City of the Dead (20 page)

Her name had been Cindy. She'd worked as a receptionist for one of the law firms with an office inside Ramsey Towers. She'd died a week before, after choking on a piece of hard candy. Rather than destroying her brain before she could be reanimated, they'd tied up her corpse to use as research.

At least, that was the ruse that Maynard had fed to Stern, Bates, and the others.

"More questions," she rasped, "or do you wish to fuck me again?"

Maynard glanced guiltily at the camera, turned it off, rewound the tape, and then began recording over it.

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"Oh, I see. I guess that will be our little secret." The zombie laughed, writhing in its bonds. Its eyes and nose leaked gummy, yellow fluid.

Maynard raised his voice. "After death, the subject functions like a living being. The stomach and other digestive organs have been removed, yet it still seeks nourishment, specifically in the form of living flesh."

He illustrated this for the camera by pointing to the gaping hole in the creature's abdomen.

"I'm hungry," the zombie verified, as if on cue. "Just give me a little something."

Maynard cleared his throat. "The flesh that it eats does not pass through the digestive system. It is absorbed through an as yet unknown process."

"You're very observant," the creature snarled. "Now feed me! Or better yet, release me."

"None of that, I'm afraid," Maynard said.

"I'll make it worth your while, Doctor," the zombie purred, spreading her legs wider. "I'll let you do things to me-things you've never done with a living woman. We can get rough, if you like."

Maynard's cock stiffened, pressing against his soiled pants. The zombie saw it twitch and smiled.

"Like what you see? Isn't my swollen pussy pretty?"

He shot another nervous glance at the camcorder, and then continued.

"How does your kind convert food into energy?"

"Why should I tell you?"

"Because I'll feed you after you answer my questions."

"You wouldn't understand. It's done on a sub-cellular level."

"But how?"

"Magic. At least, that's what your kind would call it."

"I don't believe in magic."

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"Of course you don't. You're a man of science and reason. Logic is your god. And that is why your kind will lose this war. Magic is the only way to stop us, and you have eradicated it from your lives. There are none among you who still remember the old ways. You thought that science would keep you safe from the dark, and as a result, you have lost the only weapons capable of destroying us."

"Nonsense," Maynard scoffed. "Science is the key to stopping your kind. Not some superstitious bullshit that our ancestors learned in a cave."

The creature stirred restlessly, parting her legs wider.

His hardening member jumped again. The zombie stared at the bulge in his crotch and licked her lips.

"I'm so hungry." She sighed, exhaling fetid air from unused, rotting lungs. "And I've answered your questions for days. Sooner or later, you will understand that your age has ended. We outnumber you. We are your inheritors now. Humanity's time is over."

"We'll see about that."

"Are we done for the day? Give me what I want."

He turned off the camera, adjusted his glasses, and reached into a stainless steel bowl that contained the zombie's own heart. Using a bloodstained scalpel, he sliced off a small piece and dangled it over the zombie's snapping jaws with his fingers.

"This is what you want."

"Yes," the zombie moaned. "Give it to me."

He dropped the slice of muscle down the creature's gullet.

"Oh, I'll give it to you all right."

Maynard considered locking the door, but he couldn't wait. The need was overpowering. His breathing thickened along with his rigid member. His hands trembled as

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he unzipped his fly and let his pants fall to his ankles. He wore no underwear. He stepped out of the pants, leaving them on the floor in a discarded heap, and reached into a drawer. He tore a condom packet open with his teeth, and slid it onto his cock. Then he applied lubricant and approached the squirming corpse.

He held his breath as he slipped inside, trying his best to ignore the stench wafting off the body beneath him. He took extra precaution to stay out of range of its toothless mouth and hands. Even bound, the zombie's fingernails could scratch him.

He shuddered, thrusting all the way into her. Her cunt was cold, but Maynard didn't care. The creature arched her back and hips, allowing him deeper access.

"You-you like this?" he gasped.

"Of course," the zombie panted. "This is an abomination in the eyes of the Creator-the cruel one. It hurts His eyes. So I like it very much."

"Can you achieve an orgasm?" Maynard asked, carefully keeping his distance with every perfunctory stroke.

"No, but you can. I want you to come. I want you to shout your orgasm, spill your seed, burn His ears!"

With one hand, Maynard squirted some more lubricant, and then quickened his pace. His cock threatened to burst.

"I want you to come," the zombie urged him.

"Come for me. Come in defiance of Him!"

"I'm going to-"

Frankie burst through the door.

"They're coming," she whispered, her voice faint, her mouth parched. "You've got to tell-"

She froze, staring in horror and revulsion at the scene before her.

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"Jesus Christ! I've seen ... some freaks in my, time, but you ... take ... the fucking cake ..."

Then she collapsed.

"Shit!" Maynard pulled out, even as his engorged member began to spurt inside the condom. Without pausing, he ripped it off in mid-orgasm, pulled his pants on, and ran to the door. He cast a furtive glance out into the hall, but the coast was clear.

"You should have locked the door," the zombie tittered.

"Shut up!"

He ran his glazed hands through his receding hairline.

"What are you doing?"

"She saw me. I can't let her tell the others!"

He knelt beside the unconscious woman and checked her pulse. It was slow but steady. He lifted her eyelid and checked her dilated pupils.

Then he spat in her face.

"Told you I'd get even with you, you cunt."

He walked back over to the table, picked up the scalpel, and crossed back over to Frankie.

"It's a shame, really," he said, more to himself than to Frankie or his undead lover. "She would have been fun. Never had a black woman before. But I can always do her after she comes back."

He clenched her hair in his fist, pulled her head back, and placed the scalpel to her throat.

"At least with your throat cut, you won't be that damaged. I can wrap a handkerchief around it or something, once I get you tied up. Maybe sew it shut again."

He gripped the blade tighter and bent down to whisper in Frankie's ear.

"Goodbye."

"Yo, Doc, you in here? Kilker's dead and I need help."

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Maynard looked up. Carson stood in the doorway, nose bloody and swollen, his weapon unslung and pointed at the doctor. He snapped a magazine into place. His eyes darted from Frankie and Maynard, to the zombie, to the discarded condom, and then back to the doctor.

"What the fuck are you doing, Doc?"

"This-this doesn't concern you, Carson. She's dead already. Complications from her wounds. I'm just incapacitating her before she can come back."

"By cutting her throat? I don't think so, dude. Last time I checked, that didn't stop them from coming back. Drop the scalpel and step away from her."

"Stay out of this, Carson. I'm warning you."

"No, I'm warning you. I ain't playing, dog. You drop that knife and step the fuck away from her, or so help me God, I'll shoot you."

Maynard hesitated, then dropped the scalpel and slowly stepped backward.

"You don't know what you're doing," he pleaded with the young man. "You're hurt. Not thinking clearly. She's dead. And unless you want her getting back up again, you need to shoot her-now!"

Carson wavered, unsure.

Frankie's arm twitched.

"Do it," Maynard hissed. "Destroy her before she gets back up."

Carson's finger tightened on the trigger.

Frankie moaned, and then her eyes fluttered open.

"Where ... am I?"

"You're in the laboratory, ma'am," Carson answered.

"Where?"

"Ma'am," Carson stuttered, "are you-you, or are you one of them?"

Frankie didn't seem to understand the question. "Last

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thing I remember is that fucker with the needle."

Carson fingered the trigger more.

"What happened?" Frankie asked groggily. She tried to sit up.

"That's what I'd like to know," Dr. Stern said from behind them.

He strode into the room, glancing around in bewilderment.

"Joseph, what's going on here? Carson, what are you doing with that weapon?"

"I-" the young soldier was unable to finish.

"She attacked me again!" Maynard shouted. "It was self-defense, Benjamin."

"Liar," the zombie mocked. "The female interrupted us while we were fucking. He was going to kill her. Go ahead and kill him now, so that one of our brothers may have the body."

"Shut up!" Maynard screamed.

Carson and Stern both stared at the used condom, leaking its contents onto the floor, and then at the zombie. Her insides still glistened with lubricant.

Stern grew pale. "My God, Joseph, what have you been doing?"

"Don't fret, boys," the zombie snickered, "there's enough of me to go around. Who wants sloppy seconds?"

Not taking his eyes off of his associate, Stern picked up the telephone.

"Who are you calling?" Maynard demanded.

Stern didn't reply.

"Who are you calling, Carl?"

"You need help, Joseph. I'm calling-"

Suddenly, Maynard leapt for the scalpel. Seizing it, he charged at the other doctor, screaming with incoherent

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rage. Stern dropped the phone and screamed along with him.

Carson fired three controlled bursts. The rounds slammed into Maynard's back, punching through his chest. His feet went out from under him and he fell to the floor. The scalpel slipped from his crusty fingers and slid across the bloody tiles. He did not move.

Calm and detached, Carson stood over the dead doctor and fired another round into the back of his head. Then he walked over to the zombie and placed the smoking barrel against her forehead.

"Go ahead," she hissed. "I'll be back, and so will my brothers. Our number is more than the stars. We are more than-"

Carson squeezed the trigger. Then he leaned over and threw up all over his boots.

Shouts echoed in the hallway, followed by the sound of running feet.

Stern picked up the telephone and redialed.

"Bates?" he said after a long pause. "This is Dr. Stern. I think you'd better come down to the lab. We have a situation here."

He had to speak up over the sounds of Carson's retching.

On the floor, Frankie moaned, "They're coming ..."

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The sky continued to weep, and daylight's murk turned to darkness while the scouring of New York City continued. The living were flushed from their hiding places- basements and closets and the back rooms of stores-hunted down and slaughtered in the streets and alleyways and gutters. Whenever possible, the zombies avoided damaging limbs or large portions of the body, so that the new recruits would be more useful in the coming battle. The preferred method of slaying their prey was a blade to the throat or another major artery. The captives bled to death, relatively undamaged when one of the Siqqusim took over the corpse minutes later.

A large group was discovered hiding at the top of the Statue of Liberty, and each was flung screaming to their deaths, plunging into the frigid, polluted waters below. Killed on impact, they sank beneath the waves. Reanimated, they walked along the bottom till they reached the shore, and then joined the others.

The armory bustled with activity too, as the undead worked feverishly to carry out their orders. Ob moved

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among them, checking progress and barking out orders. One of his lieutenants followed along behind him, trailing intestines in its wake.

Scowling, Ob stalked over to a zombie kneeling in front of the radio.

"Do you have it working yet?"

"Yes, lord," the zombie rasped. "It is ready for broadcast."

"Good." He turned to his lieutenant. "First, contact our forces on the Pennsylvania and New Jersey border. I want an update on their progress, and an estimated time for their arrival. They should be here soon. Also, find one of our brothers who still sounds alive."

"Sire? I don't understand."

"Someone whose vocal cords haven't begun to decay, you idiot! Someone who sounds human-especially to other humans. Then, have them begin broadcasting a message over the radio, advising anyone left alive in the listening area that this part of New York City is safe. Urge people to make their way here."

The zombie's laughter sounded like a belch. Its arms and ribs had been completely stripped of their flesh, and the bones scraped against each other as it chuckled.

"They'll walk into a trap. Great idea, my lord."

"Of course it's a great idea-I thought of it. I want the message to be broadcast over and over. How are we doing on getting the streets cleared of vehicles?"

"Ahead of schedule, sire."

Ob reached into a bucket and pulled out a loop of intestines, munching them like they were sausage.

"Excellent," he said, gore leaking from the edges of his smacking lips. "I don't want our advance on the skyscraper slowed down when our forces arrive. Have another team locate a radio station. There, they should find

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a sound van-the kind with loudspeakers that are used during remote broadcasts. Then, I want them to drive around the city, announcing the same message we're sending over the airwaves. Make it sound official. That should speed up the hunt quite a bit, don't you think? As the humans creep out of their little hiding places, we will be there to welcome them."