Emma considered for a moment. “No,” she answered simply “I am going to let my friend in and we are going to ask you some questions. Attack either of us with anything – pans or otherwise – and things will go badly for you.”
Her attacker was definitely reconsidering his stance re: protecting his investment. His eyes started darting towards the not too distant kitchen door and he took a haltering step in that direction.
“If you run I will catch you and kill you,” she warned “Tell me the police would notice the differences between your bloody corpse and all the others littering the streets of Boston right now.”
The balding man slumped, knowing better than to try anything. With a nod, Emma turned and strode confidently over to the front door and three deadbolt locks. For some reason the proprietor seems to think his bar might be insecure Emma scoffed to herself.
Undoing the final latch Emma opened the door and peaked outside, making a quick motion through the open portal to suggest John should speed his pace. Emma walked back into the room followed by John who was scanning every surface with enough diligence to look like a tourist – every knick knack or picture in the place was cause for a quick visual inspection.
After looking sideways at their hostage, Emma decided that it was completely ruining her hardened professional impersonation and subsequent interrogation.
“When we last spoke, you lied to me,” she started, an ice queen.
“W-W-What? But I –“ John cuffed him pretty hard around the back of his head.
“Don’t bother with the lie you were about to say,” he added, eloquently, while also stopping Hoon’s stammering.
“Jesus! I wasn’t going to lie. Who were you looking for again?” he replied.
“Kerchak. Steve Kerchak.” John answered for her.
“Yeah well I sort of know him,” he answered evasively.
“Where can we find him?” Emma replied, taking back control of this interrogation.
“I don’t know, you scared him off with your winning personality,” answered Hoon, receiving a cuff from John around the back of his bald pate for the trouble. A lesson on common courtesy and a brief glare later, Hoon was focused back on Emma.
“I don’t know what to tell you,” he added with a smile devoid of humor. ”I don’t know him on a personal basis,” seeing John raise his fist he continued quickly “Been coming to my bar – this and the old one – for four years now.”
“And yet you don’t know anything about him?” asked Emma, incredulous.
“No” replied Hoon – and received another cuff round the back of his head. “Hey, Ow. Fuck you man!” he barked back at John, some of his effeminate manner disappearing in a second “I am telling the truth - I didn’t know where he lived even before he dropped off the grid. I see him still from time to time but he runs with a different crowd now and I know better than to ask a bunch of questions.”
“Come on!” yelled Emma “The guy nearly bashed some guy to death in your place – causing you no end of trouble – and you let him back in after? You seriously expect us to believe you would do that for anything else than a friend?”
“Yeah I let him back in, that whole charge was bullshit! The guy Steve punched had been pushing Singh’s buttons all night - doing little bullshit Indian accents and all – Singh was born 10 miles down the road for Christ sake. He’s more of a native Bostonian than half the guys in the bar any given night and the fucker would not let it go. In the end, Steve gave him a little love tap and the freak goes down like a sack of bricks. Steve and Singh ended up in jail for 3 months because of it.”
Despite Hoon’s defense, Emma was not moved. She could easily imagine the temper of her Steve making him take the situation too far – taking the righteous defense of a friend and turning it into an absolute massacre.
“Oh boo hoo,” Emma finally vocalized, before realizing her WASP upbringing was showing. She cleared her throat. “3 Months? I bet that really taught him a lesson.”
“It made sure he never got taught a lesson again more like,” replied Hoon, still angry. “He had a full scholarship to Northeastern U that he lost. Then his Dad disowned him – good for nothing prick that his Dad is. Steve lost everything.”
“I remember” Hoon continued, his gaze turned inwards. “He used to go photograph abandoned buildings. Took some amazing shots – I wish I had some of them for the wall, no lie. Very bold kid, it just saddens me to see him become nothing more than another banger.”
Emma knew this story was the truth and that it pained the proprietor to tell it. She felt a moment of empathy for Steve, it was a bad situation, one where he would have been easily lured by the promise of quick cash from.
Maybe he fooled himself at first she pondered, telling himself he was just making some money to get back into school.
Her compassion only went so far, however. Steve’s then friend, Singh, had gone to jail too. Yet he hadn’t turned to this life. Plus, she remembered Steve from her first encounter – he was already a predator, whatever innocence he might or might not have once had fully burned away.
“And there is nothing else you can tell us?” asked Emma outwardly to the cowardly small proprietor.
“Nothing of interest to you, I am sure,” he replied, looking up. “I saw his confidence finally coming back recently and you know at first I was really glad. It didn’t take me long to see though that his spirit didn’t make the trip back. He comes in surrounded by thugs and instead of him being the butt of the jokes I now see them looking at him almost like a prophet. It’s creepy.”
Emma got up and for a surprised moment John just looked at her before jumping to his feet as well.
“We won’t take any more of your time” Emma politely stated and walked out towards the front door, John in tow.
“Why are you after him?” Hoon called after her, his gaze still at the floor.
Emma thought for a moment, why was she chasing Steve when he was just the same as her? Not the same she answered herself angrily. I played a part in this mess but I did so unwittingly, while he is just out for what he can get out of the deal. It felt like such a small distinction, was it enough? Was she really any better than him?
“He stole something precious from me,” she answered while walking out – she didn’t turn back as she added quietly to herself “my humanity.”
When they were out of earshot John spun Emma by the shoulder.
“Don’t you think you just went light on him? That could have all been lies and even if they weren’t who knows what other stories he might have to tell, any of which could give us a clue to where Steve is.”
“No need,” replied Emma, turning back to her walk and coughing lightly – no blood yet “I already know where he is.”
Chapter 22
“Did you gain second sight when I wasn’t looking?” asked John, perplexed, jogging to keep up with Emma.
“No, I just put a couple of things together. Steve likes exploring old buildings right? What about the Lakeville State Hospital, think he ever explored that one? When we were on top of the train I saw all these people swarming around the place. Of course I then instantly forgot about it because some sadistic asshole pushed me off a train.”
“But why would he want a place all the way out there?” John asked himself, to the tune of Emma’s best ‘Do you know what you are saying?’ look.
“I don’t know, why would someone want a place way out there? Person who is squatting in a warehouse not more than two miles away from this same abandoned building?” she asked, incredulous.
“That’s different,” replied John haughtily, head held high “For entirely reasonable reasons which I will carefully iterate later.”
Emma couldn’t help but snort back a giggle and it became a harsh bark of laughter a second later when she saw his eyes swiveled sideways, carefully trained on her watching for a reaction. His mouth broke into a grin.
“I admit it wasn’t my best obs
ervation,” he explained “but I still think it is kind of weird taking over an old nuthouse. It just sounds creepy.”
“We are in perfect agreement on that one,” Emma replied, nodding. “I remember seeing those Ghost Hunter programs when I was a teenager and being scared senseless by those old places, paint peeling off the walls and old metal gurneys laying sideways on the concrete floors,” she suppressed an involuntary shiver.
“But hey at least this one is just filled with Zombies instead of Ghosts, so there’s that,” replied John.
“There you go, making me feel better again,” sighed Emma - shoulders hunched, walking with slitted eyes.
“We should call the police, let them handle it,” said John, pragmatically.
“Do you think they could handle Steve and his minions? They would just think he was some crazed thug who attacked some people on the street.”
“Maybe, but they have guns – oh and training. That gives them a better chance than us,” he added.
“Are we okay sacrificing them to try and take out Steve?”
“Mmmmm yeah,” replied John, not morally stretched at this conundrum. “’Cos it’s their job, not mine.”
“And what if they succeed?” asked Emma.
“I guess they get medals?”
“What about Derek?” asked Emma, seriously.
“What – what about him,” asked John, his eyes wide with surprise at the question. For one of the first times since she had met him, John looked seriously concerned.
“They are bound to trace this back to him. So far this has been surprisingly well contained. If Steve tried to make his private army and fails they will trace this back through him to me, you, Mary and then Derek.”
“That’s a lot of backtracking,” John answered tentatively.
“We found Steve with no resources or experience. How easy would it be to track me to that park? I think I have bled over half this city so the chances I left no DNA evidence anywhere seems… remote. Plus there are cameras like everywhere in this city. Same back to you and then the people who saw you in New York with Mary.”
John walked thoughtfully, his footsteps slower than normal his stride less confident.
“Strange as it is to admit I never thought about him being connected to any of this,” he admitted at last.
“Are you angry at him at all? He was indirectly responsible for the death of your parents,” she asked earnestly.
John said nothing for a moment as they walked, to the point that Emma thought he had declined to answer.
“No, I guess not. His intentions were good - his execution sucks though,” he answered sadly. “He is also the closest thing I have to family anymore.”
Stopping abruptly, John looked down a side street. Looking down, Emma noted a severed finger lying in pavement crack by his foot but stopped herself from saying anything and inadvertently ruining John’s moment.
“We should go this way,” he said, pointing down the street. “Quickest way,” he added and took off at a light jog.
Emma wondered briefly if she was right and this could be traced back to Derek – whether they were safer in every sense of the word to let the professionals handle this. A second later she remembered John could run faster than her. Thought temporarily displaced, she raced after him.
* * * * *
Considering the difficulties of moving around town for the last few days, getting to the abandoned hospital was shockingly easy. Most of the National Guard were apparently redeployed to Somerville in an attempt to quell the massive outbreak there, so John and Emma were just left quietly climbing deserted metal barricades.
There was no-one on the streets and the military men had been efficient at clearing bodies, so apart from the occasional patch of dark coppery red in the sidewalk, Emma could almost convince herself that everyone just… left.
About two hours of walking later, Emma at last sighted the hospital – and instantly abandoned the ideas she had about the town being deserted.
THIS place truly feels empty she decided like a mausoleum, a place where the dead rest uneasily. Everywhere else was simply silent right now she added.
From the train Emma had previously seen a number of people in the grounds, coming and going. Not now though. For a second Emma almost missed the activity – before she remembered they would be people John and her would have to sneak past.
Previously Emma had planned to sneak around the back and go in through one of those windows. Now, however, she decided to skip the case of Tetanus and splinters and carefully tried the front door. It swung open with a push and a minor creak.
“This is just sloppy,” commented John, stepping over a pile of peeling paint and rotten, wet, drywall.
“Stop complaining,” answered Emma and stepped in behind him.
“Also,” whispered John “Why am I leading the way? This is your stupid idea – I could be home watching Rikki Lake giving paternity tests right now.
“Please,” answered Emma “I bet you don’t even know where babies come from.”
“Oh so I am too young to know about sex and stuff but old enough to kill Zombies armed with nothing but my hands and a disarming smile?! Do you want to make up your mind before dragging me into this?” answered John, peeking around a doorframe and leading on into the next room – an old activities room if the smudged and moldy paintings on the walls were any sign.
“It’s a Zombie eat Zombie world,” answered Emma and turned away to hide her smile.
“Oh my god,” John answered, incredulous “You actually have been saving that chestnut up haven’t you?”
“No!” Emma whispered harshly at this blatant (yet accurate) slur.
“Uh huh,” replied John, turning back to the matter at hand, re: infiltration. There was obviously sign of recent activity here, burrito wrappers littered the tables and floors. Without any form of electricity, takeout was apparently order of the day.
Making their way through a few more rooms, Emma was soon despairing that Steve had already left and her chance had already passed.
She imagined him skipping town with his loot, settling down somewhere out of scrutiny – until he got bored. Emma imagined he would try exactly the same trick again, sending another city straight to Hell.
Besides, with Steve out there she felt she would always be looking over her shoulder. As much as the guilt she felt for infecting Steve and setting him loose on the city of Boston compelled her to try and find him to end his threat, his contempt for her finer sensibilities seemed to push him to do the same. Neither would fully rest until the other was dead.
Emma Rosetti, locked in a life or death vendetta she thought to herself. It does have a certain ring to it. I expect I’ll be approached by the Lifetime channel any day now.
Creeping down another hall – blood smeared on one of the walls – Emma and John checked each of the doors but were disappointed. Some of the beds showed sign of recent-ish wear but everything was still now.
Finally reaching the door at the end of the row Emma peeked in and instantly held her breath, slowly withdrawing from it again. It was a big room, probably once a cafeteria though it was hard to tell now. Piles of debris marked holes in the ceiling, some of which gave direct access – through a similar hole in the roof of the second floor – to the darkening dusk sky. Down the other end were 6 figures, clustered around a downed form.
Emma and John crouch-shuffled to the side of the room and started carefully making their way forward behind rubble and ruined metal tables to eavesdrop on the conversation.
“Stop playing with him,” cautioned one of the concerned citizens standing around the moaning body. “Every time I smell his blood I almost lose control.” To punctuate the point, the man entered a coughing fit, raising his arm to his mouth. The elbow of the grey hoodie he was wearing came away red from the effort. As if on cue, two other members of Steve’s gang started coughing themselves – this group was underfed and the
ir lungs were protesting.
Having stealthily covered half the distance between themselves and Steve’s gang members, Emma could now make out that the body they were crouching around belonged to someone from the military – probably taken in the confusion after a military post was overrun. The writhing man had a number of slashes across the back and arms, doubtless inflicted from the bloody blade currently in Steve’s left hand. Judging by his grey hair and leathery complexion, Emma guessed him to be in his 40s, though his bearing and muscle tone made it difficult to know for sure.
“Besides,” said another, checking his watch “We are supposed to meet with group 4 in just under an hour – we had better hurry if we want to get there in time.”
Steve sighed and Emma could just hear it from her closer position.
“Look, ingrates,” Steve started, drawing a number of confused or blank gazes – Emma didn’t suppose ingrate was a word in their limited vocabularies. “We need information, what is the best way out of the city, are any areas out of bounds for the National Guard?” His words punctuated by coughing from one of his underlings.
“That’s your cue,” added Steve, applying a liberal dose of boot to the prisoner. “Feel free not to answer, if you don’t like living.”
It was already too late for that though, the man had started to shake wildly, to Steve’s momentary horror.
“You fucking IDIOTS,” screamed Steve, turning and punching one of the previously coughing cohorts in the collar bone. “What the fuck did I tell you about covering your mouths?”
The etiquette lesson seemed incongruous to Emma, until she realized that the reason for his anger was stray blood mixed with sputum had evidently entered the man’s wounds, infecting him. If Emma was counting (and she was) she would mark Steve as equally guilty for the slip – he had caused the wounds that allowed him to get infected, after all.
So much for gathering info thought Emma grimly with a smile.
The new Zombie was not going gently into the night, thrashing as he was like a madman. Emma could imagine the Serotonin deficiency driving him mad inside his head as his body frantically consumed everything it had to complete his transformation.
Emma jumped as the camo clad man sprang onto one of Steve’s henchmen, instantly sinking his teeth into the thug’s shoulder. A detached part of Emma noted it wasn’t one of the men who had been coughing, so the likelihood of his brain containing appreciable quantities of Serotonin was higher.