NOVEL WEB Chapter 32: Babysitting an undead
[CRITICAL WARNING: GHOUL HOLLOW MARCUS IN TERMINAL STATE]
[IMMEDIATE ACTION REQUIRED]
[OPTION: INVEST 200 ME TO INITIATE EMERGENCY REATTACHMENT]
[ACCEPT? Y/N]
Kaine didn't hesitate. The thought came automatically, and he felt the mortal essence drain from his reserves.
[EMERGENCY REATTACHMENT INITIATED]
[MORTAL ESSENCE: 550/750]
He carefully positioned Marcus's severed head near the ghoul's neck, watching as pale tendrils of energy began connecting tissue to tissue. The process was horrifying to witness—flesh knitting together with wet, organic sounds that made Gwen take an involuntary step backward.
The reattachment progressed halfway before stopping abruptly.
[REATTACHMENT PROCESS HALTED]
[INSUFFICIENT NUTRITIONAL RESERVES DETECTED]
[GHOUL HOLLOW REQUIRES FRESH ORGANIC MATTER TO COMPLETE REVIVAL]
[RECOMMENDED: HUMAN FLESH - RECENTLY DECEASED PREFERRED]
Kaine stared at the message floating in his vision, his expression shifting to one of pure disbelief. He looked at Gwen, who was watching him with growing concern.
"What the fuck," he muttered under his breath.
"What's wrong?" Gwen asked, noting his expression. "Is he going to be okay?"
Kaine looked down at Marcus, whose head was now grotesquely attached at an odd angle, black fluid seeping from the incomplete connection. "We need to leave. Now."
"Leave? Where can we go—the hospital?"
"No." The word came out sharper than he'd intended. "No hospitals. We need to go to your place."
Gwen's eyes widened. "Hell no. There's absolutely no way I'm taking this—" she gestured at Marcus, "—this suspiciously pale man with half his head hanging off his neck into my apartment. What if he dies?"
Kaine sighed, running a hand through his hair. The situation was getting more complicated by the second. "Actually, you need to take Marcus to your house. I need to go somewhere else. Quickly."
"What?" Gwen's voice pitched higher. "You want me to babysit your... whatever he is... while you disappear?"
Kaine knelt beside Marcus, who was making soft gurgling sounds through his partially attached throat. "Hang on, Marcus. And behave yourself."
Gwen frowned at the odd phrasing. "What does that mean, 'behave yourself'?"
"I'll explain later." Kaine stood, already moving toward the roof's edge. "I'm trusting you with this, Patricia. I'll be back as soon as I can."
"Wait, where are you—"
But Kaine had already leaped from the building, disappearing into the maze of rooftops below with inhuman agility.
Gwen stood alone on the rooftop, staring at the space where he'd been. "What the hell have I gotten myself into?"
She looked down at Marcus, who was attempting to sit up despite his condition. His movements were unsteady, and the wet sounds coming from his throat made her stomach turn. Her motorcycle was parked three blocks away—she'd brought it tonight thinking it would help her catch up to Kaine more easily.
"Okay," she said to herself, then louder to Marcus. "Can you walk?"
Marcus turned his head toward her—or tried to. The motion was jerky, unnatural, and his head tilted at an angle that should have been impossible. But he managed a slight nod.
Gwen helped him to his feet, and immediately regretted it. His skin was cold under her hands, unnaturally cold, like touching marble in winter. She pressed her fingers to his wrist, searching for a pulse, but found nothing. No heartbeat, no warmth, no sign of life except for the fact that he was moving.
"Jesus," she whispered.
Getting him down from the roof proved to be a nightmare. Marcus could walk, but his coordination was shot. He stumbled frequently, and she had to catch him twice when he nearly fell down the fire escape. Up close, she could hear him making soft grunting sounds, wet and guttural, like someone trying to speak through a throat full of fluid.
Her motorcycle was a sleek black Kawasaki that she'd bought during a brief rebellious phase but rarely used. She stared at it now, then at Marcus, trying to figure out the logistics of getting a partially decapitated man onto the back of a bike.
"Okay, we need to put this on you," she said, holding up the spare helmet. Marcus stared at it blankly. "Your head is... not exactly in the right position for this."
She tried to slide the helmet over his head, but it caught on the uneven angle of his neck. The helmet pressed against the incomplete attachment point, and Marcus made a sound that might have been pain or protest.
"Sorry, sorry," Gwen muttered, adjusting the helmet's position. It sat crooked on his head, but it would have to do.
Getting him onto the bike was even worse. Marcus seemed to understand the concept of sitting, but his balance was off. He gripped her waist with hands that felt like ice through her jacket, and she had to fight the urge to shudder.
"Hold on tight," she said, then immediately wondered if that was wise advice to give someone whose head was barely attached.
The ride to her apartment took fifteen minutes that felt like hours. Marcus's grip on her waist never loosened, but she could feel him swaying behind her at every turn. Twice she had to slow down when she heard that wet gurgling sound intensify, afraid he might be choking on something.
Her apartment building was a converted warehouse in the arts district, the kind of place that attracted people who valued exposed brick and high ceilings over conventional comfort. She managed to get Marcus up two flights of stairs and through her front door without encountering any neighbors, for which she was profoundly grateful.
"Okay," she said, guiding him to her couch. "Just... lie down. Rest."
Marcus collapsed onto the cushions with all the grace of a marionette with cut strings. His head lolled to one side, and Gwen could see the dark fluid still seeping from where his neck was trying to heal.
She retrieved her medical kit from the bathroom, then stood staring at it helplessly. What was she supposed to do? Bandage a severed head? Apply pressure to a clearly supernatural wound? The absurdity of the situation hit her like a physical blow.
"This is insane," she said to her empty apartment. "He lost his head. His entire head. And he's sitting on my couch."
Marcus wasn't a vampire—she was certain of that much. Vampires didn't survive decapitation, and they certainly didn't sit around making gurgling noises afterward. So what was he? And what did that make Kaine?
A sound from her kitchen interrupted her spiraling thoughts. She turned to see Marcus standing by her refrigerator, his movements jerky but purposeful. The helmet had fallen off somewhere between the couch and the kitchen, and his head hung at that same unnatural angle.
He was fumbling with the refrigerator handle, his coordination too poor to manage the simple task of opening the door.
Gwen approached slowly, her hand instinctively moving toward Nightfall before she forced herself to relax. She set her sword aside on the kitchen counter.
"Do you want something to drink?" she asked carefully. "Water? I think I have some beer. Or... tequila?"
Marcus turned toward her, and she got her first good look at his face since the attack. His skin was pale gray, his eyes clouded, and there was something fundamentally wrong with the way he focused on her. He stared blankly for several seconds, then turned back to the refrigerator.
Gwen opened the door for him, stepping back to give him space. Marcus reached inside and pulled out a package of sliced ham. Without ceremony, he tore open the plastic and began eating the meat with his bare hands, ripping off chunks and swallowing them with disturbing abandon.
"Okay," Gwen said faintly. "That's... sure. Help yourself."
Marcus finished half the package, then wandered back toward the living room as if nothing had happened. Gwen stood in her kitchen, staring at the remaining ham and trying to process what she'd just witnessed.
An hour passed with no word from Kaine. She tried calling his phone, but it went straight to voicemail. Marcus had been sitting motionless on her couch, and she'd almost managed to convince herself that whatever was wrong with him had stabilized.
Then he stood up.
The movement was sudden, predatory in a way that made every instinct she'd developed as a hunter scream warnings. Marcus turned toward her, and there was something different in his clouded eyes—something hungry.
He took a step forward, then another. His movements were still unsteady, but there was purpose in them now, a focus that hadn't been there before.
"Marcus?" Gwen said, her voice carefully controlled. "You need to relax. I don't know what's happening to you, but I'm sure you don't want this."
She began backing toward the kitchen counter where she'd left Nightfall, her eyes never leaving Marcus's face. He tilted his head, the motion causing that wet sound again, and continued advancing.
"Whatever you're thinking," she said, her fingers finding her sword's hilt, "you need to fight it. Kaine is coming back. He'll know what to do."
Marcus paused for a moment, as if considering her words. Then his lips pulled back in what might have been a snarl, revealing teeth that seemed sharper than they had been before.
He lunged at her with inhuman speed, and Gwen barely had time to draw Nightfall before he was on her.