Zombies! (Episode 5): Sinners and Saints (2 page)

Michael calmed, letting the sobs work their way out of his body. It took a long time, several minutes, but his breathing eventually normalized. Though he did not pull his hands from his face, Father Ohara could tell that his muscles were relaxing. He was finding his peace.

When he finally did look up there was a look in his eyes that had been shared by the other parents. It was the look of understanding. The look of acceptance. Michael had chosen his path.

"Open the door, please, Father."

Confused, Father Ohara stood up and backed away a step. "Why would you ever want me to do that?"

Though he remained seated, Michael's demeanor changed to one of an imposing shadow. He looked up at the priest and answered, "Because I don't believe, Father. That's not my son in there. My son has left that body and the
thing
inside has no right to it."

Father Ohara reached out a hand and Michael took it. One helped the other to his feet and the stood together looking eye to eye. "If you go in there, they will kill you."

Michael nodded. "But not before I can get to Kyle and pound that thing out of him."

"I can't allow it."

"I'm not
asking
."

Stepping away from the distraught father, Ohara positioned himself with his back against the door. Despite his age, he was in peak physical condition. Michael's determination did not frighten him. He had encountered the irate and determined before and had bested them all.

"This door only opens when a new lost soul goes inside. It takes preparation and it's become harder every time I add one to the mix. If I open that door now, I'm not sure I'll be able to keep them from getting out."

Michael reached into his coat and Father Ohara knew what was inside even before he saw it.

"I told you I'm not asking."

The priest swallowed hard. "Are you going to shoot me?"

Michael shook his head. "Don't make me make that choice. I didn't think there'd be so many of them but I've got a spare clip and I won't miss."

"Please, Michael, think about what you're doing. There are too many of them. Even with the gun..."

"Don't make me ask again. I know my fate. Don't let make me add murder to my list of sins."

"If you shoot them, it'll be the worst kind of murder."

Michael exhaled and fired. He'd grown weary of the conversation, convinced that Father Ohara would keep him talking just as long as he possibly could. Well he'd reached that limit. From here there was nowhere to go but down. All the way down.

Ohara slumped to the side. Despite his claims, Michael did not shoot to kill. Of course, once he opened that door, it wouldn't matter. The priest was well and truly disabled. He tried to fight Michael as he rummaged for the keys, but he was too weak and he could feel himself going into shock. Frustrated, Michael put the gun by his temple and shouted at him. Behind the door, the zombies were becoming more and more agitated. The gunshot and the shouting was calling their attention to the door.

"Please, Michael," Father Ohara coughed. "You're…"

And this time Michael did the job right. He was in too much of a frenzy, too far gone to really feel the impact of his actions. In a way, he was also in shock.

There were six keys on the ring and four of them looked like they might fit padlocks. The first failed and he cursed as he dropped them to the floor. It was too awkward, using the keys and holding the gun. On the other side of the door, he heard the thumps and moans. They wanted out and he wanted in. It was a perfect match.

"
Hold your horses!
" he shouted at them, but that only agitated them more.

With the barrel of the gun tucked under his left arm, he tried another key. It didn't work but he didn't drop them. The third key didn't work and neither did the fourth. For good measure, he tried the two long keys but they fit some other type of lock entirely.

"God damnit!" he screamed, reaching down and grabbing the dead priest by his shirt front. "Where's the key?
Where's the key?
" When there was no answer to be had, he said, "The hell with you, then." and tossed him to the floor.

Taking careful aim, he fired the gun at the padlock. The lock bounced in its place but didn't shatter. He fired again. And again. He kept firing until the gun was empty of the bullets and the lock was a dented and mangled thing. But still it held. Cursing some more, he popped the clip and loaded in the spare. This time he took aim at the eyelets in the wall. It took two bullets per eyelet (three for one of them) but they eventually fell free of the stone wall. With a cry of triumph, he turned to the door again. He reached for the handle before realizing that he had hardly any bullets left. But it was too late. The zombies were pushing against the handle and the door came open with a groan. He leveled his weapon and fired at the first zombie. He didn't miss. But he didn't hit anything worthwhile. In an instant, they were upon him, grabbing at his arms and legs, tearing at his face and belly. They were ripping his clothing away so that they could get to his flesh. He fired wildly and without direction, emptying the gun without effect. The last thing he saw before his mind shut down was the face of his son, Kyle, scrabbling through the pack so that he could have his pound of flesh.

***

It was getting late by the time Shawn pulled himself up through the sheets and into the waking world. Marcus wasn't in the bed but he could be heard in the other room, clinking plates and glasses and whatnot.

“Good morning,” Marcus said to Shawn as he padded into the kitchen. “Brunch?”

Shawn shrugged. He'd been spending most of his weekends at Marcus' place over the last few weeks, although Marcus himself had been out late most Saturday nights and some Fridays.. He was pretty sure his mom suspected the extent of their relationship but she'd had the decency not to speculate out loud. His dad was clueless, which was better for everyone. Shawn went to the table and sat down. There was a newspaper there and he fiddled with it a moment before deciding it wasn't even worth putting up the pretense of being interested in it.

“What's on your mind?” Marcus said, placing a plate of eggs and toast and bacon in front of him and sitting down opposite.

“Nothing."

“Lies now?” Marcus asked.

“It's not about us,” Shawn told him. “Just some stuff at school.”

“What stuff?”

Shawn fiddled with the paper, then went to his fork. He managed to put a forkful of eggs into his mouth and chew, stalling against the inevitable. “It's Heron.”

“The detective?” Marcus asked bitterly. “Is he giving you grief?”

Shawn shrugged, plowing into his food now. “It's been a few weeks since I was let out and I ain't given him nothing yet.”

“Does he expect you to make things up?”

Shawn shook his head. “I don't think so. He's been pretty good about giving me my space. In fact, I'm pretty sure this whole informant thing was just some bullshit he made up so that he could get me out of jail.”

“Why would he do that?”

“'Cause I didn't do nothin' wrong,” Shawn blurted defensively.

“Okay, okay,” Marcus acquiesced. “Then what's the problem?”

“Nothing,” Shawn said, going back to his food. “Forget it.”

For a few minutes, Marcus did just that. He steepled his hands and rested his chin upon them, just staring at Shawn. When he felt that Shawn was just about at his breaking point, he said, “You've found something, haven't you? You've got something to tell the cop?”

Eyes down, Shawn nodded.

“What is it?”

“It don't matter.”

“It
does
matter. Are you going to let this cop control you forever?”

“I told you, it ain't about that.”

“What then? What's it about?”

“It's about people getting hurt, you know?” Shawn dropped his fork onto his plate. “A bunch of the guys I know are going out and hunting zombies tonight. They say there's some dude who'll pay good money for them. You know, alive?”

Marcus lifted his chin from his hands and wriggled his fingers. He was thinking. Shawn always knew when Marcus was thinking. It wasn't a change in expression or anything physical that could be identified. It was almost as if his
aura
changed. And the two of them were so in tune that Shawn could just tell.

“Stay out of it, Shawn,” Marcus said finally.

“I can't really do that, Marcus. If Heron finds out about kids getting involved with zombies and I haven't tipped him off...”

“He won't do anything. That's not why he got you out. You said so yourself.”

“Yeah, but the guys could...”

“Just don't get involved,” Marcus ordered him. It was an actual order and Shawn was inclined to follow it. Though Shawn didn't notice it and might not have admitted it if he did, that was the nature of their relationship. Marcus didn't necessarily abuse his power, but he definitely held it. “I've been keeping track of all of this zombie nonsense on the news. It's dangerous, Shawn, and I don't want you involved in it.”

“You my mom, now?”

“No,” Marcus said. “It's not like that. Look, Shawn, I love you, okay? I love you and I'm afraid that cop is taking advantage of you because you're a kid and you're afraid of going back to jail. He's going to get you killed or worse.”

Though he had no retort, Shawn was no closer to a solution to his own problem. He wanted to help Heron because these zombies scared the hell out of him. It had been bad enough when they hadn't been common. Now there were news stories every day. Even someone like Shawn, who avoided current events as best he could, couldn't steer clear of hearing the latest zombie tale. The kids were talking about it in school. No one had bugged out like before. That episode of mass hysteria had played itself out. Now that the danger was real, people were hunkering down and adjusting to the new environment. Shawn, though, was beside himself. He was in an almost constant state of unease that sometimes bordered on panic. He wondered if hiding his head in the sand was just making his problems worse. Still, though, Marcus was right. If he told Heron about the hunting party, what would the detective do next? Would that be enough to clear his record? And then there was the matter of the guys going out to hunt? They were Shawn's buddies and though they were a bad lot in general, he didn't feel right snitching on them. And if they found out he was a snitch, he'd be better off in a room full of zombies.

“Your eggs are getting cold,” Marcus said. There was a tinge of annoyance in his voice, but Shawn was sure it had nothing to do with the eggs.

He looked down at the plate of food. He was hardly hungry but he didn't want to upset Marcus any more than he already had so he ate and every mouthful dropped into his stomach like a moldy brick.

***

Leron and Toby had the unpopular task of checking the stock this afternoon. They had to pick out six or seven of the best and worst specimens and pull them from the pen so they could be prepared for the night's show. Of all of the things that Leron had to do as part of this enterprise, this was the worst. But someone had to do it.

The two of them were dressed from head to toe in thick dark clothing. They wore at least three layers. It helped to hide their scent which seemed to keep the zombies fairly docile while they were being moved. Ski masks made breathing a bit harder but cut down on the smell; oddly enough, Leron didn't mind the smell so much. They wore goggles and gloves and high laced up boots. In addition, the zombies themselves had their hands bound behind their backs and rubber balls tied into their mouths. No one took any chances.

The pen seemed crowded but they knew that they had barely enough zombies for the night. They had twenty two, a mixture of races and genders and ages. Some of the really sick bastards liked to get into the ring with children. From what Leron had heard, fighting the children was harder because they were kind of wiry. And that's what this was all about. Fighting zombies.
The Ultimate Zombie Fighting Championship
. When Marcus had first come up with the plan, Leron had thought it was stupid. Of course, he thought most of Marcus' ideas were stupid. Then again, Marcus was wildly successful in just about everything he did while Leron had pretty much been living in his shadow ever since they'd met.

So Marcus had told him to go out and find a zombie, see if it was all true. That was weeks ago and Leron had laughed at him.
What the hell are we gonna do with a zombie?
But he'd done as Marcus asked because all of Marcus' stupid plans made money. Then Marcus had asked him to find a warehouse. So he'd done that. Leron could find almost anything but never had the money or the knowledge to acquire it. Actually, now that he thought about it, he and Marcus made a decent team. Yeah, that's what they were! A team!