Women Scorned (7 page)

No way
, she thought. Jane’s tongue dragged across those dry lips cracked in a lecherous grin. Then she blinked and shook her head.

“Where the fuck…” the thing said as she looked around. She slid off the table leaving a red smear on the cold metal slab. She looked down at the mark and gagged. Fresh blood ran down her thighs in thick runnels separating at the knee making several thinner streams like red lightning strikes. It pooled where she stood, spread over the tops of her feet, collecting between her toes. When she walked, her feet made wet smacking sounds on the concrete floor.

“What the hell’s going on?” she whined as she slopped toward the stairs in a slow lurch.

Libitina hadn’t thought to move from her spot yet.

The woman stopped, swayed, put her hand to her head. She fingered the bite marks on her breasts as she looked around, gathering her senses. When Jane Doe focused on the stairs again, Libitina realized she needed to run before she was spotted. Gathering her nerve, she crept up one stair at a time on wobbly legs that could no longer feel the floor.

“Here, baby,” she whispered once at the top, scanning under the table and around the kitchen for her dog. “Cerberus, baby, come on.” She made soft whisper noises and held out her empty hand as if she had a treat. The tiny animal scuttled over and she scooped him up. Placing her fingers around his snout, she ducked around the side of her fridge and peeked at the still-open basement door.

A zombie. Good god. She couldn’t believe it. The thing was dead. This was the only explanation, a zombie. Her heart yammered in her ears. Cerberus squirmed to be let down.

She heard wet, stomping footsteps on the stairs and deep groans as the undead creature made its way toward the kitchen, toward the light. She was coming, she was coming, oh god, oh god. Libitina held still, hardly daring to breathe, fighting the struggling dog. It whimpered through her tight grip. She shushed him.

The dead woman reached the landing.

“Shit,” Jane said when she slipped in her own blood, almost falling. Her spiked black hair was matted to her forehead as she lumbered into the kitchen, looking straight down at the floor. Her hands hung at her sides, seemingly useless.

She stopped and stood up straight, head rising slowly. Libitina had a great view of her back while she tried to magically merge into the fridge.

Cerberus saw the thing and growled. His body tensed as he struggled to break free from Libitina’s grip to attack this stranger in his territory. She pulled his head into the crook of her arm. He tried to jerk it away, made a couple of muffled barks, and then relaxed. Zombie woman looked around the room, saw the door leading outside, and lurched toward it.

When she was gone, Libitina let out a long sigh she didn’t realize she held. Her front door slammed as the corpse exited and walked down her porch steps into the driveway. Cerberus sniffed at the air then ran to the entrance yipping, tail held high, ears perked up. Libitina watched the corpse shuffle down her driveway and realized she’d been blessed with the opportunity of a lifetime. As if someone had flicked her “on” switch, she lit up and began rummaging around in her drawers until she came across her digital voice recorder. She grabbed a handful of batteries, stuffed them into her pocket, and glared out the window.

The dead woman had made it to her car but not any further, yet. Libitina hurried, grabbing her trusty backpack and filled it with some of the dried foods stocking her shelves. After throwing in a few bottles of water, she grabbed Cerberus. She didn’t know how long she would be following her zombie or what situations might come up but she wanted to be prepared. She wanted enough food and water to last her a few days, if she was careful. If she needed more, she’d need to improvise. Once she finished her rushed packing, she secured Cerberus on his leash and ran out the door.

He barked at the walking zombie heading down the driveway.

“Hush, stupid,” Libitina hissed, jerking Cerberus back. He stopped but continued growling in a menacing tone. The woman shuffled onward, leaving bloody footprints like a trail of breadcrumbs for Libitina to track. When she disappeared around a bend, Libitina followed, keeping her distance.

She brought out her recorder, pushed a button and spoke. “This is Libitina Flesher, pathology student. If someone finds this, assume I’m dead. I’ll tell you why. This is my documentation of an actual zombie encounter. I repeat, a zombie.” She paused, took a breath, smiled and then continued. “Okay, so I did something bad. I shouldn’t have stolen the body from the morgue, but I was desperate.” She sighed and said in a fast and low voice, “I mean, whoever finds this has to know where I got the body so they might be able to trace its origins. There could be further contamination, more zombies as of yet unfound.” She liked the sound of that. It would matter to whoever found this, if she wasn’t the one turning it in herself—if something were to happen to her—that she be professional. She needed to sound credible and knowledgeable for that matter. She would make it a point to do so.

The zombie came back into view, shuffling along, chin resting on her chest. Libitina heard the sound of soft sobs creeping through the short distance separating them. Cerberus pulled the leash, ears perked at full attention as he snarled. Libitina jerked him back, side stepping behind a tall bush. She watched the dead woman through the branches, recorder held to her lips though she did nothing more than breathe into it.

Once the zombie ambled out of sight, she whispered, “That was a close one. Right now, I’m following her from my house, but I don’t know where she’s going or how long I’ll be out here. I’ve packed enough food for about a week, if I eat sparingly, so we’ll see where it goes after that.” She clicked the recorder off and pursued.

After a few steps she clicked the recorder back on and said, “I don’t know exactly how I’m going to go about studying the zombie, but I must say I feel privileged that this task has fallen on my shoulders. I will be the first scientist to study a specimen of the living dead. I can’t believe this is happening to me. This might be my shot at breaking into the world of pathology. Maybe people will finally take me seriously. I bet the medical schools will be begging for me to join. What do you think, Cerberus?”

The dog heard his name and looked over his shoulder, tongue lolling as he skipped along next to her, sniffing the air.

“Yeah. They’ll be offering to allow me to study for free. No more demeaning myself for their benefit.” She adjusted the strap on her backpack. “One thing I’ll need to be really careful of though, if she’s hungry… well… we all know what zombies do. I don’t want to get bitten. I don’t want to be like her. If anyone finds me like that, please just kill me. Kill me in any way you can think to do it. Most of all, I just can’t stomach the thought of her feeding on me.”

She stepped back into the bushes again as the driveway straightened and watched her zombie until it walked out of sight. She continued whispering her soliloquy.

“So, the body came from the morgue. I know I shouldn’t have taken it. I already said that. But she was listed as a Jane Doe. When I found her, she had contusions all over.” Libitina described the wounds. “But she was, without any doubt, dead. I mean, the doctors wouldn’t have put her in the morgue if she wasn’t.”

She started walking again. “Shit.” Her face stricken, as a horrible thought popped into her head. “What if the doctors didn’t check correctly? It wouldn’t be the first time something like that has happened. What if she wasn’t really dead, but just hurt badly, and so close to the end that she appeared dead? Fuck! Then she wouldn’t be a zombie. She needs serious help if that’s the case. All that blood.”

She looked over her shoulder toward her house. “Well, there’s no stopping now. I’m in it for whatever is in store. I’ve got to know if she is a zombie or if she is actually alive. This means I’ll need to find a way to get close enough to check. I don’t have any of my equipment, though. Shit. What was I thinking not bringing at least a few things with me?” She thought about it a bit. The skin. The slime on the skin and the unmistakable stench of decay, she had to be dead. Didn’t she?

She sat down in the middle of her driveway, dropped the recorder in the dirt next to her, forgetting to turn it off and put her head in her hands. Her hair fell across her face, obscuring her grief. “Libitina! What is wrong with you? Why are you always such a fuck up? Is that the best you can do? You fuck everything up. Everything! Here’s your one shot at fulfilling your dream and you…” She sighed and then continued. “Just fuck it up. Every time.”

Cerberus circled her, wrapping her in the leash like a hug. Tears spilled from her blue eyes. She dashed them away, took a deep breath, and stood back up. After untangling herself from the leash, she said to nobody but herself, “Okay, get it together.” She scooped up the recorder and flicked it off. “You’ve got a great start, so just observe. That’s what you can do. I mean, it’s not like you can take tissue samples or anything.”

She continued following. “Maybe later you can find some supplies, but for now, just keep your distance and observe.” She realized she’d been babbling to herself, a habit she’d gotten into over the last few years living on her own. That’s why she’d gotten the dog, so that it wouldn’t feel so strange speaking out loud to no one. At least with Cerberus, she could pretend he was listening.

She pretended to smile. “That’s what we’ll do, baby,” she said to Cerberus. “We’ll just follow the scary lady and see where she goes and what she does. That should be enough for now.” After a few moments, the smiling facade began to look more natural. This just might work.

*  *  *

Camilla sobbed as she walked naked down the dirt road, paying no attention to the blood running down her legs, leaving red footprints in her wake. Her body shuddered with each breath, each labored step. Her limp arms hung at her sides, smacking against her legs. The last thing she remembered was going into the hospital for help. She needed help. And here she was, naked and alone. And someone was following her. She could feel it, could hear the person back there. Was it the same person who had kidnapped her or did it even matter? People might not stop for a beat up woman with no clothes on… well, there was obviously something wrong there, something that offended the laws of nature and would need to be addressed.

She had no idea where she was or where she wanted to go. She needed medical attention. She needed clothes. She needed to get away from whoever was following her.

The trees swayed in the wind. Her hair clung to her head, smoothing out around her face. “Help,” she moaned. “Someone, help me.” She looked around and could almost see the stillness permeating the air.

A twig snapped behind her. She stopped, turned slowly, saw the faintest glimpse of red that vanished behind some bushes. She widened her eyes, turned, and walked faster. The blood, cold and slippery between her thighs, continued its unending flow.

She cried but no tears fell. Her skin felt tingly and warm as if her entire body had gone to sleep. As she stumbled along the dirt path, she stole glances over her shoulder, into the trees, trying to see her follower without being noticed. Though she felt warm, her flesh was cold to the touch, growing slightly rigid, making it more and more difficult for her to continue.

“Help,” she cried, almost inaudible. “Help me, please. Help me.” This went on as she meandered along. Her blood was crusting in the dry places and clumping in the wet ones. She felt between her legs again, bringing her red fingers into view. Why was she still bleeding? She looked down at the crimson footprints stretching out behind her and saw a small dog fly backwards into some brush.

“Fuck.” The word came out in a whimper. “I’m an artist,” she insisted. “I’m supposed to be in San Francisco dammit!” Her voice rose in a high whine. She cringed at the sound, hands clenched at her sides. Then she sighed and muttered under her breath, “I’m not supposed to be here, wherever the fuck here is.” She thought about the art school she’d applied to, the school that told her to come on down, ‘be an artist, we think you’ve got talent, kid’. And then the cop had pulled her over, had asked her to step out of her car… she didn’t want to remember.

“Shit.” She continued on, eventually coming to a road with mailboxes lined up across from a driveway. She looked left. The road disappeared into the trees going uphill. She looked right. The road disappeared into the trees going downhill. She turned right, downhill being the easier path, and shuffled along, looking back up the graveled country road from which she’d just emerged.

A redheaded woman stood off to the side, staring with a shocked expression. She had the little black dog on a leash. Her followers. Just a couple of gawkers it seemed. But why the hell didn’t the redhead help? And if she was the one who’d brought her here, why didn’t she come and get her back? Nothing made sense. Camilla looked down at herself and continued around the corner, not waiting to see if the girl would dart into the bushes again. She ran her hands over her naked body and chuckled, a mirthless sound in the early morning.

Her follower was afraid. Camilla hated the mess her body was in. She hated the bruises that didn’t hurt, the blood that wouldn’t stop flowing. She no longer cared about the woman and her squeak toy masquerading as a pet. If she was going to do something, she would have done it already.

*  *  *

Aludra heard sobs and cries for help. She pulled the shirt from her face and blinked in the dim lighting, still far too bright for nightly vision. Once she was able to see without her eyes feeling like they would throb out of her skull, she sat up and poked her head through the dry prickly bushes.

She looked up and down the road for the source of the sound. She remembered the road-man and smiled, an image of his disheveled angry spirit flitting through her mind. Her stomach growled. She picked up her bag and rummaged through it, pulling out some type of pressed-bar food. She nibbled the morsel, continuing to look back and forth, down the road. Would there be another road-man?