The doors of the dressing room rattled, and more familiar gurgles slid between the frames. The entrance to the area was more of an open space with four red doors on each side of the walkway and a mirror standing at the far end of the wall. A few doors shook with captive corpses.
“I got it,” James said.
Without hesitation, I turned and said, “Give me a blade.” It wasn’t meant to be a demand, but it came out as one.
“James can take care of it,” Hector answered.
“That’s great. So can I,” I responded. “Blade, please. Now.”
Hector looked at the other two men before rolling his head and reaching for the knife clasped in his belt. “I’m so getting my ass handed to me,” he hummed.
The knife was larger than anticipated and I did my best to keep my expression stagnant as I exchanged the Beretta for the blade.
“Ladies first.” James stepped aside, waving his arms in a mocking fashion.
Moving around the counter, I stepped over a precarious pile of abandoned clothing knocked down from the returns area. I approached the first door on the right, my eyes glued to the jiggling doorknob that rattled each time the woman on the other side threw her body against it. I held the blade with a balled fist, like I was about to punch someone. My right arm was close to my ear, knuckles white and fingers sweaty. A sudden rush of adrenalin fueled my leg, and I kicked at the door. It swung against a body, allowing the dead woman inside to get a good lunge at me. I faltered for a moment, her arms getting past mine and sliding across my face. It was like she was coming in for a kiss, her mouth wide and aimed right for mine.
Blood flew across my face as James brought his knife through the top of her head. He tossed her body back before she could topple all her dead weight on me. James stared down, only his green eyes visible. But I was drawn to the way his mouth moved beneath the gaiter, as though he were chewing on something. A rattling ensued for a moment before the noise halted and he demanded, “Try again.”
As if I needed some lesson, James moved around me to the next door. He counted the thuds before kicking it in. A dead woman came flying out, all her weight propelling her toward the man who wasted no time in driving the blade up her chin and out her nose. He pushed the woman down before looking in my direction. He would be disappointed if he expected me to clap.
As he went for his next kill, I prepared myself for mine to be successful. There was an exponential difference between killing a corpse with a gun and killing one with a blade. With a gun, the bullet pushed the creature’s body backwards, but with a blade, it almost pulled them closer. There was no shock or pain evident in their eyes, but there was an unnerving sense of recognition.
Adrenalin fueled my leg that kicked the next door, revealing behind it one of the thinnest creatures I had ever seen. Setting aside the desire to ponder the rate of her decay, I slammed her against the mirror and stabbed the blade between her eyes.
I retreated from the small space just in time to catch James approaching the last door on my side. He ignored my territorial glare and kicked in the door. The woman falling forward had brown curly hair, once fluffed by what had probably been an entire can of hair spray. She wore only a bra and pair of jeans, clearly having been attacked during the middle of a fitting. Satisfied with her second death, James let the door fall back. He narrowed his eyes as he walked past.
The tinniest cry froze us both. It was light, but equally breathy as the others. Mine and James’ eyes met before we looked back down the walkway. I followed him to the location of his recent kill, where he pressed lightly against the glossy red door.
“No.” My despair was but an exhale.
Buckled into an orange and pink flowered stroller sat a small, thin child. She couldn’t have been more than two years-old. A thick line of blood seeped through her white lace dress, as though she had attempted to pull free from the strap holding her back. The bow atop her head was askew, once pulling golden curls into a little tuft. There was a large gouge in her head, as if she had become the snack for her changing mother. Now the toddler’s skin was a sickly gray, and her cheeks had hollowed so much that the edges of her facial bone were poking through. Her tiny hands reached out to us, not with desire to be held but with a hunger twice her size.
A thick clump of saliva lodged in my throat, forcing a painful swallow. I looked to James, but his focus remained on the thrashing child. Her mouth opened in wet, broken sounds. It wasn’t a quick kill. It couldn’t be. This was a choice; a moral dilemma.
The knife hovered in James’s hand, its tip trembling just enough to betray him through the reflection of the stall’s mirror. His brows were drawn tight, yet his face had gone unnervingly still. The tension lived in his eyes, glassy and strained, not etched into his skin. He wasn’t fueled by rage. There was no cruelty in his posture, no pleasure in the power.
This was mercy. And the realization hollowed me out, because compassion was the last thing I ever expected from James; and somehow, that made the moment unbearable.
The rotting child continued its cries, huffing and puffing as though it was a great and mighty thing to be feared. The way she twisted and tugged against the straps embedding further into her body left me heartbroken.
The words needed to hasten the act failed me, so I did the only thing I could: I placed a hand on James’ left forearm. It was meant to be a light and gentle act, a gesture to let him know it was okay, and no one would hold it against him.
Without a second thought, James brought the blade down on the child. Its sputters were instantly muted, and the little creature fell limp. Its tiny lips were parted into a perfect circle. It lay there in a warped sense of peace, its big eyes forever frozen wide.
“Even the small ones are monsters,” James breathed.
James then jerked away, pushing past me with a returned coldness. This time I couldn’t hold it against him. Hector and Cory perked up upon our return, two kills of their own lying at their feet.
“All clear?” Hector inquired.
“All clear,” stated James.