Sven the Zombie Slayer (5 page)

Sven lived in a house on
Lewis Mountain Road
, in
Charlottesville
,
Virginia
. It was the last house on the block right next to the University of Virginia Alumni Hall. The house had four bedrooms, not counting the basement. The floors were wood. There were four parking spots, not counting the front and back yards. It was a good old house, and like all good old houses, it had some character. It made lots of funny creaking noises, and it wasn’t good at keeping the cold air out in the winter…or at keeping the hot air out in the summer. The lack of weatherproofing wasn’t a problem, because the winters in
Charlottesville
were too mild to notice, and Sven tolerated the heat well.

Sven opened the door at the top of the basement stairs and strode into his living room. It was largely Spartan, but had all the basic living room stuff—a couch, a reclining chair, a bean bag, a TV, and a coffee table at the center of it all, cleverly positioned for the placement of food and drink items.

“Lars?”

There was no answer.

Sven sat for a moment while he rubbed in some muscle balm. Then, putting the ice pack to his chest, he walked around into the dining room. It was empty save for the seldom-used dining room table and the equally seldom-used chairs around it. He walked into the kitchen—no one there either. At least the kitchen refrigerator was closed, unlike the one in the basement had been. Where could Lars be?

Sven went outside and stood on the porch. The front yard was empty. Sven’s SUV was parked in its spot. Lars’s car was behind it. Sven walked into the driveway, and peered into Lars’s car. Empty.

Sven walked around to the back of the house. There was no one in the back yard either. Sven walked back to the front of the house and stepped out into the street. He looked toward the
University
of
Virginia
grounds and up the street the other way. There were no cars out. That was normal. It was a quiet street.

Then he heard a scream—probably someone playing tennis or basketball across the street. As Sven surveyed the rest of his block, he saw some fast movement in his peripheral vision. He turned back toward the
University
of
Virginia
and caught the tail-end of a group of runners—no, sprinters—going north up
Emmet Street
. Sven thought it was a little strange that they weren’t dressed for sprinting. They were just wearing ordinary clothes and a few had backpacks. Maybe it was a student sprint.

Sven shrugged, turned back to the house and went inside. As he was closing the door behind him, he heard another loud tennis scream-grunt. Whoever it was coming from really took her tennis seriously, it was blood-curdling in its terror. Must be a tough set, Sven thought.

Inside, Ivan Drago padded up to Sven and greeted him with a meow. Sven had adopted the Russian Blue from a rescue shelter three years earlier, and according to Sven’s realty, the two of them were the longest-renting tenants in the house so far—apparently three and a half years was a record for the place.

Ivan hadn’t been fond of people at first, and used to run away from everyone but Sven. Ivan was especially afraid of long, cylindrical objects like brooms and rolled up magazines, and when Sven noticed this, he tried to do the sweeping and bug-swatting out of Ivan’s sight. Over time, Ivan had grown more comfortable with strangers and even with cylindrical objects, and had begun to act like a normal, contented housecat, but Sven still made an effort to hide the broom from Ivan. It had become routine.

Ivan meowed again, and Sven remembered something one of his college professors used to say: “When a cat meows at you, it’s not to say hello. It’s because he wants something.”

That wasn’t true, and as a cat owner, Sven knew it. Cats did meow to say hello. Ivan did it all the time. Ivan meowed for lots of other reasons too. He meowed when he wanted to go outside, and he meowed when he wanted to come back in. Ivan also meowed when he was pleased, and he meowed when he was displeased.

But Ivan
was
meowing now because he was hungry. Sven could tell because Ivan was meowing and trying to lead Sven into the kitchen. Sven obliged and walked into the kitchen where Ivan’s bowl sat on the floor. The bowl was empty.

“Did you eat all your food already?” Sven asked. “I gave you your full ration just an hour ago. How’d you eat all of that so fast?”

Ivan stretched, brushed up against Sven’s legs, meowed again, and then turned his green eyes up at Sven.

“You really like that liver huh?” Sven saw some of Ivan’s wet food on the floor around the bowl. That wasn’t like Ivan.

“Now here you go making a mess.”

Ivan meowed.

“It’s okay. I’ll get you some more.” Sven petted Ivan, and felt a searing pain shoot through his chest and neck. He flinched, and slowly straightened up again. He was trying to remember to limit his range of motion, so that he didn’t end up any worse than he already was. Stupid Lars, Sven thought, I’m gonna have to ice myself and rest all week. What a waste of time.

That reminded him. Sven glanced at his watch and remembered he had a training session at eight that morning. It was already half past seven and the gym was a fifteen minute drive away. The session was with one of his most important clients—important because the client always paid on time—and Sven didn’t want to ruin a good thing. He would feed Ivan and get on his way, injured or not. Then, Sven told himself, when I get back later today, I’m gonna have some serious words with Lars.

Sven jogged painfully to the cupboard for some of the canned wet food that Ivan enjoyed so much. He didn’t mind giving Ivan some more food—the cat wasn’t on a diet, after all. Ivan was very lean from running about the neighborhood, and he could be trusted to eat until he was full and then stop.

“I spoil you too much,” Sven said to Ivan, who was padding around Sven and meowing. Sven opened the cupboard. There were no cans of cat food there. Sven thought he remembered the cat food being well-stocked, but maybe he was thinking of the shelves in the storage room. He wasn’t sure.

Looking down, Sven was surprised to see a smear of a cat-food-like substance on the counter beneath the cupboard.

“Looks like I’m making a mess too. I’ll get you a can from downstairs. Come on.”

Ivan meowed.

Sven glanced at his watch again, feeling the stress start to build up. Lars was probably chatting up that girl at Mem Gym. What a good-for-nothing workout partner. She didn’t like Lars anyway, she liked Sven. Sven had meant to take her out or something, but he never knew what to do with her besides work out. I should’ve taken her to that polo match at King Family, Sven thought. Even better, I should’ve had her spot me on the bench today.

Sven started down the stairs into the basement. Feeling that he was being watched, he stopped midway down and looked over his shoulder. Ivan was standing at the top of the stairs, looking down at him.

“Come on, Ivan. You come down with me.”

Ivan wouldn’t move.

“You want me to do your bidding while you chill out up there?”

Ivan didn’t answer, but flicked his tail along the ground.

Sven shrugged and walked the rest of the way down the stairs. The pain in his chest, side, and arms was getting worse. His back was tight in a way that suggested it would be in a lot of pain later. He must have tweaked it in his struggle against the bar. He hoped that nothing was herniated. Damn that Lars.

Sven walked across the basement and opened the door to the storage room. When he let go of the handle, there was something cold and greasy in his hand. Cat food. There was more on the doorknob.

Then Sven looked up and a chill passed through him. He had found Lars.

9

The vitamin C powder fizzed and bubbled as Jane poured it into the glass. She liked the sound. It was satisfying.

Jane got a spoon out of a drawer and gave the drink a bit of a mix. She took a sip of the vitamin C water. It was delicious.

Jane brought the water out to Vicky and stood over her.

“Okay,” Jane said. “You’ve gotta drink this. It’s gonna make you better, and then I really have to go to work, okay?”

Vicky didn’t respond.

Jane stood there, glass in hand, watching Vicky lie there on the couch. Vicky was turned away, her face against the couch’s backrest, gulping air in ragged gasps.

“Honey,” Jane said, “you have to drink something.”

Jane put her hand on Vicky’s shoulder. It felt as cold as ice. She pulled. Vicky didn’t budge.

Jane pulled harder on Vicky’s shoulder. “Come on, turn over.”

Vicky rolled over and looked up.

Jane shrieked and jumped backward, forgetting to keep her fingers tight on the glass.

The glass fell to the floor and shattered. The vitamin C water made a purplish puddle, punctuated by small shards of glass scattered in and around it.

The puddle fizzed.

10

Lars was kneeling on the cement floor of the storage room. He was in the back under shelves of protein powder and meal replacement bars. Lars had his back to Sven, and was bent over something on the floor in front of him. He was doing something to it or with it. To Sven, it looked like Lars was moving something back and forth on the floor. Sven heard an unmistakable sound—squishy chewing. Here was Lars, sitting in a dark corner and sloshing something about in his mouth, having left to sit there in the middle of his spotting duties? It made no sense.

Squish, squosh, squoosh. Squish, squosh, squish. Squish, squosh, squeesh.

There was a smell too, a strange, cloying odor. Sven began to feel a numbness inching up from his extremities, and a dizziness—

He shook it off. “Lars? What the hell are you doing over there? I was this close to being crushed in the—”

Lars turned, and the ice pack fell from Sven’s hand.

Sven stared at Lars in disbelieving shock. His workout partner’s skin was grey. His eyes were a dull black, and blood oozed from between his lips. A chunk of what could only be cat food tumbled out of his mouth and landed on the leg of his black man-tard. Small bits of Ivan’s wet food were strewn all over Lars, all over his skin and all over the man-tard. Cat food was all over Lars’s mouth—cat food mixed with blood.

Sven stepped backward, uncertain of the sight before him and feeling more lightheaded with every second.

Had Lars mixed weight gainer shakes again? But that hadn’t been this bad. Lars looked like he needed medical help. He looked extremely ill, maybe even on the verge of death.

“What happened? Are you
okay?” Sven asked as he made himself reverse course and walk closer to Lars. Lars stared, black eyes unblinking.

The cat food-coated muscle man said nothing.

“Lars? Say something.” Sven walked close enough to see what was on the floor. Lars was kneeling before six cans of Ivan’s wet food.

There was cat food and blood all over the floor. There was cat food and blood all over Lars’s fingers, mouth, and lips. That’s where it was coming from—Lars’s fingers and mouth. Sven flinched when he saw that many of Lars’s fingernails were gone. Sven didn’t understand what he was seeing.

“Did you open those with your fingers and teeth? Dude we have to get you a doctor, you’re bleeding all over the place.”

Lars said nothing. His black eyes were fixed on Sven. Then Lars opened his mouth. Bloody cat food cakes rolled out. He must have cut himself on the cans, Sven thought, he must be really sick, I have to get him to a—