Metahumans vs the Undead: A Superhero vs Zombie Anthology Read online

The girl seemed stunned for a moment, then began to scream, struggling to be free of Spectrolite’s grasp, while the boy, maybe a year older, attempted to rescue his sister by pounding Spectrolite’s ribs, hips and thighs. Anywhere his small fists could find to make contact, they did, and all the while he shouted through his sobs, “Let her go! Let her go!”

  “I’m not one of them!” Spectrolite insisted. “Calm down!”

  The children either were too hysterical to listen or just flat-out didn’t believe her, because they both continued to fight and shriek. She was left with no choice but to shove her goggles back up with her forearm.

  Making eye contact with the boy first spared her any further blows to her body. He froze in place, arms falling limply to his sides. He would remain in that position until she made physical contact with him again. Potentially, if she was to leave, he would stand in the same spot until he dropped dead of dehydration and, even if moved by another party, would remain in an almost comatose state. He could, in fact, be treated as a coma patient for the rest of his life, being fed intravenously but fully capable of breathing on his own.

  With him subdued, Spectrolite was able to concentrate on the girl, though she had to grip the child by the chin and force her to look up into her eyes. She regretted having to scare the child even more with her actions, but she had seen what was loose in the neighborhood and couldn’t risk the kids running headlong into one of those things. Bad enough they were probably already running away from one or more of them.

  Once both children were mesmerized, Spectrolite quickly scanned the street for any action and, deciding the kids would be safe on the porch for a couple minutes, she entered the house, weapon at the ready.

  What she walked in on was something she would not soon forget.

  In the living room, all crouched on the floor, two men and a woman were all feeding on a second woman, hands dug into her guts and greedily yanking out strings of greasy gray intestines and what Spectrolite could only guess was at least part of a liver.

  The fact the children had most likely also witnessed this scene was almost enough to break her. Whether the kid’s mom was dead and being eaten by their father or if she was the other woman doing the eating probably didn’t matter much to their future mental health. Either way, those kids were going to be screwed up for life.

  Spectrolite watched the undead feasting for a moment longer, disgustedly fascinated, but that wasn’t the only thing making her hesitate with her finger on the trigger.

  What if whatever had happened to the brains of these people could be reversed? She was about to make those kids orphans and she wasn’t used to having to face down a moral dilemma. Things were usually so cut and dry.

  One of the men looked up from his meal and finally noticed her, his face a mask of blood and gore, his eyes milky and dead. He bared his teeth and snarled, lunging up and charging toward her.

  There was no hesitation left.

  The boom from the shotgun echoed loudly throughout the house and the man dropped like a stone, half his head blown apart and raining down onto the gray carpet, the bits of his brain almost the exact same shade.

  After she’d killed the others, Spectrolite hurried back outside. The children were as she’d left them, seemingly asleep standing up, vacant eyes open but seeing nothing.

  A crash caused her to abruptly look up.

  Ametrine was up the street, destroying electrical poles, crumbling them to dust, the wires falling like lifeless snakes to the ground in wild tangles.

  Her sister must have figured out the same thing she had: with no electricity, the murderous signal would be useless.

  Spectrolite quickly holstered her shotgun on her back, picked up each child and placed them in the foyer of the house, closed the door behind them and ran to join her sister.

  As she did, the young man she’d encountered in the previous house exploded out of his front door, shouting for his girlfriend and wielding a handgun, wildly waving it around.

  Another pole fell with the power of Ametrine’s mind and Spectrolite was reminded again of the nickname she and her sister had been given back when they were children: post-modern Medusas, because their abilities combined were very much like that of the ancient gorgon.

  Spectrolite reached Ametrine, gestured at a fallen pole and asked, “Do we really have time for this?”

  “I want to make sure the power is dead when the cavalry arrives.”

  “I thought we were the cavalry? Plus, I think one pole probably knocked out the power already.”

  All at once, the dead began to emerge from the homes in which they’d been inside. It was a gruesome sight. Every single one of them was streaked with gore and much to her dismay, Spectrolite saw a few gnawing on their own arms.

  Self-cannibalism.

  So that was how bloodthirsty these things were. If there was no other living thing around to feast on, they would just as happily feed on themselves.

  “Are you seeing what I’m seeing?” she asked.

  Ametrine cursed softly as the undead horde suddenly focused on the twin costumed heroes, probably because they, along with one lone man, were the only living humans on the street.

  There were dozens of them, all snarling and drooling blood and saliva, their teeth smeared red with bits of meat trapped between them.

  “This is not good,” Ametrine muttered as Spectrolite unholstered both her weapons.

  They heard a pop pop pop and Spectrolite knew the man searching for his girlfriend was now firing his handgun at the creatures.

  Standing back-to-back with her sister, Spectrolite took aim, knowing instinctively to shoot at the heads. It had been the brains that had been rebooted and just like any other computer suffering a lockup, a hard shut down was required.

  Blood, bone and brains flew, the zombies dropping where they stood or flying back into the others behind them before slipping to the ground, dead for good this time.

  Behind her, Spectrolite heard what sounded like concrete pillars collapsing and, in a sense, that’s exactly what they were. From the corner of her eye, she could just make out Ametrine pointing her index fingers at each target, something she did when she focused her energy completely.

  The things showed no fear, oblivious to their fallen comrades. In fact, a few of them even paused in their advance to stop, crouch down and snatch fistfuls of spilled brains, which they shoved into their own mouths, barely chewing before swallowing, some of them so greedy they came close to choking themselves on the huge gobs of gray matter.

  Spectrolite’s stomach turned a cartwheel at the sight, but at the same time felt a twinge of hope. If enough of the monsters became too distracted by their cannibalism, they would be easier targets.

  But whatever happened, it would have to happen soon.

  They were now surrounded on all sides and her gun was out of ammo. She had to tuck one weapon under her arm as she struggled to reload the other.

  A blonde, undead woman reached for her, snarling as she moved in for her shoulders with fingers caked crimson.

  Shouting, Spectrolite dodged the woman’s grip, but dropped her shotgun in the process. It clattered to the ground as the blonde darted for her again, this time managing to get a grip on the front of her costume.

  “Stephanie!”

  Spectrolite had no trouble recognizing the voice. It came from the man in the football jersey and she just had time to notice the blonde zombie worn an almost identical one, with the exception of a different numeral.

  The young man shoved his way through the crowd, wrenching himself free whenever one of the creatures managed to get ahold of him. He shouted his girlfriend’s name again even as Spectrolite fought to get herself loose of the creature’s grasp.

  The last thing she wanted was to have to put a bullet in Stephanie’s brain when the man who loved her was only ten feet away, but what choice did she have?

  In the end, it was Ametrine who decided Stephanie’s fate. Spectrolite wasn’t even aware that Ametrine
had turned around until she felt Stephanie’s hands stiffen into stone before they cracked and crumbled into ash, leaving a fine layer of dust where they’d been touching her.

  The man saw this and screamed, stopping in his tracks, his eyes wide with disbelief one instant and heartbreak the next. He raised his weapon, pointing it straight at Spectrolite’s face, only to have the arm he held it in suddenly knocked back and bit into by one of the creatures, a chuck of flesh the size of a baseball ripped from his bicep.

  He wailed in agony as the blood spurted, immediately soaking his football jersey. The scent of blood must have caught the attention of the other creatures because they all turned as one, as though they were of some monstrous hive-mind, and focused all their energy on eating the young man alive.

  Horrified, the costumed heroes watched as several of the undead took hold of the man’s bitten arm and yanked it clean from the shoulder socket, then fought over it the way a pack of starving dogs fought over a discarded leg of lamb.

  In a moment, he was lost to sight and his screaming ceased.

  The two women continued their battle, taking out as many of the things as they could while they were distracted. Spectrolite was beginning to think they just might have a fighting chance after all and was feeling the first tiniest twinge of relief when from above them came an unexpected wump wump wump wump that she was quite familiar with.

  They both looked up to see the black chopper with the huge silver K emblazoned on the side.

  The cavalry had arrived at last.

  “What took them so long?” Spectrolite grumbled as she returned her attention to destroying as many of the zombies as possible. She barely glanced over when several of her fellow Kinetics leapt from the chopper and landed nearby.

  Spectrolite would have to let Ametrine explain what had happened in this neighborhood and how to stop it because she took off running toward the house where she had stowed the children for their own safety. She could only pray they would somehow, someday, be able to cope with what had happened to their parents and their neighbors this night. She hoped their scars would not be too deep to recover from, but, as was her nature, she suspected the worst.

  And there was still the mystery of who had orchestrated these events in the first place. And why.

  But if there was anything Spectrolite knew for certain, it was this: what had happened here tonight was just the beginning.

  Gone but Not Lost

  by

  Eric S. Brown

  The last few months had been hard, to say the least. There was little food and even less rest. Anne had no choice but stay on the move. The dead were everywhere. She’d left her home and made her way north in the hopes of finding other survivors. And she had, but none that could help her. The dead had made the world into an “every-man-for-himself” kind of deal. If you had food, water, or a safe place, you held onto it and didn’t share. If you didn’t, you either killed to get them or stayed on the move like she had. The road wasn’t so bad, but it took its toll. Food was usually around if you looked hard enough and had a bit of luck, but you learned very quickly nowhere was really safe. You slept with one eye open if you slept at all; you prayed you’d be awake if the dead came calling during the night. She’d tried sleeping in trees, tying herself to a limb far above the ground, but that was just as dangerous as lying out in the open, in its own way. She’d been treed like an animal once and narrowly escaped with her life. Anne swore it was something she’d never do again.

  She didn’t know exactly where she was now other than it was somewhere in New York. She was well aware of how dangerous the city had become, but here she was nonetheless. She couldn’t really explain why she’d come here. Something inside of her had been tugging her northward as she continued her search for somewhere to call home again. So far, her luck had held, and by keeping quiet and to the alleyways, she’d managed to avoid the dead. However, now as the day was ending, finding somewhere to get off the streets for a bit was her first priority, but even so, she wondered if her lack of sleep had somehow influenced her choice of hiding place. She was exhausted so as soon as she entered the building, she found a spot out of sight and promptly crashed.

  Anne sat inside the ruins of the coffee shop, staring out at the street. She had no idea how long she had slept, but it must have been several hours. The sun was sinking from the sky. Long-abandoned cars still packed the roadway, rusting. The air stank of decomposing flesh and death. She tugged the scarf covering her nose and mouth tighter, but it couldn’t hold out the smell, only blunt it. A large rat scampered across the counter behind her looking for food. Though disgusting, the rodent was the least of her worries. The dead had found her. They were out there in the growing shadows of the sinking sun. Anne had been around or near them long enough to sense their presence. The question was whether to run or fight. If it were just a few, she might be able to take them, but the .38 holstered on her hip was next to useless so if she did stand a chance, it was slim. Its chamber only held three rounds and she had no more ammo for it. Even if she used it, the noise of firing it would only draw more of the creatures to her.

  Anne reached for the steel baseball bat sticking out of her backpack and pulled it free. She stood with it clutched in her trembling hands, waiting for the dead to show themselves. This was far from the first time she had faced the monsters since she had journeyed to New York, but this evening something felt different. Maybe it was the city or maybe she was more exhausted than she thought.

  That was when she saw him. Dressed in a filthy and tattered, black cloak with a hood that hid his face from view, he came walking down the road seemingly oblivious to the danger lurking around him. Anne held her breath, trying to decide what to do. Should she call out to him and warn him the dead were close, giving away her own position in the process, or simply wait to see how things played out? The living were often far more dangerous than the dead and the horrors they were capable of much greater to a young girl like herself.

  Her grip on the bat grew tighter.

  At last, she broke and opened her mouth to scream at the strange man, but it was too late. The dead made their move.

  A large man, who must have been a weightlifter in life, whose bare ribs were visible through a ripped, white wife-beater tank top, sprang from the open side of a van behind the stranger, a vicious snarl carved out on his face. As if on cue, six more dead men and women emerged from the shadows and charged toward the stranger, working together as a pack. The stranger continued to ignore them until the weightlifter’s hand closed around his left arm. With unnatural speed and strength, the stranger grabbed the weightlifter’s throat and tore his head from his body with apparent ease. As the hulking dead man’s corpse dropped to the pavement at his feet, the stranger threw back his cloak and spun on the others. Bright blue flames erupted from his open palms, engulfing the dead and reducing them to ashes that scattered on the wind.

  Anne’s eyes bugged and the bat slipped from her trembling hands. It clattered to the floor in front of her. Despite the distance between them, the stranger must have heard it fall. He shoved back his hood, revealing a head of midnight hair streaked with gray, and a pair of eyes so inhuman they sent a shiver through Anne’s very soul. They were like pools of black darker than the night itself. She let out a whimper as he began to walk toward her. Anne wanted to run, but she stood frozen, unable to move.

  The man stepped through the coffee shop’s shattered window and stood in front of her. In a sad but tender voice, he asked, “Do you have a name?”

  “Anne,” she whispered, “Anne White.”

  He nodded. “You can call me Death.”

  “Are . . . are you the Reaper?”

  Death laughed long and loud. “No,” he assured her, “I’m not the Reaper. I’m just a man.”

  He took a seat at the counter. “I don’t suppose you have a cigarette on you?”

  Anne shook her head, still in shock from what she had seen him do.

  Death frowned and looked
her over. “I supposed you wouldn’t,” he said with a heavy sigh then patted the stool at the counter beside him. “Have a seat. There aren’t any more of the dead close enough to worry about and you look like you could use a drink as bad as I need a smoke.”

  She slipped onto the stool next to Death, staring at him. Her brain was beginning to work again. “You’re one of them, aren’t you?”

  “One of what?”

  “The Angels,” Anne said, “the heroes who were trying to save the world before . . .” She couldn’t bring herself to finish the sentence.

  “The Angels.” After a bit he said, “What does it matter? They lost, didn’t they? Each and every one of them died that night, even Carson, and what did it accomplish? Nothing.”

  Suddenly Anne realized who the stranger was with a start. He wasn’t one of the Angels, he was their leader. “You weren’t joking. You’re really him, Agent Robert Death.”

  The darkness in Death’s eyes grew deeper as the very room around them seemed to grow colder. His fist struck the counter with such force the surface cracked along its entire length. “Don’t call me that!” He must have noticed how terrified she was, so bit back his rage and said, “I am just Death now. Death is all that’s left for us all.”

  Anne knew the noise of his outburst would draw more of the dead to them, but she kept her seat. “The Angels didn’t die in vain,” she said quietly. “They bought the world time. Without them, we’d all already be dead.”

  Death shrugged. “Look out that window, girl. You might as well be. The world is gone. Civilization has crumbled. There’s maybe a few hundred thousand people still alive on this whole freaking planet.”

  Anne summoned up her courage and managed a weak smile. “That’s better than zero.”

  Death didn’t say anything. He got up and rummaged through the debris behind the counter.

  “What are you looking for?” she asked.

  “This is a coffee shop, right? Surely there has to be something to drink. I doubt many looters set out after canned coffee and energy drinks.”