's no helping it. Tomorrow after work I need to research mythical creatures of darkness.' I held my breath as the light seemed to last unnaturally long. In a city on the verge of becoming a true metropolis things shouldn't be this quiet, nighttime or not. I had a brief thought that I might be forgetting something important but as the cab slid forwards without incident the last bit of nervous energy in my system finally gave in to my body's demand for sleep.

  The door rattled, fist after unflinching fist hammering the wood with murderous fury. From the narrow window I watched as dozens of rotters shuffled onto the grounds. Only a few red-eyes were attacking the door, awoken early from their slumber in the shadows, but with night falling more would be quick to follow. Fellow survivors were few and far between now, but food was so much scarcer. When Zach led our group to a hospital to search for food I said nothing. I knew it would be a deathtrap, but what wasn't these days? I was so terribly, mind-numbingly hungry.

  “Bob, hurry up already!” hissed Zoe. A dirty, shaggy-haired man writhed on the operating table, foaming at the mouth as he bit down on a folded cloth. Bob's hand shook, bone-saw wavering like a leaf as he stared at the blood dripping from the blade. “You're worthless. Hold him down, I'll do it.” Grabbing the saw she resumed the cut, pushing on despite the man's screams. He'd never told us his name, and he was scruffy enough that he was probably homeless even before Manhattan turned into Hell on Earth. Zach kept his bloodshot eyes on the door as he helped Bob hold the luckless man down.

  His leg fell to the floor with a sodden thump. The bite on its inflamed flesh stood out clearly, black veins spider-webbing out from the rot-filled punctures. It was a rotter bite. A feral or red-eye bite and sometimes antibiotics were enough if you were quick, but a rotter's touch was death. I crept closer, cloak obscuring my form as I crawled through the shadows to the operating table. My arm stretched, fingers probing the dead flesh of the severed leg.

  The man's screaming stopped abruptly. “Shit!” said Bob. “Is he dead?”

  “Why don't you stick your ear near his mouth and find out if he's still breathing,” replied Zoe caustically.

  I was so hungry. The leg just sat there in my hands, dripping blood from the stump ever so slowly. He was done with it, wasn't he? They couldn't reattach it, and he was probably dead anyways. I'd eaten raw pigeon before, and meat was meat, wasn't it?

  I looked upwards, eyes peering from beneath my blue hood. Zoe drew her knife to end our former companion and seeing that she hadn't noticed me I took a cautious bite. Sickly-warm and gritty, I nonetheless felt my eyelids flutter and mouth water as my body recognized food after so long without.

  “Thunk.” The tip of an axe blade thudded through the door, sending Bob into hysterics. It must be a red-eye, rotters and ferals weren't smart enough. Besides, a feral didn't need an axe to bring down a wooden door.

  “We're all going to die in here!”

  “Jesus, Bob, keep it together.” Zoe's eyes flicked between our unstable traveling partner and the rapidly failing barrier against the undead.

  “Ahhh! He bit me, the bloody wanker actually bit me!” Zach stared at his hand, eyes unfocused and wild. A gobbet of flesh hung from the revived homeless man's mouth. Rushing the newborn zombie he wrapped his hands around his neck, futilely attempting to strangle him. Long before we could learn whether such a thing was even remotely possible Zoe's knife shinked into the zombie's skull. Reversing her hold she pulled out the blade and sent it slamming through Zach's temple, grabbing his pistol before he hit the ground.

  “Bob, grab the girl, we're done here.” Two shots fired from her newly acquired gun, shattering the window-pane.

  He stepped around the table and I could feel him watching me. I tried to stop, to put away the arm, to pretend I was just an innocent girl again, but I was so hungry. “Lord have mercy, she's one of them.” Bob fumbled for his knife, gun long empty of ammo.

  My eyes met Zoe's, the disgust and hatred in her eyes so profound I couldn't bring myself to speak even as the mouth of her gun slowly tilted towards me.

  “Thwack.” The door blew open, splinters flying as it crashed against the doorstop. Bullets rang out, cacophonous metallic fury laying the frontrunners low. Behind them stood a shambling army. Eyes flicking down the dark hallway I saw it, the death-bringer that was a feral. Its path carried it along walls and across the shoulders of rotters, dark claws ripping through anything they touched as it sprinted on all fours. Zoe's last bullet took down the red-eye, but not before his axe thudded into Bob's shoulder. Zoe heard the feral then and ceased all efforts to grab more ammo from Zach's still-cooling body. Her hair billowed as she ran for the window. Grasping his wounded shoulder in a death-grip, Bob was only a step behind but Zoe's heel snapped into his chest. He gasped for breath but the mob was upon him and suddenly his insides weren't on the inside any more.

  My heart fluttered as I awoke, jaw aching as my teeth stretched out ever so slowly. I could smell the cab driver, I realized. Underneath the stench of tobacco smoke was the same raw scent of blood, hints of its flavor seeping through his skin. It must have been what caused that terrible dream. I needed to get a grip on myself, I wasn't a child anymore to be hounded by nightmares. Besides, I had enough junk to deal with in the waking world.

  Grabbing the twenty from my bra I practically threw it at him, not trusting myself to touch his hand after my reaction to Bruce. Leaving him the change as an exorbitant tip I tried not to cringe at how little money that left me. I shuffled my way up the stairs as fast as my bandage-wrapped feet would take me, grabbing the spare key as I went from where I'd hidden it in a crack in the wall.

  By the time my first paycheck came through I'd probably be reduced to eating buttered noodles to keep from starving. 'Or human blood,' came a fleeting, traitorous thought. Shaking my head quickly to clear it I let myself fall backwards onto the bed, showers and bedclothes be damned. Salt and grit clung to my skin and hair but as exhausted as I was it no longer mattered. I drew up the covers to my ears, a heartfelt moan of pleasure escaping me as the pressure in my feet finally eased. I couldn't quite muster the energy to be annoyed that I'd left the light on.

  Chapter 3: In the Ice

  Seconds following the first earthquake the southern coast of the United States was thrown further into chaos as the tsunami struck at over 500 miles per hour. Government agencies intent on addressing the damages failed to realize the true threat until too late. Hours later, as the bodies of the dead began to rise again, the federal government began its swift and inevitable collapse. Those who died by any means soon joined the rapidly increasing scourge of the undead. Nations across the globe were quick to follow the United States' demise as the phenomenon swept across every continent. The exact cause of the plague is still unknown.

  – Mannsfield 9th grade primer

  The old landline phone beside the bed rattled once, twice, a third time as I finally fumbled it off the hook. “
...Hello?”

  “Ah, good, you're awake.” I supposed that was technically true. My head felt like it was encased in wet cement. I couldn't actually remember sleeping, but I didn't remember it turning from night to day either.

  “Fred?”

  “Listen, the Captain said you could take a couple days off if you need to but we could use some help over at Emerland High School.”

  “Uhh, yeah, sure, I'll be there. What happ–” He hung up. 'Seriously? Not even a goodbye.' The time slowly rolled across the screen as my blurry eyes glared at the phone. '7:43. I should have become a night club bouncer. I bet they never have to wake up this early.' I suspected that as a five foot tall young woman (at least with my heels on) the offers wouldn’t exactly come pouring in.

  Rolling out of bed onto abused feet I had to clutch at the door as the glare of the morning sun from the kitchen window sent a migraine slamming through my skull. Fumbling through my backpack I found my sunglasses and braved the light once more. Still bright, it was at least tolerable now if I squinted a little. I set the coffee brewing and hopped into the shower. Road-burned shoulder protesting the heat I was forced to settle for a lukewarm rinse. It was probably for the best, a hot shower probably would have sent me snoozing. Despite my best efforts to leave I stayed under the spray for twenty minutes before I felt anywhere near clean. Last night's escapades had left me feeling like a chicken nugget on a sidewalk – battered, salty, and covered in grime.

  Settling for a quick finger-brush of my frizzy black hair I set thoughts of the half-tamed menace aside and switched to brushing my teeth. I stopped. My canines had suspiciously sharp points to them. 'Were they always that big?' I left the bathroom as quickly as possible, slipping into my police uniform and boots that pinched at my swollen feet. Armed with a styrofoam cup of coffee and my equipment belt I was ready to go. Still, I stopped with my hand on the doorknob.

  'It's probably just like that little stain you don't see for weeks and only becomes a big deal when you start paying attention to it. It's not like my teeth....' I kicked the door, heavy boot largely insulating my foot from harm. 'Who am I kidding, I barely touched the wine last night. Even I'm not enough of a lightweight to hallucinate something like that after one cup of wine. I bit a guy's throat and then he turned into a wolf. After that anything's possible.' At this point I just had to hope it didn't get worse. After all, I'd gone years without anything particularly odd happening – bar a zombie apocalypse I couldn't even remember. Why should things change now? On the other hand, I'd always had a slightly different idea of entertainment than most girls and a bad habit of chewing on pens, though that vice probably wasn't relevant.

  'I'm freaking out about nothing.' I opened the door. 'Moment of truth.' Cautiously I pressed my hand towards the beam of morning light passing in front of the doorway like a mime probing an invisible wall. 'Nothing.' While vaguely disappointed that the super strength and agility I'd briefly enjoyed the previous night was not a permanent thing it was a comfort to know I wouldn't have to give up sunbathing on the beach anytime soon. Well, at least if I ignored my ability to get a sunburn on a cloudy day.

  I was more than willing to believe an alternate explanation to the previous night's activities. Whatever energy I’d felt propelling the previous night hadn’t felt dark and evil and dead. It had felt vibrant, almost alive in its own right. For a little while it had felt like I could do anything, as if gravity was just a suggestion that could be ignored at will. But now I was back in the real world. '

  Alright, on to problem number two. Why don't I own a bike?' It looked like I'd be walking to the crime scene. Fred definitely didn't seem the type to pick me up. At least this was one place whose location I thankfully knew. My first time on the job and it sounded like I'd get to visit a crime scene. This was so cool! Well, condolences, of course, for whoever may have suffered damages physical or fiscal. Still! The excitement was enough to make me forget my injuries and after a long swig of coffee I forced myself into a soft-footed jog, knees and thighs taking the brunt of the work.

  The city was waking up with a vengeance, compensating for the eery stillness of the night. Bakeries tempted me with their scents as I passed and at the risk of perpetuating stereotypes I indulged myself and picked up a chocolate-glazed doughnut. Munching on it as I ran I couldn't help but wonder if I hadn't gotten lucky by not taking a taxi to the scene. The closer I came to the high school the worse the traffic jams became. Even though Boston's population was only a fraction of what it once was, enough roads had fallen into disrepair or collapsed completely that a few intersections got blocked up on a regular basis.

  By the time I slowed down to a walk, licking my fingers as I came to the corner, a few drivers had actually stepped out of their cars. Tossing away my coffee cup into a green can I picked up my pace, carefully avoiding eye contact to keep the curious and the frustrated from asking me any questions. From the corner of my eye it looked like one was approaching me to try and initiate an interrogation despite my countermeasures when to my relief the captain spotted me and called me over. “Fisher, good, you made it.” His smile beamed warmth and sincerity before vanishing without a trace. I was starting to wonder if he wasn’t just a little bipolar.

  Well, this was a bit more than I expected. It looked like the entire force must be here, and maybe a few cars from neighboring departments as well. “What's going on?”

  “I need you to help out on the northern rim of the school. We've already had one punk kid try and sneak past the tape and I'd rather not have to deal with another.” I followed his dismissive gesture to a spiky-haired boy receiving a firm lesson in life by a gray-haired detective.

  “Yes, sir, I'm on it.” How frustrating. Now I had to stand around for hours on end wondering about what happened. As I picked my way around the outer edge of the police tape I spotted a few other officers assigned to perimeter guard. The woods, sparse and cultivated as they were, made the task a rather difficult one. It appeared safe enough that half the kids living nearby probably cut through on the way to school. 'I wonder if the other officers know as little about this case as I do.' After sorting out my position in the line I mentally prepared myself for a long wait.

  It wasn't a bad way to spend the day, to be honest. My injuries weren't fully healed yet and I wouldn't have said no to a sandwich but the weather was marvelous. Buds were opening everywhere as spring decided to finally take hold in earnest. Even in the shadows of the trees there was a refreshing chill replacing the bitter cold of winter. My eyelids drooped against the sunlight. Backing into the shade I slumped against the trunk of a shoulder-wide oak tree, letting some of my weight drift off my feet.

  A tiny red spider drifted down on a thread of silk. I caught it gently on my hand, watching it play across my fingertips. A twig snapped in the distance, and soon enough I heard footsteps coming towards me. Hastily I let the cute little arachnid crawl off onto a low-hanging branch. 'It's stuff like this that makes people think you're weird, Julie,' I thought to myself, idly wondering if addressing myself in the third person was not another sign of eccentricity.

  “Julie Fisher?” said the man as he came into view.

  “That's me.” He looked vaguely like the quarterback for my high school football team, minus the perpetually broken nose. The hits to the nose weren't all from football, of course. Haven was a small town, but with very little access to video games and modern technology we turned to sports – and just about every variation of them we could think of.

  “They told me you hadn't picked up a radio yet. Thought you should know we're packing up. I'm Jake by the way.”

  I was supposed to say something here, wasn't I? I wasn't good with greeting people. The moment was gone soon enough. As he turned to leave I sidled into place behind him. “So what happened here, exactly?”

  “You haven't heard about the serial killer?” He turned his head back to stare at me, incredulous. In my defense, it wasn't as if I had the money to buy the newspaper every day, and Alex
probably didn't think a serial killer was proper conversation for a date. As far as everyone else, well, I had no desire to hang out at the skate park with young teens and I looked too much like a kid to really enjoy clubbing. “They say Chains is back in town, but if you ask me it's more likely to be a copycat. Some of the stuff he does requires some real strength to pull off and the guy must be at least sixty by now.”

  There were a couple rather strong senior citizens in my home town but it probably wasn't worth it to argue the point right now. “So why do they call him Chains?” I asked.

  “Well,” he said, slowing his walk, “after he rips out your throat, he decides to go a step further. Apparently killing isn't enough for this guy; he puts them in a barbed wire necklace and hangs 'em up somewhere for all the world to see. Back when my grandfather was on the force it was a big embarrassment for the department that they couldn't catch Chains when he wasn't even hiding the murders. We've got better forensics nowadays though. It's probably just a matter of time.” The fellow apparently thought himself a storyteller, accompanying his narrative with expansive gestures.

  Something about this case was worrying me. More than the average serial killer would, that is. “How were the throats ripped out?”

  “With something’s teeth, near as anyone can tell. Almost like he let a dog chew on them. No animal matches the marks, but that's probably due to the barbed wire.

  That clinched it. Apparently confronting Alex about my purse would be even more dangerous than I had thought. 'It can't be him, there's no way he's sixty.' Still, what did I really know about how werewolves aged? And honestly how many werewolves could there be running around in the streets before someone took notice of them? Throw in how he had chased me with intent to maim and kill and... This was worrisome. I'd already given false testimony about him, which would make arresting him a difficult task. Then again, if I was implicating supernatural creatures, maybe it was some sort of vampire. They could rip out throats too, right? I slapped myself on the face as a brief image of myself ripping gleefully into my old crush's throat came to mind. I barely managed to keep a straight face as Jake looked back at me again.