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Chapter 13 - Someone from the Past

Outside the shops and restaurants at Hudson Yards, two tanks stood menacingly near the Vessel, its honeycomb-like structure looming over the chaos.

A group of rough-looking mercenaries unleashed carnage, mowing down the encroaching zombies with ruthless efficiency. Miniguns and machine guns roared as if celebrating the destruction.

Boom!

One of the tanks fired another shell, tearing through the mall's crumbling facade, reducing it further to rubble.

From her hiding spot, the Zombie Slayer observed the scene with a grimace. Her instincts screamed retreat; two tanks and heavily armed opponents were more than she could handle alone. Taking them on without preparation would be nothing short of suicide.

"So, these are the idiots," she muttered under her breath, her sharp eyes scanning the battlefield.

Meanwhile, near the tanks, a scruffy, eye-patched man let out a dramatic yawn, his disinterest palpable as he jumped down from the tank's side. "This is getting boring. That stupid mall's taking forever to collapse. Why are we even here again?"

A silver-haired woman exhaled a plume of smoke, her annoyance apparent. "Don't tell me you forgot already. We're under orders from Byron to find that girl—the one immune to the zombie virus." Her voice dropped, laced with disgust. "And it's not for research purposes, either."

Nearby, a wiry man with missing front teeth snickered as he casually fired a bazooka at the approaching horde. "Yeah, Byron's that kind of guy. Sofia's drone tracked her to this mall, so we're blowing the place apart to lure her out."

"Oh," the scruffy man said with a clueless expression. "I thought we were just playing fetch."

His words earned a collection of exasperated stares. The silver-haired woman pinched the bridge of her nose while Sofia, a tomboyish figure in a tactical mask, spoke up. "You're an idiot, August. My drone's been sweeping the mall, but it hasn't found her yet. If we don't get her out soon, the zombies are going to overwhelm us. You're being reckless with those tanks."

The wiry man, Skinner, laughed maniacally as he lobbed a grenade into the horde. "Reckless? Relax. There's no way those brainless undead can touch us while we're inside these tanks."

"No," the silver-haired woman cut in sharply, "but a Gargantuan might. Stop playing around and focus on the mission. We'll save the fun for later." She dropped her cigarette, crushing it under her boot, and pressed a button on her remote, prompting one of the tanks to fire another shell automatically. "I gotta admit, Williams Technologies really outdid themselves with these beauties."

"They sure did," Sofia chimed in, her voice tinged with admiration. "Noah Williams was a genius—graduated from Harvard and MIT at the same time, revolutionized tech and engineering." She sighed wistfully. "It's such a shame he's gone."

While they bantered, the Zombie Slayer tightened her grip on her weapon, her heart pounding with frustration. She had been followed, and she hadn't even realized it. Her obsession with finding and killing the Zombie King had blinded her to the possibility of being tracked. Her master would scold her harshly for this lapse in judgment.

"Hello," came a cheerful voice from behind her. She spun around, startled, to see Jarlath standing there with a smug grin, ten zombies shambling in his wake.

"You think you can leave without saying goodbye?" he taunted.

She scoffed, her eyes narrowing. "Be a good boy and wait your turn. You're not my problem right now."

"Oh, you mean those morons outside?" Jarlath gestured toward the tanks dismissively. "My 'friends' will take care of them. Those tin cans won't stand a chance."

"You're underestimating them," the Zombie Slayer said flatly. "Those tanks aren't ordinary. And if you're so eager to fight me, let me remind you—your 'friends' are nothing compared to me." Her grip on her weapon tightened further. "Earlier, you caught me off guard with your little horde. Don't think I'll make the same mistake twice."

Jarlath opened his mouth to retort, but his words caught in his throat as his gaze fell on one of the tanks. His expression hardened, his smirk vanishing.

There, painted on the side of the tank, was a logo he recognized—a crude, upside-down cross encircled by a pentagram-like star. His mind raced back two years to a traumatic encounter: a survivor with that same mark tattooed on his arm.

That survivor had accused Jarlath of being bitten, shoving him into the arms of his zombified friend in a desperate bid to escape. The betrayal had burned itself into his memory. Rage flooded his veins as his focus shifted entirely.

"That fucking pig survived!? How did he survive!?" Jarlath roared, his voice trembling with rage as he glared at the tanks outside.

Before he could shout further, the Zombie Slayer dashed toward him, knocking him to the ground with practiced ease. She clamped a hand over his mouth, her sharp glare boring into him.

"Shh! Shut the hell up!" she hissed. She couldn't fathom why this man had suddenly erupted into anger after catching sight of the mercenaries outside. "What the hell is wrong with you!?"

Jarlath pushed her hand away, wiping his mouth but making no move to retaliate. His bloodshot eyes burned with intensity as he snarled, "Tell me! Who's their leader!?"

"What's it to you?" she shot back, her voice dripping with suspicion. His sudden interest in the attackers only heightened her wariness. "Are you one of them? Some ex-colleague or something?"

Before he could respond, a feral zombie lunged from the shadows, its jagged claws digging into her shoulder. With an animalistic snarl, it hurled her against the wall. She gritted her teeth as more ferals began to close in, their guttural growls filling the space.

"You bastard..." she spat, pushing herself to her feet and shaking off the pain.

Jarlath rose as well, his breathing ragged. He ignored the zombies entirely as his attention remained fixed on her. "You've got a history with those bastards, don't you? They're hunting you, aren't they?"

The Zombie Slayer's eyes narrowed. "What's your point?" Her tone was laced with suspicion. "You sound like you've got a bone to pick with them. Are you some kind of disgruntled ex-employee?"

Jarlath's jaw tightened as frustration and fatigue warred within him. "What does that matter? All I want is information!" He took a step closer but suddenly faltered. Blood trickled from his nose, and he clutched his throat, his voice rasping.

"Damn it..." he muttered, realizing the toll his relentless manipulation of the zombies was taking. "This is your fault!"

She smirked coldly, unimpressed by his outburst. "So you've hit your limit. Relying on your so-called friends to do your dirty work in a fight—rookie mistake. That's what you get for being an idiot."

Her victory was short-lived as another feral grabbed her by the throat, its grip vice-like. With a snarl, she twisted its arm until it snapped, the sickening crack echoing in the space. Tossing the zombie aside, she pointed her knife at Jarlath, her gaze sharp and unforgiving.

"Now tell me why I should give you anything about those guys. If you want answers, you better start talking first. What's your connection to them?"

Jarlath's lips curled into a grimace, but instead of stepping back, he grabbed the blade of her knife with his bare hand. Blood dripped from his palm as he locked eyes with her, his resolve unwavering despite the growing mental exhaustion weighing him down.

"I want to know if it's the same bastard who pushed me into my friend," he growled, his voice low and venomous. "He tried to kill me, and if he's still alive, I'm going to kill him! Slowly! Now tell me who their boss is!"

The Zombie Slayer studied him, her instincts kicking in. This wasn't the crazed, bloodthirsty psychopath she'd seen before. There was something raw and personal about his anger—something she recognized.

Against her better judgment, she relented.

"Their boss is Byron Kade," she said, her voice steady but edged with disdain. "I don't know much about him. Last week, I attacked one of their settlements because they were kidnapping people and keeping zombies as some kind of sick intimidation tactic. They turned people into slaves." Her eyes flickered with anger at the memory. "I freed those people."

Jarlath's brow furrowed as he processed the information. "So that's why you're on their hit list. What does this Byron Kade look like?"

Her expression darkened, but she answered. "Tall. Broad-shouldered. Balding with a thick beard. Always dressed like he's about to walk into a boardroom—suits, ties, the whole show."

Jarlath's fists clenched as she described the man. His mind raced, piecing together the details. If this "Byron Kade" was the same obese survivor who had shoved him to his near death two years ago, then he would relish the opportunity to tear him apart.

But if it wasn't...

His lips curled into a faint, dangerous smile.

Then he'd simply focus on the Zombie Slayer instead.

"I only caught a glimpse of him once," the Zombie Slayer admitted, lowering her knife as she peered cautiously toward the entrance, scanning for any sign of the attackers. "I waited until he left. There was something... ominous about him. I didn't want to risk it." She paused, her tone darkening. "He had the appearance of a fat man. Barefoot, for some reason. And he had a tattoo of that logo."

Jarlath's hand clenched into a bloody fist, his hatred overpowering any sense of pain. His breathing grew heavier, his voice seething. "So he's still alive. That bastard! Where the hell is he!?"

The Zombie Slayer crossed her arms, her sharp eyes fixed on him. "Are you seriously planning to go after him? That's a death sentence." She didn't bother masking the disdain in her tone. "Kade is surrounded by over a hundred men, all armed with advanced prototype tech straight from Williams Technologies. I've seen their firepower firsthand. You don't stand a chance."

"I don't give a shit." Jarlath's words came out as a growl, his hatred a fiery force of its own. "That fat pig tried to kill me. I'll pay him a visit whether I survive or not." He glared at her, his expression unyielding. "Last question: where is he!?"

The Zombie Slayer noticed the blood dripping more steadily from his nose, his pallor worsening. "Why should I waste my breath giving you information? You're about to collapse. Just drop dead here. It'll save me the trouble of killing you later." She turned her gaze back toward the entrance. "I'll deal with Kade myself."

"Shut the hell up!" Jarlath snarled. His head snapped toward the feral zombies lingering nearby. "Kill those four fuckers!*" he commanded, pointing toward the mercenaries outside. The creatures obeyed instantly, tearing out of the building like feral hounds.

The Zombie Slayer's eyes widened in shock. "What the hell are you doing!? You're giving away our position!"

"No," Jarlath shot back, staggering slightly as he headed for the exit. "I'm giving away your position. I'm going to kill these bastards myself. It'll send a message to their boss."

"You're insane," the Zombie Slayer spat. "And what happens when you get out there? You think they'll just hand over answers before shooting you full of holes?"

Jarlath paused, smirking faintly. "Some will still be alive after being ripped to shreds. I'll ask them then. Same thing I did to a few survivors before." His nonchalant confession sent a ripple of disgust through her.

"You're vile." The Zombie Slayer gritted her teeth, tightening her grip on her weapon. "What's your name, anyway? If I'm going to kill you, I want to know who you are first."

"Kill me?" Jarlath chuckled, his voice tinged with mockery. "You failed already. That much is obvious."

The Zombie Slayer laughed coldly. "Failed? That's ridiculous. I've just pressed pause." Her grin was wicked, filled with confidence. "The name's Mary Sigrid. Remember it well—you won't be around long enough to forget."

Jarlath shrugged dismissively. "Whatever."

Mary stepped forward, curiosity flickering in her eyes. "And you? I've heard plenty of names for you from the survivors—Devil's Son, Patient Zero, Lone Wolf—but those are just aliases. Do you even have a real name?"

Jarlath stopped in his tracks as gunfire erupted outside. Without turning around, he finally spoke. "Jarlath Mavely. That's my name."

For a moment, Mary froze, her confidence faltering. There was something about the way he said it—a subtle change in his tone, the faintest crack in his usual arrogance. She studied him carefully, a memory tugging at the edges of her mind.

He had called her Priscilla the first time he saw her. And now, she couldn't shake the nagging feeling that name carried weight in his fractured psyche. Was this Priscilla someone he'd lost? Someone who had twisted his mind into the monster he had become?

Mary forced herself to look away, her resolve hardening. Whoever Priscilla was, it didn't matter now. Jarlath Mavely was her enemy, and soon enough, she'd finish what she had started.

———

The four mercenaries fired relentlessly at the feral zombies, their movements chaotic yet disturbingly coordinated. Unlike the typical undead, these creatures had a purpose, actively avoiding anyone except the two holding the remote control for the tanks.

Before long, the mercenaries lost control of the tanks, leaving them no choice but to fight on foot.

"Where the hell did these freaks come from?" Silva, the silver-haired woman with sharp, piercing eyes, growled as she dodged a feral zombie's claw. Her wrist-mounted blades sliced through two of the creatures, severing tendons and bone. She barely had time to breathe before another lunged at her, its ferocity heightened by the cover of night.

"How are we supposed to know, Silva!?" Skinner, the wiry man with a shotgun slung over his shoulder, shouted as he dodged three Runners with remarkable agility. His weapon roared, blasting the zombies to pieces. He turned briefly toward their muscle, "You good over there, August?"

"Fine," August grunted, his voice gravelly as he grabbed two zombies by their throats. With a surge of raw strength, he slammed them into the asphalt, the impact shattering their bones. The creatures twitched helplessly on the ground, unable to rise again.

"Don't slow down on me now," Sofia called from a distance, her voice strained with exhaustion. She was piloting two combat drones, unleashing a storm of bullets that shredded through the undead. As three Runners closed in on her, she darted away, barely managing to catch her breath. "Zombies at night—I swear, they're worse than usual."

Silva's sharp gaze caught a shadow moving near the entrance of a nearby building. A hooded figure stepped into view, illuminated briefly by the flickering light of a streetlamp. She raised her revolver and aimed directly at him. "Who are you, boy? You're not the Zombie Slayer."

The hooded figure chuckled softly, his voice rasping as though every word cost him effort. "The man who will tear you to pieces." He raised his hand in a commanding gesture. "Surround them!"

The mercenaries froze in shock as more zombies emerged from the shadows, surrounding them in a tight circle. The undead didn't move in their usual frenzied chaos but waited with unsettling precision.

Silva's eyes darted between the creatures and the man commanding them. There was no mistaking who he was now.

"You're the Lone Wolf," Skinner stammered, his voice trembling with disbelief. "The Zombie King." He took a shaky step back, memories of whispered campfire stories flooding his mind. Those tales had felt like myths—rumors about a man who could control the mindless hordes. Yet here he was, standing before them.

Silva's expression remained steely, though her voice carried a trace of unease. "Fifteen of them. That's your limit, isn't it?" She glanced at the blood dripping from his nose, a sign of his deteriorating condition. "You're already pushing yourself too far."

Jarlath chuckled, the sound low and menacing. He wiped the blood from his face, his smirk widening. "Blame that damned Zombie Slayer. She's been wearing me down all night. None of you will touch her—she's my prey."

"Afraid that's not an option," August said, his tone cold and resolute. "Our boss wants her. If we don't deliver, we're as good as dead."

Jarlath's smirk faded, his expression darkening. His voice dropped to an icy growl. "Speaking of your boss... where is he!?"

"Why would you be looking for Byron Kade, Lone Wolf?" Silva asked, narrowing her eyes. Her finger twitched on the trigger of her revolver, ready to fire. "Everyone knows you don't mess with him. He's a monster."

Jarlath's smirk returned, sharper and more menacing. "That's none of your concern. Tell me now, or..." He tilted his head slightly, his zombies taking a step closer to the mercenaries. "You'll be dinner for my friends here."

Before anyone could respond, two sudden gunshots rang out. Skinner and August collapsed, their legs struck by precision bullets. Silva and Sofia dove for cover, scrambling behind debris to avoid the unseen threat.

Jarlath didn't need to look to know who had intervened. A frustrated growl rumbled from his throat as he scanned the rooftops, confirming his suspicions. Mary. The damned Zombie Slayer. She had stolen his prey, yet again.

He clenched his fists, the pain of his own limits gnawing at him, but his rage burned brighter. Killing her would have to wait. Right now, finding Kade was all that mattered.

"You haven't forgotten about me, have you?" Jarlath's voice cut through the tense air like a blade. The faint rasp in his tone belied his exhaustion, but the menace was unmistakable. He gestured subtly, and the circle of zombies closed in tighter around Silva and Sofia. "Don't even think about fighting back. Unlike that damned Slayer, you're not immune to the virus... are you?"

Silva clicked her tongue in frustration, her mind racing for a solution. There was none. With a reluctant growl, she let her wrist-mounted blades and revolver clatter to the ground. "Damn it," she hissed.

"P-Please... don't hurt me," Sofia stammered, her hands trembling as she placed the remote controllers for her drones gently on the pavement. Her voice wavered, panic lacing every word.

The zombies moved with eerie precision, lifting both women off the ground. Their vice-like grips left no room for escape as they forced Silva and Sofia to face the hulking silhouettes of the two disabled tanks. The creatures' yellowed teeth glistened in the dim light, and their guttural growls rumbled with primal hunger.

Elsewhere, Skinner and August struggled to crawl toward their weapons, but the zombies surrounding them kicked the firearms out of reach with surprising coordination. The creatures loomed closer, saliva dripping from their jaws as they leered at the immobilized men.

Jarlath limped toward Silva, his movements labored and uneven. The earlier exertion and fall had taken their toll, but his dark grin remained intact. He leaned in close, his breath warm against her ear. "If you don't tell me where your boss is hiding," he murmured, his tone cold and deliberate, "I'll let these two zombies have you. Not as food—but as something worse." His smirk widened, his sadistic delight evident. "Consider yourself my first experiment in this... method."

"You disgusting bastard!" Silva spat, her voice shaking with fury and defiance. She struggled violently against the zombies restraining her, but their iron grips held firm.

The thought of submission to this man—or to the monsters under his control—was unbearable, yet she was out of options.

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