General Population (4 page)

"I can't! If I let go it'll get loose," shouted the second.

Frustrated, the constable with the choke hold repositioned his arms and put the zombie in a half-nelson, keeping its arm secure. The creature could maneuver a little more now, but its arm was still locked up.

"Now! Shoot!"

Now free to take aim, the constable drew his gun and made careful aim at the monster’s head, being careful to aim away from his comrades. He had barely made a half-second delay when the flesh-biter jerked its body forward, freed its other arm, and grabbed the constable around his neck.

An agonizing scream pierced through the entire crowd of onlookers as it bit off a large chunk of meat from the constable's arm. The two fell to the ground, and the constable continued to fight the zombie off of him. The other constables kicked the creature off of their fellow officer and opened fire onto its face till its death throes stopped.

"Fucking hell! That hurt." The injured constable stood there on his knees, holding his wounded limb. The wound looked bad, and by the gleam in his eyes panic was already starting to set in.

The two constables stood there with their guns in their hands, staring at their friend with sadness in their eyes. Neither of them wanted to do what had to be done. Slowly they took aim. Each repeated how sorry they were.

"Guys, what are you doing? I'm all right. Wait!"

The effects of being bitten were already beginning. The skin around the bite wound had rotted and his blood was starting to turn black. Maddix watched in horror as the color of his veins darkened while the infection spread through his body. The journals had written about this, but Maddix had never thought he would see it in his lifetime.

The constables pulled the hammers back.

The constable continued to beg for mercy, but his voice was no longer human. Drips of tainted blood began to fall from his mouth as he spoke. Nobody knew what it was that caused a person to become infected but whatever it was, it moved quickly through the bloodstream and eventually the brain. Once it reached there, the eyes drained of color and whatever life someone had left in them, vanished.

The two remaining constables each fired one shot at their infected friend's head. The first bullet entered into his brain and the second blasted it through the back of his skull and onto the wall behind him. His body stood suspended on its knees for a few seconds, twitching slightly before falling forward lifeless.

Maddix had gotten so caught up in the horrific scene that he had not even realized that he had pulled his gun from his coat. His reflexes had completely taken over and the fight-or-flight response had chosen to fight.
 

Weapon still in hand, Maddix ran over to the two constables. The scene was grizzlier than he had seen from a distance. The head wound from the infected constable was gorier than anything he could remember seeing before. Reality made his dreams seem like children's books in comparison.

"Are you guys okay? How did that thing get into town?"
 

The two men just stared at Maddix for a few seconds before snapping to attention with heels clicked together.

"Nothing of concern, monsieur," the unmistakable French accent of Chief Javier Larouche cut through the tension.
 

Maddix didn't want to turn around to face the man who was nothing short of a nemesis right out of a comic book. The constables were an elite bunch of arrogant law enforcement introduced into Malevolent around the same time as the zombies. They were originally meant to be for the purpose of crowd control under the supervision of the overseer. However, Larouche had built them up to be an institution of their own with their unique set of laws and idea of justice.

Following behind him like obedient foot soldiers were a squad of ten constables that started dispersing the crowd. There were a few shoves by the obnoxious squad and the citizens hissed and growled in response. Each of them had ear-to-ear grins as they bullied everyone out of the area. They enjoyed the chance to play cop whenever it presented itself. They were like children with guns, both dangerous and unreasonable.

"And now to business," Javier turned his attention to Maddix. "We have a minor situation here that does not require the involvement of the overseer. If you would, please vacate so that my men can perform the necessary inspection."

"Minor? You call this minor? There is a man lying dead in the street!"

"Yes, it is unfortunate. He will receive full honors. I assure you we will handle all arrangements."

Maddix was red with fury. "I don't fucking care about any arrangements! How the fuck did a zombie end up in town? Aren't your people wearing their scarabs?"

"That is yet to be determined, and will get to the bottom of this. Now if you wouldn't mind …"

A team of constables had already surrounded the body of the constable and the attacking zombie, but Maddix was determined to check for the man's scarab. It was the only form of protection the constables had to ward off the residents of Malevolent. They were crafted into he shape of badges so that the constables would remember to wear them as part of their uniforms.

"Take off, Benbrook! We can handle this. We don't need you poking around acting all high-and-mighty." The constable’s arrogance almost matched Larouche.

Ignoring the man, Maddix inspected the body. Two dead bodies in one day were about all he cared to look at. Even though he was dead, the body continued to rot due to the zombie infection. Something about it caused the cells to decay rapidly, which was why no one ever saw a 'fresh' zombie. Maddix rolled him over onto his back, the wounded arm splayed across his chest. It smelled vile, but Maddix covered his face and pulled the blood soaked arm off his chest. The scarab was right where it was supposed to be, pinned to his jacket.

"What in the—" Maddix couldn't get the word out before the firm grip of Javier pulled him to his feet.

"I beg your pardon, Overseer!" Javier's voice trembled. "We've dealt with this before, and we know what we are doing!"

"What do you mean before?"

"W-what I m-mean is," Javier stuttered as he spoke, "we've been trained to handle this kind of thing."

"You're so full of shit, Larouche! Have there been other attacks?"

Maddix glanced at the other constables who wouldn't look him in the eyes. Something did happen.
 

"There have been a few isolated incidents with some of the undead strolling in from the forest. We immediately dispatched them, and I had the bodies burned per protocol. Just as we will handle this one."

"I'm supposed to know about everything that goes on in here, that's how it works, Javier!"

Javier snickered and started to walk away.

"Dammit, Larouche. You may not like it but I'm still the overseer here, and I need to document everything that goes on. That's all outlined in the pact. You do remember how it's supposed to work, right?" Maddix never liked throwing his weight around, but part of him was enjoying this moment. "Now if there are zombies walking around attacking your men, or anybody for that matter, I need to know about it!"

Javier's eyes went wide. "And do what? Scribble it into your pathetic journals … for what purpose? Let me be frank, monsieur. You are an ancient relic, a worthless figurehead of a forgotten era. You neither have any control or resources to deal with this kind of thing. Now my
friendly
advice to you is to go home, write in your precious diaries, and stay out of constable affairs. We are the enforcers of law and order; you are a pathetic record-keeper. Good day, monsieur!”
 

Every part of Maddix wanted to unload a fury of punches into Javier's face, but he knew he had few allies at that moment. The constables surrounded him with their arms folded, just waiting for him to make a mistake. It took a lot for him to swallow his pride, but he found the temperance in himself to do so and walked away.

When Tara Cherane did research, she always did the most thorough job she could. There were stacks of books in different piles on the table, each with several bookmarks labeled for later reference. Piles of paper with notes on them were scattered all over the library. Many contained some copied artwork from the tomes with names and dates written on the bottom of the page.

There wasn't much she could find in the history books, but there were complete profiles on the three top vampire clans in the overseer journals. The Statsny clan, in particular, had detailed entries regarding their history as recalled by their servant, Stillwel, in a series of conversations with the prior overseer. After discovering that Stillwel had shared the family secrets with the overseer, he was banned from entering town by his master, Havel Statsny.

The Statsnys had a long tradition of being masons and carpenters. They helped to build many villages and cities sometime before the start of the 1400s. Nobody knew for sure when it happened, but during that time the family had been turned and became one of the most brutal vampire clans in Europe. Some of the bloodiest massacres in recorded history occurred due to their lust for blood. Unlike most clans, the Statsnys rarely turned others, choosing to keep their own bloodline as pure as possible. If someone was fortunate enough to be turned, it was most likely because they were a distant cousin or an in-law through marriage.

Fed up with the endless butchering of his people, the King of England personally demanded that a group of ten of the best vampire hunters in all the lands be rounded up before him. The King’s men did find hunters willing to aid the crown and they stalked the Statsnys all over Europe, killing them one by one until the remaining clan went into hiding.

Shortly after it was decreed that "a great purge shall begin" and every manner of demon-hunter and fed up peasant began tracking down and destroying all creatures of the night. Some scholars would call it the first proclamation of genocide, and there were many humans that would give protest, believing that these monsters should be worshiped as gods and not exterminated like rats. Those that would sympathize with the creatures would be locked up or executed as traitors. It began as a fight for survival but turned into an all out war for dominance. Modern history would never tell the tale of what would be the only time the world was united against a single enemy.

The tides began to turn in mankind's favor and the soulless monsters were on the verge of extinction. Assuming that victory was already theirs, many ceased to fight and returned to their normal lives. This would turn out to be premature and some remaining vampires and werewolves moved underground, weakened by being forced to live on the smaller game, like rodents and carcasses abandoned in the woods. Those that could not find a way to survive out of sight were killed or faded into starvation. Although there were still monsters in the world, they were powerless. That all changed in 1492 when the New World was discovered, and with it new opportunities for a better life. Or death.

The first colony ships set sail for what would eventually be known as North America. The Statsnys' only living pedigrees managed to stow away on the first of these vessels—Drahomira and Havel, the children. Starving and half crazed, the two of them worked through the passengers one by one. Most of them would be drained for food while the strongest and most beneficial to them would be turned to rebuild their numbers. Nobody knew for sure just how many survived the trip to the shore, but the assumption was that the crew was left alive and still human to continue piloting the ship during the daytime.

There is little written after their arrival in North America until the second great purge when all were magically banished to Malevolent sometime after the founding of the United States. During this time in between there were other vampire clans that had made it across the ocean, but the Statsnys remained the strongest and most brutal out of all of them.
 

"Fascinating," Tara muttered to herself.
 

"This place is a mess!" Maddix interrupted her private reflection.

Tara gave him a friendly smack to the gut. "I beg your pardon, but I have everything organized the way I need it."

"Fill me in quick, ’cause the situation has changed."

Tara gave him a rundown of the Statsny history.
 

"Good work. Did you manage to cross-reference any unusual vampire deaths?"

"The closest thing I was able to dig up was an incident in England around the time before the first great purge. A really sick vampire named Simon Galek held an entire village under siege." Tara flipped open a dusty old journal to the bookmarked page she had found. "He had this sick fetish where he would pick and choose one of the villagers, then torment and torture them before drinking them to the point of death."

"Sounds like a regular vamp to me."

"Yes, but Galek wouldn't finish the job. He would leave them with just enough to live a little longer, but not enough to survive. His victims would die a painful death by exsanguination while he sat and watched. According to records, he never turned anyone. Lone wolf."

Maddix grabbed the journal and skimmed the pages. "Alone? That's rare. So how did they stop him?"

"That's the best part." Tara snatched the book from his hand and turned the pages to a drawing of a mob with axes, pitchforks, and blazing torches. "He was a creature of habit and had a particular type he preferred. These selected individuals began to inject garlic essence into their bloodstream. Lots died from infection, but one day they hit the jackpot and Galek picked one of them for his dinner."

"They had syringes back then?"

"No, they improvised and it wasn't pretty," said Tara, as she flipped the pages to a sketch of a crude needle with a plunger. It was reminiscent of an ancient torture device rather than any piece of medical ingenuity.

"Brave people."

"Exactly. So that night Galek took his first drink, and it began to hit him hard. He became weak enough for the village to put him down. And that is where it gets interesting—"

"His body didn't destroy itself."