by A. P. Fuchs
“You have a crypt for vampires,” Rose had told her dad, “but not for you guys?”
“The crypt for the undead, as mentioned, is for those who don’t disintegrate at death. It’s more of a vault than a crypt, actually. As for us slayers, we’ve lived our whole lives as normal as possible on the surface. We also die as normal as possible, so the eyes of the world see that, like them, we return to dust. But there is a place overseas where the memory of slayers is preserved and a plaque will be mounted in your mother’s honor for her years of service. You and I will go there one day, when you’re ready.”
“I’m ready now,” she said. “How about after the funeral?”
“I would love to,” he said, “but the funeral is but the beginning for you, for you shall follow in your mother’s footsteps and train to take her place.”
Rose sighed. “Dad, I’ve been really patient with you. I’ve listened to everything you’ve told me and, even after what you’ve shown me, I’m still coming to terms with it all. A part of me believes you, another part is waiting to wake up and get on with life. But if indeed this is reality, then I don’t want to be a part of this. Even just being part of it now for Mom’s sake is hard enough. I’m hoping that once everything settles, you and I can just move on and forget any of this ever happened.”
“I appreciate the sentiment, I really do, but we can’t.”
“Why? ‘They’ won’t let you?”
“No. But I know that which I fight, and it’s something I cannot walk away from. As for you, yes, you do have a choice, but I want you to carefully consider it. Don’t let grief over your mother interfere with your decision.”
“How can you be so cold like that? You sound like Mom’s death was all in the line of duty or something, and once she’s laid to rest, that’s it and life goes on with you heading down the same path that killed her.”
“I don’t expect you to understand.”
“You’re right . . . I don’t understand.”
“One day you will.”
“I don’t want to.”
“You will.”
Rose rolled her eyes and stormed out of the room.
♦ ♦ ♦
On the day of Shelly Jordan’s funeral, the sky was overcast and there was a slight chill on the air. The limousine rolled up to Eagle Park Cemetery just past eleven o’clock in the morning. Rose stepped out of the limo and her father came out behind her. Other members of Shelly’s family, Rose’s cousins, and others on her dad’s side drove up in their own vehicles, everyone somber, eyes cast down to the ground.
The priest led the way through the cemetery, leading the family to the shelf-like crypt—a columbarium—where Shelly’s ashes would be laid to rest. Marcus wanted it that way, and Rose knew most of the reasons had to do with his other “job.”
“We can’t preserve the body,” her father had told her. “Your mother and I already talked about this. We must purge any chance of infection with fire, even if the other was killed rather than turned. Likewise, by cremating the remains, they become useless to any vampire who might learn our true identities and use the body as leverage against us at a later date.”
Rose understood, but that didn’t mean she liked it. “Your life is governed by slaying the undead, isn’t it?”
Her father looked her in the eye. “Yes, but so was your mother’s, and please don’t view it as a hindrance. It is not. It is an honor.”
Now, after the funeral service in the church, Rose and her father stood before the vertical crypt, the door to her mother’s cubbie in the columbarium open. Her father held the urn containing her mother’s ashes, the urn itself inside a black velvet bag.
“If you would, please, Mr. Jordan,” Father Melnick said.
Rose’s father nodded, brought the velvet bag close to his chest, and gave it a squeeze. “Rose,” he said, and the two walked together to lay Shelly in her eternal resting place. “Together.”
Rose cupped her hands under her father’s, and together they brought the bag with the urn to the open columbarium and set the bag within.
Tears in her eyes, she whispered, “Bye, Mom. I love you. I’ll do my best to take care of Dad.”
She turned away, only to hear her father whisper to his wife, “Until we meet again. I love you, Shelly.”
They returned to their place before the columbarium, while the priest finished the eulogy.
Family and friends gathered around the Jordans, sobbing, some putting hands on each other’s backs. A few embraced in sorrowful hugs.
Marcus Jordan held his daughter tight, and Rose held him even tighter. Her world had changed, she knew. Not only had she lost her mother, but she had also lost her father, the man she knew before learning he was a slayer.
20
Zach sat outside his family’s mausoleum, his back against its side. Despite it being daylight, the overcast clouds kept the majority of the sun’s rays from his skin. Rain, had told him that while direct sunlight was fatal, cloudy weather was not. However, UV rays still filtered through the clouds and, out here, Zach felt them on his exposed hands and face. His skin was hot, a subtle burn, but right now the heat was a distraction from his thoughts.
In the past few days, he had hunted each night, once each with Rain, Wil and Cassie. The thrill of snatching prey from the streets of the city was almost as exciting as the moment before he bit into his victim’s neck and bled them dry, their blood a launchpad into a tidal wave of euphoria. The aftermath of his victims’ memories was something he also looked forward to, as each image flashing before his eyes connected him further with his old life and how things were before he was reborn.
Last night, he had found a street walker by an old warehouse on Higgins, tugged her into the shadows and breathed in her perfume before parting her red hair and feasting on her blood. After, sitting on the ground beside her body, rocking from the pleasure, Wil standing guard, he saw the woman as a little girl. Saw her father beat her. Saw stacks of homework as the woman tried to make something of herself. He learned she had been a medical student, but had to drop out early because she didn’t have enough money to finish her schooling. Worse, she was only a year away. After some odd jobs, she fell into habitual drug use, and soon worked the street as a means to survive and support her habit.
It was the images of school that rocked Zach’s world and reminded him of his own wandering the halls, heading to class, opening and closing his locker. During one of the flashbacks, his locker door closed and a beautiful girl stood on the other side. She had long brown hair that sat in ringlets on her shoulders, her bright hazel eyes sparkling despite the poor hallway lighting. Her lips were pink and plush, the kind that made him ache to touch them with his fingertips.
It was the same girl in the flashback where he saw himself around a dinner table.
The connection was there, taunting him from within. Obviously, he knew her, but whether she was someone he kind of knew, was related to or something else, that he wasn’t sure. Yet there was something else about her, something that told him she had meant a great deal to him.
As he sat outside the mausoleum, he wondered if the tugging on his heart was real, or if it was a phantom sensation from his old life.
Rain had told him that as memories were slowly restored, some days would be easier than others. Some days were to be filled with questions, while others would be filled with answers and moments of reflection.
“Just wish I knew who she was,” Zach said. He rubbed his hands on the damp grass that was still wet from the rain from the night before. The cool water helped sooth the heat upon his skin.
He stood and floated a few inches above the ground, the sense of leaving gravity behind helping lift the weariness inside. He needed to get back inside the crypt soon, not only to sleep but to get out from under the clouds and heal.
It wasn’t long before he noticed he had floated far from where he should be. He was under strict orders not to wander far from his family’s crypt. He still had so much to
learn, his mother told him, and she didn’t want to risk anything going wrong while he was without supervision.
Behind the next row of tombstones, there was a gathering of people. Zach touched down and walked silently on the grass, keeping himself in line with the trees so he wouldn’t be seen.
This was the first time he saw such a crowd in the cemetery since waking here. When he did see someone, it was usually just one or two people at a time to visit the grave of a loved one.
Zach went behind a tree around thirty feet from the gathering and looked on. Some of the people were crying. Others merely stood there with blank expressions. A few were huddled together in an embrace. Were they all here to visit someone now deceased? There were about thirty people in all, ranging in age from around ten to over seventy.
Zach listened intently, and the man in the black shirt and pants beyond saying, “. . . Father, Son and Holy Ghost. May Your servant, O God, rest in peace. Ashes to ashes, dust to dust. Amen.”
The man in black moved out of the way, revealing two figures at the fore of everyone else.
They were the same people from the flashback after his first feeding. The man, tired and worn—and the girl, beautiful and mystifying.
♦ ♦ ♦
Rose’s father closed the door to the columbarium, and locked it. It would be sealed up later with a plaque put in place with her mother’s name, date of birth and date of death, and a note of sentiment.
Marcus put a hand around her shoulder and gave it a squeeze. “It’s going to be okay.”
The tears fell anew and Rose put her face in her hands. Her dad brought her in to a full hug and rubbed her back.
“It’s okay,” he said, “let it all out.”
Rose’s eyes glanced over the columbarium. She could envision her mother’s ashes in there, the same ashes that once composed her actual body. Her mom. Already she missed her mother’s smile, her laugh, the occasional nights she tucked Rose in despite her being a teenager.
A sharp pain running through her heart in waves, she told her dad she wanted to say good-bye to her mother one last time, alone.
“Sure, go ahead,” he said softly.
Rose went up to the columbarium and laid her fingers on it. “Mom . . .” she said, but was cut short when she saw the face of a young man looking at them from behind a tree not too far away.
A thunderclap slammed through her heart and her mouth went dry. No . . . “It can’t be . . .”
The young man pulled away in behind the tree.
“Zach?” she whispered.
Her father came up behind her and put a hand on her shoulder. “Rose?”
“Dad, I saw—” She glanced back toward the tree and she thought she saw someone running past the tombstones beyond, the person’s motion so fluid it looked like they were gliding across the grass instead of running on it.
“Honey?” her dad said.
“I have to—” And before she realized it, her legs were already moving under her. I can’t believe this. Is it him? Can’t be. What would he be doing here? She ran around a row of tombstones, past a few trees, her father calling her name somewhere behind her.
She tripped over a stray tree branch and fell, her hands blocking her fall before her face hit the grass. She lay there a moment, catching her breath, elation and hurt pulling her feelings to either side.
Broken and tired, she slowly got to her feet. Palms stinging, she checked them over for scratches. They were only grass-stained; she gently brushed them together and dusted off the blades that stuck to her skin.
The cemetery around her was empty aside from her party, just a sea of tombstones and trees.
“I’m losing it,” she said. “I thought I saw—” Someone was behind her. Rose spun around and a wave of dizziness passed through her when Zach stood before her.
Her legs gave out; he swiftly caught her before she hit the ground.
“Zach?” she said, scrambling to get her own two legs under her. No, it’s impossible! “You’re . . . you’re . . .”
“How do you know my name?” he asked.
“How do I—Zach, it’s me, Rose. Remember? We’re dat—”
Mr. Jordan called out to her a few rows away.
“I can’t stay,” Zach said.
“What? Why? Where have you been? I’ve been worried sick. Oh, Zach.” She ran up to hold him and fell into his arms.
“Who are you?” he asked.
She didn’t answer, but instead shut her eyes and squeezed him tight.
“Rose!” It was her father.
Right before she opened her eyes, her arms passed through the air and she was clasping herself.
Her father grabbed her and shook her. “Rose! Are you okay? Did it—did he—”
“Dad,” she said. “It was Zach. He’s alive.”
♦ ♦ ♦
From beyond the tombstones, Mira looked on. Come home, Zach dear. Do not worry about them now.
Contact had been made.
Everything was going to plan.
About the Author
A.P. Fuchs is the author of many novels and short stories, most of which have been published. His most recent books are Possession of the Dead, Magic Man Plus 15 Tales of Terror and Zombie Fight Night: Battles of the Dead, in which zombies fight such classic monsters as werewolves, vampires, Bigfoot, and even go up against awesome foes like pirates, ninjas, and . . . Bruce Lee.
A.P. Fuchs is also known for his superhero series, The Axiom-man Saga, and the author of the shoot ’em up zombie trilogy, Undead World. He also edited the zombie anthologies Dead Science and Vicious Verses and Reanimated Rhymes: Zany Zombie Poetry for the Undead Head.
Fuchs lives and writes in Winnipeg, Manitoba.
Visit his corner of the Web at
www.canisterx.com
Check out the Undead World Trilogy at
www.undeadworldtrilogy.com
And follow him on Twitter at
www.twitter.com/ap_fuchs
Also by A.P. Fuchs
Blood of My World Trilogy
Discovery of Death
Memories of Death
Life of Death
Undead World Trilogy
Blood of the Dead
Possession of the Dead
The Axiom-man™ Saga
(listed in reading order)
Axiom-man
Episode No. 0: First Night Out
Doorway of Darkness
Episode No. 1: The Dead Land
City of Ruin
Of Magic and Men (comic book)
OTHER Fiction
A Stranger Dead
A Red Dark Night
April (writing as Peter Fox)
Magic Man (deluxe chapbook)
The Way of the Fog (The Ark of Light Vol. 1)
Devil’s Playground (written with Keith Gouveia)
On Hell’s Wings (written with Keith Gouveia)
Zombie Fight Night: Battles of the Dead
Magic Man Plus 15 Tales of Terror
Undeniable
ANTHOLOGIES (as editor)
Dead Science
Elements of the Fantastic
Vicious Verses and Reanimated Rhymes: Zany Zombie Poetry for the Undead Head
Non-fiction
Book Marketing for the
Financially-challenged Author
Poetry
The Hand I’ve Been Dealt
Haunted Melodies and Other Dark Poems
Still About A Girl
Go to
www.canisterx.com
&
www.undeadworldtrilogy.com
The Coscom Entertainment Zombie, Monster, Mash Up and Superhero Books
Please go to www.coscomentertainment.com for a plot synopsis and more information on the books. All are available in eBook and paperback at your favorite online retailer. Thanks.
Zombie Books:
Adventures of Huckleberry Finn and Zombie Jim by Mark Twain and W. Bill Czolgosz
Alice in Zombieland by
Lewis Carroll and Nickolas Cook
Axiom-man: The Dead Land by A.P. Fuchs
Bits of the Dead edited by Keith Gouveia and illustrated by Sean Simmans
Blood of the Dead by A.P. Fuchs
Dead Science edited by A.P. Fuchs
Don of the Dead by Nick Cato
Possession of the Dead by A.P. Fuchs
Praise the Dead by Gina Ranalli
Revolt of the Dead by Keith Gouveia
R.I.P. by Harrison Howe
Robin Hood and Friar Tuck: Zombie Killers by Paul A. Freeman
The Black Cat and the Ghoul by Edgar Allan Poe and Keith Gouveia
The Lifeless by Lorne Dixon
The Undead World of Oz by L. Frank Baum and Ryan C. Thomas
The War of the Worlds Plus Blood, Guts and Zombies by H.G. Wells and Eric S. Brown
The Weaponer by Eric S. Brown
World War of the Dead by Eric S. Brown
Vicious Verses and Reanimated Rhymes: Zany Zombie Poetry for the Undead Head edited by A.P. Fuchs
Zombie Fight Night: Battles of the Dead by A.P. Fuchs
Zombifrieze by W. Bill Czolgosz and Sean Simmans
Other Monster and Horror Books:
Animal Behavior and Other Tales of Lycanthropy by Keith Gouveia