The Death Thief

Raid

I awoke to a cement ceiling coated in a sloppy paint job, the glossy white made all the more garish by the viciously bright fluorescent lights. I squinted, a groan rolling past my lips as I shifted to the side. I was on a stiff cot, my surrounding walls all white-coated cinder block, except for one. The wall adjoining my room to the rest of the building was composed of iron bars. Apparently I had found myself in a jail cell.

To my own surprise, my heart fluttered with relief. I'd been found. I wasn't alone.

That being said, I would have certainly preferred waking up in a hospital bed with dutiful nurses administering to me. Then they could take care of the twisting hunger and torturous headache that had conjured up one hell of a hallucination. I felt certain I'd come across a dead body, finding myself in a jail cell seemed to confirm that. However, the proceeding rise of that dead body was, without a doubt, a delusion of a harried mind.

I sighed, not certain how best to explain to the officers that I had nothing to do with the young woman's death, but also content that I had been located and was safe, once again, in the grips of civilization.

"Hello, would you mind if we tried again with the whole exchanging of names thing?" A face popped into my periphery and Bungee's long, thin countenance looked practically skeletal in the harsh light.

"Murderer!" I screamed, pushing myself up from the cot before tumbling off of it in my hurry to distance myself from my assailant. "Stay away from me!"

"Come on, are we still at this point?" he whined.

"Both of you shut it."

I turned towards the sound of a new voice, a gruff growl coated with a thick layer of annoyance. At first all I found was a couple of metal filing cabinets, a meticulously organized desk, and a long waist-high shelf bursting with folios, books, and folders. However, after a few moments, a scruffy head rose up into view from behind the shelf.

Adjusting my position, I caught sight of a second desk whose tabletop was decorated with coffee rings and littered with paperwork. Seated there was a beast of a man with wide shoulders, thick chest, and a mane of rich brown hair that bordered a shade of dark auburn. His eyes were shadowed by a heavy brow that could not hide the dark circles beneath them. After he assessed the impact of his demand, he huffed and laid his head back down on his crossed arms in what appeared to be an attempt to nap.

"Sorry Sheriff," whispered Bungee with a nervous grin. Then, he turned back to me. "Look, whatever you think of me, I'm clearly not going to do anything here. As you can see, Sheriff Hathaway could snap me in two without breaking a sweat."

I granted him that was a rather safe assumption, but I maintained my position in the corner of the cell. He didn't approach me again, instead, he sat down with a pleased smile on a bench across from me.

"They couldn't find any ID on you," he said, a look of pity in his eyes. "What's your name?"

"Why should I tell you?"

"I guess no particular reason," he said with a shrug. "I will hear of it eventually. It's a small town."

"You assume you'll be freed."

"Well, if I'm not, I'll hear it when the sheriffs question you. They got Calista in the only interrogation room right now and the way she's feeling, she isn't going to want to come out anytime soon." He sighed and looked away. "She always took such good care of her hair."

"But she's dead," I said slowly.

"Oh, you are going to have a long night." He shook his head and I caught the unwanted sympathy that twisted his thin lips into a frown.

I was about to ask him to elaborate, but then a new man burst into the room, the front door slamming against the wall, causing the sheriff to cringe with an angry growl.

"Bungee!" the new man shouted, looking around the room, his eyes stopping once he hit the cell. "Come on, we're leaving." Though a man of average height and build, when he strode across the room, it was impossible to miss the power in his sense of self-confidence.

"Raid," commanded Sheriff Hathaway as he rose up from his chair. "We need to talk."

"What's there to talk about?" he snapped. He looked to be about five years younger than the sheriff, probably somewhere around my own age at the time, which was twenty-three. Yet he talked back to him like they stood on even ground. Of course, his shaved head, well-loved jeans, and leather bomber jacket cast him as a rebel in the unforgiving light. He even had a number of pink scars etched along his face to add to his tough facade.

"We're allowed any dead meat within town limits, whether it was once a Body or not," he continued, using his finger to jab at the air to punctuate his point while he stared down the rather tall figure of the sheriff. "How the person became dead isn't our concern. Bungee was just hungry. We're all hungry."

"Hungry enough to kill?" asked the sheriff, and though the question was a clear accusation, I noticed a sort of laziness in his conviction. Apparently Raid had as well.

"Do you even have proof she was murdered Everett?" he demanded.

"No," answered a new, feminine voice, whose soft, low tone lulled the mind away with a coaxing purr. "But it is hard to believe that a young, healthy woman just died on the outskirts of town."

The owner of the voice eventually stepped into view of the cell. She wore a uniform similar to the one the sheriff had on and I noted how the badges on their chest were identical. That, however, was the extent of their similarities. Where he was large, rough, and aggressive, she was lithe, manicured, and calm. Her long, dark hair was tied back in a low ponytail without a single strand out of place. Her skin was flawless and yet I couldn't find any evidence of makeup to accentuate her lush lips and piercing honey-colored eyes.

"However," added Everett, "trauma to the head could easily kill her and your guy has conveniently masked that possibility by tearing up her scalp and cracking her skull."

"Do you not do autopsies here?" The question just fumbled out of my mouth, directing themselves to Bungee despite the fact such a procedure would potentially implicate him. He had, however, been the only one to actually notice me and at that point, my confusion over the proceedings overrode any sense or reason I had left. Unfortunately, the only reply I got was another pitying bend of his brow. If he was going to answer me verbally though, he wouldn't have the chance.

"Who is this sick fuck?" demanded Raid as he drew his attention to my corner of the cell.

"She's a new Body, she doesn't know yet," groaned the sheriff as he massaged his forehead.

"Raid," cooed the woman, "we don't have enough to hold Bungee on murder, but we can hold him on account of maiming a zombie. Should he agree to the charge and accept punishment, then you can take him."

"What do I have to do?" asked Bungee, who was now pressed against the bars with a hopeful glint in his eyes.

"Cover the cost of her scalp repair," the woman said simply.

"Right, that's fair," replied Bungee, who looked to Raid for approval. The man huffed, his jaw tight and his lips pinched, but he eventually nodded. Then he looked back to the eerily calm woman. "I...I'll find some way to cover the costs."

"Then you can go, right Sheriff Hathaway?" She turned to her partner and though it took him a minute, he eventually stepped away from Raid and gave them a nod. The woman unlocked the cell and ushered Bungee out, who, in turn, took her hand in his.

"Thank you Sheriff," he said, giving her hand a shake. "I promise I'll fix her, I didn't mean no harm."

"You do that Bungee," she replied.

Raid put his arm around Bungee's shoulders, giving me one last disdainful look before pulling his companion along and heading for the door. However, before they could leave, Everett got one last punch in.

"Don't forget Raid," he said in a booming voice that was much too powerful for the tiny building, "Calista is part of your clan now too."

Raid paused, but he didn't acknowledge the statement, instead he walked Bungee through the door in silence.