Daily Archives: February 25, 2017

Zombies vs Vampires, part 29

This is the first draft of Zombies vs Vampires, each chapter posted within a few days of being written. As a first draft, there will be continuity errors, and sections that will need to be deleted, moved, re-written or expanded for the final version. Please bear this in mind as you read it. If you spot something you think needs changing in any way, don’t hesitate to tell me in the comments. I’ll give you a shout out in the published version.

If you enjoy Zombies vs Vampires, you may also like other books in the Lost Picture Show series- Slashed (Amazon, Smashwords), Chosen Ones/Source (Amazon, Smashwords), or Pickers (Amazon).

Jumped in part way? Here’s a handy link to Part 1.

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Terry hadn’t expected to find the gate to the garage blocked by a crashed van. If he were completely honest with himself, he hadn’t fully thought through how he would get into the tower once he reached it. So the narrow gap afforded by the van was more than he should have expected.

The problem was, the space down the side of the van was filled with writhing zombies. None of them had the sense to come back out, and every so often a new one joined them.

Leaping up onto the wall that ran along the side of the ramp, Terry had time to assess the situation, safe from grabbing hands.

He had smashed and punched his way through the depleted zombie wall to get here, putting down a few of the walking corpses, and sending others tumbling. His suit and shirt were ruined now, torn at the seams or totally ripped away. Where talon like nails had got past the material, they had left gouges and scars which looked unhealthy in the same way his bite wounds did.

The mini horde below him sensed his presence, and started reaching up toward him. None of them were tall enough, but the press might squeeze one up to him eventually. He thought about leading them away from the entrance, then doubling back.

That wouldn’t work. The crowd he had feinted away after the Police was on the hunt again, and heading his way. He had to find a way into the garage, and soon.

The crush was pressed up against the open driver’s door of the van. This had jammed into place against the concrete wall, and wasn’t going to move easily in either direction. Even if he could get rid of the zombies, Terry didn’t think he could shift the door. The gap between the top of the van door and the bottom of the roller gate was too narrow to squeeze through.

Perhaps he could smash the glass in the door and pull himself through that. But he would have to be down amongst the ghouls then, and he didn’t want to risk that. The window wasn’t that large, either. He would fit through it, but it would be a struggle, with contortions that wouldn’t be easy, even without ghouls trying to bite off chunks of his flesh.

On the other hand, the van’s windscreen was damaged from the collision. If he could just get into the cab, he might be able to kick out the screen before the zombies worked out how to climb in after him. The larger crowd was close now, blocking any escape route he could have taken minutes earlier. Through the cab was his only option.

Terry pulled off his jacket. It was little use as clothing any more, but it could be a distraction. He hung it off the end of the baton, then held it out over the zombies. Some of them stared at it, but none of them reached for it. That made the next move easier. With a flick of the baton, Terry laid the jacket across the top of the zombies nearest the van door.

While they were covered by the jacket and temporarily blinded, Terry jumped down onto them. He landed almost as if he planned to crowd surf, letting their outstretched hands support him through the material. He twisted, and reached into the van’s cab. He had to let go of the baton to reach the grab handle above the door. Clasping it, almost pulling it loose with the force of his tug, he used the handle to pull himself inside. Then he got hold of the steering wheel, then the handbrake as he struggled through the door.

He was sprawled across the seats, but his lower legs were still outside the van. He felt fingers close around his left ankle, then teeth sank into the calf. A desperate kick connected with something, and there was a cracking under it. He kicked again and again, pulling himself away with the door handle.

Something gave way, and Terry was inside the van, back pressed up against the passenger door. There were still fingers around his ankle. He looked down, and saw the hand, and half a forearm, clasping his leg. The bone had broken where he had kicked it, then the muscle had severed as he pulled on it. The mashed up head of the zombie that had bitten his leg stared at him, but the eyes were fully dead now. It acted as a barrier, keeping the others away from him.

Terry prised the hand from his ankle, and threw it out of the cab. Then he twisted around and braced himself so that he could kick at the windscreen with both feet. It flexed, and went silvery as it shattered along stress lines. When he kicked it a second time, he put a hole in it, and separated the rubber around its edges. A third kick, and there was enough space for him to get through.

Feet first, Terry pushed himself through the hole. Shards of glass scraped flesh off his back before he slid down the short bonnet. Pain flared in his left leg as he hit the ground, and he remembered that a chunk had been bitten out of it. At this rate, there might not be anything of him left come dawn.

He let himself slide down the front of the vehicle to the floor. It would be nice to just sit there for a while, and wait for someone else to come along and deal with the problem. But, there was a safer space, and the chance for revenge, upstairs. He would force himself up, and take the elevator. In a little while, after he had rested.

The van brought him back to his senses, when the bumper pushed forwards and nudged against his back. At first, he thought he was imagining it, but then the plastic pressed against him again. There was a metallic click and scrape from above him, as the vehicle shifted against the jammed roller gate.

Terry struggled up the front of the van, then limped a couple of steps away from it. He could feel that the damaged section of his calf was already healing, his hobbling would become less and less pronounced, but he might not be able to sprint for a day or two. And there was a danger that it would always look horrendous, even after the muscle had grown back.

He hadn’t even noticed the Bentley, expensively crashed against the wall opposite the gate, until now. Once he was inside the garage, he had mistakenly believed he was safe, and let a wave of exhaustion and shock wash over him. Just being angry at himself for it made it disappear, and he was reinvigorated. Could he think himself back to full strength? Was that part of his vampire powers, that he had yet to be told about?

More questions that he would demand answers to later. For now, he needed to assess the situation with the makeshift barricade separating him from a small army of zombies.

It was hard to tell, but there did appear to be even more bodies crammed into the narrow space behind the jammed driver’s door. One dead man’s face was pressed, almost comically, against the window in the door, and hands pressed against it. It was flexing, and would soon give way.

Terry wasn’t worried about any of the zombies getting through the narrow window. He could barely have managed it with all his agility, it was unlikely they could think it through. He had opened one way in for them, though, when he kicked the windscreen out. It had been a necessary risk, and none of them seemed set to get past the armless man and into the cab any time soon.

The real worry was the way the van had started moving. To emphasise the point, there was another creak as it pushed a little further forward under the shutters. There must be a huge press of determined bodies behind it. Were they all after him? Could the van grind its way under the shutters, or break them? These were not questions he wanted to wait round and have answered.

Walking to the elevator, Terry tested his damaged calf, seeing how much the muscle could take as it rebuilt itself. He was still limping, but it was already significantly less pronounced. He pressed the call button and leant against the wall, watching the van carefully.

It was as the elevator announced its arrival with a ping that Terry thought about setting fire to the van. He’d never torched a car before, but had talked to plenty in the old tent town who claimed they had. None of them had ever explained the most effective method to him, but he imagined throwing some burning rags through the windscreen would set it off.

He would need petrol, as well. But he was in a garage, so that wouldn’t be a problem. There would be a cigarette lighter in the Bentley, all he had to do was find some suitable rags and soak them.

Terry was about to put his plan in motion when the van moved again. This time, it jumped forward enough for him to see the motion as well as hear the sounds of bending metal. Terry took back his confident stride forward. Reaching behind himself, he put his arm into the open elevator door and stopped it closing. He carried on stepping backwards, until he was inside and pressing the button for the penthouse.

The van didn’t move again before the doors closed, but Terry spent the long seconds waiting for the horrible sounds to repeat.

The elevator started rising. As he felt the acceleration against the soles of his shoes, Terry relaxed again. But then he felt the lethargy creeping through him again. He couldn’t let it take full hold. He had to summon up his anger. Which was easy enough. He just thought of Leech.

That snivelling, vile little man had abandoned him when Glenn and the other zombies had attacked. He had bundled the Mistress into the car and made an escape. Perhaps he would claim to have been protecting her, but Terry knew there was more to it than that.

He had seen the way Leech looked at the Mistress. She had, too, of course, and must have been playing with the little man’s lust for years. It was obvious that Leech had never wanted Terry in the tower, let alone the Mistress’s bed. The first chance to rid himself of the interloper, who he no doubt felt had been lifted to immortality without merit, he had acted.

Well, Terry had survived. Almost intact. He was glad that he no longer had a reflection, because he wouldn’t have wanted to see how he looked now. He’d let Leech see the mess and damage caused by his actions, just before he tore the man’s throat out.

The elevator was fast, and he was soon at the penthouse. Another ping, and the doors opened again.
The first time he had entered this space, Terry had been a mere mortal, a stupid, angry boy, pimped out by a supposed friend against his knowledge.

That felt so long ago now. He had changed so much, but some things felt the same. It did seem that the world was, as always, conspiring against him, trying to take away his new-found strength and status. He couldn’t even become immortal without someone or something trying to drag him down again.

It was an old anger, the self pity of the surly teenager he had been, amplified just like his strength and abilities had been. A silly thing, but it could drive him as well as the spite he felt for Leech.

He wondered if he could see the horror on the streets from up here, so he limped over to the window.

The first time he had looked down on this view had been during his final moments as a mortal. Glenn had been there, smugly waiting for payment, unaware of the horrible fate that awaited him. The Mistress had sneaked up on the two of them, no reflection in the window.

A sudden, strange fear overtook Terry. He spun around, grimacing at the pain in his calf, and dropped into a defensive stance.

There was no-one there.

He really wasn’t thinking straight, was he? Leech was the only one he really had to be wary of in the tower, and that creep had a reflection. More importantly, there didn’t appear to be anyone else in the penthouse. If the Bentley was downstairs, where was the Mistress?

There were other floors, of course. She must be on one of them. She had hinted that others lived here. She would be with them, planning the mission out to rescue him, of course. He had to find the way down to the floors below.

The elevators were the obvious way to go, but he had an urge to find the stairs. They might reveal new ways around the tower. He could bet that Leech would know his way around them. If he got away, that was where Terry would have to chase him.

Around the corner from the lift was the corridor with the bedrooms on it.

Terry had seen plenty of these towers being built, and he knew that a central column went up first. The lift shaft would run up this, as well as the power cabling, air conditioning and, of course, the stairs. He’d ignore the doors into the bedrooms, and check every entrance into the core.

The first room smelt of disinfectant and rigorous cleaning. But no amount of scrubbing could disguise the smell of years of blood from Terry’s enhanced and attuned sense of smell. The scent was strongest against the wall opposite the door. There was a handle, that would pull down a panel. This was where all the bodies were dumped. Somewhere below, they were collected, then taken away for disposal. Otherwise, how had Glenn got out of the tower.

Even stale and heavily masked, the smell of blood was making Terry hungry. He left the room, and walked round the next corner. His limp was significantly less pronounced by now. Soon, he’d be able to walk almost normally. He’d have to work on developing a swagger.

There was another door around the corner. Through this one, Terry found the stairs.

Even these were pumped up and over decorated, with the usual black marble and gilding on display. There was nothing ornate about the layout of the stairwell, it was an ordinary rectangular section, with two flights per floor and a handrail that looped round and round as it descended. But it had been finished in the same excessive style as the penthouse. Did it carry on like that all the way down? Terry wondered.

The door on the floor below opened as Terry reached the landing halfway down. He froze, ready for fight or flight, if necessary.

The Mistress came through the door, looking uneasy. She was easily more perturbed than he had seen her at any time in the short period he had known her. At first, she was looking back, at whoever was right behind her. She was at the foot of the stairs before she looked up and spied Terry.

As relief and shock washed across the Mistress’s face, the group behind her came through the door. There were six of them, three vampires and three humans. Split on lines of mortality, the two groups were eyeing each other uneasily.

The humans all had swords, and stances and expressions of wariness and anger, rather than the fear or enchantment Terry would have expected. There was one man and two women in each group. Terry recognised the aura of one of the human women.

“You?” Terry croaked.

The humans turned at his voice, but the man quickly went back to watching the vampires, sword raised enough to be a warning. The woman Terry had seen earlier stared up at him. “Terry? What the fuck have they done to you?”

Part 30