Stefan Petrucha - Dead Mann Walking

He started screaming. Oh, I understood why, but it was definitely the wrong thing to do. One of the reasons we have such bad press is that pained, wet liveblood screams attract ferals. Jowly Dog knew that much wasn’t an urban legend. As he tried to drag his buddy back inside, he kept saying, “Shut up! Shut up!”

Man, did I hear moaning then. Lots, like it wasn’t just one, but a mob hiding right below that kitchen window. Maybe I was wrong about the whole pack-instinct thing.

If the idiots hadn’t cuffed me, I might’ve helped the dogs out. I’m not one to hold a grudge against the hired hands. Thinking the ferals’d be in soon, I realized I might not get to my feet fast enough, so I squirmed across the floor and through a swinging door. Last I looked there was a real tug-of-war going on at the window. Five feral hands pulled at the smoker.

Bet he wished he’d quit.

The kitchen sounds grew more violent. There was a tearing, deeper, more heartfelt screaming, and then one gunshot. I was in a short access hall, another swinging door about five feet away. I rolled through it onto to the wooden floor of a huge dining hall, accent on the “hall.”

The table had fine china and silverware set for fifty. There was still food on the plates. Everyone had left in a hurry. Tall windows lined the wall; wild shadows from them rolled across the table like waves.

After I kicked a few chairs in front of the door, thinking they’d at least slow the ferals if they came in from the kitchen, I tried to stand. I backed into a steak knife, grabbed it with my fingers, and sawed at the plastic cuffs.

I couldn’t see what my hands were doing, but I could see out the windows. Ferals, real ferals, much farther gone than Jonesey in the alley, or me in my office, swarmed over a statue garden. Right now, at least, they had the guards outnumbered. The LBs were shooting and backing up, but the ferals didn’t give a shit. One used what looked like the smoker’s arm to whack a gun out of a guard’s hand.

I didn’t see any point in trying to talk to Nell again. I also didn’t see any point in trying to leave in the middle of a war where either side wouldn’t think twice about going after me. I spent the next half hour slipping from room to room, looking and listening. I wasn’t trying to find anything in particular, but whenever I heard talking, I didn’t shy away.

Inside, over time, things quieted. Outside, not so much. The little fire fight I saw through the dining room window was over, but the guards complained that they’d won too easily. They were worried there were more out there, waiting.

At the end of one long hall I found a huge stained-glass window depicting Epicurus the sage. Another bit of dead-mind trivia—he was a Greek philosopher who believed that pleasure was the sole intrinsic form of good. Had to be Green’s hero. Figured.

No sooner did I smirk over it than some bluish lights reflected off the glass. Then they started getting bigger, as in closer. I kept low and slipped into a closet. Inside, I left the door half-open and acted like one of the coats.

Seconds later, the satyr himself, Colby Green, appeared. He was flanked by four men with AK-47s and high-intensity flashlights. The flashlights were the source of the blue glow.

Green was talking a mile a minute, not to himself but to someone on his Bluetooth. His voice had this weird tone. It sounded angry, but fatherly, like he was talking to a petulant child. It was definitely an act for the benefit of whoever was on the other end of the line.

“I’ve warned you once. I will not warn you again,” Green said. “Stop babbling. Listen. As my people have been trying to tell you, we’ve had an incident. Yes, ferals. No, I did not contact the police. My men have them surrounded outside. Yes, I thought you’d like that. The situation will be under control soon enough, but the swap has to be delayed.”

He stopped short, listened for a while, and rolled his eyes. “Well, you’ll have to wait. Do not get any foolish ideas. You’ve already had one, but if you calm down and cooperate, you might survive it. Do you understand that? Calm down. Cooperate. I’ll contact you when it’s safe. Yes, she’ll be ready. Things will occur exactly as we discussed, just not exactly when . Twelve hours. Are we clear, Mr. Turgeon ?”

He hissed the name in a way that made me sorry we hadn’t compared more notes on our favorite psycho, but now was not the time. My feelings on the matter were mixed at best anyway. As they passed the closet, I had one of those moments where the emotions rushed me so strongly, my body shook from the overload.

It was clear. Green knew Turgeon and he was planning to hand Nell over to him. Why? What kind of hold could that sick bastard possibly have on a man like Colby Green?

I was so busy trying to wrap my head around that one that I almost didn’t hear the crash and tinkle of breaking glass. I peered out of the closet to see that Epicurus was gone, and a horde of semihuman silhouettes clambered in through the remains of the stained glass.

I think I knew what was happening. Just like Green said, his men had surrounded the ferals outside. They probably thought that from there it’d be easy to steer them into a corner and open fire. Instead they’d only managed to force them inside.

Colby and Co. broke into a run. Their blue-tinged flashlight beams vanished around a corner. I stepped out, planning to do likewise, but there were so many, I wound up standing there and staring like an idiot, long enough for the ferals to race up . . . and ignore me.

Huh. Maybe in the dark they’d taken me for one of their own, especially since I wasn’t screaming. More likely they found the pretty blue lights more interesting.

Hoping they’d keep ignoring me long enough for me to get the fuck out of there, I started moaning and gnashing my teeth. That was when Green’s men doubled back and opened fire. Even with bullets tearing through their bodies, the raging ferals hurled themselves forward.

Me, I headed for the broken image of Epicurus and jumped out.

Free? No. I landed smack in the middle of another fight.

I was face–to-face with a guard. I screamed. He screamed. A dozen wild zombies jumped him from nowhere. I looked around for a place to run, realized I was in a courtyard. Green’s men were trying to get into some kind of defensive formation, but the ferals were all over them. Freaking out, they opened fire on all of us.

The poor son of a bitch who’d been jumped went down in a hail of bullets and blood-soaked gurgling. I ducked and rolled.

On my left, bullets still flew from the shattered window. To my right, the courtyard guards were firing away. Dead ahead, near the path that led to the statue garden, I saw a swimming pool. Not having any particular need for air, I jumped the short brick wall and dived into the deep end, hoping that with all the excitement, no one had seen.

25

Islipped into the water quick and quiet. If I could move more easily once I was under, I’d have patted myself on the back. The pool was a perfect place to wait out Colby Green’s private zombie hunt. Buoyancy wasn’t a problem. It’s easier for a chak than a liveblood to stay submerged. All I had to do was suck in the water until my lungs were full and down I went. Deadweight, right? Better yet, the chlorine would kill any mold that might be growing in the old air sacs.

I was surprised none of the other chakz had thought of it, but maybe by now, if they hadn’t gone feral, they’d escaped. I hoped the one-eyed cowboy made it, even if this was his fault.

Given how clean the grounds were, the thick layer of dead leaves at the bottom of the pool surprised me, but I wasn’t complaining. It was camouflage, a place to bury myself in case one of the rent-a-cops actually had a bright idea and decided to peek in. The only downside would be my soaked clothes when I eventually climbed out. The muck swirled as I lay in it. It felt pretty cozy.