Jarlath coughed violently, crimson blood splattering across his hand. Silva's eyes narrowed in surprise, her posture tensing as she registered the severity of his condition. He glanced at his blood-streaked fingers, his vision doubling as two Silvas appeared before him.
Hallucinations.
His relentless use of power without rest was taking a brutal toll on his body. Desperate to regain focus, he slammed his head against the tank's cold, unyielding surface, but the fog in his mind only thickened. Reality refused to anchor him.
Silva snorted, her voice laced with disdain. "How do you plan to interrogate us in that sorry state? You'll never find where our boss is."
Jarlath's breath came in ragged gasps, his words slurred as the world spun around him. "Why... why are you loyal to that fat bastard?" His frustration boiled over, erupting in a guttural scream that sent a ripple of fear through the goons. The sound was guttural, raw, and loud enough to draw the attention of nearby zombies. His bloodshot eyes locked onto Silva. "Where the fuck is he!?"
Silva only laughed, her defiance unwavering. "Screw you."
Without hesitation, Jarlath snatched a shard of glass from the ground. His movements were wild but deliberate as he drove it into the back of Silva's shoulder. She howled in pain, her voice echoing through the desolate surroundings.
"Screw yourself," he growled.
"You psycho!" Silva spat, clutching her wound.
While Jarlath remained fixated on his brutal interrogation, Mary approached from behind. Her footsteps were swift, silent. Without warning, her roundhouse kick connected with the side of Jarlath's head, sending him crumpling to the ground in an unconscious heap.
Before anyone could react, she turned her attention to the zombies that were now closing in, shooting each one with unerring precision. Each bullet found its mark—a clean headshot.
She had honed her marksmanship for moments like this, knowing that anything less would only attract more of the horde via the hivemind.
Her glock emptied, she reloaded with practiced ease, then trained it on Silva, who sat slumped against the tank. "Give me one good reason I should spare you."
Silva spat blood onto the ground, raising her middle finger defiantly. "Because I don't have one, bitch—"
Crack!
The sharp crack of Mary's gun silenced her mid-sentence, the bullet finding its mark between Silva's eyes. The other goons froze, their faces pale with terror. Stories of the Zombie Slayer's ruthlessness hadn't done justice to the reality before them.
Mary's cold gaze swept over the remaining survivors, her voice sharp and unyielding. "Mistook my kindness for weakness, did you?" She climbed onto the tank, positioning herself for the incoming horde. "You shouldn't have come after me."
One of the goons, Skinner, stammered as he raised his hands in surrender. "P-please! I was just following orders! I didn't know anyth—"
Crack!
Another shot rang out, and Skinner fell silent forever.
"I saw you and the girl I just shot at that settlement," Mary said darkly. "You enjoyed the power you had over others. Not anymore." Her tone was so heavy, so final, that the last two survivors, August and Sofia, felt as if the weight of the world pressed down on their shoulders.
Mary's cold eyes locked onto them. "You two. You're different. Why are you working for Kade? Hurry up. The horde won't wait."
"Food," August blurted, his voice trembling while silently enduring the pain from the gun wound. "Boss Kade said we'd get to eat if we brought you in."
Mary's brow furrowed. 'The simplicity of this man's reasoning. Does he have a condition? Autism, maybe?' Her sharp gaze turned to Sofia. "And you? What's your excuse?"
Sofia stared at the ground, tears welling in her eyes. "My brother... he rebelled against Kade. As punishment, Kade enslaved him. He... violates him every day." Her voice broke, raw with despair. "Kade promised that if I brought you to him, he'd let my brother go."
Mary's stomach churned, her fists clenching at her sides. 'Disgusting pig.' Her fury boiled over, barely contained. Her eyes flicked to Jarlath, who lay bleeding and unconscious. 'No wonder he shifted his goal from killing me to killing Kade. Did he know about this?'
A low growl from the distance interrupted her thoughts, the unmistakable sound of an approaching horde.
"Are we free to go now?" August asked, panic rising in his voice.
Mary sighed, sliding her glock into its holster. "You're free to go. But don't go back to Kade. If I see you near his base, I won't be able to distinguish you from the rest."
"But my brother!" Sofia's voice cracked, her desperation palpable.
"I'll handle it," Mary said firmly. Her tone left no room for argument. "Take that tank, find another settlement, and don't come back. I'll know if you do."
Sofia hesitated, but August pulled her toward the tank, bundling her and her equipment inside. He climbed into the driver's seat, and the tank roared to life, its automated weapons unleashing a barrage of canister rounds into the horde. Sofia gripped her drone controls tightly, her face etched with worry for her brother.
Mary was about to climb into the tank when the sound of the approaching horde grew louder, their guttural snarls echoing across the battlefield. She glanced over her shoulder, taking in the sheer number of feral, aggressive zombies.
Even for someone of her skill, facing them head-on in their current state would be suicide.
She could fight them now, but she had no desire to risk losing a limb tonight. It would be smarter to pick them off in the morning when she was rested and the odds were better.
As her hand gripped the hatch, she hesitated, her gaze shifting to the unconscious form of Jarlath sprawled on the ground. A bitter smirk tugged at her lips. "I guess you'll be dying to those monsters you once called 'friends.' At least my hands will stay clean."
She turned back to the tank, ready to secure herself inside, but then paused. Something caught her attention. Jarlath's body twitched—his fingers curling, his hands moving ever so slightly, despite his unconscious state.
Mary stopped to watch, curiosity overcoming her frustration. His body was trying to move on pure instinct, as though his sheer willpower was fighting to keep him alive.
The sight baffled her. How much rage must he harbor to push himself like this, even when unconscious? It was a testament to his unrelenting anger—a trait she found both disturbing and oddly admirable.
Her mind drifted to his earlier words, the ones he spat out in rage before collapsing. He had suffered years of torment at the hands of bullies, never able to retaliate or find peace.
It was no wonder he had developed this fractured, twisted personality.
Then there was Byron Kade—the man who used him as a scapegoat to his zombified friend, and tried to kill him as a result. Kade had escaped justice at every turn, leaving Jarlath consumed by his thirst for retribution no matter how minor the action was.
Mary's lips pressed into a thin line. She loathed Jarlath for the pain he inflicted on survivors with his abilities, but she couldn't ignore the broken, human side of him. That side deserved some form of justice—if only to give him closure. She despised his psychotic tendencies but felt a reluctant sympathy for the shattered man beneath the surface.
"Damn it," she muttered under her breath. Her annoyance was palpable as she descended from the tank. Raising her glock, she fired five clean headshots into the nearest zombies without so much as a glance, their bodies crumpling to the ground. Then, with a grunt, she hoisted Jarlath over her shoulder.
"After I kill Kade," she said, her voice cold, "you're next. Consider this a temporary alliance."
High above on the Vessel, three masked figures observed the scene with hawk-like precision. The logo of Kade's settlement was emblazoned on the backs of their hoodies, a chilling reminder of their allegiance.
They had been tracking the group, shadowing the four sent to retrieve the Zombie Slayer. But in truth, those four had been nothing more than bait.
One of the masked figures glanced at the others. "We should go after the two traitors. They've taken the tanks."
"Stick to the mission," the leader snapped, his voice sharp and commanding. "If we fail to retrieve the Zombie Slayer, Boss Kade will kill us. No one survives disappointing him."
The second figure scoffed. "So we're just going to let those two idiots go? They've got our tanks!"
"We'll deal with them after we secure the Slayer," the leader replied, his tone brooking no argument. "They won't go unpunished."
The third figure, crouching near the edge of the turret, spoke up. "Based on the conversation we picked up through the device, those two are planning to go after Kade. No date specified yet, but it's clear they're turning against him. If the Slayer is involved, we might not even need to capture her. She'll take care of him for us."
The leader's eyes narrowed behind his mask. "And when Kade finds out we failed to bring her in? We'll be ridiculed as incompetent—or worse, executed. Do you want that?"
The second figure grinned wickedly, a hint of excitement in his voice. "Does that mean we get to unleash it?"
The leader smirked, his expression dark. "They'll make perfect test subjects. Let's see how far they get when it's set loose."
The three masked figures exchanged silent nods before disappearing into the shadows, leaving Mary and her unconscious burden unaware of the danger that loomed ahead.
———
After ten hours, Jarlath stirred awake, his eyelids heavy as he slowly opened them to find himself lying on a worn-out mattress. His body ached, and a dull pain throbbed in his head. Turning to his right, he noticed the dim glow of an old clock.
It read 8:23 AM.
He wasn't sure how long he'd been unconscious, but his exhaustion hadn't fully left him.
As he tried to piece together what had happened, the distinct click of a gun snapped him to attention. His eyes darted forward to see Mary Sigrid seated on a battered metal chair, her glock aimed directly at him.
"Recovered yet?" she asked, her voice dripping with mockery, a smirk playing on her lips. "You slept like a baby."
Groaning, Jarlath pushed himself up into a sitting position, yawning despite the tension. His voice was raspy as he sneered, "Where the hell am I, bitch?"
Mary's smirk deepened, her tone laced with sarcasm. "Is that how you say thank you? Charming. We're in Life Storage, third floor. This is my current base after I heard rumors you were skulking around these parts."
Massaging his temples to ease the headache, Jarlath glared at her. "Why the hell did you save me? You could've just let me die and crossed me off your kill list."
"Save you?" Mary raised an eyebrow, her tone suddenly cold and menacing. "Don't get it twisted. I'm delaying your demise." Her finger hovered just over the glock's trigger, emphasizing her point. "The truth is, I'm not strong enough to take down Byron Kade on my own. His settlement's fortified, and going in guns blazing would kill too many innocent people. I need your... services until you're no longer useful."
Jarlath chuckled darkly, his frustration evident. "I see you're not one for sweet talk. So what happens after I'm 'useful'? You gonna kill me anyway? Why not do it now and save yourself the trouble? Not like I can call any of my 'friends' here to rip you apart."
Mary's smirk vanished, her eyes narrowing dangerously. "The only reason you're breathing is because you know Kade better than anyone. You survived him once, even after he tried to have you killed. I want to end him and free the survivors he's enslaved. You want revenge, I want justice. It's a win-win."
Jarlath stared at her, unamused. "That's your pitch? Forgive me if I'm not buying into this whole 'team-up' thing when you've already got my execution penciled in."
Mary's finger tapped the side of the glock, her patience waning. "Are you really willing to let Kade—and everyone else who tormented you—get away with it? Would you rather die now, at my hand, or die later after seeing him taken down?"
Silence fell between them, the weight of her words pressing on Jarlath. He clenched his jaw, his mind racing. Finally, he let out a sharp laugh, the sound teetering on the edge of madness. "Oh, you're good. Real good. Manipulative, even. And here I thought I was the master manipulator."
Mary stood, sliding the glock back into its holster with an air of finality. "They're not wrong about you."
She turned and pulled up the rolling door of the storage unit, revealing shelves stocked with firearms and ammunition. The arsenal gleamed in the morning light, a testament to Mary's foresight. She had hoarded these weapons over the past two years, hiding them away while others looted the city during the outbreak.
Jarlath's gaze swept over the stockpile, his eyebrows raising in surprise. "I thought this was your new base. When did you have time to pack all that?"
Mary didn't even look at him as she grabbed a belt of 7.62×51mm NATO rounds, slinging it over her shoulder before hefting an M134 Minigun like it weighed nothing. "Current base," she clarified. "Not new base."
Jarlath staggered to his feet, his legs shaky and his headache pounding as he tried to steady himself. "And where are you going with that?"
Mary grinned, her tone mocking. "Shooting your 'friends,' of course. There's a lovely gathering of them outside right now. I'll be back by 9:20. Then we can discuss Kade." She glanced at him over her shoulder. "Be a good puppy and rest. You're dead weight if your ability isn't fully recovered. Oh, and if you try to leave?" Her smile turned deadly. "I'll kill you. Like I said, your execution's just been delayed."
Jarlath clenched his fists, rage simmering beneath the surface, but he knew better than to argue. This woman could end him in an instant. "Fine. Go do whatever the hell you want," he muttered through gritted teeth.
Mary walked off without a backward glance, the hum of the minigun in her hands as foreboding as her demeanor.
Left alone, Jarlath sat back down, stewing in frustration. He hated being at her mercy, but deep down, he couldn't shake the glimmer of hope that came with her plan.
Jarlath sprawled back on the lumpy mattress, trying to lull himself into another round of sleep. But his rest was quickly thwarted by the chaos outside.
The thunder of gunfire echoed through the streets, followed by a feral shout that unmistakably belonged to Mary Sigrid.
He groaned, rubbing his temples.
"Who's the real psychopath here?" he muttered under his breath. The sound of her voice cutting through the air, coupled with the relentless crack of her bullets, made him question her sanity. Attracting hordes of zombies just to mow them down seemed more than a little unhinged. No rational person would willingly bring that kind of trouble on themselves.
Jarlath glanced at the clock again. 8:34 AM. Sleep was clearly out of the question. He swung his legs over the edge of the mattress and sat up, brooding. A familiar frustration churned within him—the hollow, powerless feeling of being unable to summon his undead minions.
He clenched his fists.
Summoning even one zombie would ease the emptiness, but Mary would slaughter it on sight and then turn her wrath on him. He wasn't stupid enough to tempt fate; her hatred for zombies was palpable.
"This whole arrangement is ridiculous," he grumbled, running a hand through his messy hair. His thoughts drifted back to Mary's single-minded mission to kill Byron Kade. "Why does she hate that fat bastard so much? Is it really about saving those survivors? She's such a damn fool. Playing hero instead of focusing on survival. If she wasn't immune, she'd have been dead ages ago."
The thought irritated him more than it should. "How does she even have two abilities? What the hell is her secret?"
Unable to sit still, Jarlath got to his feet and wandered over to the storage unit filled with Mary's weaponry. His eyes swept over the neatly arranged arsenal. He knew better than to touch her things—her temper was legendary—but he was desperate. His defeat at her hands still stung, and he wasn't about to let himself be caught off guard again.
He rummaged through the weapons, muttering under his breath. "None of this crap matches my style." After some deliberation, he settled on five clips for his pistol and a pair of knives—a sturdy army knife and a sleek karambit. As he tucked them into his belt, his gaze fell on something unexpected.
A small, leather-bound diary lay nestled among the weapons.
Curiosity flickered in his eyes. He reached out, his fingers just brushing the worn cover, when the deafening crack of gunfire made him flinch. A bullet grazed his pinky, the sting sharp and immediate.
Jarlath whipped around to find Mary standing in the doorway, her glock still smoking. She was a sight to behold—soaked in blood and gore, her expression cold and unyielding. Bite marks marred her arms and neck, but she seemed unfazed.
"I knew you'd try something the moment I left," she said, her voice heavy with annoyance. She brushed past him, snatching the diary from the pile of weapons. "Forgot I even left this here. Were you really that desperate to know my secrets?"
Jarlath crossed his arms, his expression unimpressed. "Why the hell would I care about someone like you? Probably just full of garbage about makeup and high school drama."
Mary's eyes narrowed, her grip on the diary tightening. Without a word, she turned and hurled it onto the pile of weapons. The thud echoed in the tense silence between them.
"Meet me on the rooftop," she ordered, her voice sharp. "We'll discuss our plan. I'll tell you what you need to know, and you'll tell me everything you know. If not..." Her gaze dropped to the knives and ammo he'd taken. "I'll execute you right here for stealing my gear."
Jarlath rolled his eyes, letting out an exasperated sigh. "Fine. Whatever. You wouldn't be so smug if I had my 'friends' here backing me up."
Mary snorted, her lips curling into a smirk. "Mental illness suits you, doesn't it? Thinking a pack of brain-dead corpses would 'help' you." She turned, biting back laughter as she walked away, leaving Jarlath seething in silence.