The Bookseller's Secret

by Catherine Jordan

  William did not laugh or smirk; this was no joke. The forest was undoubtedly haunted. He believed in the afterlife and wandering spirits. Ghosts, witches, demons—they were all one in the same as far as he was concerned. But he had never given any credence to zombies.

  Until he stood face to face with one.

  “I remember you,” she said to Mason, her milky eyes blinking. “But not him.”

  “This is William,” Mason said. “Jeffrey invited him for dinner.”

  She sneered and wiped at her running nose.

  “I’ve met Jeffrey,” William said, feeling his defenses rise to another level. “He most certainly did extend an invitation. I’ve come to tell him no.”

  “Most people would have settled for a phone call,” she said.

  She was sickening. An abomination. It disgusted him, breathing in the air she exhaled.

  “You shouldn’t be here,” she said. “I’d leave, if I could. I didn’t want this. No one asked me.”

  “Then help us,” Mason said. “We want the book. There’s got to be a spell in there to release you.”

  She scratched her head, pulling away a handful of hair and a chunk of her scalp. “No,” she said. “There isn’t. My head hurts.” She wiped at her nose again. “Brain fluid.” She picked her nose and removed a thick chunk, holding it up for them to see. “Part of my frontal lobe, I think.”

  William wanted to retch. He covered his mouth, swallowing his vomit, and shot her in the stomach.

  “What the hell?” Mason yelped.

  Caroline’s hands went protectively to her stomach. She fell on her knees, blood running freely from the bullet hole.

  “See. My gun works just fine,” William said, shooting Caroline right between the eyes. She teetered and fell forward onto her face, butt up in the air.

  “Why did you do that?” Mason squealed. “She might have been useful.”

  “You heard her,” William said. “She can’t help. You were talking to a monster, not a rational human being.”

  He looked up into the trees, aiming at branches. He brought the gun back down to Mason.

  “Hey.” Mason raised his hands. “We’re together on this, aren’t we?” Mason asked. “It’s us against them. You and I can be enemies later.”

  “Later,” William said, dropping his gun to his side.

  William wanted the seeds and the book.

  The book’s seeds had been enough of a draw to bring William into another country. He was trespassing without giving much concern to the consequences, ready to kill anyone who got in his way. His constant thought ever since discovering the seeds was what life would be like if only he had the book to go with them.

  And if William had to be honest, he’d admit his desire was beyond infatuation. There was no denying his obsession, certainly not now, not here, dressed as he was with a gun, having shot a zombie.

  Mason exhaled quietly. “The path,” he said, pointing. “It goes down, then up. We’ll see the house right when we turn a sharp corner. That way.”

  “So you have been here before.”

  “Yeah. And I made it out alive, see? In one piece. I came back with a friend. I’m not alone.”

  “So you’ve said. Why hasn’t your friend made an appearance? Or did I just shoot her?”

  “Caroline? No, she wasn’t my friend.” Mason looked down at her. “Do you think you killed her?”

  “She’s not moving, is she? But we should be. So let’s go. And if your friend jumps out from behind a tree looking anything like her, I’ll shoot him, too.”

  64—Inspector Tseme Dusu

  Dusu had observed Mason staring through the gate's bars. Clearly, Mason was not acting on impulse; there had been a driving force. He was almost positive Mason was talking to someone.

  After Mason jumped the gate, Dusu picked up his radio and reported his whereabouts. He had requested backup, but as time ticked by with no patrol car in sight, he radioed again. He waited, and still no car.

  Dusu got out and approached the gate, amazed to finally see it revealed. If he left and came back, the gate would surely disappear again.

  Dusu climbed the bars, and already he felt less human. It was like knowing his venture would somehow change him, or worse, and going straight for it regardless.

  He jumped, as he had seen Mason do, and hit the ground hard. His began to ring.

  The earth underneath his feet was stiff and unyielding, like concrete. The landing knocked him off balance, but he didn’t fall. As soon as he righted himself, he felt the earth shift, the ground go soft.

  He tried to step away. The mud sucked at his shoes, making his movements difficult. I’ll lose a shoe, he warned himself while trying to lift his leg.

  He caught a glimpse of Mason, but Dusu was ankle deep in mud and sinking. He could not escape to follow. Dusu heaved, his leg muscles straining, the mud pulling.

  Quicksand. Dusu had encountered that nasty business in the desert. The more you fight, the more you get pulled. He was mid-calf deep.

  Keep calm. Control breathing.

  Dusu leaned forward on his knees, and then lay on his chest, keeping his hips above the surface. His legs rose slightly, allowing him to wade toward a tree branch sticking out like a safety arm. Grasping the branch, the trick was to pull without dislocating a shoulder. Dusu took a deep breath, and grimaced as he wrenched his torso free.

  His thighs were released with a slurp. His knees popped up and out, and his feet were freed last, the mud reluctant to let them go.

  He squatted on dry, flat ground beneath the tree. Grit sagged in his pants, and his boots felt like they were full of wet cement. The forest grounds were not to be trusted, he told himself. Some parts were soft enough to swallow a man, others hard enough to splatter a fallen head.

  Dusu leaned against the thick trunk and removed his pants and boots. He shook grit out of his pockets and cuffs, dumped wet slop out of his boots.

  A bark sounded from up the path. Dusu’s gun was in his holster belted to his pants. He knew the gun would be useless, the barrel filled with mud. He turned, looking toward the gate. Damn! Where is backup?

  Two loud pops brought his attention back to why he had jumped the gate in the first place—Mason. Dusu grabbed his safety branch, fastened his foot on a higher root, and climbed, stopping before he reached the leafy, green canopy.

  Mason stood about a kilometer away in the forest’s distance. Another man clothed in black stood beside him. It was hard to see, but the man looked too tall, too broad to be Jeffrey. A woman lay at their feet. Dusu overheard little of the conversation, but heard Mason call the woman Caroline. Eva’s sister? The zombie from his article. The man aimed his gun at Mason, but the two must have then come to an agreement because the weapon was dropped and they began walking up the path together, out of sight.

  Dusu was about to climb down the tree, when he saw Caroline stand. She leapt into a tree as agile as a cat. The branch shook as she jumped from the tree and landed on another branch. Caroline jumped tree limb to tree limb through the woods in Mason’s direction. Dusu turned toward the gate; he should have had a bird's view of it from where he perched. I can't see the gate. And where is backup?

  Quickly, he shuffled down. He shook out his pants and boots once more and dressed, determined to catch up with Mason and his companion.

  Slush, slosh; the entire forest could surely hear him coming. His thighs itched from the grit still clinging to his wet pants.

  A huff of breath from behind had Dusu spinning on his heels, clogged gun withdrawn, finger on the trigger, sights on Captain Massu Thuzien.

  “Don’t shoot!”

  65—Father Charles Thurmont

  Charles went over the plan one more time in his head: Place open pyx containing the Eucharist on the ground outside her gate to prevent her from escaping property; throw first bucket of blessed sea water mixed with bleach to expose and break down gate; after stepping onto her property, chant the Exorcism Rite while making way to her ho
use; douse her with the second bucket as Dorothy had done to the Wicked Witch of the West.

  Nkumbi had informed Charles that bleach breaks down gold, her physical makeup. She was created out of the same earth as Adam, and the new earth had been filled with the elements, mostly gold.

  Holy water weakens her spiritual makeup, Nkumbi said, and disperses the demons surrounding her.

  “I adjure thee by the living God and by his son Jesus Christ …” Father Charles chanted as he began his ritual.

  Charles threw water at the gate. There was an immediate reaction, a metamorphosis of iron to bone. The bones snapped, broke, and crumbled to the ground. The surrounding bushes dried up and withered into dust.

  He waited. Last time, she had sent an earthquake after him. This time, there was nothing. All was quiet.

  Charles left the pyx on the ground, but not before breaking off a small crumb from the Eucharist. The Eucharist—the bread miraculously converted into the risen Lord—is not confined by time or space. The little crumb is considered as whole as the larger piece in the pyx.

  Charles had seen exorcisms fail. He never thought the failure was God's, but believed it may have been willed by God for reasons beyond human intellect.

  The woman had been allowed on Earth; the anti-Christ lived. She possessed powers beyond reasoning and belief. She was the subject of rumours, myths, fictional stories, television shows, and movies. Yet, no one gave her existence a serious nod.

  Charles had faith in his task; faith in God was never an issue. He did not, however, have full faith in himself, and he wondered if he was the one destined to bring her down, or did God have other plans that did not include him?

  Only one way to find out, Charles thought as he headed up the path, second bucket in tow.

  66—Inspector Tseme Dusu

  “Captain!” Dusu exclaimed as he dropped his gun to his side.

  He felt the colour drain from his face; he had almost shot Thuzien. Not that Dusu’s gun was a useful weapon anymore. The barrel and muzzle were clogged with mud and grit, and the slide was stuck.

  Thuzien’s hand shook over his holstered gun. He stood unmoving, his mouth agape.

  “I thought you were something else,” Dusu explained to Thuzien.

  “Something?” Thuzien asked. The muscle above his eye twitched.

  Dusu nodded. “Have you heard the barking? It sounds like dogs.”

  “I heard gunshots,” Thuzien said, looking over both shoulders.

  “The gunshots you heard—a woman was shot by the trespassers I followed here.”

  “Was she killed?” Thuzien asked.

  “No,” Dus answered, unsure of his own answer. “She got up and I was unable to follow. I called for backup,” Dusu said, holstering his gun.

  “Assistance will not be coming.”

  “Why?” Dusu asked, dumbfounded.

  “You were supposed to keep me informed on everything,” Thuzien said. “I wanted to see for myself what this was all about.” He rocked on his feet as if drunk, and then slapped the side of his head. “My ears won't stop ringing.”

  “Yes,” Dusu replied. “Try to ignore it.”

  “We must go,” Thuzien announced. He pivoted on his feet. “I don’t remember which way I came from. How do we get out?”

  Dusu considered walking back toward the car to radio for help, but he decided to involve Thuzien in the hunt. Perhaps duty would help calm the officer. “We can’t leave. Mason is here, wandering around. He is one of the trespassers. I don't know the other. And there is a kidnapped woman here. Come. We will follow the path.”

  67

  Dusu had no idea how long they had been walking when a loud bark startled them.

  “There,” Thuzien said, turning his wide-eyed head upward and pointing. “It came from that tree directly above.”

  “No,” Dusu said. “It was from the tree we just passed.”

  “Stop!” Thuzien said. “Listen.” Both men stood perfectly still. “It is right above us.” Thuzien whipped out his gun and pointed it up into the tree.

  “Man. Are you daft?” Dusu asked. “The forest is driving you crazy. I am telling you, it is behind us.”

  “Withdraw your weapon!” Thuzien ordered.

  “It is no good,” Dusu replied. “It fell in mud. We cannot stop and linger. We must keep walking.”

  POP! POP!

  The shots sounded like tiny pops from a toy pistol, not like the boom from the police issued double action, semi automatic RAP 440.

  POP!

  The bullet ricocheted off a tree, and Dusu felt it graze his temple. He put a hand to his head as Thuzien took another shot.

  “What are you shooting at?” Dusu yelled, wiping blood from his burning flesh wound. “Put your gun down! The trees are like metal beams. Your bullet bounced off one and hit me.”

  “Something is moving in the tree!” Thuzien shouted, redirecting his gun. “Dogs don't climb trees,” he squealed, staring in the murky tree tops.

  “I hear it,” Dusu said, “but it is far behind us. I think the noise is echoing.”

  Dusu tried to relax Thuzien by reminding him of his earlier attitude. “I thought you believed this juju was nonsense, that Mason was a trouble maker.”

  Dusu heard another bark. He looked in the direction of where he thought the barking originated. “Why don’t you —”

  “There, the tree! It’s moving!” Thuzien shot up into the tree above him.

  To Dusu, the incident seemed to have happened in slow motion.

  The bullet ricocheted off the solid trunk, puncturing Thuzien in the shoulder. The hard hit sent him reeling backward off his feet. His head angled toward the ground, and his neck twisted in an arch as he tried to right himself. Had Thuzien been more agile, he might have landed differently. His face twisted into a grimace, his eyes squeezed shut. He landed on his neck with a THWACK. Blood ran from his shoulder. His eyes opened, and the pupils rolled to the sides. Thuzien was dead.

  Dusu hooked his thumbs into his belt buckle and pursed his lips. He let out a long, quiet breath of frustration, stifling a growing desire to scream.

  If only, kept going through his head. If only Thuzien had taken Dusu’s line of work seriously. If only he had not interfered with his call for backup. If only Thuzien had been more experienced emotionally, physically, and mentally to deal with the nuances of her grounds. Thuzien had been a preventable casualty.

  Dark blood continued flowing out of the open wound at the back of Thuzien’s shoulder. It pooled behind him and ran a trail before seeping in the dirt.

  He would not leave Thuzien’s body alone and unguarded, not in those woods.

  After Thuzien’s bleeding slowed to a drip, Dusu lifted the slain officer over his shoulder and started walking, briskly, hiking past tree after tree.

  He heard another bark and broke into a trot.

  68—Mason, the Reporter

  My heart raced. My insides felt tight.

  McPhee and I walked fast. I focused on my footsteps, but never once turned to see if anything was following.

  A ray of light pierced through the treetops ahead. The surrounding brush was orange and brown, dead where the sun hit.

  “You hear that?” McPhee asked, picking up speed. “That bark?”

  “Yeah,” I said.

  “I think we should run.”

  “Then they might run.”

  “What if we run faster?”

  A sharp bark came from close behind.

  “Go!” McPhee urged.

  I took off toward the light. I ran faster than I ever had in my entire life, faster than I had when I ran from Miguel. My feet pounded on the hard ground, my arms pumped through the air.

  We broke through the tree line.

  The house.

  I stopped.

  “This isn’t the house!” I exclaimed in a hoarse whisper.

  McPhee ignored me. He took the lead, and gravel crunched under his feet as he skirted across the driveway.

&nbs
p; I followed.

  We tramped through the brown grass and hopped up the fractured steps to a weathered, sun-beaten door.

  69

  “Where are we?” McPhee asked, panting. He gazed over his shoulder toward the dark woods, and then turned to me. “You said the path would lead to the house.”

  “It does.”

  “Is this the house? You got to kidding me. Should we go in and hide?” He dared to try the door handle. “Locked. I’m not going back into those woods. Wait. It’s daylight.” McPhee let out a long sigh. “We spent an entire night in the woods.”

  “Maybe,” I said. Lowther’s warning about time echoed in my head.

  I made my way to the edge of the porch, careful not to trip over the wide cracks in the cement, and looked toward the back of the house. “The shade is coming down off the mountain. See how the house is bigger in back, where the darkness hits the siding, the roof, and windows?”

  McPhee stood behind me, peering over my shoulder. “It’s …” He stomped to the front door. “Got to be some kind of an illusion. Hey. The door is open.”

  I was torn between watching the house grow in the moving shade, and walking over where McPhee stood at the open door hanging askew on a broken hinge.

  “Does Jeffrey really live here? It’s dark inside.” McPhee poked his head in through the doorway. “Wow.” His voice echoed.

  “Let me see,” I said, standing behind him. “Move.”

  McPhee stepped aside.

  “I don’t see anything,” I said.

  He pushed me through the door.

  A short gust of warm air hit me in the face. The air was so thick I considered pulling out my knife to cut a breathing hole.

  McPhee stood directly at my heels. We both stared, wordless for the moment.

  70

  I’m here.

  Quiet held to the house. Pressure built in my ears, ready to pop. Weak and tired, I had a constant, tugging urge to flee.