The Dark, the Grey, and that Other Place.Mature

Gordon could see the two grey clad figures through the frost framed window as his train slowed in to Underville Station.  Not unexpected, he thought, but a nuisance just the same.  He patted his coat pockets and sighed - he'd used his last decoy at Overeal.

An elderly woman stood and made her way to the automatic doors.  Her faded pink cardigan sagged by her sides, heavy with bulging pockets, presumably full of loose buttons of mint, a spare shoe lace, embalming fluid and other old lady things, Gordon mused.  Other passengers, who looked as if they were going to exit as well, either sat back down, or moved to a different exit.  People feared the dead or dying, following the Uberfield incident, and the elderly were the next best thing.

Gordon nodded grudgingly to himself: she would have to do.

The train stopped and the doors opened.  Gordon seized the old lady by the arm.  She yelped and tottered on the tips of her toes as she was forced out on to the platform.  Gordon shoved her in the direction of the grey men, and in a single fluid motion, parted his coat and loosed the long cold steel from its scabbard.  It flashed from his hip to high above his shoulder in a broad arc, then back home before the woman's blood spattered the station office, platform and train like the flick of a crimson soaked paint brush.

Gordon ignored the shrieks and cries from the dozen or so people on the platform, and glanced at the grey men.  It had worked.  The two figures weren't chasing him, swords drawn, ready to carve their names in his skin.  He doubted if they even remembered that he was the reason they were here.  They stood, staring at the old woman.  She was old, and her heart sluggish, but the blood pooled neatly around her in a steadily growing balloon.  Gordon hated having to use an innocent like that, but when you're dealing with stakes this high, it was an unfortunate necessity. 

One of the grey men started towards the woman, but held back.  They couldn't feed in public, and Gordon knew it.  He also knew they wanted it.  The blood was all they could understand.  The blood was all that was in their eyes and ears.

Gordon sneered at the grey men, then turned and ran for the Station exit.  The rubberneckers and fleeing commuters wouldn't pose any threat, as all their fear would now lay in the cooling corpse of the old woman.  Gordon knew that the zombies of Uberfield were an isolated incident, but the public didn't know that, and so the old woman had served as a double decoy.

Gordon rounded the corner and was about to leap the electronic turnstiles, but a white gloved hand barred his way.  Barry, or so his name tag claimed, stood resolute in a green and gold, transit uniform.

'Ticket please, sir,' he asked.  His eyes were vacant, but for a single surviving hint of public service malevolence.  Gordon hesitated for a moment, stumped by this absurdly mundane hindrance.  Barry frowned.

'Sir, do we need to have a discussion about the pros and cons of fare evasion in my office?'  Barry asked, his hint of malevolence becoming more of a sour taste.

Each death that Gordon caused was one step closer he took to the Dark, but the grey men wouldn't stay distracted for long, and he needed to be elsewhere very quickly to stop the...

The End

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