I emptied the big revolver into the snarling thing that hopped off the slab. Six big rounds hammered into it’s body point blank as it collapsed into a bloody pile of greying flesh. I ducked under the outstretched arms of what was once Mrs Beman and Ms Gerber as they slid to their feet. Heading for the hall I could just make out the sound of Swaggart's 9mm barking. I burst out the doorway as Arkham's finest emptied his clip at two grasping cadavers. As I sprinted past I took hold of his lapel dragging him after me out into the dreary Arkham morning. When we reached Swaggart's Ford I let him go and turned slamming a speedloader of fresh rounds into the revolver.
“Sunlight, of course. That kills em right?” breathed the detective.
“Hell no,” I replied, “But your 12 gauge might.” He reached into the department Ford and tossed me the shotgun then reloaded his Glock, his hands shaking visibly as he worked.
“Steady Bill, take a breath...” I made ready with that reassuring click clack that pump shotguns make.
“And for the love of god don’t miss.”
The door of the morgue slammed open and the four undead stumbled out. I took aim at the closest, a headshot should do it. Over my shoulder I could hear Bill's voice.
“Sir step back you're in danger. Hey what the hell are you supposed to be?”
I risked a quick glance back to see a chubby figure emerging from the shadows, the morning sunlight glinting off his smiling gold face. Everything went into slow motion as the adrenalin rush hit. The department issue shotgun felt heavy in my hands as I swung to face the thing in the grinning mask.
Swaggart stood between us, left arm outstretched like a crossing guard stopping traffic. Romek's hand came up fast, catching Swaggart under the chin. Blood sprayed as he started to collapse gurgling. It was then I saw Romek's black blade for the first time.
Without a clear shot past Bill's bulky outline, I could only look on as he held the dying detective up on his toes with one impossibly strong hand and with the other, drove the dripping blade into his chest. I stepped forward, intending to press the shotguns barrel to Romek's head when cold hands took hold, dragging me backwards.
I could hear sirens approaching as I lashed out with the butt of the 12 gauge and was rewarded with the sound of breaking bones. Flailing like a drowning man I fought for space to turn. I managed to get the gun barrel under the chin of my glassy eyed assailant and squeezed the trigger. The hands that were grabbing at me fell away and I was free to run.
I took a half dozen steps and turned, racking the shotgun. Romek still held Bill by one hand but his body seemed to have shriveled, like fruit left in the sun. It turned it’s fierce eyes to meet mine, dropping Bills husk of a corpse. Whatever had just happened, it had been strengthened, made more part of this world than the next. I felt its gaze on me as it looked me up and down the grinning face radiating an aura of malice. Romek's hand barely moved but it felt like a hammer blow. I felt the ground fall away from me as I was thrown from my feet..
I landed hard, head first as usual, the shotgun skittering away across the asphalt of the parking lot. With a wave of disdain the lord of the dead turned on a heel and strode away, his shambling entourage behind him.
Fighting off the hammer blows of pain and nausea, I fumbled out the revolver and fired. The siren just about drowned out the screech of the car skidding to a halt behind me as I loosed off my last round.
Things got a little blurry after that. There was shouting, more sirens, and the rookie cop from earlier in my face as I lay on the ground shouting, anger slurring his words. I came to with a young black paramedic shining a flashlight in my eyes.
“Bill?” I croaked. I tried to sit up but was stopped by a set of cuffs keeping me on the gurney. I rattled the cuffs in disbelief.
Hmm. My surroundings were still a little out of focus but I could make out others moving about, photographs being taken, body bags being filled. I decided this was a good time to shut up and listen. The paramedic turned and gestured to a tall figure in a suit.
“Are those really necessary?” he asked pointing to my restraints.
“Damn straight son,” replied the tall man, stepping forward, his detective shield swinging into my view.
“He’s a cop killer.”
Aww Shit. Sure enough the cuffs stayed on all the way to Arkham PD. The tall man handed me over to a pair of burly local patrolmen who judging from the looks they gave would have sooner taken me straight to the gas chamber than the holding room they “placed” me in.
Three hours later I was still handcuffed to a table when the tall man threw the door open and strode in. He looked about 50ish, 6' 3”, cropped gray hair, smart suit, well built, career police rather than working police.
In other words real asshole.
He placed a sizable file on the table between us, crowning it with a pack of smokes. Game on.
“I’m Lt Nelson” he began. With a flourish he produced a fax of my Fed credentials.
“But who the hell do you think you are Agent Marx? Or should I say Mister Marx. Every check I run on you set off alerts I’ve never even heard of before.”
He pulled out two smokes from the pack and lit them both, passing one to me in one well rehearsed move.
So much for establishing a rapport. I took a long draw. We stared at each other in silence for what seemed like an age.
“You show up out of God knows where flashing a badge that you shouldn’t have,” he paused for a long draw. “You contaminate a crime scene, shoot up the goddamn morgue desecrate a cadaver and kill a cop.” He started flipping pictures of the carnage out onto the table to emphasize his point.
“I didn’t kill him,” I whispered, turning the pic of Bills shrunken body over.
“I got enough charges on you without Detective Swaggart's murder” he said, stubbing out the remains of his smoke, “Why don’t you think this over son while I go tell Detective Swaggart's widow we have his killer in custody.”
I sat in silence as he scooped up his file and left as abruptly as he had entered. Bill's wife died in a car wreck 6 years ago but he always wore the ring.
This lying bastard was playing me. I needed out to protect Marcus but I wasn’t trashing a police station to do it. I sat back and closed my eyes, trying not to see the contorted body in the photograph and failing. As much as I hated my dependence on technology, I was relying on it to spring me sooner rather than later.