Free Sins of the Undead Patriot by a.c. Mason Page B

large room with a sofa and TV. A zombie rose at the sight of him. Delmar.
    “The police are on their way!” Vaihan shouted to the patrons grunting and groaning. “If I were you, I’d get out of here as fast as humanly possible.”
    A man appeared from the far door, shoving his hard penis back in his pants, and shuffled past him. His escape was followed by three more.
    “Traitor.” Delmar sneered at him.
    His accusation came as no surprise. Many of his people felt he went too far in upholding what humans wanted his kind to be. Truth was, he felt they should be better than humans, given the centuries most undead lived, and still they were corrupt for nothing more than capital gain. Sad, really. Eight young women lay helpless behind those doors, addicted to the most potent drug, with little chance of a normal life. What scum like Delmar thought held no power over him.
    “You can come with me in one, or many pieces. That’s up to you.” Vaihan withdrew his sword. The only time he got to let the urge out to play was when he hunted his own kind. He took out the trash with pleasure.
    “Fuck you.”
    “I really did hope you’d say that.” Vaihan raised his sword. “Eight pieces seems only fair, one for each of the women.”
    * * * *
    The opera singer Measha Brueggergosman’s powerful voice poured out from the speakers in Vaihan’s car as he pulled up to the facility. The pitch of her tone vibrated through his body, relaxing him.
    He turned off the engine, to the screaming of Delmar in the trunk. Did he think someone would rescue him? The idea amused Vaihan.
    Marty stood by the secure door, chewing gum and pacing as Vaihan climbed out.
    “Quitting?” Again. The biannual attempts were just before his birthday and New Year’s, which meant the man was intolerable half the year. He’d yet to last more than two months. Given the work he did for the government, it was admirable he’d lasted as long as he had. The fact that he smoked made him unappealing as a meal for the undead. Added protection. Marty was head of the undead Z-class experts in the government. Each class had an expert, but Z-class were the only ones recognized as proven to exist. Officially.
    “The government of Slovakia contacted our military. They said they had an item of interest. A diary. As they wer e tearing down a building in Kraľovany, Slovakia. Best guess is the journal is from about the tenth century. The text is written in the old alphabet of Glagolitsa–old Slavonic, perhaps?”
    Vaihan could have cleared that up some time ago but didn’t need to give the government one more reason to call upon him. In 845, as an officer in the military, he was tutored in reading and writing.
    “What’s mind blowing is, the diary belonged to a doctor who seems to have restored an undead to human. If this is true, do you know what this means?”
    “That there is a cure for what ails me?”
    “That too. But it also means there is a way to kill your kind, once restored. We don’t know how he managed to do this yet. We have a linguist working on the text. A good friend.”
    Vaihan pulled the eight trash bags from his trunk. If there was a cure, not all undead would agree to return to human form. Would the government force them to undergo the process or keep the knowledge a secret? This would definitely open Pandora’s box. The military could turn soldiers, send them to war and then turn them back into humans.
    “Hope you find what you are looking for.” Vaihan swiped his security pass.
    Marty nodded, head down. He knew the consequences as well as Vaihan and would ensure they weren’t uncovered. Just as Marty safeguarded the information about detecting shape-shifters.
    “If you come upon some theories you’d like to test, keep me in mind,” Vaihan said.
    A gleam shone in his eyes. “Will do.”
    Vaihan carried the garbage bags down the hall to the door with a Z on it. Muffled noises came from inside. He turned on the concrete machine and tossed one