THE ZOMBIE MASTER By Michael Arruda 
A CENTIPEDE so large it cast a shadow climbed onto the girl's bare foot and marched up her smooth long leg.
The girl was mortified but did not move. She eyed the raised stinger protruding from the arthropod's rear a la a scorpion. Perspiration beaded upon her brow as the six inch invertebrate crawled up her thigh and headed for the inside of her shorts.
She was strapped down to the bare bed, the mattress battered and stained. Spread eagle, her arms stretched out above her head, her legs taut and wrenched wide, all four of her limbs tied securely to the bedposts with thick rope bindings.
Her body tightened, her chest heaved, pulling with it her white t-shirt which clung to her humid skin like a wet coat of paint, and the centipede entered her shorts.
She gasped, sucking in the putrid odor of urine that permeated the room.
A horde of flies was buzzing around her head. One set itself down upon her matted hair.
In the corner a curious creature that resembled a large black spider but possessed the enormous hind legs of a cricket raced across the floor over the toe of the man's boot.
A fleshy thump, the sound of a man's bare foot on hardwood.
The flies took flight. The centipede scurried from the girl's shorts, and the spider-cricket leapt into a hole in the baseboard.
Silence.
Perfect and unadulterated. A complete absence of sound so pure it made the girl's ears ring.
She swallowed. Then whispered, "No."
She turned her head and closed her eyes as tight she could shut them. She began to cry as she felt her resolve weakening, her eyes opening.
From the darkness, two glowing bright dots, like miniature suns, two white eyes, burning a hole through her head and assaulting her brain.
* * * *
KANE removed the sheet from the young man's upper body.
His flesh was corpse pale, his lips blue, eyes shut, and he stank of rotten flesh. Yet he breathed.
"How long has he been this way?" Kane asked.
Stacey Reed, the boy's father, a frail man in his sixties who looked at least a decade older than that, cleared his throat. "Two weeks."
"And when did he die?"
"Three and half weeks ago," Reed said, his voice cracking.
"What happened?"
"He died overseas. He was on some humanitarian mission in the Philippines. He was abducted by some extremist group. They tortured--. They killed my boy."
"I'm sorry," Kane said, and there was an understanding in his voice that told the father that this man had seen his share of tragedies. "Tell me what happened after you received his body."
"We had a funeral service, and then we buried him," Reed said, as he removed a handkerchief from his rear pocket and wiped his nose and eyes. "A week later, there was a knock at our back door. It was him. Marc! Standing there, in the doorway, covered with dirt. My wife and I were mortified! He came into the house, and he asked us to take care of him. I wanted no part of it. I knew it was all wrong. But Barbara, she fell on her knees and went hysterical. Going on and on about a miracle, that her baby had been returned to her. A miracle? That stinking body of dead flesh? That was no miracle! I wanted to call the police, but Barbara had a conniption and came at me with a butcher's knife. I had no choice. I had to help her take care of Marc.
"But neither Barbara nor myself realized what that meant. That we'd be supplying him with bodies--bodies that he could eat! Oh my God! What have I done?"
He buried his face in his hands and began to sob.
"Help me! Help my son!"
"I will," Kane nodded. "I'd like to examine your son further. To determine his origins."
"His origins?"
"Yes. Your son is a zombie. Now, there are many different types of zombies because there are many different methods of changing a person into a zombie. By examining your son, I should be able to tell you where this happened and by whom."
"You'll be able to tell that?" Reed asked in disbelief.
"Yes. And then, with your permission, I will destroy him."
Reed nodded. "Go ahead. Examine him."
Kane stepped towards the bed. "How long does he usually sleep like this?"
"All day. He only moves about at night."
Kane leaned over the sleeping body and began to scour the area of the neck and chest. He placed his fingers on the boy's flesh, cold and clammy, as he expected, and turned him so that he was lying on his left shoulder. Deep jagged lacerations covered the entire expanse of the boy's back.
"Those were there already when we got his body back from the Philippines," Reed informed, trembling.
Kane continued his examination, poking, feeling, eyeing, every inch and crevice of the cold, foul smelling body.
"There doesn't appear to be any puncture wounds."
"Puncture wounds?"
"Yes, a modern day method of making one a zombie involves the use of intravenous drugs. But drugs were not used in this case."
"No?"
Kane shook his head, then added, "It is my belief that your son's condition is the work of a zombie master."
A blank expression filled Reed's face.
"A zombie master is a being who possesses the power to turn others into zombies," Kane explained. "He is a most dangerous individual and can be responsible for controlling large numbers of zombies in any given area, sometimes in upwards of a hundred."
"My God," Reed said.
"Such a person is usually quite adept at voodoo and witchcraft, the preferred methods for changing a person into a zombie. The only prerequisite is that the victim must be already dead. You cannot change a living being into a zombie," Kane said.
"If a zombie's already dead, how do you destroy him?" Reed asked.
"A bullet to the head is the easiest, most efficient way," Kane answered. "Without the brain, the body--even a supernaturally reanimated one--cannot function. This method, however, is not foolproof, especially in cases where one is dealing with a particularly powerful zombie master. In such cases, even with a damaged brain, the zombie still functions."
"How?"
"By seeing and thinking through the eyes and brain of its zombie master. In effect, the zombie becomes an extension of the master himself. In these cases, the method of destruction is somewhat more complicated," Kane continued. "The victim's mouth must be stuffed with garlic, then sewed shut. After which, the head must be severed from the body."
"That's disgusting! Horrible!" Reed exclaimed.
"Nonetheless, necessary," Kane said calmly. "Once these methods have been carried out, then the body can be buried again, or preferably, burned."
"Why not just burn them in the first place?"
"You have to incapacitate them first," Kane answered. "Your son is asleep now, but the second I raise even a finger to do him harm, I guarantee he'd awake in an instant. Besides, zombies don't feel pain. A burning zombie can walk to the nearest source of water and extinguish the flames. Even with the severest of burns, a zombie can still function. It's best to destroy their life spark first before destroying their bodies.
"Now, I've examined your son's body carefully, and I haven't been able to find any of the usual signature marks which indicate the work of a known zombie master. You see, even though these people don't actually lay a hand on their victims, marks still occur. Often in the form of moles, black and blue marks, or red blotches, the results of irregular blood flow, changes in body temperature, that sort of thing. Your son doesn't have any of these marks."
"What does that mean?"
"It means we're dealing with a very powerful and very talented zombie master. The closer a zombie is to his original living human condition is an indication of how much power the zombie master possesses. Like a portrait artist, the closer his work is to reality, the more talent he possesses."
"That means that whoever did this to my son, is very powerful?"
"Yes. Absolutely! I've been doing this for ten years now. I've never encountered a zombie without a signature mark."
"Oh, crap!" Reed groaned. "What have I done?"
"You've done what any loving parent might have done. People make all kinds of mistakes because of love," Kane answered. "But you've made amends by calling me."
"No I haven't!" Reed said. "I didn't call you!"
The zombie opened its eyes.
Reed screamed, and Kane whirled around just as Marc reached out and latched onto his wrist. Kane tried to pull away, but Marc possessed the grip of a vise.
"Quick, Reed, my case in the corner!"
The light brown briefcase that Kane had brought with him to the house and had set down in the corner of the room by the door, still sat there, less than two feet from Reed's reach.
"No!" Reed cried. "I can't!"
Kane frowned, then turned back towards Marc, and with his free right hand, made a fist and socked the young zombie smack in the face. Marc staggered backwards, releasing Kane's wrist, and fell upon the bed.
Kane raced for the corner, his heavy boots scuffing the hardwood floor. He dove in front of his briefcase, opened it, and retrieved a handgun. Standing, he aimed the weapon at Marc, who had since returned to his feet and was meandering towards the two men with his arms outstretched.
"No! Don't shoot him!" Reed shouted.
Kane threw the man an angry glance, but Reed was his client after all.
Grabbing Reed by the shoulder, Kane said, "Move! Quickly! Downstairs!" and he thrust him out the bedroom door.
Reed stumbled down the straight staircase, with Kane following quickly upon his heels, carrying his gun and his briefcase.
When they reached the bottom, Kane shoved Reed into the first room he saw, which happened to be the dining room.
"Now, explain yourself please. What the hell's going on?" he asked, dropping his briefcase to the floor, but keeping the revolver firmly ensconced in his right hand. "And what did you mean when you said you didn't call me? I spoke to you on the phone!"
"It was my son! He made me call! He asked for you by name!" Reed answered, again removing his handkerchief and this time wiping his entire sweaty face.
"Why?"
"It's that person you were talking about. His zombie master. He wants to kill you! That's why they made me call you here. They want you out of the way!"
"And you listened to them?"
"I had no choice! They have my daughter-in-law! And she's pregnant with my son's child!" Reed shrieked.
Kane felt the blood nose-dive from his face.
"Your daughter-in-law? I--I didn't see a wedding ring on your son's finger."
"They're not really married. They only live together, okay? But in my mind she's still my daughter-in-law, and she's still carrying my son's child inside her!"
"Are you sure she's pregnant?"
"Of course I'm sure! What the hell kind of a question--what are you talking about? Look, they've taken away my son, turned him into that thing upstairs. Now they've got Simone, and my unborn grandson! I wanted to stand up to them, but I'm an old man. I had no choice but to give in to their demands."
"Of course, of course," Kane muttered, suddenly seeming so distant, so preoccupied.
"What are we going to do?" Reed asked.
"Do?"
"Yes, do! What's gotten into you?"
Kane looked past the anxious father and soon-to-be grandfather at a mirror hanging on the wall and saw first his own guilty face followed by the pale countenance of Marc, as the zombie reached the bottom of the stairs and turned to enter the dining room.
Kane pivoted his upper body and aimed the handgun at the head of the slow-footed zombie.
"No!" Reed shrieked. "Don't do it! That fetus is all I have left of my son!"
Kane's finger was itching to pull the trigger, to put an end to the threat and get them out of harm's way. Instead, he placed the gun in his belt and stooped down to quickly open his briefcase. Reed watched anxiously as Kane removed a tiny bottle from the case, unscrewed the cap, and hurled its liquid contents into the zombie's face.
Marc groaned, reached up to his face with his two hands, and stumbled backwards before collapsing unconscious onto the floor in front of the staircase.
"What did you do? What did you throw at him?"
"Garlic oil. It knocks them out," Kane said. "Don't worry it won't kill him."
The sound of breaking glass from somewhere in the house.
"What's that?" Reed asked.
More breaking glass, from all around them, as if every window in the house was being smashed.
"I'd say the zombie cavalry has arrived," Kane said.
"Please," Reed begged. "Don't destroy any of them. That child--."
"I know," Kane nodded. "But consider this--even if you and I escape from this house, which is very possible since these zombies are so damned slow, you said the zombie master wants me dead. I may spare your son for your progeny's sake, but I'm not about to give up my life for it! Where does that go?" Kane asked, already walking towards the small door at the opposite end of the dining room.
"No!" Reed shouted. "Don't go in there!"
Kane opened the door and the stench hit his nose like a baseball bat to the face.
"God, almighty!" Kane choked.
On the floor in front of his feet lay the half eaten corpse of a woman.
"Your son's handiwork, I take it?"
"It's my wife!" Reed screamed. Kane's jaw dropped. "Marc killed her! He ate the flesh of his own mother! Jesus, forgive me!"
A door slammed behind them.
Kane and Reed turned to see about a dozen zombies in tattered clothes and various stages of decay, standing there in the hall just outside the dining room entrance, staring at them, drooling at them. Kane aimed his gun when to his surprise a man who looked like he had just stepped off a golf course strolled casually with his hands in his pockets into the dining room, making his way past the zombies. He was smiling. Wearing khaki pants, Loafers, and a white polo shirt, he was well tanned, especially around his face, which made his teeth seem even whiter than they were. His hair was dark and wavy. He was young, in his early thirties.
He stopped a few yards shy of Kane and Reed.
"Nice night for a get-together," he smiled.
"Isn't it?" Kane said. He looked over his shoulder at Reed. "Do you know this man?"
"No."
"Of course he doesn't know me," the jovial man said with a grin. "You don't know me, either, but I know you, Kane Cawthorn. All of us in this business know you."
"I'm flattered," Kane said.
"You should be. Your record speaks for itself. It's perfect, isn't it?--when dealing with the likes of me. But, everyone's got to lose sometime. Even the Yankees. You're due."
Kane shook his head. "Nah. I like to think my record is like the sun. Sure, it'll burn out some day, but not in this lifetime!"
"TouchÃ©! It's been fun talking with you, Mr. Cawthorn, but my attention span, I'm afraid, is not very large. I'm of the remote control generation."
"Meaning?" Kane asked.
"Meaning that I'm going to kill you now."
The tan man in the comfortable sport clothes took a step forward, and for a split second, Kane felt his heart panic, for he knew that against a zombie master, neither his gun nor all the garlic oil in the world would do him any good, not at this close of a proximity. Zombie masters had to be taken by surprise. Unfortunately for Kane, it was himself who in this instance had been caught unawares.
But then the man stopped, and all of a sudden a most discomforting look overtook his face, and he began to sweat profusely.
"What is it?" Reed asked. "What's happening?"
"Listen," Kane said.
Reed paused, then added, "I don't hear anything."
"Exactly."
A silence had overtaken the house. A most disconcerting lack of sound, as if all life both inside the house and out, as if the animals in the surrounding woods, the insects in the grass, the bugs crawling within the walls, as if the very innards of the house itself, its settling wood, the hum of the hot water heater and central air conditioner, as if all of these things had in that instant died.
The light went as well, and the room fell into darkness.
Behind the tan zombie master, at about eye level, two bright white spheres ignited.
Reed gasped.
The sound of bare feet on wood.
A man of moderate height, shoe-less, shirtless, wearing only white shorts and a necklace full of charms, looking as if he had just stepped into the house from a day on the beach in the Caribbean, slowly and steadily approached the now trembling zombie master. His olive skin was also well tanned, his body fleshy, looking anything but solid, yet there was no doubt that he possessed great strength. His arms, chest, and shoulders were all large. His eyes were blindingly white, like snow in sunshine.
He placed his beefy palm on the zombie master's shoulder.
"No," the young master said. "It's not possible."
The hand squeezed, and the well-dressed master winced. "Why? Why do you betray your own kind? Why do you side with him?" He pointed to Kane.
The man closed his bleached eyes, and the silence in the room was replaced by zombie footsteps. The dozen zombies who had entered the house closed in upon the young zombie master, grasping furiously at his body.
"I place a curse on you!" the attacked master exclaimed. "On all of you! May the demons of the underworld rip your flesh and tear out--!"
The zombies pounced upon their former master, and the young voodoo expert disappeared from view. A high-pitched wailing exploded from center of the circle, and as the Caribbean stranger stepped to the side, the zombie horde moved as one, dragging their screaming master with them, right out the front door.
The stranger opened his eyes, and once again the room was visited by the uncanny silence.
"What just happened?" Reed asked.
"The man who made your son a zombie is now dead," Kane said.
"But--I don't understand. Who the hell is he?" Reed shouted, pointing towards the olive-skinned man standing silently in front of them.
"His name is Rand, and he's the zombie master. There's none stronger," Kane said.
"But, you said the zombie master who cursed my son--that man who was just here--you said he was powerful. Very powerful."
"He was. But even the most vicious dog is no match for a T-Rex," Kane answered.
"But, why? Why did he--?"
"--Help us? Because we have an agreement, he and I, which is why I've never lost a case. I help him stop those who are on the threshold of great power, thus keeping him at the top of the totem pole, so to speak, and he in turn helps me keep zombies out of the U.S. Sometimes you have to play both sides of the fence, Reed. It's how the real world works."
"What about my son? And my daughter-in-law?"
"Your son's soul will be at peace. I will see to that," Kane answered.
"And my daughter-in-law?"
Kane grimaced. "Hear me out, Reed, please, before you say anything. We--he, Rand, believed that Simone was your daughter, not your daughter-in-law, and he didn't know she was pregnant."
"So?" Reed asked, not seeing the relevance of Kane's statement.
"Simone is no longer being held by the dead zombie master. She's in Rand's custody now."
"Well, that's good, isn't it?"
"Rand's services don't come for free," Kane said.
"What are you saying?" Reed asked.
"He wants Simone. That's his price for helping you," Kane said.
"I don't understand--what do you mean he wants Simone?"
"He's not going to harm her, Reed. He wants to make her his wife."
"What the hell is this?" Reed asked. "This is extortion! And you agree with this?
You're supposed to be helping me! And if I say no, then what happens?"
"He'll return Simone to you, but--he'll prevent me from releasing Marc's soul. Your son will remain a zombie."
"So I'm supposed to choose between my son and--who would ever accept such terms? What father would give up one child for the return of another?"
"You'd be surprised. As I said, I've been doing this for ten years."
"And you're proud of yourself? Shame on you! Shame on you!"
"I told you, Reed, it's the way of the world. Without Rand, this pestilence would be all over our cities. I mean it. Listen, Reed, consider this. Rand is not only capable of releasing your son's soul, but he can return your son to life. The way he was before. And he can do the same for your wife. Think of it!"
"He possesses that kind of power?"
"Yes."
"My wife and son, alive again, like before," Reed muttered. His eyes bulged. "You're a son of a bitch, Kane! You belong to the devil, the pair of you. I'm sick of being manipulated. I listened to my wife. I listened to my son. And where did that get me? To hell with all of you! Tell Mr. South Pacific over there, no deal! Did you hear me, medicine man? You can't have my daughter-in-law! Now get out of my house! Both of you! And Kane--you take your agreement with this undesirable and stick it where the sun doesn't shine!"
* * * *
"CHEERS," Kane said glumly to the woman sitting next to him at the bar. He lifted the shot glass and downed the whiskey. For a moment it tasted good, before burning his throat. He enjoyed it all the same.
"I watched that house for three days afterwards, you know," Kane said, looking past the woman. "The son never showed. On the fourth day I was called back to Boston. That night, the son returned--. He killed them all. The father, the girl, and the unborn child. What a waste!
"Over the years, I've told myself that what I was doing was for the common good. That the good outweighed the evil. That the devil I knew was better than the devil I didn't.
"I didn't want any of them to die. And had I known the girl was pregnant, I never would have gone along with it. But that's all water under the bridge now, isn't it? They're dead."
Kane turned and made eye contact with the woman. "I want you to tell Rand that I'm through with him. Tell him that his prices have gone too high for my tastes. I also want you to warn him."
"Warn him?"
"Yes, we had an agreement, that should one of us ever decide to hunt down the other, we'd give the other fair warning. Rand's always been an honorable man. I owe him that much. I'm coming after him. I can't with good conscience allow him to operate in this world any longer. You make sure he gets the message.
The woman smiled. "He already knows your intentions. Why do you think he allowed me to meet with you? He's not honorable!"
The ice cubes in her glass rocked back and forth but did not jingle.
Kane leapt from his seat, as the bar was invaded by a perfect silence.