The Sinister Mr. Corpse (25 page)

A burst of excruciating pain tore through
Stanley's stomach. He howled in agony and doubled over.

Oh shit, oh shit, I'm
really gonna die this time
!

He dropped to the floor and screamed as his
stomach felt like it was being stuffed into a burning garbage
disposal. The pain was so intense that his vision went black and he
could do nothing but flail around and shriek.

"Stanley!" Brant sounded about a million
miles away, but there did seem to be genuine concern in his
voice.

Ow ow ow ow ow ow ow ow ow
ow
!

"Roll him over!" he heard somebody say. He
thought it was Brant, but the voice was so distorted that it could
have been Martin or even Sherman Hemsley. "Stanley, stop moving!
Stop it!"

Stanley kept moving.

"Hold him down! I have to get it in the exact
same spot! Stanley, goddamn it, do you want to die?"

Yes
, Stanley thought.
That would be
lovely, thank you
.

He screamed and screamed and screamed and
sort of felt like he was being rolled over onto his back but he
couldn't quite be certain and he screamed and screamed and
screamed.

Then a gentle warmth flowed through his
belly.

Ahhhhh...that must be my soul seeping out.
Sweet, sweet death. This is gonna be awesome.

The warmth quickly flowed through his entire
body, replacing the pain. Soon the agony was completely gone.

He opened his eyes. Brant and Martin were on
top of him, staring at him.

"Hi," said Stanley.

"Antidote," Brant explained, holding up the
needle. "You had me worried for a--"

Martin threw a vicious punch that struck
Brant in the face, knocking him off Stanley. His head hit the floor
and he lay there, unconscious.

"Wow," said Stanley. "Nice work."

"Thanks." Martin got up and extended a hand
to Stanley. Stanley took it and Martin pulled him to his feet.

"Look," said Stanley, "I'm sorry that I made
it so that you felt the need to say what you said before."

"That's okay."

"You're only saying that because I jumped in
front of the dart that was meant for you."

"No, I'm only saying that because I'm still a
fuckin' idiot. Now let's go see what's in that lab."

* * *

They didn't have anything with which to tie
Brant up, so they settled for locking him inside Stanley's bedroom.
Then they hurried to the end of the hallway, turned the corner, and
swiped Brant's badge in the card reader next to the door of the
lab.

The reader beeped and Stanley opened the
door, revealing a tile-floored room about the size of a classroom.
The room was completely empty except for another door at the
opposite end.

"Maybe the virgin blood's invisible," said
Stanley.

They walked to the other door, which had a
card reader, a keypad, and a small digital display. Stanley swiped
the card. The reader beeped, and the display flashed "ENTER
PASSCODE."

"Damn," said Stanley. "What do you think his
favorite number is?"

"Six-six-six."

"All right, I guess we'll have to beat it out
of Brant. We'll take turns. Hopefully he won't tell us too
quickly."

"We could try that, but I don't think I could
handle the humiliation if he got the upper hand again."

"Yeah, you're right. Let's raid his
office."

* * *

"Wake up, Mr. Sleepy," said Stanley, tapping
the dart gun against Brant's nose.

Brant opened his eyes and groaned. "I never
should've given you the antidote."

"No, probably not. Hopefully you've learned
your lesson. Now tell me the code to the lab."

"Go to hell."

Stanley tapped him with the gun again. "The
stuff in this dart hurt really bad. I don't know if it has the same
effect on non-zombies, but you implied that it was a pretty
unpleasant experience. We couldn't find any more antidote. Please
tell us the code."

"No."

"Pretty please?"

"You'll just have to shoot me."

"You think I'm bluffing, don't you?"

"Yes. Because if you kill me, you'll never
get into the lab, and you'll never get any more of your injections,
and you'll die."

Stanley thought about that. "Okay, I'll admit
that you've got a pretty good theory about why I'd be bluffing.
Lucky for us, we found a knife in your office."

Martin held up a blue pocketknife and snapped
out the blade.

"It's not a very big one," Stanley explained,
"but I think that if we stuck the blade under one of your
fingernails and pushed really hard, you'd scream like a baby. Or at
least a baby that was having a pocketknife blade shoved under its
fingernails. Don't be that baby."

"I know that we don't trust
each other," said Brant. "But please trust me when I say that you
do not want to see inside the lab. I promise you, you will
not
be a happier person
for it."

"I'll get over it."

"I doubt you will."

"Code, please."

"No."

"Are you really going to make Martin do the
fingernail thing?"

"I don't think Martin has it in him to do the
fingernail thing."

"You just tried to kill Martin. He'll do the
fingernail thing."

Martin gave Brant a look that indicated that
he was not only willing to do the fingernail thing, but relished
the opportunity.

"Very well," said Brant. "I'll take you
inside."

Stanley kept the dart gun pointed at Brant's
back as they walked into the empty room and over to the door of the
lab. Brant typed in the code and the door clicked.

"Oh my God, you used
your
birthday
for
the passcode?" Stanley asked, incredulous. "Even I'm not that
dumb!"

"That isn't my birthday."

"Oh. My bad. Did I miss your birthday?"

"Yes."

"Sorry. Open the door."

Brant slowly opened the door. The lab itself
was slightly smaller than the room they were currently in, lit by
several dozen flickering candles, and had the walls, floor, and
ceiling covered with bizarre symbols.

A really bad song was playing.

A girl, perhaps eighteen or nineteen, was
chained to the wall, naked except for a bra and panties. Her entire
body was pale. Her eyes were open and her face was frozen in an
expression of pure terror. The girl's skin had been flayed apart in
several spots on her arms, legs, and stomach, and she had a couple
of silver bowls at her feet to catch the blood.

A man who looked about fifty knelt on the
floor, wearing only a pair of blue boxer shorts. He had some sort
of weird symbol drawn in blood on his chest. He looked really
annoyed to see Stanley, Brant, and Martin.

"
Ferocity, ferocity, I ain't got no sanity
," went the lyrics playing over the stereo.

"What the hell?" asked the man, standing up.
"Rich, what the hell is this? What's he doing here?"

"Henry, just calm down," said Brant. "We have
a bit of a problem here."

"Yeah, we have a problem! Dammit!" Henry
walked over and shut off the stereo. He gestured to the girl. "Now
she's no good to us. I've spent three days draining her for
nothing. Why would you interrupt me?"

Stanley stared at the girl in horror. "Who is
she?" he demanded.

"That would be the virgin."

"
One
of the virgins," Henry
clarified.

"Be quiet!" Brant shouted. "What's the matter
with you?"

"Hell, I figured you told him the whole
story! Why else would you have brought him in here? I can't believe
you interrupted my ritual with only five hours to go."

Stanley pointed the dart gun at Henry. "How
many have there been?"

"Don't point that at me. I don't even want to
be here. I could be at home with a cold beer right now."

"Tell me!"

"Just chill out, will you? I've got a
headache and this last part of the ritual always makes my arm cramp
up. Bug Rich with your questions, not me."

"How many?" Stanley asked Brant.

"Each victim, done properly, creates enough
blood to sustain you for about a month."

"One a month? You kill one virgin a
month?"

"And their families," said Henry. "The
families are important."

"Oh my God."

"Plus a couple of them just didn't take."

"Enough!" Brant shouted.

"Hey, I didn't bring these guys in here. I
figured the beans were already spilled."

"Let her go," said Stanley.

"Who? The chick on the wall?"

"Let her go now!"

Henry rolled his eyes. "She's not going to
walk out of here humming a merry tune if I unchain her. She's
pretty much dead already. It's really not a pleasant business, and
by interrupting me, you made it so that it was all for nothing.
Wasting virgins is not a nice thing to do."

Stanley desperately wanted to fire the dart
into the back of Brant's head, and then shoot another one into that
asshole Henry, but he kept himself under control. He only had one
dart anyway.

"All right, both of you, put your hands
behind your head and face the wall. Now!"

"Is he serious?" Henry asked Brant.

"Don't talk! And of course I'm serious!
Move!"

Henry let out a deep sigh. "So are you slow
or just stupid?"

"I beg your pardon?"

"I'll go with slow. I'm not kidnapping
virgins, slaughtering their families, chaining them to walls, and
draining their blood for seventy-two hours because it's how I get
my kicks. I'm doing it so that the world's most famous zombie stays
upright. That's how I make my living. If I quit doing this--and
believe me, I've thought about it a million times, especially in
moments like these--you die for good. So by preventing me from
doing my job, you're essentially committing suicide. Which means
that I've wasted all this time and effort, and that really annoys
me."

"I said to get against the wall."

"No, you said to face the wall."

"Do it!"

"Suicide.
Su-i-cide
. What makes
this a difficult concept to grasp?"

Veronica's scream startled Stanley so much
that he nearly pulled the trigger.

"Oh my God!" she screamed.
"
What is going on in
here?
"

"This could take a while," Stanley admitted,
not looking back at her. "I'm still really stressed and won't do a
good job telling it."

"Who is she?" Veronica
asked, sounding as if she might hyperventilate. "Who is he?
What
is
this?"

"Black magic ritual," said Martin,
helpfully.

"Y'know, Veronica, I'm always happy to see
you," said Stanley, "but this is actually pretty bad timing. If you
could maybe step out of the room and find something else to do for
a while, I'll get you all caught up once this is resolved."

"Brant, what's going on?" Veronica asked.

"Stanley promised to explain everything,"
said Brant. "I think you should leave now."

"But I--"

Brant turned around.
"Veronica,
get out!
"

Brant's outburst distracted
Stanley for only a second, but it was long enough. He suddenly
realized that Henry had a knife (
where had
that come from
?), and then an instant later
the knife was flying toward him.

The knife slammed into Stanley's throat as
his finger tightened on the trigger.

Veronica screamed as Stanley
stumbled backwards, gasping for air that he didn't need. Henry
stared down at the dart protruding from his right leg. "Aw,
shit!
"

Brant spun around and pushed Martin out of
the way. He barreled past Veronica as he ran through the doorway.
Martin went after him.

Stanley dropped the gun and yanked the knife
out of his throat as Henry plucked the dart out of his leg. Henry
let out a cry of rage, held the dart over his head like a knife,
and then rushed at Stanley.

Stanley flung the knife at him. It struck
Henry's shoulder and he let out a grunt of pain, dropping the dart.
He wrenched it out and threw it back at Stanley, getting him in the
neck a second time.

"Son of a bitch!" cried Stanley, surprised
that he could still speak. He pulled out the knife, touched the
twin holes in his neck, and then threw the knife at Henry, hitting
him in the other shoulder.

"Bastard!" Henry pulled out the knife, and a
gout of thick black blood squirted out. "Brant! Antidote!
Quick!"

"He's long gone," Stanley informed him.

Henry reached down and
picked up the dart. "You'd better hope there isn't any left in
here!" he said, just before a high heeled shoe struck him in the
side of the head. The dart fell out of his hand.
"
Crap!
"

Stanley rushed at him. Out of the corner of
his eye he could see Veronica pulling off her other shoe. Stanley's
outstretched arm struck Henry's chest, sinking into the flesh just
a bit and causing an additional squirt of black blood to come out
of each of his shoulder wounds.

Henry punched Stanley in the face, but his
fist exploded on impact and did little damage.

Veronica's other shoe struck Henry in the
side of the head. The heel passed through his skull, accompanied by
a geyser of black blood, and Henry dropped to his knees. Upon
hitting the floor, his knees exploded much as his hand did.

Blood began to stream from his ears and nose.
Henry looked up at Stanley, a pleading expression on his face.
"I...I need you to do something for me..."