The Undertakers

by Ty Drago

“Not First Stop, Manayunk One.”

  “Okay…” she replied, clearly taken aback. “But we still need a way outta here.”

  “Looks like the nearest train station is at Shurs Lane and Manayunk Avenue.”

  “They’ll be watching that.”

  “Okay. How about Bala Station at Bala and City Line?”

  “Isn’t that just the other end of the R6 line?”

  “It’s a different route with the same number. That should throw the Corpses off.”

  “Cool. That works.”

  “Come up at Tenth Street and expect a Number Twenty-Four.”

  At that, Helene actually laughed a little. “Okay. Thanks, Haven. I’ll signal when we’re at Market East.”

  “Understood. Good luck. Haven out.”

  Helene rubbed her face with her hands.

  “Who was that?” I asked.

  “I’ll explain later. We’ve got to go.” She scooped up her loaded backpack and headed for the mouth of the pipe.

  “Wait!”

  She sighed impatiently. “What?”

  “Those things back there—those dead people…”

  “What about them?”

  I swallowed. “You…can see them too?”

  She studied me. Then she smiled. “Yeah, Will. You’re not insane. I can see them too. Now, let’s go. I promise to answer all your questions but not yet. Wait until we’re someplace safe.”

  “Is there such a place?” I asked a little desperately.

  Her smile widened. “You bet there is!”

  CHAPTER 4

  Into the City

  We didn’t reach the Bala Train Station until mid-afternoon, after a long hike that took us across the river, along narrow tree-lined roads, and through fancy neighborhoods. At last, tired and hungry, we staggered out onto City Line Avenue, so named because it marked Philadelphia’s northeastern border. It was a wide street—far wider than anything in Manayunk. Its six lanes were choked with cars and buses.

  “Which way?” I asked wearily.

  Helene pointed north.

  City Line was a big business spot, so there were plenty of people around. Thankfully nobody paid any attention to us as we trudged along the sidewalk.

  “I don’t see any of them here,” I said.

  “Me neither.”

  “They’re not all in Manayunk, are they?”

  “You wish.”

  “Then why are there zombies—?”

  “Don’t call them zombies,” she said again.

  “Why not?”

  “Because zombies are slow and stupid, and the Corpses aren’t. You want to remember that.”

  “Okay,” I relented. “So why don’t I see any…Corpses…around here?”

  As if on cue, a limousine rolled to a stop half a block up. One of its shiny black doors opened, and a man in a three-piece suit emerged. Laughing, he turned to his companion, who was following him out of the car.

  The second guy was dead.

  As dead people went, he was freshest I’d seen. His body was straight and tall as he and his friend stood face to face on the sidewalk outside a big glass building that bore the sign NBC-10, complete with the familiar peacock logo.

  “Spoke too soon,” Helene remarked.

  “He looks like someone important.”

  She looked pointedly at me. “That’s Kenny Booth.”

  I was stunned. “The TV news guy? Mr. ‘Get to the truth with Kenny Booth’?”

  She nodded.

  “He’s…dead?”

  “He’s a Corpse.”

  “Isn’t that the same thing?” I asked.

  “Not exactly.”

  “Does he look like that…on TV?”

  She shrugged. “Sure, if you’re a Seer.”

  “Like us?”

  “Like us,” Helene said.

  “But how can you tell?” I asked. “I mean, he looks—dead, just like all the rest of them. How can you tell he’s Kenny Booth in particular?” Sure, he had a nice suit, but weren’t there a lot of nice suits on City Line Avenue?

  “I can see his Mask,” she replied.

  I blinked at her and then glanced over at the living man and dead man still standing on the sidewalk, chatting away like old pals.

  “Try this,” Helene told me. “Ever do one of those Magic Eye posters? You know, the ones where there’s a picture within a picture, and you can only see the second picture if you hold your eyes a certain way?”

  I nodded. My dad had brought one home a few years back, and Mom and I had spent half the night trying to spot the 3-D basketball player that he promised us was hidden inside the 2-D picture of a globe. Mom couldn’t get it—but I could. It took some practice, and it gave me a headache after a while, but I finally saw the guy dribbling the basketball. An autostereogram, my father had called it.

  It was pretty cool.

  “Do that,” Helene said. “Look at Booth again, but this time try to look just in front of him. Let your eyes lose focus and wander a little bit. See what happens.”

  So I did. Standing there on that sunny sidewalk, with heavy traffic to our left and people moving past us on the right, I locked my gaze on the fancy-dressed cadaver. Then I kind of crossed my eyes the way I had with Dad’s poster.

  And it was just that easy.

  Floating on top of the purple, bloated face appeared the familiar image of Kenny Booth, Philly’s favorite TV news guy. His hair was perfectly styled, his teeth pearly white.

  Seeing him like this—for the first time, I really understood just how well these Corpses had disguised themselves.

  And it terrified me.

  Then I blinked, and Booth’s Mask disappeared, leaving behind an animated lump of dead flesh that was just now laughing at some comment his friend had made.

  “Come on,” Helene said. “We shouldn’t stay out in the open too long.”

  Agreeing wholeheartedly, I followed her across the street, giving Booth and his buddy a wide berth.

  Several blocks later, we reached the train station.

  In half an hour, we’d be in Center City. By now, of course, my mother was already there. She worked as a nurse at Children’s Hospital and would be doing the noon to eight shift today. Emily would be at Grandmom’s as usual. My life. So normal. So boring. What I wouldn’t give to just step right back into it!

  As we stood on the platform waiting for the next train, I glanced nervously at Helene. Who was this girl? She’d simply shown up for school in September, a little over a month ago. New to town, the teachers had said. Pretty and friendly, she’d quickly become popular. But she’d never been one of those girls to join cliques with her friends and treat everybody else like dirt. And she’d always been especially nice to me—although before today, I’d lacked the courage to say more than a dozen words to her.

  Now she had saved my life, and she ran around as if fighting zombies—Corpses—and evading the police were everyday activities for her. On top of that, she lived in an abandoned pipe on a riverbank!

  Where were her parents?

  And what on Earth had she meant when she’d called herself an undertaker? Wasn’t that a funeral director or something?

  The train arrived, and we boarded it. Within minutes we were headed into Center City, leaving my entire life behind us.

  I turned to Helene, determined to finally get some answers, but she beat me to the punch. “Your dad was a cop, right?”

  I blinked. “What? Oh. Yeah.”

  “He died?”

  “Two years ago.”

  “Killed on the job?”

  I nodded. This wasn’t my favorite subject. My dad’s death had hit me hard.

  She studied me thoughtfully. “Sorry.”

  “Not as sorry as I am,” I replied flatly.

  “Guess not. You ever think about becoming a cop?”

  “Sometimes.”

  “You’d be a good one,” she said, surprising me. “You’re brave.”

  “I don’t feel brave.”

/>   “Brave people never do. But you kept your cool back there in the classroom. A lot of kids would’ve run away screaming.”

  “I wanted to,” I said.

  “Sure, but you didn’t. That’s brave.”

  “Not as brave as you.”

  She actually blushed a little. “Well—it’s easier when you know what’s going on.”

  “So how about helping me out? What is going on?”

  “You’ll find out later.”

  I frowned. “Why can’t you tell me now?”

  “Rules,” she said. “Sorry. We have to wait til we get there.”

  “To Haven?” I asked, remembering the weird wrist radio conversation.

  “Yeah.”

  “Is that who you were talking to…back in the pipe? Haven?”

  She nodded.

  “Uh-huh. But you can’t tell me what Haven is?”

  “Nope. Not until we get there.”

  “Fine,” I said, frowning. “Can you at least tell me about the Corpses?”

  She nodded.

  “Good,” I said, feeling annoyed. “Let’s start with why they’re dead.”

  “The Corpses aren’t dead people. They’re reanimated bodies that have been possessed.”

  “Possessed…by whom?”

  “We don’t know,” she said with a shrug.

  “Okay, then…how?”

  Another shrug. “We don’t really know that either—not for sure.”

  “Fine…” I said again, feeling frustrated. “Then let’s try this: how can you and I see them when nobody else can?”

  “The only people who can See them are kids,” Helene replied. “But only a few, rare kids—and no adults at all.”

  “No adults?”

  She shook her head. Then, turning away from me, she added quietly, “At least not anymore.”

  “Why not?”

  “We don’t know.”

  “You don’t know much, do you?” I remarked bitterly.

  “Sorry.”

  “How many Corpses are there?” I asked.

  “Thousands. Maybe tens of thousands. They started showing up about three years ago—just a few at first but more all the time. Now they’re all over the city.”

  “Is it some kind of invasion?”

  “That’s what it looks like.”

  “And what would happen if I went home?”

  “They’d kill you,” she replied simply. “And probably your family too—just in case. They go after anybody who can See them.”

  “My neighbor’s one of them,” I said.

  She smiled thinly. “I know.”

  “I thought I was going nuts!”

  “I’ll bet you did,” Helene said gently. “I could tell that in class this morning. From the way you were staring at Ms. Yu, I figured that you’d finally started Seeing.”

  “Seeing?”

  “That’s what we call it when you start recognizing the Corpses for what they are.”

  “So you could See Ms. Yu too,” I said.

  She nodded.

  “And it didn’t bother you?”

  “I’m used to it.”

  “Has she always been—you know, dead?”

  Helene nodded.

  “From the beginning of the school year?”

  Another nod.

  “Why would a Corpse be teaching math at our middle school?”

  “It’s a cover,” she said. “They all have to pretend to lead ordinary lives—to be like the humans around them.”

  “But they’re everywhere!” I exclaimed.

  “There are a lot of them in Manayunk,” she said. “More than in most other parts of the city.”

  “Why? What’s so special about a little neighborhood like Manayunk?”

  She shook her head. “I’d better let Tom answer that one.”

  “Tom?”

  She didn’t reply.

  “Tom who?”

  She only shook her head again.

  “He’s at Haven?”

  “Yeah. Hang in there, Red. We’ll be there soon.”

  I sat back and closed my eyes, listening to my heartbeat. It sounded really loud. “Do me a favor,” I said.

  “Sure.”

  “Don’t call me Red.”

  A pause. “Okay.”

  We spent the rest of the ride in silence.

  CHAPTER 5

  Number 24

  When I was ten, my dad took us all sightseeing in Center City Philadelphia. We visited Independence Hall, Betsy Ross’s House, and the Liberty Bell in its glass pavilion. But my favorite part was the trip to the top of City Hall Tower, where a huge statue of William Penn, the city’s founder, stood overlooking everything.

  The view amazed me, although it scared Emily, who’d been only three at the time. So Mom took her back to the elevator, leaving me and Dad alone on the small observation platform that encircled the base of the statue, high above the city.

  Dad pointed out all the surrounding skyscrapers and told me that when he’d been a kid, City Hall had been the tallest building in town. Apparently there used to be this law saying that nothing could be taller than the top of Billy Penn’s head. I remember the two of us looking up at the statue: a man with a long coat, funny shoes, and curly locks of hair half-hidden by a wide-brimmed hat. He seemed big, old Billy Penn.

  But not as big as my dad.

  I’d grown up thinking my father was invincible and eternal, just like Penn’s statue. But he’d also been a great guy, quick to laugh or tease or tickle—always good for a game of chess or a story of his policeman’s adventures on the Philly streets.

  Standing there that day, side by side, neither of us knew that Detective Karl Ritter had just six months to live.

  I’d been fatherless now for two years. Sometimes it felt like forever. Other times it seemed like he’d died only yesterday. It was something that Mom always told me I’d get used to. She was wrong.

  “Will?” Helene asked, interrupting my memories. “You okay?”

  I nodded.

  We’d left the subway and had come up onto the streets of Philly. The two of us now stood on the corner of 10th and Market streets, waiting for the light to change. I’d forgotten how much bigger everything was here in Center City: the buildings, the traffic—even the air felt heavier. It was a little dizzying.

  Helene whispered, “Don’t look around so much.”

  “Why not?”

  “Because there are Corpses closing in on us.”

  So of course I had to look around.

  A dead woman was strolling along the street toward us, clutching a Macy’s shopping bag in one dripping, decaying hand. She was trying to look casual, but her lifeless eyes kept flitting in our direction. A second cadaver—this one dressed like a construction worker, including hard hat, stood across the wide street. He was waiting—as we were—for the traffic light to change.

  Swallowing, I spotted a third Corpse. This one was another cop, and he sat inside an idling police car maybe thirty feet away.

  Watching us.

  “Helene!” I muttered.

  “I See them,” she replied calmly. “Just stay close.”

  The light changed.

  Helene raised her wrist to her lips and whispered something into her radio that I didn’t catch.

  The crowd of pedestrians stepped off the curb, pushing us along with them, moving hurriedly across Market Street.

  Dead Man Cop stepped out of his car.

  The shopper fell into step just a few clueless people behind us. Ahead, the construction guy advanced, his purplish skin stretched tight, his lipless mouth open in a sneer that no one but us could See.

  Helene said, “When someone tells you to move—move.”

  I nodded, struggling to remain calm. Corpses closed in on three sides of us. The cop placed one slimy, skinless hand on his nightstick.

  They’ve trapped us! They expected us to take the train into town, and they were waiting!

  We were halfway across the
intersection now, each cadaver only steps away. My heart was hammering.

  Would they simply snatch us and whisk us away to the waiting police car? Why not? We could scream ourselves hoarse—who would believe us? Who would defy a uniformed cop on the say-so of a couple of truant middle-schoolers?

  The net was almost closed now. The cop had started to snap his rotting teeth open and closed, as if he planned to eat us. As he did, one of his eyes popped out, landing on the ground beneath his booted feet.

  When, a moment later, he stepped on it and squashed it, I thought I might vomit.

  “Coming through!” a voice suddenly called.

  Around us, people cried out in alarm as a dozen kids on bicycles burst out from behind an idling bus. Ranging in age from fourteen to maybe seventeen, the cyclists weaved expertly through the stopped cars at the Market Street red light before pedaling right into the tangled mass of pedestrians.

  Everybody scattered.

  Dead Cop uttered an unearthly cry of rage. The other two Corpses suddenly leapt forward, reaching for Helene and me and moving incredibly fast. But the cyclists were faster. The nearest of the kids, a tall, dark-skinned girl with long dreadlocks pulled something off her back.

  It was a Japanese sword.

  As I watched, dumbstruck, she swung it savagely at Dead Construction Guy, lopping off both his outstretched arms at the elbows. The severed limbs dropped to the asphalt. The Corpse stared at the stumps, looking more annoyed than anything else. An instant later, twin streams of pistol water, fired by two of the other riders, caught him and the woman shopper full in the face.

  The pedestrians all ran, some cursing, some screaming—but all seemingly oblivious to the amputation that had just taken place in their midst.

  The next thing I knew, I was surrounded by bicycles. They stopped around us, forming a tight circle, every one of their riders brandishing a water pistol. They were each, I saw, riding a Schwinn Stingray—the coolest thing going these days, a muscle bike with V-back drag bars and a banana-shaped, low-ride saddle. The nearest rider, an older kid wearing a leather jacket and dark sunglasses, grabbed me and pulled me up onto the back of the bike’s long seat.

  “Hang on!” he commanded.

  I gratefully wrapped my arms around his waist.

  Dead Cop made one final grab for me. The cyclists all fired at once, soaking him. He tumbled to the street, twitching spastically.