As I kneel in the wet entryway of what was once a big box store filled with supplies for small business owners and the odd ragged mom with six mouths to feed, I know that this is definitely the stupidest thing that I have done to date. If Nox were here, he’d called me a dumbass and for once I would wholeheartedly agree with him.
The thought of Nox makes my chest clench with regret. I know that he will not let me go without a fight. In another life, I might have felt all warm and squishy inside over that, but that life, that world, can’t exist anymore. I don’t have the luxury of falling in love again, especially when I’ve still got a deranged ex trailing after me. How did I get so lucky to end up with a former lover turned homicidal zombie with serious attachment issues?
The only thing I can do for Nox now is to leave and let him get on with his life. Rip off that bandage before the wound has a chance to fester. In time, he will move on and forget about me. At least that’s what I tell myself as I glance over my shoulder and scold myself for my wavering nerve when I hesitate at the very door that I have been trying to reach all day.
“There is no way I’m going to pussy out now.” I try to bolster what few shreds of bravery remain intact.
It is not like me to lose my nerve so easily, but then again, I’ve never had to struggle with inner demons quite like this before. Nor has my enemy ever worn the face of the man I once loved.
I have to finish this while I still can.
“Flynn would most likely call me a pansy right about now.” I stare at my reflection in the twisted metal beside me and see myself smile. “Turns out he might be right after all.”
After Nox, I will miss my teenage friend Flynn the most. When he discovers that I’ve left him behind to go on this harebrained mission, he will be miffed about it and probably demand to join up with Nox’s rescue team. Nox will tell him that he’s too young, to which Flynn will find some way to tail them in a foolish attempt to prove Nox wrong. Although I’ve only spent a short amount of time with Flynn in the hidden bunker hospital beneath the hotel, I learned quickly to love that kid. He’s a fighter with more spunk than most of those halfwit soldiers Cap used to do his dirty work. I only hope Nox can temper Flynn enough to keep him alive.
I pause to sniff the air and wrinkle my nose at the foul stench that sours the falling rain.
“Yuck. This is definitely the place.” I wipe my nose with the back of my hand as I blow out the breath that is tainted with the stench of rotting flesh, feces and soiled clothes. “I never want to smell like that!”
The hairs on my forearms rise up as I peer inside the dark depths of the building. Something definitely lurks within this vast warehouse.
Casting a glance behind me toward the city, I wonder if Nox has already formed a search party to come looking for me. There will be no way for him to track me now, not with the rains washing away all traces of my footsteps. He will scour the city in vain, but I will be long gone. My only hope is that he will not endanger the lives of his soldiers this close to nightfall for my sake.
Several shards of glass splinter under the toe of my boot as I lean through the doorway to get a better look. Just inside, I see overturned magazine racks. Most of the pages are torn and have begun to fade where the sun reaches them during the day. Beyond that wait dormant checkout lines, empty snack shelves and beverage coolers. Raiders got to this place long ago.
Normally, I would never dare enter a place like this alone. There are far too many blind spots, with multiple aisles running the length of the building and vantage points from shelving up high. It is a logistical nightmare, but I have no other choice.
From somewhere within the building, I hear the telltale sounds of footfalls and freeze. The sound comes again and I allow my eyes the chance to adjust before moving forward.
Shoving logic, and what feels like every ounce of sanity, into the recesses of my mind, I step through the doorway and into the pitch dark. My own footsteps sound exaggerated against the concrete floor as I walk around overturned shopping carts, a spilled end cap with broken light bulbs still in their packages and empty Slim Jim wrappers.
Another shuffling sound reaches me. I halt and duck low to get my bearings. It came from my left and instinctively I turn toward the outdoor section to the right. Breathing deep, my nostrils flare as I catch a scent that makes my blood run cold and my anxiety rise at alarming rates.
Lowering my hand to the back of my pants, where my 9mm pistol is tucked into my waistband, I fight to still my nerves as I silently creep along the aisle. Moving past a row of kayaks and paddleboards, I press my thumb against the gun’s safety catch. There is someone moving at the end of the row.
Raising my pistol as I walk in a crouched position, I keep an eye on the shelves above me in case this is a trap. I know all too well how the Flesh Bags love to hunt in packs like wild animals, but to have a human sitting right here in the middle of their territory feels wrong.
The click of my safety disengaging startles the figure in front of me and two hands fly up into the air.
“Don’t shoot,” a young voice calls. “I’m unarmed.”
“Who the hell are you?” I stare directly at the boy as he frantically shakes a flashlight before turning it on. The beam is high intensity and the painfully blinding light forces me to look away, but not before I see a shock of red hair, followed by a healthy dose of freckles and vivid green eyes.
“I’m Bingley Emerson, but anyone who knows me just calls me Bing. Of course, no one really knows me anymore...” He trails off as his voice cracks with fear. “I’m really sorry if this is your spot. I swear I don’t mean you any harm. I can just grab my stuff and head out if you want. Just please don’t shoot me.”
I stare at him for a moment around the edge of the bouncing light, watching as he struggles to keep the flashlight level in his shaking hands.
“How old are you, Bing?” He seems decent enough. A bit ragged from travel. The bloodshot eyes worry me. Has he been bitten?
I look to the shelves above me again but see nothing moving.
“Sixteen, give or take a week. I lost track of the days a while back. I reckon I had a birthday at some point but don’t really know when.”
“Are you alone here?”
I can sense that there are Flesh Bags moving closer but none have entered the main part of the store. My skin tingles with warning. I force myself to ignore it.
Bingley shouldn’t be here. Looking at him fidgeting with the buttons of his shirt, I realize that he truly has no clue the shitstorm he just walked into.
“Sure am.” He looks somber as he peers into the darkness, but I know that he can’t see any farther than his flashlight beam. “I’ve been on the road for a while now, coming up from ‘Bama. It’s been a long walk, but I figure if those Walkers are moving south, then I’m heading north!”
I take a step forward. “Have you been bit?”
“Bit?” He scratches his head and I see a bit of dandruff fall free and float to the floor. “I can’t say that I have seen many dogs around these parts the past week. Almost like they all up and ran off. Kinda weird if you ask me.”
His flashlight flickers and dies. Bingley groans and begins beating it against his hand but it refuses to turn on again. “Darn thing keeps doing this. The package said you can charge it by shaking it but I think it was just some stupid sales gimmick. It’s nothing but a piece of crap.”
I ignore his muttering and step closer again. “I’m not talking about being bit by a dog. I’m talking about the zombies.”
His head pops up and his eyes grow wide with surprise in the dark. “You’re joking right? Those Walkers out there on the streets aren’t real zombies. They’re harmless unless you’re trying to sleep. I swear it never fails that one of them always comes stumbling past right when I’m starting to fall asleep.”
This kid rambles too much and my patience is growing thin. He may not sense the approaching Withered, but I sure can, and I don’t want to be here when they arrive.
“Not the Walkers.” I close the gap between us to only a couple of feet. He stares blankly into the dark. He can’t see or hear me. “I’m talking about the new ones. The ones who have a taste for human flesh.”
Bing’s face drains of color and he swallows hard. “No, I don’t reckon I’ve seen one of those.”
“Is that so?” I kick the toe of my boot against his bag and he jumps when a crushed can of corn rolls out and hits the floor. I spy some matches, a couple flare guns and duct tape sitting near the top but no other signs of food. I’d wager by the sheer bursting of the seams near the bottom that he’s tried to shove an entire sleeping bag into his pack. “Well, Bing, that’s all about to change. You see this place is just about the worst place for a guy like you to be hanging out.”
“Is it?” His voice cracks with uncertainty as he starts to back away but stumbles over a folding chair and hits the ground hard. He leans to the side to rub his bruised ass.
“This place is one of theirs. I tracked them here just a little while ago.”
The potent scent of his fear washes over me in delicious waves and I’m forced to close my eyes as I exhale and step back from him until I reach a neutral place once more.
“Oh crapballs,” he moans and blindly reaches for his bag. When he finds it, he pulls it into his lap and cradles it. “We shouldn’t be here.”
“No, you shouldn’t, but now that you are here I think you might be able to help me.”
“Help? I’m not real good with doing stuff. My last group said I was too clumsy for my own good. Guess I’m all thumbs.”
“That’s okay, Bingley.” I feel my mouth begin to water and I lower my head, closing my eyes as I fight against the need rising within me. He smells good, oh so good. “You are actually quite perfect for the job. Fate seems to be smiling on me for the first time in a while.”
I hear him scratch at his jaw and realize that he has just a hint of stubble growing there.
“I’d like to help you and all, really I would, but I just want to leave if that’s okay. If those things come back I don’t really want to be here, you know?”
“I do.” I skirt along the end cap and move around him, keeping my distance. It is hard to think or remain focused on why I’m here with him so close. My thoughts grow muddy as a new plan forms in my mind, one that should send me running in the opposite direction, but logic is no longer stronger than my internal instinct. “I promise it will be quick.”
“And then we can leave?” He tugs the ties of his bag tight and then places the pack on his back before rising to his feet.
My pulse thunders so loudly in my ears that I nearly miss his question. I count each of his inhales and exhales, feeling the imperceptible electrical pulses in his body. No human can hide from me now. I stand in place, swaying slightly from side to side and I let the feelings of his presence ripple through me.
It is only now that I am here with Bing that I truly understand now how Cable can enjoy killing. The sensory output from this human is nearly euphoric.
“All I need from you is to relay a simple message,” I whisper. My senses are tingling like mad as I open my eyes. I am mesmerized by the steady pulse at his neck as he looks all around in the dark. His image is lit up with a subtle green hue, allowing me to see every tiny speckle of color along his cheeks and nose.
“But there’s no one else here. Who am I supposed to tell?”
“Ah,” I inhale sharply and taste his fear once more. It is less sweet than blood but flavored with an appealing hint of tanginess that makes my stomach twist with desire. “That is what you are meant to believe. You haven’t been alone since you entered this building, Bingley. They have been waiting and watching. If I had not arrived you would already be dead.”
“Oh,” he breathes out. When his knees buckle he reaches out for the shelf next to him, but I make no move to help him regain his footing. “Why are we standing here talking then? We have to go!”
I lose myself to the maddening racing of his heartbeat and relinquish control of my fear as I step closer to him, breathing in deep.
“Go?” I whisper in a hushed voice that sounds unnaturally loud against the vast emptiness of the building. “There is nowhere that you can run to that will be far enough, Bingley. Haven’t you figured that out by now? You are marked for death.”
My hands tremble at my sides as I feel the first of the Withered enter the building. Their approach is slow and cautious, no doubt attempting to understand my presence, but the instant they catch the potency of Bingley’s scent, they become ravenous and I am inundated with their need.
“I can’t just sit here and wait around to become something’s dinner!”
I close my eyes as the Flesh Bags move closer. I can feel them much stronger now, hear their chorus of voices in my head chanting one thing in unison: eat.
I feel myself smile. “The sun has set.”
He stops moving. “So?”
“Night is their playtime.” I tilt my head to the side. “Can you hear them? They are coming.”
A low, fearful moan gurgles in his throat and the scent of urine spilling down his leg soaks the air. Bingley jerks back at the sound of a nearby growl, stumbles over the faux grass mat and takes out an end cap. Canteens and camping utensil sets sprawl over the ground as he scrambles to get back to his feet.
“Please,” he crab crawls backward until he is pressed against a display tent that has a massive tear down one side, probably damaged during the initial panic and looting. “You have got to help me. There has to be a way to escape. Please, don’t let them eat me!”
“Don’t worry,” I say as I move around behind him. “I won’t let them hurt you.”
“Really?” He turns toward the sound of my voice. “Thank you—”
The flash of gunfire lights up the small outdoor section and Bingley’s body collapses to the floor. From the far corners of the building I hear the growls and shrieks as Flesh Bags cower back from the piercing noise. I grimace as my own ears ring painfully but I stand my ground as Bingley’s hand flops to the floor. His eyes are lifeless as he stares up at the ceiling above and the small bullet wound on his forehead leaks blood. It is a perfect kill shot.
As I stare down at the boy, I feel none of the remorse or guilt that I know I should. Instead I feel empty, like the lifeless shell of a person that I sense I am becoming.
His death was inevitable. What I told him was true, he was marked for death the instant he stepped foot in Cable’s territory. Killing him now was an act of mercy, but I didn’t do it for his sake. I did it for my own.
I need him to send Cable a message. His death was merely...beneficial.
Grabbing a box cutter off the floor from where it spilled out of Bingley’s bag, I kneel beside him and tear open his shirt. I keep waiting to feel something, anything, as I press the blade to his chest and begin to carve with methodical precision. Blood trails down his chest where hair will never grow and stains my fingers, but I cut him without a tremor in my fingers.
I killed a boy in cold blood. The words filter through my mind as I wipe the blood off the blade onto his shirt and then rise to stare down at him.
He is nothing more than a victim of bad circumstances, an innocent whose life is forfeit by sheer dumb luck. Perhaps in the days to come, I will mourn his death as I should, but I fear that after I leave this building, I will not consider him again beyond a mere passing thought. Not as a person, anyway.
Though his heart has stopped, I can smell the blood on his forehead and am tempted to lick my hands clean. The thought alone should be revolting, but it is the opposite. It has become my ultimate temptation.
Wiping my hands on his shirt to clean away the blood, I know that I have to go before I do something I will regret. As I turn my back on the boy, I can still see the smooth planes of his chest that meet the rigid crevices of flesh when I carved three bloody words: Let them live.
Without looking at any of the Flesh Bags that creep my way, I walk out of the store and back into the drenching rain. Cable will get my message soon enough.
The only question is: Will he accept it?