Apocalyptic Moon (After the Bane) (10 page)

“No. Hide, I’ll find you.”

“But…”

“Don’t worry, babe, your aroma is loud and clear.”

She sniffed her armpit. At least he said aroma not odor.
“I’ve always had a soft spot for search and rescue dogs.”

“I’m wagging my tail, but give me a hint of your location.”

“I‘ll be in the men‘s bathroom just a few doors from the elevator.”

“I’m on it.”

Shuffling steps neared.
She slipped back into the bathroom and into the last stall. She pressed her lips tight.
“Hurry.”

A gurgling moan mouthed and then sniffed the door. The zombie’s primal sense of smell when searching for living flesh could only be compared to what
our
primitive primate ancestors must have had. It pushed against the door, not bothering to pull down on the door handle. All cognitive memories of these once living human beings, gone. Their intelligence became rudimentary: find and feed. This gave the living an advantage, if not overconfidence, a fatal error on the part of Mansfield and his team. The zombies’ lack of emotion and pain made them a relentless predator. There was no reasoning with these ghouls. Nothing convinced them to stop. It didn’t matter if you were once their boss, friend or child. It was not personal, the purpose of the living were to be eaten, nothing more.

A second more vocal zombie joined in, wailing for the out-of-reach meal. Soon his complaints would attract others.

Gunfire blasted from the hallway
.
Outside the door, the bodies fell
.
The thick smell of gunfire smoke masked the cloying stench of rotting flesh. A soldier
radioed in. “Sir, we lost three men and we’re down to five. Floor four is breached.”

Mansfield answered, “Leave the area. Get Dr. Adler!”

“And what about the man?”

“Too dangerous.”

“Hurry!”

“Yes, sir!”

Dora stepped outside the stall. Might as well go with them and let Dirk track her. Anyway, their goal was to get to Mansfield because he had the collar device.

A soldier shouted, “Fuck!”

Moans grew louder as the swarm moved in.

Rapid gunfire ensued. The agonizing hollers of the men being eaten alive were horrific. She cowered on the floor, capping her hands over her ears.
Make it stop. Make it stop.
Silence brought more horror. Loud chewing and licking sounded like manner-less people enjoying barbecue ribs. Odd, the zombies didn’t snarl like hungry wolves fighting for flesh. There were only moans demanding to get in but they never fought.

She looked at the high ceiling. No way could she reach the air vent. Dirk wanted her to wait, but what if he was trapped? She doubted one werewolf could fight more than a dozen at once. If she remained here, he’d be attacked.
Best to leave while they’re distracted.
She pressed her lips tight, gently pulled the handle down, and peeked out.

A blonde female moaner, wearing a white lab coat, twisted around. Her nametag read, Dr. Andrea Bentley. The zombie PhD locked dead eyes with her, gaped her bloodied mouth, and charged with a raging snarl.

Shit! She closed the door. The former scientist bawled a stuttering moan and another joined her raking, pushing and pounding on the door. A distant howl made them pause before they returned to bashing in the metal barrier.

Dora dashed into a stall and locked herself in. “
Dirk, hurry!”

A body slammed the door and inadvertently pushed the handle down. The moaning zombie scientist had attracted the attention of the others. At least three, if not more, stumbled in.

She held her breath. Not that it mattered. Her scent drew them in. She stepped on top of the john as they slammed against her door.
Of all the crappy places to die.

The blonde zombie scientist hit the floor and proceeded to crawl inside. “Knock first,” Dora muttered. The space between the floor and the door was too narrow; the stuck ghoul gnashed her mouth and flailed with her arms reaching toward her. Dora climbed the tank. “Ooh. You’ve got bad breath.” She accidentally stepped on the flush button, and the loud percolating frenzied the zombies.

A former guard turned brutally strong zombie ripped the door from its hinges.

“NO!” Dora backed away and though hopelessly looked up for her only way out.

****

Dirk followed her scent and slid on a slick hallway. Not just-mopped slippery, but slick with blood. He scooped up a discarded Mini-Uzi submachine gun and a 9mm pistol. Not his favorite zombie-killing weapons, but they would do. The scent of the undead permeated the air. He’d lost telepathic contact, but honed in on Dora’s scent, a guiding beacon for his canine nose. Though her pleasant aroma didn’t guarantee she still lived.

Dirk scoped around the corner. Zombies feasted on dead soldiers. The bathroom’s door was open. He hitched a breath. They had her. He growled and his fangs emerged. The feeding zombies turned. They moaned and tilted their heads in bewilderment. Too busy enjoying their take-out, the zombies returned to digging out entrails and smacking in gruesome satisfaction.

Dirk charged into the bathroom. Five zombies stretched their arms toward the ceiling. Dora hovered twenty feet above the floor. What the fuck? He couldn’t help it. He grinned. “You can fly!” Most witches didn’t develop flight until they were middle aged. She must be a rare gifted one.

She floated as if on a space shuttle, holding the vent, which she managed to open a crack. Her voice shaking, she looked at him, “I don’t know for how long.”

“Not a problem, babe.”

The zombies feeding preference went from her to him. In his human form, he smelled almost as appetizing as Dora. They shuffled toward him.

He aimed the pistol and shot them dead center in the head, without wasting more than one bullet on each. Dirk dashed out the door and shot the others in the hall with the machine gun.

He looked up. “You can come down now.”

“How?” She clung on to the vent screen, trembling like a cat caught in a tall tree.

Hell, how did he know? “Good thing you have your
witchmacallit
going on.”

“Witchmacallit?” She frowned. “Damn it, I’m a doctor not a witch.”

The scent of her adrenalin was over-sweet but her deadpan humor amused him. He chuckled. “You sound like Dr. McCoy from the first,
Star Trek
series.”

“I thought you said trivia wasn’t your forte?”

He listened to her pulse. Talking to him had started to calm her racing heartbeat. “My sister and I used to watch old episodes and invent our own dialogue.”

“So did my dad. He was a big time
Star Trek
and
Star Wars
nerd. After medical school, he kiddingly called me, Bones.” She looked down, her limbs trembling. “I wish Scotty could beam me down.”

“Take in a long hard breath and then let go of the vent.”

“Wait, what?”

This was probably her first time in waking flight. He knew so little about Aradia witches. If not for the ceiling, would she endlessly float up? Then what? He stepped below her, and twisted his most charming wolfish smile. “Concentrate on floating to the ground, you won’t fall. I’ll catch you.”

“Okay.” She let go and levitated down halfway. “Oh, my God!”As if gravity was turned back on, she dropped like a falling coconut into his waiting arms.

Dirk held her tight, enjoying the feel of having her safe in his embrace. His inner wolf wanted to lick every inch of her lovely face. Or better yet, lick every inch of her soft body. He set her down and steadied her. “You’re gifted.”

She shrugged. “This witchmacallit does come in handy.”

He smiled; happy she used the word he’d just invented. “Yeah, fucking advanced witchmacallit. I once overheard a raven shifter say a new witch needs to be taught to fly and even then, she needs to be at least in her fifties.”

“Zombies at your feet definitely encourage speed learning.” She crinkled a smile. “Next time I’ll use the transporter.”

“You and me both, but since that’s not an option and we can’t have the Enterprise beam us out we better move.” He handed her the Mini-Uzi. “Use this. Until you get better at landing, you’ll need to rely on shooting them.” She stared at it as if it was an odd puzzle. “Here’s the trigger.”

“Got it. Aim for the brain.” She pointed the machine gun and swept it around.

He caught her arm. “Careful, the safety is off.”

“Sorry. Let’s get to Mansfield’s lab.”

“He might have already evacuated.”

“No. He radioed his men and told them to meet at the lab. He’s still in the experimental room, waiting for the guards to bring me.”

“Just you?”

“He told his men you were too dangerous.”

“Got that right. Let’s go.”

“Wait.” She sized up her socked feet next to the blonde dead scientist’s. “I think I’ll fit into Dr. Bentley’s shoes.” She yanked them off and slipped them on. “Smart lady to wear comfortable athletic casuals.”

“You knew her?”

“Only from her nametag.” She stood. “This way.”

He followed her up the staircase. He sniffed, flaring his nostrils and used his wolf hearing to pick up on incoming ghouls. Maybe the majority had been killed.

They reached a large sealed door with a retinal scanner lock. She entered his mind.
“Don’t say a word. I’ll tell him I’m alone.”

He took off his shirt and draped it over the camera.
Damn
. The stench followed by the zombies’ uncoordinated scraping gaits drew closer. “
Quick. I smell a shitload of zombies.”

She knocked. “Dr. Mansfield, open the door!” Her panic was no act, her scent dripped with gooey fear.

The camera moved. “Sir, we’re not getting a visual.”

“Are you alone?” asked Mansfield.

“Yes. The guards are dead. The zombies are coming. Please!” She slammed her hand against the door.

The door opened and both she and Dirk ran in, but three zombies shuffled in before it sealed shut. The security guard aimed and shot two while Dirk turned, grabbed the third. He twisted its neck and snapped it. Crippled, the zombie opened and closed his jaws until Dirk smashed its skull in with his foot.

The experimental room was exactly that. Zombies wiggled like pinned worms while strapped on examination tables, others half dissected moaned, not out of pain but hunger toward the living. Above the ghoulish lab five zombies harnessed from the ceiling hung, struggling to reach the closest human. Shackled to a pole by a short leash, a collared zombie with its mouth super-glued shut clawed making a pathetic mewing sound. One male zombie on a chair had electrodes running out of his exposed brain. No doubt sedated by remote control since it just stared at the wall.

Dirk aimed his pistol at Mansfield’s head. “Hands on your head. Tell Dora where you keep the gleipnir remote or I’ll waste a bullet on you.”

Mansfield curled a calm smile. “I don’t think Dr. Adler is at liberty to do so.”

Aimes, Mansfield’s guard, stepped into view. He held Dora in a headlock with a pistol to her head. Dora’s weapon was on the floor. Dirk went wolf, displayed his fangs and snarled at the man holding her. Fear crossed the guard’s eyes but he held her tighter. Dirk leashed his inner wolf and kept his gun aimed at Mansfield.

Mansfield sneered. “If you kill me, my man will kill the good doctor.”

Dirk glared and locked eyes with Mansfield. “I don’t give a shit what you do with the human. I can search for it after you’re dead as well as she could.”

“Hey, I thought we were buds?”
snapped Dora
.

“He’s lying. He won’t kill the only immune human. His Eve.”

“He sounds pretty serious to me.”

“I can smell a lie. His eyes confirm it.”
The banging outside the laboratory grew intense. “On the count of three: one, two…”

“All right. You win.” Mansfield signaled with his chin to Aimes. “Release Dr. Adler.”

Aimes let her go. Dirk barked at the guard, “Drop the gun!” In slow motion, he bent and set it down. Dirk growled at the three soldiers. “You too!” They laid their rifles on the floor.

Dora slowly walked past the collared zombie as it stretched to reach her and shook its sealed humming mouth. She glared at Mansfield, who kept his hands on his head. “Where is it?”

“My right pocket.”

Not taking her eyes off of him, she reached in and grabbed it. “I hate how guys always hog the remote.”

“Dr. Adler, you can’t trust the werewolf. He’ll turn on you if you release him.”

She lifted an eyebrow as if considering his caution and then without warning kneed him in the groin. He crumpled onto the floor, a look of pain and surprise as he screamed in silence. “That’s for all the zombies that used me as a chew toy.”

Dirk grinned. “Feel better, babe?”

“Much better.” She handed him the remote.

Dirk pressed a green button and his collar clicked open. He gripped the remote and closed his fist, crushing it. He opened his hand and dropped the crumbled pieces. The collar’s light flickered out, disabled and broken.

She narrowed her eyes at Dirk. “
Quit referring to me as babe.”

“Okay, Doc. In my mind, only ‘babe’ comes out but I do like Dora a hell of a lot.”

Mansfield had no idea they secretly communicated. He gritted his teeth as he stood, holding his testicles. He glared at Dora and then at him. “You do realize a shifter betrayed us.”

He rubbed his throat where the collar had irritated his skin. “What the hell are you talking about?”

“I’ll show you.” Mansfield hobbled toward the view screen.

Dora picked up the Mini-Uzi and aimed it at Mansfield. She looked pissed. Kicking him in the jewels had not been enough to satisfy her anger. “Don’t move asshole.” Mansfield froze.
“Can I use my witchmacallit to turn him into a toad?”