Metahumans vs the Undead: A Superhero vs Zombie Anthology (22 page)

“That was intense,” Max said after some minutes. “I’ve never seen anything like that. My flash pellets should have . . . was supposed to . . .” His voice trailed into introspection.

“Darling,”
Leena
said, sweat beading her brow, “those things appear unstoppable. What can we do?”

“They’ve retreated for now, and we’ve stopped the flow of zombies from this location. To ensure the vultures cannot return, I’m going to level this area.”

The Wraith pulled from his belt all the C4 he had on him and directed Max and
Leena
to do likewise. They rushed amongst the crumbling and aged headstones, laying their deadly cargo at regular intervals.

A few minutes later, they congregated at the entryway to the
cemetary
, their car just behind them.

“All right,” The Wraith declared, “with this we’ll decimate much of this city’s dead. If there are no bodies left, then the birds will have nothing to re-animate. I’ll contact Harrison. The National Guard need to get here and level whatever’s left.”

Max and
Leena
nodded in agreement. The Wraith and his crew took cover behind the armoured protection offered by their Daimler. He reached for his detonator and pressed the small button. Instantly, the
cemetary
erupted in a cacophony of flame and billowing soil and smoke.

“Darling, look,”
Leena
said, breathless after the carnage the C4’d wrought had subsided.

They all followed the direction of her pointing hand. The vultures in the sky had gone.

The Wraith looked to
Leena
, then to Max. Questions flooded his mind. Had they won? Had the monsters in the sky been vanquished? Surely not, for there were many other cemeteries within the city limits. Or had they just retreated to fight another day?

The Dread Avenger knew that none of them had any of the answers he needed. Taking heart, though, he knew that this battle had been won. And, if there were to be any more, he knew they would be ready . . . and waiting.

“Come on,” he said to the others. “Let’s head home, re-stock our supplies and help clean up this city’s zombie trash.”

Black and White

by

Keith
Gouveia

I
f this doesn’t
work . . . what a waste
, Scott Holman thought as he dumped a bottle of rum at the base of the largest elm tree in Greenwood
Cemetary
. “I call upon the lord of the dead. Baron
Samedi
, appear before me.” He aimed the barrel of his gun at the ground and fired.

The black chicken he had tied to the elm tree squawked and flapped its wings at the sound of the gun. Beside the fowl, Scott had placed a plate with an ear of corn upon it and a bottle of whiskey, an imported bottle of Kola, three cigars beside it.

“C’mon,” he mumbled as he tapped his foot.
Something should have happened
. Impatient, Scott looked at his watch.
Should have known better than to believe what I read on the Internet. Idiot.

“Sa
ou
vl
è
?” A tall, dark-skinned man dressed in black stepped out of the shadows. He had cotton balls stuffed in his nostrils, his face painted white in the image of a skull, and a top hat adorned his head. The smell of cheap alcohol and tobacco hung on the air around him.

The man’s sudden appearance unnerved him.
Who wore face paint, anyway?
Scott looked around, searching for any other surprises while he rubbed the back of his neck nervously with his right hand. Puzzled by the stranger’s foreign words, he asked, “What?”

The man folded his hands over the top of his cane and slammed its silver tip into the ground. “What do you want?” His voice was cold and thunderous.

“My girlfriend . . . she was buried here today.”

“You want me to bring her back for you?”

“Then you’re him? Um,
him
him
?”

The man bent over and snatched the bottle of Kola off the ground.

“That was very hard to come by,” Scott said. “And if you’re not Baron
Samedi
—”

The man narrowed his eyes at him. “Did you know the Kola nut is chewed in most West African cultures?” The man plunged a long, sharp fingernail into the cork and pulled it out with ease.

“Look here—”

“Silence!”

The rush of wind exhaled from the stranger was powerful enough to knock him off his feet; Scott fell to his backside, the gun firing another round in his clumsiness.

“The offering must be approved.”

Scott remained in the sitting position and watched quietly as the man took a swig from the bottle. His cheeks puffed as he swished the bitter nectar. With the nod of his head, the man smiled. “Take me to her gravesite.”

Scott nodded as he stood, afraid of saying anything else and upsetting the
loa
any further. He needed this to work, to keep his cool in front of this supernatural being until he had that which he desired. As he walked toward the large, marble grave marker, his thoughts lingered on Julia and that horrific night when she was taken from him, and how he was left feeling utterly powerless.

They had been at a friend’s house for an engagement party where Sarah Mitchell had decided to pawn off store-bought cookies as homemade. When Scott had asked Sarah if there were peanuts in the cookies she looked at him with a sideways glance, lips pursed and brow furrowed. Julia had slapped him in the arm for being overprotective, but he had failed her. Sarah had failed her, too, by not reading the warning label on the plastic container of chocolate chip cookies.

He had watched, helplessly, as Julia went into
anaphylactic shock just mere minutes after consuming the cookie in one bite. He caught her as her body fell backward and had shouted for someone
—
anyone
—
to call 9-1-1. Without proper medical training or suitable drugs, all he could do was hold her trembling hand and stare into her wide, fear-filled eyes. His tears rolled down his cheeks and splashed onto Julia’s face, mixing with her own. He had told her to hold on. To stay with him. That he loved and needed her. That he wanted to ask her to marry him and even showed her the ring he had tucked into his pocket . . . but it wasn’t enough.
Love
wasn’t enough.

Stupid little . . . how could she not realize bakeries use the same machines to mix all their flours? She might as well have put a loaded gun to Julia’s head
.

“Ridiculous, isn’t it?” the baron said, snapping Scott back to the moment.

“What?”

“That something so small, so insignificant as a peanut, could steal something so precious.”

“Yeah,” Scott said, head hung low. “This is it.”

He stood before the cold marble slab, gaze locked on the inscription. A single tear rolled down his cheek as he reached into his pocket and pulled out the black velvet ring box. “You
can
bring her back, right?”

The baron’s left hand shot upward, palm facing out. The ground at Scott’s feet shook. Roots burst outward from the grass and rose into the air, pulling up the topsoil. The earth overturned as Julia’s fiberglass coffin was lifted out. The roots twirled the coffin around and stood it upright.

Scott just stared at the phenomenon with unblinking eyes. The thought of pinching himself to check to see if he was awake crossed his mind, but his body wouldn’t obey. He was rooted to the spot, embraced in fear’s cold grip.

The roots twisted around the coffin lid’s hinges and yanked. The metal broke and flung into the air. The lid swung open to reveal Julia, dressed in her navy-blue burial gown with her arms folded across her bosom.

“Julia,” he mumbled as she just lay there, eyes closed. Her once-rosy cheeks and sun-kissed skin were now pale white. Scott turned away from her, not wanting to see her in such a state, and looked upon the strange man in the top hat. “What kind of a parlor trick is this? I thought you could bring her back.”

“Foolish mortal, you dare question me?”

The baron stepped toward him and gripped Scott by the back of the neck. Scott’s head sank into his shoulders as he was forced to his knees. The stranger wielded an unnatural strength. With a shaky hand, Scott raised the pistol.

“How dare you!” The baron slapped the gun away. “First you question my power, then you aim to harm me? Look!” he said, releasing his hold.

Scott obeyed. His gaze fell on Julia once more and almost instantly, her eyes opened to reveal silver orbs, her vibrant blue eyes no more.

“Julia,” he uttered in disbelief.

A wide smile stretched across her lips as her arms unfolded and dropped to her sides.

Scott opened the ring box clutched in his hand, and held it up. “Look what I’ve got for you.”

She stepped forward, her movements sluggish and sporadic.

He cocked his head and looked up at Baron
Samedi
. “What’s wrong with her?”

“She just needs to shake the icy chill from her body. Death is a cold state. I imagine a hug would warm her.”

“Yes,” Scott said, and as the Baron stepped away from him, he stood and stepped toward the woman he had loved for the past seven years.

She opened her arms to him; he grabbed hold of her waist and pulled her close.

“Thank you, Baron. Thank you.” Scott nuzzled his head against her shoulder.

Julia’s skin was cold to the touch, but it was not enough to deter him. He had been alone for the past week, his life upside down. If she was to be perpetually cold from this moment on, then he would spend his life keeping her warm and safe.

A sharp pain ignited in his neck as Julia’s teeth sank into his flesh. “
Ow
!” He pushed her away, sending her body back into the coffin. He clutched his wound as the two locked eyes. He stepped backward when she took a shaky step forward.

Scott peeked over his shoulder to see the baron walking deeper into the
cemetary
. The sound of Julia hissing as she approached him was more than enough for him to realize she was not his true love, at least, not all of her.

“Son-of-a . . .” He charged after the man in the top hat. “What did you do to her?”

When he caught up to Baron
Samedi
, he grabbed hold of his shoulder and spun him around. “I asked you—”

With the flick of the baron’s arm, Scott was hurled into the air and sent crashing to the ground nearly ten feet away.

“I grow bored with your blatant disrespect. Who do you think you are invoking a
loa
of my caliber, the Lord of the Dead?”

Scott stood in defiance.

The baron smiled. “Rise!”

At his command, the ground quaked. Tremors rippled under the grass as roots snaked their way beneath the surface. Graves upturned as all the coffins were spit out of the earth.

“I didn’t want this,” Scott cried.

“No,” Baron
Samedi
said, “but it’s happening nonetheless. My dear, put him out of his misery, will you?”

Scott’s head slowly turned to see Julia bearing down on him, her once angelic face twisted into a snarl. She grabbed him by the shoulders and he screamed as her fingernails bore deep into his skin, probing his flesh.