The Vengeful Dead

by J N Duncan

  Spanish flew out of her mouth and the man snapped back an incensed retort. Her hand reached out, fingertips resting on the man’s knee. Jackie couldn’t follow a word of it. Nick arrived in the middle of their interchange.

  “We know what’s going on here?”

  The cop shrugged. “Someone barged into the bar and assaulted our compadre here. Still haven’t determined what it was about. These guys don’t tend to be very forthcoming.”

  Jackie gave him a hard look. “These guys?”

  “The gangbangers. They tend to settle their own disputes. Unless weapons are involved we aren’t going to do much.”

  The man on the sidewalk had changed his tone. The anger was gone. He gave Shelby a begrudging smile. She had him pull the towel away to inspect the wound. It was a nasty lump at the hairline on his forehead with a half inch long split that was still seeping blood.

  “That’s going to need a couple stitches,” Jackie said.

  Shelby patted the man on his knee and kissed the bare side of his forehead. “Hector here was smacked with the butt end of pistol. Says a big, pissed off black guy came in and started grilling him about the whereabouts of ‘Steel-Toe’ Juarez.”

  “Did he know who it was?” Jackie asked.

  “Never seen the guy before, but he knew poor ol’ Hector here. Sounds like our guy.”

  “Did he tell him where this Juarez guy is at?”

  “Aunt’s house on Oaktree Lane.”

  McManus came running up the sidewalk then, badge in hand. “You guys were quick. What’ve we got?”

  Jackie pointed at him. “Call Gang Enforcement. We need an address for ‘Steel-Toe’ Juarez’s aunt on Oaktree Lane. Morgan was just here looking for him.”

  He was on the phone before she finished. “Anyone know where Oaktree Lane is?”

  One of the cops pointed in the direction behind the bar. “About eight or ten blocks west of here.”

  “Thanks,” she said. “Nick, Shelby. Head over from the south. Ryan and I will circle over from the north and hopefully the address will be between us. I’ll call you soon as we have it—and let me know if you spot his car, a green ’05 Cadillac.”

  She didn’t wait for their reply and ran for her Durango. Ten minutes, maybe fifteen. They couldn’t be any farther behind him than that. A little luck and Morgan would be waiting until night time again, but she wasn’t counting on it. Rosa was not acting with patience. The dead didn’t need to wait for a damn thing.

  Six blocks later, McManus called in. “Four-sixthree-three Oaktree. That’s north of us I think.”

  “Great! Thanks, Ryan. I’ll tell them. You see his car, get on Pernetti right away.”

  “Yep. You got it.”

  Jackie flipped on her wipers. The wind-whipped clouds were starting to fling hard little pellets through the air, snicking off the Durango like the nails of a hundred tiny claws. She reached Oaktree and had to slam on the brakes to get around the corner. Fortunately the sleet had just started and the streets were still dry or she might have found herself kissing the grill of the Ford F150 that blared at her as she straightened out and gunned it north up Oaktree Lane. McManus was already there, turning a careful circle on the sidewalk.

  She put down the passenger window as she approached the unassuming, small brick house and leaned over. “Ryan! I’m parking up at the corner to block the road off. Give me a sec.”

  He groaned and looked skyward. “Shit. Should have done that myself. Sorry.”

  “Just in case,” she said, and drove half a block up, stopping angled across the road. A person would have to drive over someone’s lawn to get around. Jackie kicked the door open and stood on the runner to jump down, when the she noticed something from her extreme height advantage: a green car parked behind an SUV half a block farther up the street. Suspicious for sure, except when she looked in the immediate vicinity, Jackie caught sight of a man, a tall black man with a limp, walking up the steps to a house, but it was definitely not 4633 Oaktree.

  “Fuck!” Jackie hopped down and began to run. She fumbled at her phone, trying to hit McManus’s number again and then managed to drop it. “Motherfu—” Jackie hesitated. Morgan or someone looking very much like him from a distance was on the porch of the house. Stop to pick up the phone and lose what might be precious seconds or yell for McManus and alert Morgan to her presence? Jackie kept running, tiny pellets of sleet stinging her face. Fifty meters.

  At forty, the man reached into his coat and rang the doorbell with his other hand. Jackie reached into her own and grabbed a hold of her Glock. “Morgan!” He turned his head in her direction, just enough to see her coming out of the corner of his eye. “FBI, Morgan! You need to stop right there.”

  Twenty-five meters and the front door opened. The screen came off, pulled free with one swift yank. The move was so abrupt and absurdly out of the ordinary that Jackie did not realize until too late what the possessed Morgan was doing.

  At fifteen meters she dove to her right, down into the grass, but the corner of the door caught her across the back. It felt like a knife had been jabbed into her. There was a scream and Morgan’s voice said something in Spanish.

  Jackie sprang to her feet, ten meters away just as Morgan’s gun went off, the steely crack stopping her heart for a brief second. Someone in the doorway fell back into the darkness of the house. “Rosa! Stop!” Jackie yelled. She pulled out her Glock sprinting the last few meters to the front step. The arm pivoted back around and Jackie realized there wouldn’t be time. She fired once, hitting the side of the chest as she turned. Again, dead-on center. And a third in the right shoulder, hopefully disabling the shooting arm.

  Three point-blank shots, all in good locations, with enough force to drop a man in his tracks, or certainly to knock him back off his feet. All it did was knock his aim off a few inches.

  Morgan’s Glock flared, booming in Jackie’s ears from two meters away. In those life-threatening moments when you see everything with pristine clarity, Jackie swore she could see the bullet coming out of the barrel, a hot, pointed hunk of lead screaming directly at her head. A flare of fire then erupted above her left eye, streaking across the side of her skull, leaving a shallow groove, searing like lava.

  Jackie’s momentum carried her into Morgan, her shoulder burying itself in his gut, and they stumbled through the doorway, landing on the contorted, groaning body of whomever he had just shot. Her vision was blurring, stung with blood running into her eye, but she did see Morgan’s hand, raising up his Glock, and rolled onto her side, putting a bullet through his wrist. His gun clattered across the floor and bounced off a wall.

  Through the raging fire that seemed to be engulfing her skull, Jackie could hear someone screaming. There was yelling going on somewhere in the house. Morgan had sat up, staring at the ragged hole in his arm. His gray T-shirt had blossomed a dark red stain. Jackie had seen this before, that look of disbelief, that it could not really be happening, that they really were about to die, and for a moment that is what she thought she was seeing in Morgan.

  A smile crept across his dark lips, spreading to reveal teeth tinged with the pink of blood. “Agent Rutledge,” he said, this time in heavily accented English.

  “Hands on your head, Morgan,” Jackie said, trying vainly to squirm her way out from beneath Morgan’s legs, but the body beneath was making it too difficult. She blinked at the blood flowing into her eye. A minute tops and McManus would be here. He had to have heard the gunshots.

  In the space of a blink, Jackie found herself going from pointing a gun at Morgan’s face to being pushed down to her back, gun pinned to the ground with her hand under such force her knuckles were grinding into the hardwood beneath. His eyes looked down at her with the bottomless void of the dead. Jackie continued to struggle, but her head was about to explode from pain and she was feeling the warm rush of lightheadedness.

  Morgan’s weight crushed down. “Sweet Mother Mary,” Morgan’s voice hissed into Jackie’s ear. “You’re brok
en.”

  Laughter bounced around in Jackie’s head, chased by scorching, bursting flames. She could taste the blood in her mouth. Broken? What the hell was that supposed to mean? How long had it been? Twenty seconds? Thirty maybe? Where were they?

  Morgan’s eyes were wide and bloodshot and Jackie could feel his fist balled up around her hair. His voice wasn’t sinister or even angry or filled with pain. Of all things, he sounded surprised.

  “You’re broken,” Morgan said again.

  The fist picked up her head and snapped it back against the floor, bringing a final fiery explosion of pain to Jackie’s skull, followed by the extinguishing, howling wind of Deadworld. In that last moment of awareness, Jackie felt that doorway swing wide, pulling at her like the vacuum of space, cold and empty, and then the darkness consumed her.

  Chapter 21

  Nick pulled up to 4633 Oaktree to see McManus at a dead run, sprinting up the street. Shelby straddled her BMW just in front, watching the same scene. When he looked outward with his otherworldly senses, it was then he realized where he was headed. They had got the wrong house. Jackie’s Durango was parked sideways across the street at the end of the block, the driver’s side door flung open to the sleet. She was nowhere in sight.

  Two muffled pops, like firecrackers set off indoors, made Nick flinch. Panic bloomed in his chest, a dark, storm of wings beating into the sky.

  Shelby must have had the same reaction, as they both gunned their vehicles up the road, cutting up over the lawn of the corner house and bouncing off the curb. McManus had crossed the street and was bounding across the lawns toward the fourth house from the corner. Shelby raced up the sidewalk. A screen door, torn from its hinges, lay in the grass. Nick skidded his way back onto Oaktree and then slid to a stop in front of the house, door flying open before he had stopped completely. Shelby had laid the BMW down in the grass, jumping from it in one smooth motion to reach the door at the same time McManus did.

  There were two bodies lying on the floor in the doorway, and Nick could see blood splattered against the opposite wall. Please, not Jackie. Please, God, no. The phrase repeated over and over until he reached the door and realized that her life force was still here. Shelby and McManus had just stepped inside.

  “Jack?” McManus yelled. “Where you at . . . Jack! Fuck! Man down! Man down.”

  Nick grabbed his phone, but Shelby could be heard already shouting at the 911 operator. On the floor in the entry, two bodies lay unmoving in spreading pools of blood, one of whom looked to be Detective Morgan. Around to the left in what was apparently the dining room, McManus and Shelby were knelt over another prone figure. Nick recognized the hiking boot right away and leaped over Shelby’s back and landed on the hardwood beyond Jackie’s bloodied head.

  The entire left side of her head was soaked in blood. Other than that, her body looked surprisingly peaceful, half curled onto her side, head resting on her arm. Shelby’s deft fingers were digging into Jackie’s hair.

  Nick tried to stare around the fingers. “How bad does it look?”

  McManus had a hold of her wrist. “Praise be Christ, she’s got a steady pulse.”

  “Looks like the bullet grooved her skull,” Shelby said. “Bleeding like a stuck pig. See if you can find a hand towel or something in the kitchen.”

  “Right.” Nick sprang to his feet and went into the next room, where another body lay slumped against the back door. His hands were clasped over his groin and a black circle anointed the center of his forehead, centering the splash of blood across the door and wall. He gave a quick, furtive glance around the kitchen and spied a dishtowel hanging by a hook next to the sink. Nick folded it, soaked it in cold water, and rang it out, dripping water across the floor as he hurried back in and handed it to Shelby. He could feel the surge of energy from the other side coming through her and into Jackie. The wound at least would be sealed off in a matter of moments.

  “I’ll get those bodies out of the way so we can get her out of here.”

  McManus raised his hand to stop Nick. “Slow down, Mr. Anderson. We’ve already compromised the scene stomping in here to get Jackie. Stay right here until the paramedics arrive. I’m going to go secure the area.”

  Even as he spoke, Nick heard sirens off in the distance. He heaved a sigh of relief. “All right. Yes. I hear them now.” Kneeling down by the dead, black man, Nick looked him over. The wide, glassy eyes were sunken in, surround by dark, purple smudges. He looked a lot like a heroin junkie who’d overdosed. If his spirit still hung around, he had wandered off from this place, perhaps in search of his home. They would have to check later, on the off chance he had not moved on. It would be very interesting to find out his side of this story.

  A moan escaped from Jackie’s lips then, and Nick’s stomach nearly sprang into his throat. An instant later he knelt by her head. “Jackie? You with us?”

  Shelby continued to dab at the blood on her face and head. It had stopped at least. It was all she would do for now, given the paramedics were coming. “She’s still out, babe. Relax. We’re under control here. You should go see if McManus needs help with anything.”

  Nick stared down at Jackie, blood still streaked into the lines and crevices of her face. She looked nearly childlike with all of the stress removed, but the fact was, she’d been a centimeter from her life being drained away. She had promised to not go after him by herself. “What I need is to find out what the hell happened.”

  “Nick, chill. Now is not the time. Your girl is going to be OK. That’s all that matters.”

  “My girl?” He tried to give Shelby the stare-down, but she only gave him a wide-eyed little smirk. He blew out his breath and stood. “She promised not to face this thing alone and she did anyway. That’s going to be a problem.”

  “Likely good reasons,” she said.

  “Which is why I’m going to go find out what happened. Did you check her for any other injuries?”

  “Yes, I did. A nasty contusion on her back. Looks like it might have been that screen door in the yard. Otherwise, she’s all right. So go. Make merry with the FBI.”

  He rolled his eyes at her and stepped carefully back over to the front door, making sure not to move or touch anything he didn’t have to. The wail of sirens indicated they were close, and stepping out onto the front steps, Nick could see McManus waving them over while he talked on his phone. People were starting to gather on the sidewalks on either side of the street. Even wind-whipped sleet would not keep the gawkers away, not when the bullets and blood were flying. Getting the story from McManus would have to wait.

  By the time Jackie was loaded onto a stretcher and into the ambulance, FBI were beginning to arrive. Pernetti was in the first car. He winced at the bandage around Jackie’s head.

  “Christ, Jack. You’re going to get killed one of these times.” He nodded at Nick. “Anything I should, um . . . know about, Mr. Anderson?”

  “No, we’re clear in that regard. I’m going to follow Agent Rutledge in and make sure she’s OK. I’ll let McManus know once doctors give the thumbs up.”

  “Thanks. Where is that little Irish newb at?”

  Nick pointed. “On the steps.”

  “Great.” He turned toward the door. “McManus!”

  Nick made for his Porsche and followed the ambulance to the hospital, hoping they had seen the last of that ghost. Perhaps now she would see to her babe. And it hit Nick just then, like a slap to the head. The babe was the key to tracking this ghost. Why hadn’t they considered it before? Laurel could find it. It might take a few hours, but she would, and then it was wait until the woman showed herself or try to talk her down from this rage-filled vengeance she was inflicting upon them all.

  He dialed up Shelby, who said she would pass the request along. It made sense, she said, and stupid of them all not to think of it. They arrived in less than ten minutes, and the paramedics wheeled Jackie in. Nick was forced to wait in the lobby, which he would for now. He called Belgerman to let him know w
hat was going on, and got an earful for not making sure someone was with Jackie at all times. His heart sank for her. She would be on leave once again while they investigated the shooting, and this would not be so easy to dismiss.

  “How are you going to handle the supernatural element of this when the Internal folks come asking questions?”

  “I don’t have a fucking clue,” John barked back. Nick hoped he mellowed before seeing Jackie. “I can’t exactly tell them she shot a cop because she thought he was possessed by a ghost, now, can I?”

  “No, I can’t imagine that will go over well at all,” Nick replied, mustering his calmest voice. “Let’s hope there is sufficient other evidence.”

  “We’ll make some goddamn evidence if need be,” he said. “Is this ghost, or whatever the hell it is, gone now?”

  “I don’t know,” Nick said. “I hope so, but we don’t know if she was done. I’m hoping to find out.”

  “How you planning on doing that?”

  “Honestly, John? It’s better you don’t know.”

  He chuckled in Nick’s ear. “Figured as much. Jackie’s going to be all right, though? You’re positive?”

  “She’ll have a hell of a scar on her head, but otherwise I think she’ll be fine. Physically at least.”

  There was a moment of silence between them, both understanding what those last three words implied. “You’ll keep an eye on her, Nick?”

  “Much as that’s possible.”

  “Yeah.” Again there was a few seconds of silence. “Let me know when she’s available over there.”

  Nick hung up and waited. It took ninety minutes for them to patch up her scalp and get her into a private room. He looked through some magazines, got a cup of bad coffee from the in-hospital McDonalds, and tried to avoid noticing all of the little things that kept reminding him of one centimeter. The distance between life and death could be very small. Then again, it might as well have been a mile. Jackie was alive and that was all that mattered.