Metahumans vs the Undead: A Superhero vs Zombie Anthology (18 page)

Zombies Attack!

A Wraith Adventure

by

Frank
Dirscherl

1

I
t was a
cool fall night. The wind was beginning to pick up outside, causing a myriad of fallen leaves to slap against the window with an almost harmonic rhythm. Paul Sanderson sat alone within the library of his Metro City mansion, Sanderson House. Surrounded by monographs of countless sizes and shapes, he sat comfortably in his new antique brown leather wingback chair, courtesy of Ken and Janet Bond from Abbey Furniture, Australia, wearing his bespoke navy smoking jacket, recently made for him by his tailor, Tomas
Soliz
. He was enjoying the latest Sherlock Holmes pastiche he had delivered to his home from the local bookstore.

He smiled as he stretched his legs out toward the open fire, which crackled away with some intensity in the fireplace, his toes enjoying the warmth. It wasn’t often when he could have a peaceful night in like this, reading. However, as soon as
Leena
Patterson, his fiancée, arrived home from her late meeting at the library, they would be out again, patrolling the city streets with a vengeance.

He lay the book down on his lap and reached over to his oak desk, taking from it a porcelain Royal Albert cup and saucer. The Earl Grey tea in it was hot, a soothing warmth as it went down his throat. He checked his Christopher Ward C5 Malvern automatic watch. It was getting late.
Leena
should have been back by now. He wondered if he should call the library and check on her.

No
, he thought.
She’s probably on her way home now
.

He picked up his book and started from where he left off.

The wind was gathering pace outside, and the noise of the blowing leaves and twigs was likewise building.

Suddenly, a sound he hadn’t heard before began to emanate from somewhere behind him. The window? Like fingernails being dragged on a blackboard . . . or glass. He rose from his chair and turned. There, at the window, stood a most horrific sight: an emaciated man, his clothes little more than tattered rags, his flesh appearing rotten and hanging off his bony frame. Indeed, visible bone jutted out at various points on his arms, chest and legs. Wisps of wiry, brown hair protruded from his bony scalp. Paul couldn’t help but be appalled by this ghastly apparition before him.

The thing seemed to be moaning, though nothing could be heard over the gathering storm, as his bony fingers clutched and clawed at the glass of the library’s bay window. An instant later, the thing had burst through, the shattering glass causing it no deterrent. No blood was visible. This thing was not alive!

“My life. Give me back my life,” he moaned in such an unearthly tone as to cause Paul to feel some sense of nausea.

What in Heaven’s name is he talking about?
Paul thought as he inched backward.

Then it hit him. This creature
—
one could scarcely call it a man
—
was still somehow recognizable to him.

But it couldn’t be. Not . . .

“You stole my life,” the creature moaned. “Give me back my life.”

Paul reached the library door as full realization hit him. This thing
—
zombie?
—
before him was none other than the original Paul Sanderson, the man who had, with his dying breath, endowed him with his memories and personality. That was a lifetime ago, back when he used to call himself Michael Reeve.

And now, somehow, in some way, he had been re-animated and wanted his life back.

Leena
strode from the library’s meeting room, which adjoined the staffroom at the rear of the building, and made her way toward her own desk. Her senior staff colleagues returned likewise to theirs as she sat down and looked at the photo of Paul that she kept next to the phone. She smiled. They had been engaged for some time now, longer than she had originally wanted or intended, but it had proven impossible to lock down a date since their return from their mountain vacation in Little England, which had proven anything but. Since then, emergency after emergency had engulfed them and Metro City alike, but she hoped they could finally set a date soon. Perhaps tonight would be the night they could reach a conclusion.

“See you tomorrow,
Leena
,” Janet said.

“Right,” she replied. “Bright and early.”

Janet made a face at her, then smiled and exited. A few more of the senior staff followed and
Leena
was left alone with her thoughts.

I better hurry home
, she thought.
We still have to patrol the city and get some measure of sleep tonight.

She heard a scream and a droning voice, both of which seemed to come from somewhere within the library. Without hesitation,
Leena
shot up and out toward the library’s circulation desk. What she saw there chilled her to the bone.

Janet lay to the side of the creature
—
a woman, though it was hard to tell, for there was not much flesh or skin left on her frame of bones and rags
—
whimpering as the skeletal creature shuffled past her.

“Janet, stay perfectly still and calm,”
Leena
said. Her training kept her steady.

“
Leena
,” the woman moaned, her voice raspy and ethereal. “I have come back. The library needs me.”

What on Earth? How does this thing know me? No. It’s not possible. But that hairdo. That voice. Could this be . . . Astrid?

“Astrid,”
Leena
said softly, “is that you?”

“Yes,” she droned. “The library needs me. I have come back.”

She shuffled toward
Leena
with outstretched arms. Janet looked aghast but somehow remained quiet.

“Astrid,”
Leena
said, moving backward with each step from her former friend and colleague. “How can you be here? You . . . died . . . a couple years ago.”

“Don’t remind her,” Janet muttered. “You might make her mad.”

“Astrid, you must stop. You must listen to me.”

“Library . . . the library needs me. I have come back,” Astrid said, not listening, perhaps not
capable
of listening.

Leena
realized the futility of trying to get through to her and slowly circled Astrid and moved over to Janet, helping her to her feet.

“Come on, we better get out of here,” she said, and they quickly exited by the front door,
Leena
locking it behind her. “That should hold her.”

They rushed down the steps, out onto the sidewalk, the staff parking lot their intended destination. However, they stopped in their tracks, barely believing what was before them.

Zombies. Or at least, that’s what they looked like. Hundreds of them, roaming the streets, their ghastly moans on the air, causing chaos in every direction.

2

Paul stood by the library door, intending to open it and retreat further into the house. At the moment he was about to do so, the door swung open and Max appeared.

“Chief, I wonder if . . .” His voice trailed off as he caught sight of the monster in the room.

“Max,” Paul said, “just back out into the hallway. I’ll follow.”

The Irishman did as he was told, with Paul following behind him.

“What the heck is that thing?” Max said quietly.

“You wouldn’t believe me if I told you.”

“Wait a minute,” Max said, “isn’t that . . . ?”

“Max, I want my life back. Give me back my life,” Sanderson moaned.

The look of revulsion on Max’s face spoke volumes.

“We have to get him away from the library,” Paul whispered, “so we can circle back and make it safely to the Lair. I’ll keep his attention while you go get Simpson and take him with you to the library. I’ll follow as soon as I’m able.”

Max nodded and slowly moved away from Paul, out toward the lobby and then to proceed up the grand staircase.

Sanderson moved to follow, but Paul did his best to prevent that.

“Hey there!” he cried. “Over here. I’m the one you want, remember? Michael Reeve?”

Sanderson, bits of skin and rag crumbling from his body, turned, seeming to forget all about Max. “You stole my life. I want my life back. Give me back my life.”

“I didn’t steal your life,” Paul said, trying to get through to him and lead him elsewhere in the house. “You gave it to me. You did this to me, don’t you remember?”

For a brief moment, little more than an instant, Sanderson seemed to almost understand, slowed his shuffling gait, but the moment quickly passed, and once again he continued his slow march, arms spread, as much a threatening signal as a sign of helplessness.