Then, flames burst out of the open end in an orange tangle, licking along the sides and traveling toward Brett's hands. Just before Brett dropped the tube, Carson leaned into the flames.
The fire hovered all around Carson's face but left him untouched.
John and I had about exactly three seconds to exchange a look, what the hell?
Jonesy, never one for internal dialogue asked in a panic, “What the hell is this?”
Brett backed away from Carson, who turned to us with an evil grin. Fire was still moving around his face in a wave. He held out his hand, and a small blue-centered flame swept down his arm and hovered just above his palm.
“So you were saying, Hart? You want to go chew some glass? Sounds like a good plan to me.”
Beautiful, Carson the Comedian.
We stood speechless.
Carson was a fire starter, and Jonesy, the plan man, hadn't counted on that.
Zero contingency plan. Nada, zilch, zip.
John said, “Listen, it was just a joke. You've been up Caleb's ass since forever, and it was just a little payback. You don't need to torch us.”
Carson put on an innocent face.
Bad.
“I'm not gonna torch you guys.” He switched to an evil expression and nodded at me. “Just him.”
And with that delightful objective, he pulled his hand back, readying to throw the ball o' flame.
Jade gasped, and I gave her a hard shove to get her out of the literal line of fire.
Jonesy shrieked, “Hey!”
But John shocked me. He stepped right into Carson. The two of them collided, the fire halting mid-throw. A crazy flame floated between Carson and me, sputtering and flickering.
With a roar, Carson leaped forward, trying to recapture the flame, but John tackled him. They both went down, and the flame died.
“Get off me, Terran!” Carson roared. He grabbed John by his frizzy mass of hair and pulled.
“Hey! Let go!” John gave Carson an elbow to the nose.
Blood sprayed. Carson howled and grabbed his nose. At the same time, he kicked John right in the knee. John went down, holding his knee.
Well... damn.
I ran over to break up the fight before the whole world figured out that something was going on besides a practical joke. Out of the corner of my eye, I spotted someone at the entrance to the cemetery.
I turned to get a better look and realized it was Jade’s dad. His fists were clenched, the wind lifting his sweating hair off his forehead. Fists clenched as his chest rose and fell in great, swooping lungfuls. I was struck by how much he looked like Brett's dad but in a lot better shape.
His timing blew.
I swung my head in Jade's direction. She was still sitting on the ground where I’d shoved her. I felt bad because I hadn’t meant to push her that hard. She gave me the I'm caught stare.
This just kept getting better and better.
Her dad hollered, “Jade! What in the blue hell are you doin' hanging out with this pack of boys?” His face had flushed an alarming purple color.
Jade scrambled to her feet and ran. Mr. Scary was stalking over the graves, his fists like great meaty hammers, coming to nail us.
Remembering Jade and I worked like complements, I grabbed her hand as she passed by me and flung out every bit of my power.
Like a great flowing river, the power left my body.
For a moment, nothing happened.
Then, the graves in front of Jade’s dad burst open, sod and dirt exploding in every direction. Hands followed as the dead began to rise.
My dead.
Starting from my toes, the full flesh crawl climbed my body.
Jade chanted softly, “No, no, no.”
“I think I can take it from here,” I said, stepping away from her.
Like a freight train, Jade's dad hesitated at the junction, not sure what track to choose. Those pesky zombies will give a person pause.
He flung his arms wide, indicating the corpses. “What is this?”
Violence wasn't the only thing that Brett and Jade's fathers had in common. The smell of alcohol preceded him by a mile.
A collection of corpses stood amongst the graves, eyes vacant, waiting for direction. I stepped forward, and they all swung their heads to face me.
I pointed a finger at Jade's dad. “Protect us from him.”
He frowned.
“Come here, Jade. You don't need to be hanging out with them losers.”
“No, Daddy. I won't ever come back,” Jade said, but taking a step toward him.
She turned to me and shook her head.
I didn’t let go. “No fucking way, Jade.”
The corpses started to get agitated. One shambled forward, keeping his eyes on Jade's dad, who had begun to inch closer.
The corpses closed in on him, a tidal wave of death to shore.
Oh geez. It was the first one I had raised, the accident, Clyde. Fluke of flukes. In the whole graveyard, I couldn't raise a new corpse? I guessed that raising a zombie more than once wasn't a good thing.
“I have risen again,” Clyde said in his gravelly voice. “For what purpose, necromancer? For what purpose?”
The other zombies, all in various stages of rot, stared at me.
“I'm sorry.” I pointed at Jade’s dad. “This guy is going to put a serious pounding on us, and I need help.”
Her dad said, “A bunch of dead people ain't gonna matter to me, boy! I'm gettin' my girl back, and there ain't shit from shinola you can do about it!”
He lunged forward.
I felt intent form in my mind. I didn't have to say anything. The corpses knew.
We were of one mind, the zombies and I.
Clyde swung his arm in the path of Jade's dad, clotheslining him. LeClerc's progress effectively halted, he turned and waded into the batch of corpses. He threw a punch at Clyde, but all he got for his trouble was some black ooze on his hand.
Clyde slapped his hands on either side of LeClerc's head, boxing the drunk’s ears. Jade’s dad howled and kneed Clyde in the gut. Clyde fell and rolled down the small knoll, just out of sight.
Holy shit.
Jade's dad hissed a sound of fierce triumph and turned to grab his prize, Jade leaning backward in avoidance. The other four corpses took their cue, moving forward as a single unit, laying their collective hands on him.
An awkward dance began. Jade's dad swung at corpses, knocking them down. They would immediately get up again and go for him. Meanwhile, Clyde shambled up the hill, steady and slow, making his way back to the fray.
John asked, “Shouldn't we, like, get outta here? And while we're at it, can you get them, you know, back?”
“Are they going to hurt him?” Jade asked.
I shook my head. “Nah, not unless I tell them to.”
“Hey, dude,” Jonesy said, tilting his head in the direction of the ruckus, “you sure on that? ’Cause they seem kinda enthusiastic.”
One zombie was banging the drunk’s head on the grass.
I called out, “Hey! Quit that! No head-banging.”
The zombie stopped with a dissatisfied grunt.
“Okay, you two,” I said, pointing at John and Jonesy, “get Jade home… fast.”
“What about...?” John gestured at Carson and Brett, who wore identical expressions of fascinated surprise.
I walked over to Carson with the zombie noise part of the background melee.
“Keep an eye on my zombies,” I threw over my shoulder at the Jonester.
Jonesy's eyes became like saucers. “Who me? Have John do it. He's good at that sorta thing.”
John glared at him. “So I've done so much zombie-sitting, right?”
Kinda busy here. “Both of you then, just 'til I'm done talking to these guys.”
Taking Jade’s hand, I walked over to Carson.
I felt better with her next to me.
Carson gave me a smug smile. “Having some trouble with the girlfriend
's family?”
Idiot. “No, just handling things Carson. We're even now,” I said.
“How do ya figure?”
“As I see it, people knowing you're a pyro will get you big-time attention you don’t want.”
“That's bullshit, Hart. You're a damn corpse raiser.” He gestured behind at the zombies.
Some unpleasant noises of squishing and muffled howls reached us. Right.
I shook my head, ignoring it. “We all know what you are now. Playing with fire is a pretty important skill, pal, and you're doing a fine job of managing it.”
Brett tugged on Carson’s shirt.
“Let's get outta here. Let him figure his own crap out.”
Carson shrugged. “Yeah, I was done here anyway. Have fun with that,” he said, motioning at the zombie brawl.
“See ya, Hart. Jade.” He blew her a kiss.
“Go guzzle bleach, ya squirrel,” Jade replied.
I laughed.
Carson waved her off and started walking away. After a last glance at the one-sided battle, Brett followed him.
Jade's dad continued to attempt to pry himself out of the mountain of zombies. They would tumble away like bowling pins, then Clyde would straddle him, and it would start all over again.
“Stop,” I said.
The zombies froze. One fell over mid-struggle. Über cool.
Jade's dad lurched unsteadily to his feet, his considerable size a factor on smoothness, along with the booze.
“You,” I said, and the zombies all looked at me. “Not you guys.”
They continued to stare at me with steady devotion. Creepy.
I turned back to Jade's dad. “You better just give up.”
“I ain't givin' up, but I can see when things get challengin',” he slurred.
This guy.
“You have one last chance, girlie. Come with your daddy.” He held his hand out to Jade.
“No,” she said quietly.
“I see how you're gonna be. I'll fight that bitch sister of mine and get my kid back where she belongs—under my roof!” He smacked a meaty fist into a meatier palm. His nose was slightly bulbous, a fine webbing of broken capillaries adorning the end.
“And you!” He jabbed a thick finger right in my chest.
My zombies tensed.
“I won't forget what ya did to me today. You're not normal. This”—he jerked his thumb in the direction of the zombies—“ain't normal. Sometime when you're not lookin', I'll be there... waitin'. And there won't be no help from any of them,” he said, pointing a finger at Team-Rot.
He didn't intimidate me. It wasn't having the zombies around or false bravado. He was a grown man—Dad's age, for God's sake—who had probably been a bully in school, and as an adult, he was a child-beating drunk. I didn't have a drop of respect for him.
“Don't you come near Jade. You don't know what I can do. You're not gonna hurt her... ever.” I gave him a little shove, just hard enough to make him step back.
He gave a furtive look at the group of patient zombies. He wasn't going to take them on again.
His eyes narrowed. “You haven't seen the last of me.” He stared at Jade. “You especially, little lady.” He stumbled off, weaving in a more or less straight line.
Playing with zombies would sober a guy up.
***
That went well.
The only relief was Carson's ability was almost as troubling as mine. He would be looked at as a teach-and-contain for sure.
I turned to Jade. “I gotta get these guys back in the ground.”
She looked up at me, her eyes shining with unshed tears.
The Js looked horrified. Girl crying! Girl crying!
“What's wrong?” I asked.
A fat tear rode a slow path down her face, and she did one of those hitching breaths that people do when crying might make way to sobbing. “I'm so embarrassed!”
Genuinely confused, I asked, “Why?”
“Because he's my dad, and he's drunk and so stupid.”
Absolutely.
Jade hands covered her face.
I shrugged, gently prying them off. I looked into eyes that swam with fresh tears. “Don't worry about him. He isn't going to do the right thing ever. You worrying about it won't change the way he acts.”
“Can't pick your family,” Jonesy chimed in unhelpfully.
Jade swiped at her face, nodding quickly. “You're right.”
“See? That's what I'm talkin' about.” Jonesy did a dance step to emphasize his point.
Jade's eyes narrowed. “Don't push it.”
John smiled, I laughed and the moment passed.
“Let's get your zombies back in the dirt,” Jade said.
I held out my hand, and she took it in a tight grip. Two things happened at once, the zombies moved to their respective graves, and I felt a low thrum—not voices, but similar to an electrical current.
I gave a mental “flex” and the energy moved through me, swirling. Then it found the thread that couldn't be seen, but was linked to each corpse.
With explosive sighs, the breath slid out of the zombies’ bodies. Clyde lingered longest, wearing an expression that went beyond devotion. Bright intelligence burn in his eyes. I shoved the last of that lingering otherness down to them and thought, Die.
The corpses collapsed on top of their graves as if unconsciousness hit them on the head like a hammer. The earth rolled over them in a blanket of water poured backwards, and they were hidden once again.
Jade released my hand. “That is such a weird sensation. It makes my teeth ache.” She rubbed her hand on her jeans.
The whispering was back but manageable. Feeding the power made it quiet to a dull roar, even in the middle of a cemetery. I realized I'd taken the edge off.
I walked over to Clyde's grave. Something nagged at me, but I didn’t know why. I was having a brain fart. The parents called it teen fog.
“Let's get outta here,” Jonesy said.
Nobody had to ask me twice.
I'd missed supper, a big, bad one in my house. I pulsed my parents on the way back to deflect the wrath of Mom. The three of us got our stories straight before going our separate ways.
I walked Jade to her house then jogged home. Once inside, I went straight to the kitchen and sat at the table, ready to eat. Dad was sitting at the table, and Mom started heating up my supper. I told them we had just been blowing off some steam because of the AP Test coming up and we’d lost track of time. I'd headed off disaster, so I wasn't ready to tell them about all the other stuff.
Dad started explaining again about how I had to have the inhibitor with food.
“Dad, are you worried I’m gonna OD or something?”
Mom set a bowl of chili in front of me. It had the yummy Mexican cheese on top and a huge hunk of cornbread on the side.
“Dad just forgets sometimes that you're such an accomplished pill popper.”
My eyes rolled up to meet hers with the spoon halfway to my open mouth. “How'd that go over with all the other adults? Pill popper? Nice.”
“I guess I'll be serious about it when I have to be. Right now humor is the lesser of two evils.”
“What's the other one?” I asked.
“Anxiety.”
Oh. I hadn't given a lot of thought to my parents being worried. “The cops still cruising by?”
Dad nodded. “Yes. Officers Gale and Ward were just here, as a matter of fact.”
“You know, Caleb,” Mom said, “you would probably do better to refer them as officers rather than cops.”
Total word-Nazi.
I took a big swig of milk and asked Mom for the jalapeños and some honey. She passed the honey, and I turned the bottle upside down. They watched as my cornbread was obscured by a molten mass of goodness.
I put my nose above the bread and took a whiff. Bliss.
Dad asked, “You having some cornbread with that honey, pal?”
I grinned and nodded as I blew on everything
pre-shovel.
“Okay, so I want you to get up early for a good breakfast, take the pill, then you can scoot to school. I think I’ll halve the pill, though.”
“Not gonna make me high, Dad?”
“Yes, that's the total idea.” He smiled.
“It's nicely ironic that Caleb doesn't appear to be blessed with a scientific aptitude, but he’s talented nonetheless,” Mom said, A Point Coming.
Dad frowned. “I know how you feel about all this, Ali, that we are all meant to be completely unique so the balance works for the cohesive whole. But human nature is very predictable.”
I swallowed a bite of cornbread. “So you could predict I'd be a zombie raiser?”
Mom corrected, “Cadaver manipulator.”
I rolled my eyes. Whatever.
Dad’s face flushed. “No.” He made a steeple with his fingers. “I certainly didn't anticipate this.”
That made me stop eating.
“What did you think I'd be?”
“Your mother and I had a lot of theories. In the last few years, every parent has waited for the Aptitude Tests or the manifestation of a talent to rear its head. In your case, we didn't need the test.”
“Thank goodness for that,” Mom said. “What if it had been flushed out in the AP Test, then he'd have been whisked away or worse.”
“'Or worse'?”
I resisted the urge to lick my fingers, picked up my napkin instead, and started working over my hands.
“Just look at the Parker boy,” Mom said.
“What about him?” I asked. “I've never heard anything about him.”
“Exactly,” Dad stated.
CHAPTER 19
My parents weren’t thrilled when I unceremoniously stuffed the pill in my front pocket. I told them if anyone got the lame idea of checking our backpacks, they wouldn't find the pill. It made sense.
Mom huffed, and Dad mumbled something about my constitutional rights.
I was on my sixth pancake, having already plowed through half a pound of bacon.
Mom grimaced.
“Caleb, stop shoveling your food.”
“Mom! Come have a pancake and stop panicking about etiquette.” I took a swig of milk and the whole load slid down the pipe.
The Death Series, Books 1-3 (Dark Dystopian Paranormal Romance): Death Whispers, Death Speaks, and Death Inception Page 16