Metahumans vs the Undead: A Superhero vs Zombie Anthology (29 page)

He’s going to kill me
,
I thought,
but at least he’ll be safe
.

I opened up the dumpster, gently tossed David in and closed it behind him. Just to make sure no walking undead got to him before me, I gripped the lid as hard as I could, making it buckle and crimping it to the front wall of the container. I was certain the zombies couldn’t open it and get to him.

“
Nightcat
!” David shouted from inside as he banged on the walls as hard as he could. “LET ME OUT!”

“I will!” I hollered back, “as soon as I’m done killing these things off.”

I’m sure David wasn’t thrilled about being in such a wretched-smelling place, but at least I could concentrate on killing the zombies permanently and not worry about his safety.

David kept banging and screaming my name, but I was too busy to respond.

When I turned around, I was faced with an almost completely intact individual. He must have been recently infected because he still retained many human features, albeit looking a little anemic.

“I’ve never liked cats,” he hissed. “Evil little creatures they are.”

“I bet you say that to all the girls.” As I spoke, I mentally geared myself up to take him down. He’d likely prove more of a challenge than the others, but he was so human-like by comparison that I’d have a hard time psychologically coming to grips with it. For the first time, I felt a twinge of envy for Raphael’s amorality.

I wanted to avoid getting too close, so I jumped up onto the side of the building, claws digging into the brickwork. I scurried over to the fire escape and yanked two metal balusters off the guard rail.

“If you’re trying to scare me, it isn’t working,” he said smugly.

I had initially thought of beating him with the metal rods, but a better plan came to mind.

Holding the one like a javelin, I launched it in his direction. He might have been faster than his buddies, but even a living athlete would have had problems getting out of the way fast enough.

The twisted metal rod went through his left eye socket and hit the building behind it. He was brought to his knees, but still had some undead life in him.

To make sure it would cause more damage, I bent the metal rod into the shape of a ball and hurled it at his torso, taking a large chunk out and putting him down for the count.

There were a couple more contenders waiting on the sidelines. I wasn’t sure if they were actually mulling the idea in their minds or if they were waiting for me to make the first move.

As much as it disgusted me, I knew I would have to go hand-to-hand with them. The thought sent a cold shiver down my spine.

With one last fleeting thought of how long it would take to wash the rotting-flesh odor out of my fur, I leapt toward one of them and before he had time to react, I ripped his arms right from the socket, and shoved one through the fleshy part under the jaw and into what was left of his brain.

My sixth sense warned me that one was in close proximity. I knew he was behind me from the direction of the scent. I knocked his legs out from under him with my tail, and using the other dismembered arm, drove it into his mouth and through the other end of his skull.

I was reacting so much on instinct that when I turned around to meet another attacker, I realized there was none. All I heard was David screaming and banging on the dumpster.

“I’m coming!” I shouted, hoping he could hear me.

He continued to bang on it, so much so I was getting a headache from the noise.

“I’m here, David, I’m here.” He must have heard me because the noise instantly stopped.

I ripped open the lid and he sprung up like a jack-in-the-box.

“What the hell were you thinking?” he said as he wiped off the remnants of someone’s bagged leftovers.

I had to take a step back. The smell was so intense I was afraid I’d throw up.

I coughed a few times before answering him. “I’m sorry.” I coughed again. “It was the only thing I could think of to keep you safe.”

“And for that I thank you, but do you have any idea how long it’ll take me to wash this stuff off? Eau de dumpster is very hard to get out.”

“Perhaps, but I’d be willing to help you with that,” I said, hoping to lighten the mood. “I mean, it’s my fault that you smell like skunk vomit.”

“So I guess this means you got them all?” David looked around as he continued to pull old spaghetti from his hair.

“I think so. Doesn’t look like there are any other contenders.”

“So now what?” he asked.

“I guess we call Raphael so he can dispose of the bodies. I’m sure as hell not cleaning that mess up.”

“But yet you can put up with cleaning up my mess?”

“I guess we’ll find out,” I said.

There
’
s Something

Rotten Up North

by

A.P. Fuchs

T
he operation had
been simple: dig through the cave-in of ’97, secure the cave’s ceiling, then try and rediscover the vein of gold old man Rogers had claimed to have found before the roof came down.

Harvey Goodwin had been in charge of the find, one thousand meters below the
Flin
Flon
mine. He knew from past experience that digging up an old cave-in was a bad idea, but the brass wanted their gold and he wanted his job, so who was he to argue? But there was a problem: the cave-in had occurred fourteen years ago, the miners who had been trapped having never been found, the area around the collapse—at the time—too unstable for a recovery dig. The town was outraged at the nonchalance of the mine, one that had been in operation for over fifty years, the country at large—even some places in the world—pouring in the hate mail and claiming company negligence. Except money talked and those in charge walked, and as the years passed by, so did the memory of those lost.

Harvey’s brother, Lionel, had been part of the catastrophic dig. Went to work early one morning just like always . . . and never came home. Now, it was up to Harvey to slowly remove the giant rocks and debris and hope for a way through to the other side. But if his brother was indeed back there—if indeed Lionel and the crew hadn’t found or attempted another way out—he shuddered at the thought of what he might find, the skeletons long buried.

Harvey led his crew deep underground, bringing with them the rigs and tools required to carefully unearth what was supposed to be a major vein of gold. The other men in his crew were relatively new, most having started working at the mine after the accident.

Deep in the dark, Harvey and his men got to work, testing the stones, checking for weaknesses; the lanterns they brought down and the battery-powered lights on their helmets did little to illuminate the inky darkness. An endless sea of shadows was the world around them, the rocks quiet, still, just waiting to reveal what was held within.

“Gabriel!” Rod Hunter shouted at him from behind his desk. “I said
get
me the coffee not
throw
it on me.”

Gabriel Garrison stood there, shoulders slumped, a hollow pang circulating throughout his chest. He hated having to pretend being such a klutz, but that was part of his disguise, one he started over a year ago and one he was lately beginning to regret having created. “Sorry, Mr. Hunter. Didn’t mean to. Misjudged the distance between the edge of the table and your lap and—”

Rod glared at him, eyes cool. Then, quickly, he stood and stormed out of his office, bumping Gabriel’s shoulder in the process. “Go back to work,” he said over his shoulder as he exited the room.

Gabriel sighed and made his way back to his cubicle. Hours in a call centre ticked by slowly on some days, each minute filled with angry clients wondering about charges on their credit cards and why the interest rates were so high. It wasn’t the most glamorous job in the world, but it paid better than most out there and helped him keep a roof over his head.

Just don’t know if I want to stay here forever,
he thought, then sat down and put his headset back on. He stared at his monitor a moment before logging back into his phone and getting ready for the next call.

The tone sounded in his ear and the customer’s file popped up on the screen. As he began the verification process, he noticed his email tab at the bottom of the monitor stating he had a couple of new messages. Quickly, he switched screens, temporarily distracted from his call.

The new emails were all from newsfeeds across the Web, all subscriptions based on keywords to help notify him if something terrible had happened outside the office’s walls.

“Hello? You there? Look, I’m—” The customer, a Mr. Andrews, didn’t sound none too pleased.

“Sorry about that,” Gabriel said. “Can I put you on hold for a moment?”

“What? Why? Fine. Whatever. Just don’t take too long because I got to head out in a minute.”

“Thank you.” Gabriel hit the
hold
button then double-clicked on the message that came in. One of his keywords appeared several times in the article:
death
. And it was local enough of to be of concern.