Metahumans vs the Undead: A Superhero vs Zombie Anthology (4 page)

Anne sat inside the ruins of the coffee shop, staring out at the street. She had no idea how long she had slept, but it must have been several hours. The sun was sinking from the sky. Long-abandoned cars still packed the roadway, rusting. The air stank of decomposing flesh and death. She tugged the scarf covering her nose and mouth tighter, but it couldn’t hold out the smell, only blunt it. A large rat scampered across the counter behind her looking for food. Though disgusting, the rodent was the least of her worries. The dead had found her. They were out there in the growing shadows of the sinking sun. Anne had been around or near them long enough to sense their presence. The question was whether to run or fight. If it were just a few, she might be able to take them, but the .38 holstered on her hip was next to useless so if she did stand a chance, it was slim. Its chamber only held three rounds and she had no more ammo for it. Even if she used it, the noise of firing it would only draw more of the creatures to her.

Anne reached for the steel baseball bat sticking out of her backpack and pulled it free. She stood with it clutched in her trembling hands, waiting for the dead to show themselves. This was far from the first time she had faced the monsters since she had journeyed to New York, but this evening something felt different. Maybe it was the city or maybe she was more exhausted than she thought.

That was when she saw him. Dressed in a filthy and tattered, black cloak with a hood that hid his face from view, he came walking down the road seemingly oblivious to the danger lurking around him. Anne held her breath, trying to decide what to do. Should she call out to him and warn him the dead were close, giving away her own position in the process, or simply wait to see how things played out? The living were often far more dangerous than the dead and the horrors they were capable of much greater to a young girl like herself.

Her grip on the bat grew tighter.

At last, she broke and opened her mouth to scream at the strange man, but it was too late. The dead made their move.

A large man, who must have been a weightlifter in life, whose bare ribs were visible through a ripped, white wife-beater tank top, sprang from the open side of a van behind the stranger, a vicious snarl carved out on his face. As if on cue, six more dead men and women emerged from the shadows and charged toward the stranger, working together as a pack. The stranger continued to ignore them until the weightlifter’s hand closed around his left arm. With unnatural speed and strength, the stranger grabbed the weightlifter’s throat and tore his head from his body with apparent ease. As the hulking dead man’s corpse dropped to the pavement at his feet, the stranger threw back his cloak and spun on the others. Bright blue flames erupted from his open palms, engulfing the dead and reducing them to ashes that scattered on the wind.

Anne’s eyes bugged and the bat slipped from her trembling hands. It clattered to the floor in front of her. Despite the distance between them, the stranger must have heard it fall. He shoved back his hood, revealing a head of midnight hair streaked with gray, and a pair of eyes so inhuman they sent a shiver through Anne’s very soul. They were like pools of black darker than the night itself. She let out a whimper as he began to walk toward her. Anne wanted to run, but she stood frozen, unable to move.

The man stepped through the coffee shop’s shattered window and stood in front of her. In a sad but tender voice, he asked, “Do you have a name?”

“Anne,” she whispered, “Anne White.”

He nodded. “You can call me Death.”

“Are . . . are you the Reaper?”

Death laughed long and loud. “No,” he assured her, “I’m not the Reaper. I’m just a man.”

He took a seat at the counter. “I don’t suppose you have a cigarette on you?”

Anne shook her head, still in shock from what she had seen him do.

Death frowned and looked her over. “I supposed you wouldn’t,” he said with a heavy sigh then patted the stool at the counter beside him. “Have a seat. There aren’t any more of the dead close enough to worry about and you look like you could use a drink as bad as I need a smoke.”

She slipped onto the stool next to Death, staring at him. Her brain was beginning to work again. “You’re one of them, aren’t you?”

“One of what?”

“The Angels,” Anne said, “the heroes who were trying to save the world before . . .” She couldn’t bring herself to finish the sentence.

“The Angels.” After a bit he said, “What does it matter? They lost, didn’t they? Each and every one of them died that night, even Carson, and what did it accomplish? Nothing.”

Suddenly Anne realized who the stranger was with a start. He wasn’t one of the Angels, he was their leader. “You weren’t joking. You’re really him, Agent Robert Death.”

The darkness in Death’s eyes grew deeper as the very room around them seemed to grow colder. His fist struck the counter with such force the surface cracked along its entire length. “Don’t call me that!” He must have noticed how terrified she was, so bit back his rage and said, “I am just Death now. Death is all that’s left for us all.”

Anne knew the noise of his outburst would draw more of the dead to them, but she kept her seat. “The Angels didn’t die in vain,” she said quietly. “They bought the world time. Without them, we’d all already be dead.”

Death shrugged. “Look out that window, girl. You might as well be. The world is gone. Civilization has crumbled. There’s maybe a few hundred thousand people still alive on this whole freaking planet.”

Anne summoned up her courage and managed a weak smile. “That’s better than zero.”

Death didn’t say anything. He got up and rummaged through the debris behind the counter.

“What are you looking for?” she asked.

“This is a coffee shop, right? Surely there has to be something to drink. I doubt many looters set out after canned coffee and energy drinks.”

“I saw your battle with the demon on the TV that last night.”

“So?” Death said, continuing his search. “I imagine everyone did.”

“You may believe you lost, but you didn’t. You destroyed it. It wasn’t your fault its taint got loose.”

“Then who’s fault would it be,
Anne
? We were the last line of defense the world had.”

“Some things just happen,
ya
know? Some things are meant to be . . . even the bad ones.”

Death stood up and stared at her. “Drop it. I’m not going to ask you again.”

“Or what? You’ll kill me? Ha. I don’t think so. That’s not who you are.”

She was surprised as Death smiled at her. “I’ve killed more men than you could possibly imagine, little girl, and I’m not talking about this
—
” He gestured at the ruins of the city beyond. “Not all of them were evil. Some of them I killed in the name of the United States, others from pure rage, and some just to watch them die. The Angels weren’t heroes. We were misfits, freaks, and criminals. There was even a serial rapist on the original team. We weren’t pure-of-heart, white knights. We were just as screwed up as everyone else, likely more so. The government kept our existence a secret for as long as they could because if folks had really known who and what we were, people would have been just as terrified of us as the things we fought against.”

“I didn’t say you were perfect,” she said. “I said you were a hero. You held the line when no one else could and gave it your all in the face of impossible odds.”

“Maybe I was just trying to save my own tail. Did you ever think of that?”

“Maybe . . . but I don’t think so. I can see the good in you.”

“Trust me kid, there’s an awful lot of evil, too.”

Night had fallen. A chorus of snarls and howls arose in the darkness outside the shop. The dead were coming. Death glanced into the street and Anne followed his gaze. She saw dozens and dozens of the creatures come rushing through the night toward the coffee shop. She also saw the fear in Death’s eyes and it shook her to the core.

Death turned to face her. “I’m not as powerful as I once was. The taint has touched my soul like it has the world. You better run, kid.”

Anne shook her head and reached down to retrieve her baseball bat from where it lay on the floor.

“What are you doing?” he asked. “Get out of here while you can. I’ll hold them.”

“See,” she said, “you
are
a hero.”

Death scowled at her, but had no time to argue the point further.

The dead reached the coffee shop. Death stood between the sea of snarling faces and Anne, blocking their way inside. Blue energy crackled up and down all over his body as his hands became glowing orbs of blue fire. Anne watched as he thrust both his hands forward with a painful cry as if he was using his very
lifeforce
to fuel the flame. A wave of fire so wide and powerful she felt its heat even behind him exploded outward into the street. The closest of the dead were completely vaporized as it slammed into them and continued on. The wave of fire washed over those who had been behind them, the cars, the nearby buildings, and just seemed to keep going. The night became a bright shade of blue and orange as the secondary explosions began. The cars erupted into sprays of burning metal and even the pavement melted before Death’s furious power. Anne didn’t know if it was fuel left in the tanks of the cars or an underground gas main, but the explosions boomed over and over as one seemed to set off the next. She hurled herself behind the shop’s counter, taking cover.

The night was silent except for the crackle of the lingering fires in the street beyond when she poked her head up to check on Death. He still stood at the shop’s large window.

“Death?” she called to him.

He began to turn around, but stumbled as he did so. Death toppled sideways to the floor. Anne pulled herself to her feet and rushed to his side. Numerous shards of glass, half-melted metal, and blackened concrete protruded from his body. A small strand of blood leaked from the corner of his mouth.

“Think I got them all?” he asked. The darkness of his eyes was different somehow. Their depth and coldness now just seemed . . . hollow.

Still, Anne couldn’t help but giggle at his question. “You could say that.”

Death grabbed her wrist. “Don’t fool yourself, girl. There will be more. There always is.”

She didn’t know what to say.

“You remind me a bit of another kid I once knew.” Death coughed. “Stupid, spunky, and full of themselves.”

The pool of blood forming around his body continued to grow. Anne felt the wetness touch her knees and tried to hide the sickness that washed over her. The floor was wet and warm beneath her. She forced herself to keep calm and try to think rationally. “Can you move?”

“I’m not going anywhere. At least not in this body.”

“Yes, you are.” Tears welled up in her eyes, but she fought them down. “I can rig something together and carry you.”

“No, I’m not. I’m broken and tainted.” His voice was like a whisper. “Do you want it, Anne?”

“What?”

“My power. The chance to be the hero you accuse me of being. I can see your soul. You can handle it if you stay strong. Take it and rebuild this world. It’s time hasn’t come yet. Humanity will survive if you help it.”

Before she could answer, tendrils of darkness entwined with shafts of light snaked outwards from Death’s flesh and wrapped over her arm. Anne screamed as they worked their way up to her shoulder; like a spear they plunged into her heart.

When she woke up, Anne found herself lying on the floor clutching a skeletal hand. It belonged to what remained of Death, which was nothing but bones and tattered clothes. The sun was high in the sky and the haunting howls of more of the dead as they prowled the city rose the distance. Their cries echoed among the buildings. Somehow the things must have overlooked her in the night. Either that or Agent Death’s power had protected her. But it was hers now, wasn’t it?