"Zombie Fight Club"
May. 30th, 2022 01:08 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
dochermes"Zombie Fight Club"
4/12/2022
I.
It was not just because she was naked that Jocelyn Garimara pulled the curtain aside the barest inch to peer down at Graham Street in Flushing. Almost a decade of Tel Shai training and her experiences in the Midnight War had made her constantly cautious. She was always aware of her surroundings, always knew exits from any room she entered, always positioned herself as expecting an attack at any moment. She wasn't even aware of this. Arthur had once said that she lived like a spy working undercover and he had a point.
At thirty-six, Jocelyn looked much younger because of her fitness and her enhanced healing. She glanced down at herself in the apartment's subdued lighting, Only an inch over five feet tall and not much over one hundred pounds, she had the taut unobtrusive muscles of a gymnast. The rich dark brown skin and straight black hair almost shone with health. The healing factor from the Tagra tea regimen meant she had no scars even after all the grievous wounds she had suffered in her career.
Well, no visible scars, she thought glumly.
The sounds of the shower had stopped. She knew Arthur would be toweling dry and getting dressed in the bathroom. It was an odd touch of modesty she found endearing, that despite all the times they had made love, he was still reluctant to be nude around her otherwise.
Jocelyn hastily scooped up her own clothing from the chair next to the double bed and tugged it on. First, the full body suit of flexible Trom armor that looked like dark silk, then her jeans and yellow T-shirt with a loose red flannel shirt over it that she left untucked. She had pulled on her socks and only her boots remained on the floor as Arthur came out of the bathroom and said "Hey there!" with infinite cheerfulness.
A few years older than Jocelyn, Arthur Tran was several inches taller and forty pounds heavier but still a relatively small man. He had the narrow shoulders and fine-boned hands common to people from his family's area of Vietnam, but he kept trim and athletic. The glossy black hair was a little long, going down over his collar and covering his ears, but the alert good-natured face was appealing. As usual, he was wearing black slacks and a white dress shirt as if ready for the office.
"It's a beautiful day out there," she said, coming around to embrace him.
"Hmmm," he said, after they kissed, "It's a beautiful day in here as well. I'm so glad you've been able to spend more time with me lately."
Jocelyn squeezed him tighter, then disengaged to go get her boots. "I swear to God it's not easy. In theory, I have one free day from the KDF each week but we're always on call.
Once a week, I'm off during the day but then I'm on watch duty from eleven at night to seven in the morning and I better not doze off then either. When we're not chasing monsters or serial killers, we're training like we're either getting ready for the Olympics or a Navy SEALs raid. It's a hectic life."
Arthur's apartment was incredibly cluttered with shelves full of books, DVDs, science fiction toys and anime figures. The walls had several movie posters, there were three hanging plants and a terrarium which at the moment was unoccupied. He dropped down into a
swivel chair in front of his huge TV and watched her putting her boots on with immense satisfaction. "Well, I appreciate you juggling your schedule so we can get together, Joss."
"I don't want to risk our drifting apart," she said. "It's a bleeding miracle we met at all. More than ten thousand miles from home and we bump into each other in Manhattan one day. I was so tickled to hear you order coffee at Starbucks with the genuine blue Aussie accent! I had to say hello. An Abo like me and a nice Hmong boy with a good office job."
Arthur Tran grinned and got up to pull on his suit jacket. "You don't have to report back at KDF headquarters until five. Plenty of time to enjoy a good meal at that Hoffbrau restaurant and do a little shopping. You promised to help me actually buy some new shirts with a little life to them."
"Oh, I'm gonna enjoy that," she chuckled. "You could use a colorful sweater or two as well, Arthur. I just hope and pray I'm not called for a mission..." Her words were cut off as a low persistent beeping sounded from her coat draped over a chair. Jocelyn loosed a stream of extremely vulgar language as she fetched her Link from a coat pocket.
"And you look like such a demure little lady," Arthur laughed.
"Oh, close your facehole," she replied as she thumbed a contact patch on the Trom device. "Hello, Sable? What's up? No, I can take a call. A what? Really...." She listened for a bit, asked for an address and then ended the call with, "Sure, no worries. I'll go see him and then report to you by my regular starting time. Okay. Bye."
She broke contact and gave Arthur a rueful glare. "See what I mean? Bloody hell! Any time day or night, Sable might call and send me out into the secret warzone. I swear to God I'm tempted to chuck it all and get a job cleaning bathrooms or washing dishes if I have to."
"What does she want you to do?"
"Go talk to some bugger named Dionysios Spiridakis. Can you tell he's Greek? He's on the outskirts of the damn Midnight War, he's not a sorcerer himself but he deals with them. The fool isn't supposed to be in the States but he's been spotted at a house in Queens not far from here and Sable wants me to go see what he's up to. My day off is a joke, Arthur."
He came over and placed his hands on her shoulders, squeezing gently. "Joss, it's not even nine yet. We've got the whole day, you can meet this Spiridakis guy and then we can still have fun running around town. Right?"
"Oh, I don't know about that. Hon, I love you to pieces but you ARE a civilian and I would never place you in danger. But wait, I'm just supposed to talk to this riff-raff and let him know we're aware he's here. No gunplay, no explosions, should be safe as eating dessert. And I can always let my Red Spectre out, she's wild lightning ready to strike. Okay, tell you what. Just this once, I want you to come with me."
II.
Traffic was a nightmare that morning. Two different rear-end collisions backed up the streets for blocks no matter which way they turned. Arthur was driving his new Prius, tapping one finger on the steering wheel as they waited. Although he had a good income as a statitician for a giant insurance company, his apartment and a garage spot for the car ate up much of his paychecks. Luckily, Jocelyn understood this and was not the sort to expect lavish gifts or expensive night clubs.
"You're more patient than I am, that's for sure," she grumbled, folding her arms across her chest as minutes crawled by without their moving an inch. "I swear, I would let my Red Spectre out an have her blast away these stupid cars."
"It's funny," Arthur said, "But I halfway expected I'd be able to feel your Spectre when we're holding each other. You know, maybe a sort of spark like when static electricity stings your finger as you touch a metal doorknob."
"Hah. My Gammon isn't literal electricity. She's made up of a transcendental gralic force that no one really understands. Megan used to be unhappy that her Trom geniuses couldn't even pretend they had a theory to explain gralic force."
Arthur turned to admire her profile. The more he saw of her, the better he liked her face. "I'm sorry I didn't get to know her better, Joss. I don't think we ever had a real conversation, just the two of us."
"She's been gone for two months now," Jocelyn said. "It still hurts but now it's more like a dull ache that will get better. Arthur, honestly, it's losing Megan that made me realize how important you are to me. We've been seeing each for almost a year now but you can't say we're really dating."
"Aw, I don't mind. I know you're busy with Tel Shai and the KDF and all that. Hey, we're moving. Finally. Hell, two blocks and we're stuck again. Ozone Park is not winning me over."
The deep thoughtful Aboriginal eyes studied his expression. "If you wanted to see someone else, I couldn't say anything. It wouldn't be fair. You can't have a girlfriend you only see once a week. If that!"
He reached over to squeeze her hand and when she clasped their fingers together, he grinned. "Look, the cars ahead are moving. At last. I'm making a right at the corner, maybe the next street over is better."
"Bloody hell, a bicycle would be faster, I swear to God. At least we're almost there. The map on my Link says the house should be three more blocks North. I want to get this over with so we can buy some clothes. My coat is old enough it should be able to walk by itself!"
That made him laugh. "Hey. There's the old car repair place you mentioned. There's a little parking lot next to it, I'm pulling in. It's worth any fine we get, finding a parking spot would take the rest of the day."
He eased in a space next to a red brick building that had a sign over the front door, JERGEN AUTO SERVICE CENTER. A big piece of cardboard inside the glass door read CLOSED in handwritten letters. Right next to the long-unused building was a modest two-story white house that was well-kept for the slightly dodgy neighborhood they were in. There was barely enough room between the two buildings for the white panel van parked there.
"Now, I insist you stay in the car while I go intimidate this wanker," she said. "I'm packing my anesthetic dart gun where my jacket covers it and of course I can unleash my Red Spectre in an eyeblink. You stay here, hon."
"I know you're always careful, but I have to say it anyway."
"Thanks." She squeezed his hand and hopped out. Her training was so ingrained at this point that she automatically took in the white van's model and year, a 2021 Chrysler Voyager and its license plate number UYY 6613, she memorized every visible scratch and ding, as well as the information on the registration and inspection stickers. Without pausing or seeming to snoop, she saw the empty paper coffee cup between the seats, the sunglasses tucked up under the driver's visor and the blue cigarette lighter on the floor by the back seat. There had been times when noticing details like those had saved her life.
She sniffed audibly as she walked next to the rear door of the auto service building. That sickly sweet stench was unmistakable, something in there was dead. Maybe just a rat, but considering her assignment, she doubted that. Jocelyn felt the fiery energy of her Red Spectre coiling inside her, restless and eager to get out. That was another warning sign.
Despite all that, she stepped up on the single concrete step by the front door and presed the round white buzzer, hearing it sound within. After a few seconds, she raised her finger again but stopped when she heard a deadbolt slide. The door opened and a pale round face peered out at her through round-lensed glasses.
"What is it?" he asked in an unfriendly tone. Short and dumpty, wearing his tan trousers hitched up over the top half of his belly, he would seem meek and harmless to an average observer. But to Jocelyn, the lack of expression on his face alarmed her. Her training sought even tiny microexpressions but his face was as blank as if he had suffered a stroke that day. From his body language, he didn't seem to be armed. From the way his trousers hung, he didn't have a gun or a large knife on him. And even though he wasn't muscular or even mildly athletic, she felt she was in danger of imminent attack. It didn't help that odor of death tinged his clothing.
Jocelyn decided not to try to placate or soften his mood but to stand up to him from the start. "Dionysios Spiridakis? I'm from the Kenneth Dred Foundation. Yes, I can tell you've heard of us."
"And..?"
"You are not supposed to be in this country. Your application for a visa was turned down twice and you know why. Red Sect. The hungans of New Orleans. Even the Preincarnators. Keep company like that and you'll come to a sticky end, that's for sure. I don't want to find you here again tomorrow."
The man's face did not grow flushed but remained white and slack, a bad sign indeed. "You're wrong, young lady, that's all there is to it. I'm not whatever name that was. Are you with the police? Or any authorized law enforcement agency?"
"You know about the KDF..."
"In other words, no! Go annoy someone else." And he stepped back to slam the door as hard as he could, right in her face.
"Get stuffed," she muttered, turning on her heel and heading back to where Arthur was waiting. As she jumped into the passenger seat, she said, "That didn't go spectacularly well. Damn wanker. I should let my Gammon burn through him and come out the other side."
As if unaware of her fuming, Arthur started up the engine. "Where to, love?"
Jocelyn glanced over at him. "That's my man, good natured you are no matter how I fume.
I wasn't mad at you. We still have time to stuff ourselves at that German restaurant, maybe I will try some dish I never had before."
"Ever try Kassler?" he asked, looking for a break in the traffic and pulling out as soon as he could. "It's smoked pork, so salty your doctor will yell at you for eating it. Add some sauerkraut and mashed potatoes and you will have to unsnap your jeans before getting up."
"Hah! It sounds great. Neither of us drink but maybe a glass of beer would be appropriate." She leaned over to brush her lips against his cheek. "I'll pay for the meal and you can buy me a new bathrobe if we get a chance to shop."
"Sounds like a plan," he agreed as they hit another traffic slowdown. "These cars are just getting in the way of me having a good time with my bestie."
Jocelyn shrugged her narrow shoulders. "Life in the city. You know, Megan used to bring her boyfriend Archie with her on all sorts of Midnight War investigations. And our captain never said Boo about it. If it didn't seem dangerous, like the wet dud I just experienced with that Spiridakis, I don't see where Sable could object to you coming with me once in a while."
"I'm game. I was going to drop you off at your KDF building so we don't have to say goodbye until we have to, maybe I could go in with you for a minute. Sable seems to like me."
She tilted her head and took a second to consider. "Couldn't hurt. But I swear to God I'm not going to start dragging you around the country to solve a series of 'Abo Girl Mysteries.'"
III.
At 38th Street in Manhattan, Arthur eased into a wide alley where a steel door slid upward to give him access to a downward ramp. The garage underneath KDF headquarters was only big enough to hold two cars at one time but it was empty at the moment. He parked and glanced around at the benches holding tools and parts, the wall shelf with a dozen knapsacks neatly lined. KDF members always had a travel bag like those ready to go, with a change of clothes and various personal items.
Few outsiders had ever seen this. When his relationship with Jocelyn had become serious after several months, team leader Sable had decided Arthur could be trusted to know some of the building's layout. He followed Jocelyn through a door and along a narrow corridor with shelves on both sides crammed with cardboard boxes, old TVs, vacuum-sealed clothing and other items put into storage. Past two mysterious unmarked iron doors, then up concrete steps they went to move through a step-in closet and then out into the front hall of KDF headquarters.
"Too cool for words," he whispered, "When I buy a house, I want all secret doors and passages like that."
Across the hall as they emerged, Sable stood in the open door to her office and held up a hand. "Hello, you two. Glad you're early, Jocelyn, I have to leave soon."
Like Jocelyn, Lauren Sable Reilly looked about a decade younger than she was because of her fitness and Tagra diet. She was wearing one of the KDF field suits, all black, boots and snug pants and a waist-length jacket bristling with pockets that held tiny tools and weapons. Sable's thick black hair was pulled back in a ponytail.
"Hi, captain," Jocelyn replied. "You're going on a mission? What about me?"
"I'm going to join our team, they're in Signarm. So far, there's been no action but Timothy says the situation is tense." Sable held up her helmet, which she had been holding in the crook of her arm. "Always trouble somewhere. Anyway, I'd rather you stayed in the world right now. Unicorn is down by Columbus Circle if she's needed."
Jocelyn stood a little apart from Arthur, wanting to seem more professional. "I rang that Spiridakis guy and gave him the dirty look but he told me to shove off. That's all that was said. But, captain, I could smell death on him and from the auto place next door. No mistaking it."
"I was really expecting that, to be honest," Sable said with a weary tone. "He's minor trouble but he's hooked up to major trouble. Joss, use your own judgement how to proceed. If you want to observe him tonight, I'd like that better than any confontation until our team gets back."
"Understood. Any orders?"
"Not now. You're the team member I trust most to know what they're doing, to be honest. I'm going up to the conference room, I'm using an Eldar crystal to get to Signarm. Arthur?"
"Yes?" he replied, barely stopping short of adding "ma'am" at the end.
"I say this every time I see you, it seems. But I am deadly serious. Be careful. This is not fun and games. It's called the Midnight War for good reason."
"I will be, Sable. I take this seriously. And Jocelyn watches out for me."
Lowering the helmet down over her head, Sable sealed it to the high collar of her jacket. She left the visor up. "Since Megan's death, I've been more protective of my people than ever. I don't want to be a pain about it. But be careful. Both of you." With that, she went over to stride up the wide staircase to the second floor.
IV.
At two-thirty the next morning, Arthur Tran sat in his car and fretted more than he thought he was capable of fretting. What had seemed like a great idea in daylight now felt like a terrible mistake. He had wound down his window to rest his elbow outside as he drummed his fingers. He was parked a block away from the address where the man Spiridakis lived. It had been twenty minutes since Jocelyn had slipped out and stalked away into darkness with a casual, "Don't go anywhere."
It was true that Archie McAllister had gone with Megan on many of her missions. But then, Archie stood six foot four and weighed two hundred and sixty pounds, had been in the Army and had been in a few bar fights. Arthur had none of that going for him. He had never punched anyone in his life and felt agitated if he had to raise his voice to get someone to be quiet in a theater. If Jocelyn had some illusion about his being able to come rescue her, they were both in deep trouble...
Lost in gloomy thought, Arthur jolted upright at the tapping on his shoulder. His heartbeat shot up and he gasped audibly. Was that a gun? Yes. An automatic pistol of some kind, he knew nothing about guns beyond being able to realize that one was pointed at his head from an inch away. The black hole of that muzzle seemed to fill the universe. Arthur made a sound that can best be rendered as "Awrkk."
"Your girlfriend said she wants you to join her," rasped a dull monotone voice. The man standing next to the car was wearing ragged pants and work shirt over a nearly starved body. The bony face under dirty matted hair had the slackness of a stroke victim, which might have explained the uninflected voice. But none of that mattered. The gun was emphatic enough.
"Okay. I guess." Arthur could not think of anything to do other than comply. By the time he started up the car to drive away, he'd be filled with bullets. In movies, the hero would grab the gun and twist it around so the villain shot himself, but Arthur didn't have to faintest idea how to do that or if it was even possible in real life. He unbuckled his seat belt, pocketed his keys and swung the door open as the gunman stepped aside. "You don't have to point that thing at me, please be careful."
Without saying anything further, the shabby man gestured with his free hand down the block and they started moving slowly in that direction. Arthur was getting more alarmed as he saw the awkward, unsteady way this man walked. What the hell was wrong with this guy? And why did he stink so much? It was the same smell that had permeated Arthur's apartment for a week after a mouse had died in the wall....
Death. This man smelled like death. With crushing certainty, Arthur knew now he had ventured from normal life into what was called the Midnight War. Here, on this mundane sidewalk in the tawdry neighborhood of Ozone Park, he had stepped into nightmare territory.
As they neared the house where Jocelyn had gone, the strange man straightened up with visible effort. He was on the verge of falling over with every step, his legs were not functioning properly, but Arthur could not even imagine how to knock him down and run without getting shot. And anyway, what was going on with Jocelyn? Even if he could escape, he couldn't drive away and leave her here. Damn. No way out.
No light showed from within, but the rear door of the old auto repair shop swung open and a man poked his head out to watch them. Getting closer, Arthur saw that this one was even more disreputable looking than the gunman, and the same sickly odor clung to this one as well. Parking lot of the living dead, he thought and wondered why he was calming down.
They stepped inside, lights clicked on and they went down steep steps into the pit where men had worked on cars.
Everything had been stripped away down to bare concrete floor and walls. In each corner, a brilliant high-intensity ring lamp blazed on a head-high stand. A webcam and two laptops were on a folding card table, and next to them sat Jocelyn Garimara with her hands tied behind her. The man Spiridakis held a huge Colt revolver in both hands, barrel pointed down at a spot in front of him. But all of this barely registered with Arthur. His full horrified attention was held by the half-naked rotting bodies of two prize fighters who watched him with dull unthinking eyes.
IV.
"Oh, bloody hell," Jocelyn snarled as she saw them come down the steps. "Arthur, I didn't expect to see you here!"
"Right this second, sit on her lap!" yelled Spiridakis. "Come on, do it!"
With two pistols trained on him at point-blank range, Arthur complied without hesitation. He lowered himself gingerly to Jocelyn's lap and could only mutter, "This is getting stranger and stranger..."
"That's better," Spiridakis laughed. "Now I can relax for the first time tonight. Garimara, you KDF fool. With your friend right on top of you like that, you can't unleash your Red Spectre without frying a hole right through him."
"Oh, now I get it," Arthur said.
In his ear, Jocelyn whispered, "I was holding back to learn more about this operation. Arthur, I'm so sorry to drag you into this."
"Aw, not your fault, dear, I wanted to tag along." He tried to sound confident, "I guess I'm jumping into your Midnight War with both feet, eh?"
Spiridakis brandished his revolver to get their full attention. "Both of you, be quiet. If I didn't have a bout scheduled right now, I'd be smart to leave you both tied up while I get out of this miserable country! But I've already sold so many tickets that a refund would hurt my checkbook."
"You're going to livestream... what, a fight between two walking corpses? That's horrible. It's the most disgusting idea I've ever heard!" yelled Arthur.
"Zombie Fight Club has made me millions. We offer the best quality. This is full HD 1080p/30fps streaming with clear stereo audio and HD light correction. Our fans get their money's worth."
"But you're making corpses fight to entertain people," Arthur said. "Dear God! Don't you see how unspeakable that is? What part of 'Rest In Peace' don't you understand?"
"Spare me. It's much more humane than boxing matches with living people. My boys don't feel pain, they don't feel shame, they don't feel anything really." Glancing over repeatedly at his two prisoners, Spridakis went over to the laptop and started the event. "Good evening, everyone. Zombie Fight Club is on the air. Tonight we have something special for you all. For legal reasons, naturally we cannot give names but our two contestants were both highly respected in the Philadelphia area for making to the National Golden Gloves competition before their untimely and premature demises."
Arthur began to rise but seeing the pistols still pointed at him halted him immediately. He now realized that the gunman who had brought him here was also a zombie, but one in considerably better condition than the boxers. "Say, Joss, can zombies talk?"
"The fresher ones can," she grumbled, shifting uncomfortably under his weight. "I can't reach my dart gun with you on top of me like this, but it wouldn't do any good anyway. Against the Undead, anesthetic darts are like giving a fish a bicycle."
"But Spiridakis isn't... Oh. Wait. Strewth, I see what you mean, dear."
Next to his laptop, Spiriakis had set up a regulation bell which he now rang with a tiny metal mallet. At that classic note, the two zombies raised their ungloved fists and clumsily circled each other. Evidently, they had not been dead long before being revived. Their movements were not much stiffer or awkward than a living person's would be but the fogged minds had lost all strategy or skill.
The fight was so gruesome Arthur found it hard to believe anyone would pay to watch it. The two boxers simply stood within reach and pounded away at each other, making no attempt to evade a blow or to ride with any impact. It sounded like hammers smacking slabs of meat. Their heads twitched with each blow, but neither of them showed even slight discomfort. Slowly, steadily, their faces softened and lost shape under the battering.
"This is the ugliest thing I've ever heard of!" yelled Arthur. "Stop it! Call it off if you have any humanity left in you."
Spiridakis responded with a remarkably evil leer, mouth smiling but eyes remaining cold. "Not much humanity left in me by now, son."
One of the boxers started sniffing the air like a hound, lurching back away from the other zombie. The gruesome corpse turned toward the chair where Jocelyn and Arthur were sitting. The other undead came over beside him, both of them staring at the prisoners.
"I don't like the interest they're taking in us," Arthur muttered.
"They smell warm brains. We're going to have to take our chance on getting shot if they attack us," Jocelyn told him.
"Hey! What is this? Back to the fight. You bums have three thousand fans watching all over the world." Spiridakis rang the bell again and the two ghoulish figures swung stiffly around to start swinging at each other again.
As the undead got closer, one wide looping roundhouse left connected perfectly. The zombie receiving that blow lost his balance and fell up hard against the gunman. Both went down in a clumsy tangle of arms and legs that seemed beyond their capacity to figure out. Spiridakis shouted, "Break it up! Esteban, up on your feet, right now." For the moment, the excited sorcerer lowered his own gun to help straghten the zombies out.
Arthur Tran jumped up off Jocelyn despite his fear of getting shot and said, "Come on, Joss!" The opening was all that was needed. Roaring up from within that slim body, the blazing form of the Red Spectre was loosed.
VI.
A two-dimensional silhouette the same general size and shape of Jocelyn herself, the Gammon crackled with barely controlled energy. Everyone's hair stood straight up and their skin tingled unpleasantly. It was indeed, as Jocelyn had often said, like being in a room with wild lightning. For only a bare instant, the Spectre hovered at face height. Then it rushed in a loop to sear entirely through both boxers and the gunman without being slowed in the slightest by their bodies. Top and bottom halves dropped separately to the concrete floor with awful wet thumps.
Spiridakis stood motionless, eyes bulging out and mouth hanging open in overwhelming terror. The red apparition floated weightlessly between him and the two prisoners, menacing and silent except for the hissing which surrounded it.
Jocelyn's voice was completely steady and self-assured. "Put the gun on the floor carefully, you wanker. That's it. Step back from it. Arthur, if you would take a tic to unwrap my hands?"
"Huh? Oh yes, certainly, of course." He swung around behind the chair and started unwinding the wire which had tied her wrists together. "Um, this may take a moment, love, it's really tight."
"Steady does it. That was quick thinking, my dear, hopping up off me as soon as you saw a opening. I'm proud of you."
"Almost got it off," he said. "Thanks, Joss, I was praying for a chance. Even if that monster put a slug in me, at least you'd be able to set your girl free."
Without moving its main body, the Red Spectre's head twisted entirely around. Even with no eyes or other features to show expression, it was clearly watching Arthur.
"You know, I've only seen your Spectre three times before and never quite so close up. She reminds me of that spark you get shocked with when you touch metal in the winter. Static electricity, innit?"
As soon as she was untied, Jocelyn got to her feet with some difficulty. So much of her lifeforce was infused in the Red Spectre that she was left sluggish and groggy when it manifested. "Damn, my legs feel like spaghetti. Arthur, turn off that webcam, willya? But don't get in front of it, we don't want your face being broadcast."
"Got it." Walking around behind the Logitech camera up on its stand, Arthur Tran paused in front of the microphone and then used his deepest voice. "Attention. Attention. This is the Federal Bureau of Investigation. Do not turn off your computers. You will be contacted to testify as to what you saw tonight." Then he clicked off the laptop and closed its lid.
Despite everything, Jocelyn Garimara chucked at his impudence. "Right hilarious you are, Arthur. You just made hundreds of weirdos soil their shorts."
As their attention was on each other for that second, Spiridakis bent toward where he had dropped his revolver. The Red Spectre flared up brighter, its crackling grew loud as radio static, and Spiridakis froze motionless at the threat.
"That leaves only you to deal with," Jocelyn said. "No use trying to knock you out with an anesthetic dart, is there? Even filling you with bullets from your own gun wouldn't hurt you much, eh?"
"He's a zombie, too! It explains why those poor boxers were only interested in us. They knew we're alive. They ignored him." Arthur picked up the revolver from the floor, holding it as if it was covered with filth, and handed it over to his partner. "Here ya go, I'm worried he might get a hold of it somehow."
Jocelyn motioned to her Gammon and the unearthly appariton drifted closer to her. "What we need to learn now, Mr Spridakis, is who yer working for? Who's running this Zombie Fight Club?"
The pale face showed its first hint of genuine emotion as it grew annoyed. "What do you mean? I'M the boss. This was all my idea! I run it all by myself, you can't get lower class Walkers to do more than follow simple orders before they get confused."
"No, no, I'm not buying it. Someone is providing you with these undead. Give me his name."
"You little fool. Why can't you see what's right in front of you? I go out in the middle of the night and harvest a few derelicts no one will miss. Homeless men in doorways, crackhead streetwalkers, crazy old loonies hanging out in front of gas stations, no one even notices when I drag them in my van. It's the easiest thing in the world to pull off."
Jocelyn's shoulders sagged visibly. The longer her Spectre materialized outside her body, the more tired she became. Soon, it would be difficult for her to remain awake. "Maybe you're telling the truth after all. But of course, you'd also have to snatch a living person for your own use. No substitute for fresh brains, is there?"
No response answered her. Spiridakis remained where he was, staring in primal terror at the shimmering outline of the apparition that had just burned straight through three bodies right in front of him. Its featureless oval of a head was turned toward him.
"That's all I need to know," Jocelyn said. "You've been murdering people abandoned by your American society, some for food for yourself and some to use in your sick sick Zombie Fight Club. Go ahead, my Gammon." With her last word, the Red Spectre blazed up blindingly bright and whizzed forward to blast into Spiridakis. Only a few smoking fragments remained, a shoe with a foot still in it or a scrap of hair. Its task done for the moment, the Spectre swirled in a loop and slid easily back into Jocelyn's chest.
"Oh!" she gasped. "That's better. I feel so drained when my girl is out of body. Are you okay, dear?"
"Who, me? I'm all right. My hands are shaking so hard I can't stop them, though."
"Time for us to became scarce, my friend. I'll call Department 21 Black. Cleaning up hellholes like this is what they do best. By dawn, this building will have been scrubbed of anything supernatural. Come on, Arthur, let me drive until your nerves settle down."
As Jocelyn went to the steps leading up out of the former grease pit, Arthur let out a deep unsteady breath. "Whew. How do you think I did, Joss?"
"Seriously? Better than I ever expected you might. You didn't freeze, you didn't panic, you kept your head enough to react at the right moment. Only one person in a thousand wouldn't have a breakdown seeing what you saw tonight." She paused and looked down at him with a wry smile. "Why? Are you thinking of being my sidekick?"
"Aw, Hell no. It's starting to sink in how that bastard Spiridakis was planning to actually cut our heads open and eat out brains. Gack. What an image, I'll have bloody nightmares over this. No, no, this was enough Midnight War for me."
At the top of the steps, right next to the door leading outside, she reached back to tae his hand. "Famous last words, my dear. We'll see how you feel the next time something turns up."
5/30/2022
4/12/2022
I.
It was not just because she was naked that Jocelyn Garimara pulled the curtain aside the barest inch to peer down at Graham Street in Flushing. Almost a decade of Tel Shai training and her experiences in the Midnight War had made her constantly cautious. She was always aware of her surroundings, always knew exits from any room she entered, always positioned herself as expecting an attack at any moment. She wasn't even aware of this. Arthur had once said that she lived like a spy working undercover and he had a point.
At thirty-six, Jocelyn looked much younger because of her fitness and her enhanced healing. She glanced down at herself in the apartment's subdued lighting, Only an inch over five feet tall and not much over one hundred pounds, she had the taut unobtrusive muscles of a gymnast. The rich dark brown skin and straight black hair almost shone with health. The healing factor from the Tagra tea regimen meant she had no scars even after all the grievous wounds she had suffered in her career.
Well, no visible scars, she thought glumly.
The sounds of the shower had stopped. She knew Arthur would be toweling dry and getting dressed in the bathroom. It was an odd touch of modesty she found endearing, that despite all the times they had made love, he was still reluctant to be nude around her otherwise.
Jocelyn hastily scooped up her own clothing from the chair next to the double bed and tugged it on. First, the full body suit of flexible Trom armor that looked like dark silk, then her jeans and yellow T-shirt with a loose red flannel shirt over it that she left untucked. She had pulled on her socks and only her boots remained on the floor as Arthur came out of the bathroom and said "Hey there!" with infinite cheerfulness.
A few years older than Jocelyn, Arthur Tran was several inches taller and forty pounds heavier but still a relatively small man. He had the narrow shoulders and fine-boned hands common to people from his family's area of Vietnam, but he kept trim and athletic. The glossy black hair was a little long, going down over his collar and covering his ears, but the alert good-natured face was appealing. As usual, he was wearing black slacks and a white dress shirt as if ready for the office.
"It's a beautiful day out there," she said, coming around to embrace him.
"Hmmm," he said, after they kissed, "It's a beautiful day in here as well. I'm so glad you've been able to spend more time with me lately."
Jocelyn squeezed him tighter, then disengaged to go get her boots. "I swear to God it's not easy. In theory, I have one free day from the KDF each week but we're always on call.
Once a week, I'm off during the day but then I'm on watch duty from eleven at night to seven in the morning and I better not doze off then either. When we're not chasing monsters or serial killers, we're training like we're either getting ready for the Olympics or a Navy SEALs raid. It's a hectic life."
Arthur's apartment was incredibly cluttered with shelves full of books, DVDs, science fiction toys and anime figures. The walls had several movie posters, there were three hanging plants and a terrarium which at the moment was unoccupied. He dropped down into a
swivel chair in front of his huge TV and watched her putting her boots on with immense satisfaction. "Well, I appreciate you juggling your schedule so we can get together, Joss."
"I don't want to risk our drifting apart," she said. "It's a bleeding miracle we met at all. More than ten thousand miles from home and we bump into each other in Manhattan one day. I was so tickled to hear you order coffee at Starbucks with the genuine blue Aussie accent! I had to say hello. An Abo like me and a nice Hmong boy with a good office job."
Arthur Tran grinned and got up to pull on his suit jacket. "You don't have to report back at KDF headquarters until five. Plenty of time to enjoy a good meal at that Hoffbrau restaurant and do a little shopping. You promised to help me actually buy some new shirts with a little life to them."
"Oh, I'm gonna enjoy that," she chuckled. "You could use a colorful sweater or two as well, Arthur. I just hope and pray I'm not called for a mission..." Her words were cut off as a low persistent beeping sounded from her coat draped over a chair. Jocelyn loosed a stream of extremely vulgar language as she fetched her Link from a coat pocket.
"And you look like such a demure little lady," Arthur laughed.
"Oh, close your facehole," she replied as she thumbed a contact patch on the Trom device. "Hello, Sable? What's up? No, I can take a call. A what? Really...." She listened for a bit, asked for an address and then ended the call with, "Sure, no worries. I'll go see him and then report to you by my regular starting time. Okay. Bye."
She broke contact and gave Arthur a rueful glare. "See what I mean? Bloody hell! Any time day or night, Sable might call and send me out into the secret warzone. I swear to God I'm tempted to chuck it all and get a job cleaning bathrooms or washing dishes if I have to."
"What does she want you to do?"
"Go talk to some bugger named Dionysios Spiridakis. Can you tell he's Greek? He's on the outskirts of the damn Midnight War, he's not a sorcerer himself but he deals with them. The fool isn't supposed to be in the States but he's been spotted at a house in Queens not far from here and Sable wants me to go see what he's up to. My day off is a joke, Arthur."
He came over and placed his hands on her shoulders, squeezing gently. "Joss, it's not even nine yet. We've got the whole day, you can meet this Spiridakis guy and then we can still have fun running around town. Right?"
"Oh, I don't know about that. Hon, I love you to pieces but you ARE a civilian and I would never place you in danger. But wait, I'm just supposed to talk to this riff-raff and let him know we're aware he's here. No gunplay, no explosions, should be safe as eating dessert. And I can always let my Red Spectre out, she's wild lightning ready to strike. Okay, tell you what. Just this once, I want you to come with me."
II.
Traffic was a nightmare that morning. Two different rear-end collisions backed up the streets for blocks no matter which way they turned. Arthur was driving his new Prius, tapping one finger on the steering wheel as they waited. Although he had a good income as a statitician for a giant insurance company, his apartment and a garage spot for the car ate up much of his paychecks. Luckily, Jocelyn understood this and was not the sort to expect lavish gifts or expensive night clubs.
"You're more patient than I am, that's for sure," she grumbled, folding her arms across her chest as minutes crawled by without their moving an inch. "I swear, I would let my Red Spectre out an have her blast away these stupid cars."
"It's funny," Arthur said, "But I halfway expected I'd be able to feel your Spectre when we're holding each other. You know, maybe a sort of spark like when static electricity stings your finger as you touch a metal doorknob."
"Hah. My Gammon isn't literal electricity. She's made up of a transcendental gralic force that no one really understands. Megan used to be unhappy that her Trom geniuses couldn't even pretend they had a theory to explain gralic force."
Arthur turned to admire her profile. The more he saw of her, the better he liked her face. "I'm sorry I didn't get to know her better, Joss. I don't think we ever had a real conversation, just the two of us."
"She's been gone for two months now," Jocelyn said. "It still hurts but now it's more like a dull ache that will get better. Arthur, honestly, it's losing Megan that made me realize how important you are to me. We've been seeing each for almost a year now but you can't say we're really dating."
"Aw, I don't mind. I know you're busy with Tel Shai and the KDF and all that. Hey, we're moving. Finally. Hell, two blocks and we're stuck again. Ozone Park is not winning me over."
The deep thoughtful Aboriginal eyes studied his expression. "If you wanted to see someone else, I couldn't say anything. It wouldn't be fair. You can't have a girlfriend you only see once a week. If that!"
He reached over to squeeze her hand and when she clasped their fingers together, he grinned. "Look, the cars ahead are moving. At last. I'm making a right at the corner, maybe the next street over is better."
"Bloody hell, a bicycle would be faster, I swear to God. At least we're almost there. The map on my Link says the house should be three more blocks North. I want to get this over with so we can buy some clothes. My coat is old enough it should be able to walk by itself!"
That made him laugh. "Hey. There's the old car repair place you mentioned. There's a little parking lot next to it, I'm pulling in. It's worth any fine we get, finding a parking spot would take the rest of the day."
He eased in a space next to a red brick building that had a sign over the front door, JERGEN AUTO SERVICE CENTER. A big piece of cardboard inside the glass door read CLOSED in handwritten letters. Right next to the long-unused building was a modest two-story white house that was well-kept for the slightly dodgy neighborhood they were in. There was barely enough room between the two buildings for the white panel van parked there.
"Now, I insist you stay in the car while I go intimidate this wanker," she said. "I'm packing my anesthetic dart gun where my jacket covers it and of course I can unleash my Red Spectre in an eyeblink. You stay here, hon."
"I know you're always careful, but I have to say it anyway."
"Thanks." She squeezed his hand and hopped out. Her training was so ingrained at this point that she automatically took in the white van's model and year, a 2021 Chrysler Voyager and its license plate number UYY 6613, she memorized every visible scratch and ding, as well as the information on the registration and inspection stickers. Without pausing or seeming to snoop, she saw the empty paper coffee cup between the seats, the sunglasses tucked up under the driver's visor and the blue cigarette lighter on the floor by the back seat. There had been times when noticing details like those had saved her life.
She sniffed audibly as she walked next to the rear door of the auto service building. That sickly sweet stench was unmistakable, something in there was dead. Maybe just a rat, but considering her assignment, she doubted that. Jocelyn felt the fiery energy of her Red Spectre coiling inside her, restless and eager to get out. That was another warning sign.
Despite all that, she stepped up on the single concrete step by the front door and presed the round white buzzer, hearing it sound within. After a few seconds, she raised her finger again but stopped when she heard a deadbolt slide. The door opened and a pale round face peered out at her through round-lensed glasses.
"What is it?" he asked in an unfriendly tone. Short and dumpty, wearing his tan trousers hitched up over the top half of his belly, he would seem meek and harmless to an average observer. But to Jocelyn, the lack of expression on his face alarmed her. Her training sought even tiny microexpressions but his face was as blank as if he had suffered a stroke that day. From his body language, he didn't seem to be armed. From the way his trousers hung, he didn't have a gun or a large knife on him. And even though he wasn't muscular or even mildly athletic, she felt she was in danger of imminent attack. It didn't help that odor of death tinged his clothing.
Jocelyn decided not to try to placate or soften his mood but to stand up to him from the start. "Dionysios Spiridakis? I'm from the Kenneth Dred Foundation. Yes, I can tell you've heard of us."
"And..?"
"You are not supposed to be in this country. Your application for a visa was turned down twice and you know why. Red Sect. The hungans of New Orleans. Even the Preincarnators. Keep company like that and you'll come to a sticky end, that's for sure. I don't want to find you here again tomorrow."
The man's face did not grow flushed but remained white and slack, a bad sign indeed. "You're wrong, young lady, that's all there is to it. I'm not whatever name that was. Are you with the police? Or any authorized law enforcement agency?"
"You know about the KDF..."
"In other words, no! Go annoy someone else." And he stepped back to slam the door as hard as he could, right in her face.
"Get stuffed," she muttered, turning on her heel and heading back to where Arthur was waiting. As she jumped into the passenger seat, she said, "That didn't go spectacularly well. Damn wanker. I should let my Gammon burn through him and come out the other side."
As if unaware of her fuming, Arthur started up the engine. "Where to, love?"
Jocelyn glanced over at him. "That's my man, good natured you are no matter how I fume.
I wasn't mad at you. We still have time to stuff ourselves at that German restaurant, maybe I will try some dish I never had before."
"Ever try Kassler?" he asked, looking for a break in the traffic and pulling out as soon as he could. "It's smoked pork, so salty your doctor will yell at you for eating it. Add some sauerkraut and mashed potatoes and you will have to unsnap your jeans before getting up."
"Hah! It sounds great. Neither of us drink but maybe a glass of beer would be appropriate." She leaned over to brush her lips against his cheek. "I'll pay for the meal and you can buy me a new bathrobe if we get a chance to shop."
"Sounds like a plan," he agreed as they hit another traffic slowdown. "These cars are just getting in the way of me having a good time with my bestie."
Jocelyn shrugged her narrow shoulders. "Life in the city. You know, Megan used to bring her boyfriend Archie with her on all sorts of Midnight War investigations. And our captain never said Boo about it. If it didn't seem dangerous, like the wet dud I just experienced with that Spiridakis, I don't see where Sable could object to you coming with me once in a while."
"I'm game. I was going to drop you off at your KDF building so we don't have to say goodbye until we have to, maybe I could go in with you for a minute. Sable seems to like me."
She tilted her head and took a second to consider. "Couldn't hurt. But I swear to God I'm not going to start dragging you around the country to solve a series of 'Abo Girl Mysteries.'"
III.
At 38th Street in Manhattan, Arthur eased into a wide alley where a steel door slid upward to give him access to a downward ramp. The garage underneath KDF headquarters was only big enough to hold two cars at one time but it was empty at the moment. He parked and glanced around at the benches holding tools and parts, the wall shelf with a dozen knapsacks neatly lined. KDF members always had a travel bag like those ready to go, with a change of clothes and various personal items.
Few outsiders had ever seen this. When his relationship with Jocelyn had become serious after several months, team leader Sable had decided Arthur could be trusted to know some of the building's layout. He followed Jocelyn through a door and along a narrow corridor with shelves on both sides crammed with cardboard boxes, old TVs, vacuum-sealed clothing and other items put into storage. Past two mysterious unmarked iron doors, then up concrete steps they went to move through a step-in closet and then out into the front hall of KDF headquarters.
"Too cool for words," he whispered, "When I buy a house, I want all secret doors and passages like that."
Across the hall as they emerged, Sable stood in the open door to her office and held up a hand. "Hello, you two. Glad you're early, Jocelyn, I have to leave soon."
Like Jocelyn, Lauren Sable Reilly looked about a decade younger than she was because of her fitness and Tagra diet. She was wearing one of the KDF field suits, all black, boots and snug pants and a waist-length jacket bristling with pockets that held tiny tools and weapons. Sable's thick black hair was pulled back in a ponytail.
"Hi, captain," Jocelyn replied. "You're going on a mission? What about me?"
"I'm going to join our team, they're in Signarm. So far, there's been no action but Timothy says the situation is tense." Sable held up her helmet, which she had been holding in the crook of her arm. "Always trouble somewhere. Anyway, I'd rather you stayed in the world right now. Unicorn is down by Columbus Circle if she's needed."
Jocelyn stood a little apart from Arthur, wanting to seem more professional. "I rang that Spiridakis guy and gave him the dirty look but he told me to shove off. That's all that was said. But, captain, I could smell death on him and from the auto place next door. No mistaking it."
"I was really expecting that, to be honest," Sable said with a weary tone. "He's minor trouble but he's hooked up to major trouble. Joss, use your own judgement how to proceed. If you want to observe him tonight, I'd like that better than any confontation until our team gets back."
"Understood. Any orders?"
"Not now. You're the team member I trust most to know what they're doing, to be honest. I'm going up to the conference room, I'm using an Eldar crystal to get to Signarm. Arthur?"
"Yes?" he replied, barely stopping short of adding "ma'am" at the end.
"I say this every time I see you, it seems. But I am deadly serious. Be careful. This is not fun and games. It's called the Midnight War for good reason."
"I will be, Sable. I take this seriously. And Jocelyn watches out for me."
Lowering the helmet down over her head, Sable sealed it to the high collar of her jacket. She left the visor up. "Since Megan's death, I've been more protective of my people than ever. I don't want to be a pain about it. But be careful. Both of you." With that, she went over to stride up the wide staircase to the second floor.
IV.
At two-thirty the next morning, Arthur Tran sat in his car and fretted more than he thought he was capable of fretting. What had seemed like a great idea in daylight now felt like a terrible mistake. He had wound down his window to rest his elbow outside as he drummed his fingers. He was parked a block away from the address where the man Spiridakis lived. It had been twenty minutes since Jocelyn had slipped out and stalked away into darkness with a casual, "Don't go anywhere."
It was true that Archie McAllister had gone with Megan on many of her missions. But then, Archie stood six foot four and weighed two hundred and sixty pounds, had been in the Army and had been in a few bar fights. Arthur had none of that going for him. He had never punched anyone in his life and felt agitated if he had to raise his voice to get someone to be quiet in a theater. If Jocelyn had some illusion about his being able to come rescue her, they were both in deep trouble...
Lost in gloomy thought, Arthur jolted upright at the tapping on his shoulder. His heartbeat shot up and he gasped audibly. Was that a gun? Yes. An automatic pistol of some kind, he knew nothing about guns beyond being able to realize that one was pointed at his head from an inch away. The black hole of that muzzle seemed to fill the universe. Arthur made a sound that can best be rendered as "Awrkk."
"Your girlfriend said she wants you to join her," rasped a dull monotone voice. The man standing next to the car was wearing ragged pants and work shirt over a nearly starved body. The bony face under dirty matted hair had the slackness of a stroke victim, which might have explained the uninflected voice. But none of that mattered. The gun was emphatic enough.
"Okay. I guess." Arthur could not think of anything to do other than comply. By the time he started up the car to drive away, he'd be filled with bullets. In movies, the hero would grab the gun and twist it around so the villain shot himself, but Arthur didn't have to faintest idea how to do that or if it was even possible in real life. He unbuckled his seat belt, pocketed his keys and swung the door open as the gunman stepped aside. "You don't have to point that thing at me, please be careful."
Without saying anything further, the shabby man gestured with his free hand down the block and they started moving slowly in that direction. Arthur was getting more alarmed as he saw the awkward, unsteady way this man walked. What the hell was wrong with this guy? And why did he stink so much? It was the same smell that had permeated Arthur's apartment for a week after a mouse had died in the wall....
Death. This man smelled like death. With crushing certainty, Arthur knew now he had ventured from normal life into what was called the Midnight War. Here, on this mundane sidewalk in the tawdry neighborhood of Ozone Park, he had stepped into nightmare territory.
As they neared the house where Jocelyn had gone, the strange man straightened up with visible effort. He was on the verge of falling over with every step, his legs were not functioning properly, but Arthur could not even imagine how to knock him down and run without getting shot. And anyway, what was going on with Jocelyn? Even if he could escape, he couldn't drive away and leave her here. Damn. No way out.
No light showed from within, but the rear door of the old auto repair shop swung open and a man poked his head out to watch them. Getting closer, Arthur saw that this one was even more disreputable looking than the gunman, and the same sickly odor clung to this one as well. Parking lot of the living dead, he thought and wondered why he was calming down.
They stepped inside, lights clicked on and they went down steep steps into the pit where men had worked on cars.
Everything had been stripped away down to bare concrete floor and walls. In each corner, a brilliant high-intensity ring lamp blazed on a head-high stand. A webcam and two laptops were on a folding card table, and next to them sat Jocelyn Garimara with her hands tied behind her. The man Spiridakis held a huge Colt revolver in both hands, barrel pointed down at a spot in front of him. But all of this barely registered with Arthur. His full horrified attention was held by the half-naked rotting bodies of two prize fighters who watched him with dull unthinking eyes.
IV.
"Oh, bloody hell," Jocelyn snarled as she saw them come down the steps. "Arthur, I didn't expect to see you here!"
"Right this second, sit on her lap!" yelled Spiridakis. "Come on, do it!"
With two pistols trained on him at point-blank range, Arthur complied without hesitation. He lowered himself gingerly to Jocelyn's lap and could only mutter, "This is getting stranger and stranger..."
"That's better," Spiridakis laughed. "Now I can relax for the first time tonight. Garimara, you KDF fool. With your friend right on top of you like that, you can't unleash your Red Spectre without frying a hole right through him."
"Oh, now I get it," Arthur said.
In his ear, Jocelyn whispered, "I was holding back to learn more about this operation. Arthur, I'm so sorry to drag you into this."
"Aw, not your fault, dear, I wanted to tag along." He tried to sound confident, "I guess I'm jumping into your Midnight War with both feet, eh?"
Spiridakis brandished his revolver to get their full attention. "Both of you, be quiet. If I didn't have a bout scheduled right now, I'd be smart to leave you both tied up while I get out of this miserable country! But I've already sold so many tickets that a refund would hurt my checkbook."
"You're going to livestream... what, a fight between two walking corpses? That's horrible. It's the most disgusting idea I've ever heard!" yelled Arthur.
"Zombie Fight Club has made me millions. We offer the best quality. This is full HD 1080p/30fps streaming with clear stereo audio and HD light correction. Our fans get their money's worth."
"But you're making corpses fight to entertain people," Arthur said. "Dear God! Don't you see how unspeakable that is? What part of 'Rest In Peace' don't you understand?"
"Spare me. It's much more humane than boxing matches with living people. My boys don't feel pain, they don't feel shame, they don't feel anything really." Glancing over repeatedly at his two prisoners, Spridakis went over to the laptop and started the event. "Good evening, everyone. Zombie Fight Club is on the air. Tonight we have something special for you all. For legal reasons, naturally we cannot give names but our two contestants were both highly respected in the Philadelphia area for making to the National Golden Gloves competition before their untimely and premature demises."
Arthur began to rise but seeing the pistols still pointed at him halted him immediately. He now realized that the gunman who had brought him here was also a zombie, but one in considerably better condition than the boxers. "Say, Joss, can zombies talk?"
"The fresher ones can," she grumbled, shifting uncomfortably under his weight. "I can't reach my dart gun with you on top of me like this, but it wouldn't do any good anyway. Against the Undead, anesthetic darts are like giving a fish a bicycle."
"But Spiridakis isn't... Oh. Wait. Strewth, I see what you mean, dear."
Next to his laptop, Spiriakis had set up a regulation bell which he now rang with a tiny metal mallet. At that classic note, the two zombies raised their ungloved fists and clumsily circled each other. Evidently, they had not been dead long before being revived. Their movements were not much stiffer or awkward than a living person's would be but the fogged minds had lost all strategy or skill.
The fight was so gruesome Arthur found it hard to believe anyone would pay to watch it. The two boxers simply stood within reach and pounded away at each other, making no attempt to evade a blow or to ride with any impact. It sounded like hammers smacking slabs of meat. Their heads twitched with each blow, but neither of them showed even slight discomfort. Slowly, steadily, their faces softened and lost shape under the battering.
"This is the ugliest thing I've ever heard of!" yelled Arthur. "Stop it! Call it off if you have any humanity left in you."
Spiridakis responded with a remarkably evil leer, mouth smiling but eyes remaining cold. "Not much humanity left in me by now, son."
One of the boxers started sniffing the air like a hound, lurching back away from the other zombie. The gruesome corpse turned toward the chair where Jocelyn and Arthur were sitting. The other undead came over beside him, both of them staring at the prisoners.
"I don't like the interest they're taking in us," Arthur muttered.
"They smell warm brains. We're going to have to take our chance on getting shot if they attack us," Jocelyn told him.
"Hey! What is this? Back to the fight. You bums have three thousand fans watching all over the world." Spiridakis rang the bell again and the two ghoulish figures swung stiffly around to start swinging at each other again.
As the undead got closer, one wide looping roundhouse left connected perfectly. The zombie receiving that blow lost his balance and fell up hard against the gunman. Both went down in a clumsy tangle of arms and legs that seemed beyond their capacity to figure out. Spiridakis shouted, "Break it up! Esteban, up on your feet, right now." For the moment, the excited sorcerer lowered his own gun to help straghten the zombies out.
Arthur Tran jumped up off Jocelyn despite his fear of getting shot and said, "Come on, Joss!" The opening was all that was needed. Roaring up from within that slim body, the blazing form of the Red Spectre was loosed.
VI.
A two-dimensional silhouette the same general size and shape of Jocelyn herself, the Gammon crackled with barely controlled energy. Everyone's hair stood straight up and their skin tingled unpleasantly. It was indeed, as Jocelyn had often said, like being in a room with wild lightning. For only a bare instant, the Spectre hovered at face height. Then it rushed in a loop to sear entirely through both boxers and the gunman without being slowed in the slightest by their bodies. Top and bottom halves dropped separately to the concrete floor with awful wet thumps.
Spiridakis stood motionless, eyes bulging out and mouth hanging open in overwhelming terror. The red apparition floated weightlessly between him and the two prisoners, menacing and silent except for the hissing which surrounded it.
Jocelyn's voice was completely steady and self-assured. "Put the gun on the floor carefully, you wanker. That's it. Step back from it. Arthur, if you would take a tic to unwrap my hands?"
"Huh? Oh yes, certainly, of course." He swung around behind the chair and started unwinding the wire which had tied her wrists together. "Um, this may take a moment, love, it's really tight."
"Steady does it. That was quick thinking, my dear, hopping up off me as soon as you saw a opening. I'm proud of you."
"Almost got it off," he said. "Thanks, Joss, I was praying for a chance. Even if that monster put a slug in me, at least you'd be able to set your girl free."
Without moving its main body, the Red Spectre's head twisted entirely around. Even with no eyes or other features to show expression, it was clearly watching Arthur.
"You know, I've only seen your Spectre three times before and never quite so close up. She reminds me of that spark you get shocked with when you touch metal in the winter. Static electricity, innit?"
As soon as she was untied, Jocelyn got to her feet with some difficulty. So much of her lifeforce was infused in the Red Spectre that she was left sluggish and groggy when it manifested. "Damn, my legs feel like spaghetti. Arthur, turn off that webcam, willya? But don't get in front of it, we don't want your face being broadcast."
"Got it." Walking around behind the Logitech camera up on its stand, Arthur Tran paused in front of the microphone and then used his deepest voice. "Attention. Attention. This is the Federal Bureau of Investigation. Do not turn off your computers. You will be contacted to testify as to what you saw tonight." Then he clicked off the laptop and closed its lid.
Despite everything, Jocelyn Garimara chucked at his impudence. "Right hilarious you are, Arthur. You just made hundreds of weirdos soil their shorts."
As their attention was on each other for that second, Spiridakis bent toward where he had dropped his revolver. The Red Spectre flared up brighter, its crackling grew loud as radio static, and Spiridakis froze motionless at the threat.
"That leaves only you to deal with," Jocelyn said. "No use trying to knock you out with an anesthetic dart, is there? Even filling you with bullets from your own gun wouldn't hurt you much, eh?"
"He's a zombie, too! It explains why those poor boxers were only interested in us. They knew we're alive. They ignored him." Arthur picked up the revolver from the floor, holding it as if it was covered with filth, and handed it over to his partner. "Here ya go, I'm worried he might get a hold of it somehow."
Jocelyn motioned to her Gammon and the unearthly appariton drifted closer to her. "What we need to learn now, Mr Spridakis, is who yer working for? Who's running this Zombie Fight Club?"
The pale face showed its first hint of genuine emotion as it grew annoyed. "What do you mean? I'M the boss. This was all my idea! I run it all by myself, you can't get lower class Walkers to do more than follow simple orders before they get confused."
"No, no, I'm not buying it. Someone is providing you with these undead. Give me his name."
"You little fool. Why can't you see what's right in front of you? I go out in the middle of the night and harvest a few derelicts no one will miss. Homeless men in doorways, crackhead streetwalkers, crazy old loonies hanging out in front of gas stations, no one even notices when I drag them in my van. It's the easiest thing in the world to pull off."
Jocelyn's shoulders sagged visibly. The longer her Spectre materialized outside her body, the more tired she became. Soon, it would be difficult for her to remain awake. "Maybe you're telling the truth after all. But of course, you'd also have to snatch a living person for your own use. No substitute for fresh brains, is there?"
No response answered her. Spiridakis remained where he was, staring in primal terror at the shimmering outline of the apparition that had just burned straight through three bodies right in front of him. Its featureless oval of a head was turned toward him.
"That's all I need to know," Jocelyn said. "You've been murdering people abandoned by your American society, some for food for yourself and some to use in your sick sick Zombie Fight Club. Go ahead, my Gammon." With her last word, the Red Spectre blazed up blindingly bright and whizzed forward to blast into Spiridakis. Only a few smoking fragments remained, a shoe with a foot still in it or a scrap of hair. Its task done for the moment, the Spectre swirled in a loop and slid easily back into Jocelyn's chest.
"Oh!" she gasped. "That's better. I feel so drained when my girl is out of body. Are you okay, dear?"
"Who, me? I'm all right. My hands are shaking so hard I can't stop them, though."
"Time for us to became scarce, my friend. I'll call Department 21 Black. Cleaning up hellholes like this is what they do best. By dawn, this building will have been scrubbed of anything supernatural. Come on, Arthur, let me drive until your nerves settle down."
As Jocelyn went to the steps leading up out of the former grease pit, Arthur let out a deep unsteady breath. "Whew. How do you think I did, Joss?"
"Seriously? Better than I ever expected you might. You didn't freeze, you didn't panic, you kept your head enough to react at the right moment. Only one person in a thousand wouldn't have a breakdown seeing what you saw tonight." She paused and looked down at him with a wry smile. "Why? Are you thinking of being my sidekick?"
"Aw, Hell no. It's starting to sink in how that bastard Spiridakis was planning to actually cut our heads open and eat out brains. Gack. What an image, I'll have bloody nightmares over this. No, no, this was enough Midnight War for me."
At the top of the steps, right next to the door leading outside, she reached back to tae his hand. "Famous last words, my dear. We'll see how you feel the next time something turns up."
5/30/2022
