 |
 |
 |
 |
 |
 |
 |
 |
 |
 |
Introduction
Monthly Poll
2001 Archive
2002 Archive
2003 Archive
2005 Archive
Sequel Poll
2001 Archive
2005 Archive
2009 Archive
Fan Fiction
Fan Art
Tidbits
Movie
In Print
Radio
T.V.
Miscellaneous
Events
Site Map
Guestbook
Forum
Fan Fiction: Short Stories
Chapter 5:
Steakknives and Zombies THE slumped figure turned into the hallway. He walked for what seemed like
a mile, but was only fifteen feet. He walked right into the door, which was ajar,
and opened it with his body as he entered the room. He stood in the doorway, head leaning
slightly to one side, breathing deeply. "I'm telling you, a body just doesn't get up and walk out of a room," Wainwright Barth said, cutting into his usual: prime rib. Lamont Cranston listened absent-mindedly, not really wanting to be there. He would have preferred to be elsewhere, either home or--more so--The Sanctum. He had a feeling that his ring would be signaling him before the evening was over, informing him of a need for The Shadow, and he would again have to leave in the middle of dinner with his uncle. He had ordered Burbank to put all the New York agents on alert before leaving The Sanctum, in the event that something happened while he was at dinner. And that nagging feeling he had told him something would. Deciding to put the evening to use, he asked, "So how are things coming with that case?" He sipped his drink. Barth shook his head in confusion, cutting over another piece of steak and popping it into his mouth. "The hell if I know. It's the most bizarre thing ever." He finished chewing and swallowed, then said, "A man is shot, nearly point blank in the chest, falls to the ground, is pronounced dead at the scene, hauled off to the coroner's office, then wakes up and walks out of the room? It's absurd." "What do you think happened then?" "I say the body was stolen." "By whom? For what purpose?" "I don't know. The city's full of nuts." He bit into a piece of buttered bread, chewed, washed it down with a glass of water, then cut off another piece of steak and ate it. "What about those heists the other night?" Lamont asked. "Any idea who had a hand in stopping them?" Barth nodded, hurrying to finish a piece of a steak. "A couple people reported seeing that damn Shadow character again," he said, and took a quick drink. "That third heist he broke up, he's lucky he didn't kill any innocent civilians." "How so?" "Apparently, one of the suspects was trying to get away in a truck, and The Shadow made it crash. Right in the middle of the street." Lamont nodded. "Well, at least he got the job done." The sporting goods store was closing down for the night. Some employees went about counting down the registers, while others began restocking shelves. The manager was in the back office, door open, taking care of the day's paperwork. The front window shattered, spraying into the store. The employees screamed out. The manager came rushing from the office. "What's going on?" he shouted, and froze in his tracks. Through the window shuffled at least eight or nine men, all of them rather dirty, wearing even dirtier ragged clothing, and moving with a slow walk, one step at a time. Their heads were slightly titled. Another man suddenly appeared through the window, but he was younger and looked in better shape. Dressed in a robe, he held a sword with a shiny blade in one hand. "Nobody move," Gustavo ordered in a calm, controlled voice, "and you won't be hurt. Everybody on the floor. Now!" The employees complied without question. Lamont was scooping up a spoonfull of mashed potatoes when he caught sight of his ring glowing. He knew it would happen sooner or later. Setting the spoon back on his plate, he stood and said, "Excuse me, Uncle Wainwright, but I have to go use the restroom really quick." Barth just gave a wave of his hand, still concentrating on his meal. "Take your time," he said, and didn't notice that his nephew was already gone. Lamont saw Shrevy pulling up to the curb as he emerged from the Cobalt Club in a hurry, pulling his jacket on. He quickly slipped in the back. "The Sanctum." The club and The Sanctum both in the vicinity of Time Square, they were there in no time, less than two minutes. "Wait here," Lamont said, and climbed out, hurrying down the alley. Shrevy sat in the cab patiently. In the years he had been doing his job, he had learned to deal with long waits. He tapped his fingers on the steering wheel, whistling a forgotten tune, and estimated it had only been about a minute when his boss suddenly returned, so fast that the door was closing before he even knew he was even inside. "Gibson Sporting Goods," Lamont said. Shrevy nodded that he knew where it was and stepped on the gas. He glanced into the rearview mirror moments later, and the reflection of Lamont Cranston had been replaced with that of The Shadow. Gustavo stood still, watching as the zombies emptied the cash registers. The employees were still lying on the floor, hands on their heads, complying. Several of the zombies having sacks full of money, they proceeded to head out of the store, back to the truck waiting outside. Gustavo looked down. "Which one of you is the manager?" None of them answered. He raised the sword and asked again. "Which one of you is the manager?" "I am," the man said, holding one hand up. Gustavo lowered the sword and stepped over to him. "Stand up." The manager, Ted, did so quickly. "Wha--what can I do, do for you?" he asked nervously. "You have a safe." "Ye--yes." "Open it." He nodded. "Uh, okay. Okay. It's this way." Gustavo followed him to the office door and stood in the opening to keep watch on the other employees. The managed crouched beside his desk and began turning the dial of the safe, then swung the door open. Gustavo tossed him a sack. "Fill it," he ordered. The manager grabbed the bag from the floor and began quickly putting stacks of bills inside. The rest of the zombies headed outside to wait in the truck. The employees traded looks, as if some were hinting at an attempt to escape. One girl shook her head, no. The man looked back to see Gustavo at the office door, looking into the room at the moment. He quietly got to his feet and started for the door. "Stop!" a voice shouted, and the man with the sword was upon him before he knew it. The employee yelled as Gustavo grabbed him by the arm and spun him around, raising the sword into the air. The other employees screamed as the sword started to come down, but it was all interrupted by something sudden. Laughter. They looked around in confusion. Who would be laughing at a situation like this? They thought. The laughter was constant, almost hysterical-sounding. Gustavo released his grip on the employee, and he quickly moved out of the way to be with the other employees, who had gotten up on their knees. "Who is there?" Gustavo demanded, clutching the sword in both hands. "I ask you! Who is there?" The laughing stopped, and the employees, now on their feet, hurried into the office and shut the door. "So you're the mastermind behind these crimes," a voice said. "You have a slave of zombies to do your bidding, while you stand there and look intimidating." "Show yourself!" Gustavo shouted, turning in circles. "Show yourself, and I'll show that I wasn't just looking intimidating!" Another laugh, followed by silence. Gustavo stepped toward the shattered window to peer outside. He saw nobody. A fist suddenly hit him in the face, and he stumbled back. At least, it felt like a fist. That was all he could tell, because he couldn't see a fist. Another punch to his fact, then to his stomach. He backed away quickly, raising the sword. "Who are you? Show yourself! Fight like a man!" He was suddenly shoved forward into a shelve. He put out a hand to stop himself and turned thickly. With a scream of frustration, he began swinging the sword through the store wildly, breaking glass display cases and shattering shelves. At one point, he swung the sword around and heard a grunt, as if someone had been hit by the blade. He brought the sword back and looked at it: the tip of the blade had blood on it. His lips formed a twisted smile. Then, a few feet to one side, a figure seemed to emerge out of thin air, and Miguel Gustavo found himself staring face to face with The Shadow. He charged forward with a scream, bringing the sword up into the air. The Shadow met him halfway, and they struggled for control of the weapon until a right cross from The Shadow sent Gustavo and sword flying. Recovering quickly, Gustavo charged and grabbed The Shadow in a foward-facing bear hug. He lifted him off his feet and flung him around, letting go. The Shadow crashed into a display case and struggled to get back to his feet. Gustavo came in fast, grabbing The Shadow and lifting him off his feet again. The Shadow could only hang onto the man's wrists as Gustavo, still holding The Shadow a good three feet or so off the ground, carried him across the floor of the store and slammed him into a shelving unit on one wall. The Shadow grunted in pain as his back was repeatedly slammed against the shelves. Realizing his attempt to pry the man's strong hands from his upper arms was useless, The Shadow instead brought his forearms up between the other man's and quickly pulled them apart, and it was enough to break the grip. He fell to the floor and was up just as quick to catch Gustavo as he came charging once more. Finally in control of the struggle, The Shadow couldn't help but be distracted by a peculiar smell that had suddenly appeared in the store, and he looked to see a zombie hurling a lamp upon him. The Shadow threw an arm up to protect him, taking the brunt of the impact with his forearm and falling to his side. Gustavo scrambled to his feet and forced his shoulder into a tall shelving unit, knocking it over onto The Shadow. He retrieved his sword from the other side of the room and said, "Come." The zombie followed him out the window. The Shadow struggled to push the shelf away and got to his feet, running for the window. He climbed through and stepped outside just in time to see the taillights of the truck disappear around the corner. He glanced down at the sidewalk and spotted something. Crouching, he touched it with a gloved hand. It was a gooey substance, pale in color, from what he could see it the dim light of the nearest street lamp. Behind him, Shrevy pulled up to the curb, and the rear door opened. The Shadow slipped inside. "Drive." Shrevy's foot sent the gas pedal to the floor. |
© copyright 2003 - Present
The Shadow: Master of Darkness
The Shadow is copyrighted by Advance Magazine Publishers, Inc. Disclaimer
The Shadow: Master of Darkness
The Shadow is copyrighted by Advance Magazine Publishers, Inc. Disclaimer