The Reburialists

by J. C. Nelson

  My phone rang. I read the number off the display, and answered, “Amy, where are you?”

  “Grace Roberts, that is the question I would ask you. I am sorry it took me so long.”

  “Are you talking and driving? We’ve got a plan—we’re heading into the desert to make the exchange. If Ra-Ame wants the heart, she’ll come and get it there.”

  “I do not think a change of location will matter, but I will be with you until the end.”

  I relayed the directions Brynner gave me, while he fired up the boat and motored back to the dock. And then we headed into town, collecting water bottles, a sun shelter, and enough equipment to fill the backseat.

  The last stop we made was at the closest BSI outpost. When Brynner strode into the hall, decked in his BSI uniform, the local field commander just about choked. “Sir!” He rose, saluting Brynner.

  “I need to find a shambler, and I need it soon. Do you have any reports?” Brynner leaned over the desk, dwarfing the saluting men.

  “Sir, I’m sorry, but we used saltwater pressure washers on a band last night. You could sort through what’s left.” He turned to me. “You need a sample for tests, ma’am?”

  I nodded. “New communication system.”

  We followed him out to a pickup truck, where dozens of corpses lay waiting to be burnt. He pointed to them. “Some of them were still blinking last night.”

  Brynner climbed into the truck and began rolling over bodies. At last, he grabbed one by the legs and dragged it out. He knelt over it, staring into the dead face. “Ra-Ame, can you hear me?”

  Seconds ticked by with no response, until Brynner rose. “Let me get another.”

  “No.” I pointed to the co-org, whose vacant eyes now stared at Brynner. Its mouth moved, but no voice came. The lips moved again, and I gave voice to the words. “I can see you, Death that Follows.”

  Brynner nodded and rummaged in the back of the truck. “Good.” Then he drew out a fire ax and came back. He put one foot on the shambler’s chest and hefted the ax. “Time to make you more portable.”

  BRYNNER

  I made it quick, but not quick enough for Grace. I’m glad we hadn’t eaten breakfast yet. And when I brought the head back to the car, she made that “You aren’t going to put that in the car with me” face. Which I’d never seen before but had no problem recognizing.

  “No?” I held it up like Medusa’s head.

  “No.”

  So I tied it to the grill of the car, where it made one hell of a hood ornament. And we drove, following a route roughly similar to what I’d told Amy. Mostly. Truth was, I didn’t really know where I was going, only that it had to be farther away. If a turn looked emptier, more desolate, I took it.

  Until at last we hit a dead end.

  I got out and looked around. “There.” A rocky outcropping rose from the desert. “We’ll be able to see her coming from ten miles away.”

  Grace nodded, collecting the bag with the heart, heading to the outcropping.

  After we’d set up the tent shelter, and the water jugs, I took out three lawn chairs and dragged them to the top of the hill. “You want to sit and talk, keep your feet up.” I pointed to the ground. “Brown scorpions everywhere. They don’t bother most folks, but I’d hate for you to miss the fun.”

  Grace yanked her feet up, wrapping her arms around her knees and staring at the ground. “Got it.” She didn’t sound like a woman facing her death. “I never dreamed it would come to this.”

  “I’m glad you’re with me.” Most people didn’t dream that the most ancient of an evil race would be meeting them in the desert. I’d had that dream a couple of times in the last few days. I stripped down, taking out my new armor, the bag Grace grabbed from the armory back at headquarters. Unlike my old armor, this fit me like a glove, ventilated so I didn’t roast, with woven Kevlar mesh almost everywhere. “You like?”

  “I love.” She rose, looking at the lines. Then frowned. “What about here?” She tickled me under the arm.

  I squirmed under her touch. “There and the back of the knees. I have to be able to bend. Now for the finishing touches.” I took out the last part of my ensemble. Actually, my father’s ensemble. A BSI gray trench coat he’d worn year-round.

  “Dad kept this thing stocked with more weapons than the whole armory.” I shook it out and slipped it on. “How do I look?”

  Grace’s lip puckered under. “You look great.” She unzipped her equipment bag and dumped it out. “You’d look even better with a couple of these.” Deliverators lay in a heap at my feat, along with a pile of spare magazines. “And these.” She kicked a crossbow toward me.

  “I’ll leave those to you. I like things that cut. It’s how I was raised. How I learned.”

  She ran one hand down my chest. “You can learn new ways. I taught you last night.”

  Oh, had she ever. So very well, but this was different. I slipped the jar into one of the inner pockets, then studied the array of additional blades. “What do you think? Those are better for blocking, but honestly, if she hits me, I’m probably dead.” While I waited for Grace to decide, I put relics from every single religion Dad visited into different pockets. I’d jingle like a street pimp but had to be ready for anything. Ancient Sumerian or Rastafarian, I had it all.

  “I don’t think so. Again, if Ra-Ame could knock down buildings all the time, she’d be doing it.”

  I strung a Russian orthodox cross around my neck and slipped it in between the armor. Dad said the cross had saved him on a number of occasions, and I could use every ounce of help possible.

  At last, I sat down in my chair and leaned back to doze in the heat.

  “How can you do that?”

  I patted the back of the chair. “There’s a lever here. It lets me lean back.”

  Grace sighed. “No. How can you be so relaxed? Don’t you know what’s about to happen?”

  I sat up, the chair creaking under my weight. “Grace, do you know why you were born? Do you know why you exist? I do. I don’t know what my dad did to whatever god he did it to, but this is what he was born for. What I was born to do.”

  “I’m sorry, I just don’t believe that.” She scooted her chair closer. “Let’s say we succeed. What then? If this is all you live for, what happens when Ra-Ame is gone? When the Re-Animus can be killed by anyone with the right weapons?”

  I closed my eyes, searching for an answer I’d never given a moment’s thought. “I don’t know. But I do know someone who is scary smart. I might ask her for help finding something else to do.” I opened my eyes, and she’d cracked a wry grin. “My purpose is to kill Ra-Ame.”

  She put her hand in mine. “Are you scared?”

  “Terrified. Not of dying. Amy’s right. Everyone dies at some point. I’m terrified of failing. Truth is, I don’t know what Dad would have done. We never talked about this.”

  Grace squeezed my fingers. “There’s more to you than your dad. Last night, I called the Ministry of Death, Grave Services, anyone who would listen and explained everything. Mailed half a dozen copies of my files. And left a message thanking them for Amy’s help. We’d be dead without her. I asked them to send her a commendation.”

  I imagined Amy giving a dour expression as she received her medal, or shrugging. “I’d pay to see that.” I must have dozed, because when I looked up, the sun hung straight over head.

  A car engine rumbled in the distance, while Grace shook me. “She’s here.”

  GRACE

  Amy’s car came flying along the road, a white rental coupe with both windows down. She skidded to a halt beside our car and got out, dressed like a tourist. She wore bangle bracelets and a tank top that showed her curves without straining to hold them, and brown khaki shorts.

  She jogged up the path to the rocks, kicking off her sandals to stand in the bare dirt. “Am I too late?”

  Brynner nodded. “She came a few minutes ago. Just missed her.” He offered her a hand, and she stepped away, giving me a h
ug.

  “You are a funny dead man, Brynner Carson.”

  “That’s the Amy I know and love. We sort of gave Ra-Ame a homing beacon.” He pointed to the head on our car. “If it’s noon, she’ll be here any minute.”

  Amy surveyed the desert, holding her hand over her eyes. “She may already be watching. You do not know the eldest of the old ones, or what she can do.”

  I looked to Brynner, and he nodded in agreement. “We’re not going to hand over the heart.”

  Amy looked up in alarm. “You stand no chance. Did you not see what happened in Seattle?”

  “I saw.” I took her arm, guiding her to the shelter. “But I have a theory.” I explained what I thought about Ra-Ame’s army. About her abilities. And finally, about the heart. “So, I’m guessing the worst thing on earth would be for her to get it. I don’t know what she can do with it that she can’t without it, but I’m not going to find out.”

  Amy took her chair and imitated Brynner, leaning back. “So many theories, Grace Roberts. And you know you will die if you are wrong?”

  “I know I’m going to die either way. What I don’t know is when exactly she’s going to bless us with her appearance.”

  Amy laughed, a deep laugh from the bottom of her belly. “If the legends are true, you will know.”

  The clock ticked closer and closer to noon, and Brynner began to pace. Finally, he came over. “I have to—umm—use the little boys’ room, and I think I’m going to grab a bigger knife, just in case. Keep an eye out. Shout if you see anything.”

  “Don’t sit on a cactus.” I sat up and looked out across the desert.

  Amy waved her hat after he left. “That man stinks of sex. Did he satisfy you, or should I cut off his testicles?”

  Which explained exactly why Amy was still single. “I’d like them left attached. And no comment, but I’d like to think the satisfaction was mutual.” I sat in the chair beside her, taking Brynner’s spot. “Why are you here?”

  “They say Ra-Ame was beautiful. Perhaps I want to see for myself. But many things are said of her. Willing sacrifice. Who is willing to die? We will know the truth soon enough.”

  I looked down the hill after Brynner but kept my mouth shut. Too willing. “You want a gun? I offered one to Brynner, for all the good it did. I figure Ra-Ame’s vulnerable, or she would have torn through the firing line in Seattle just to make a point.”

  Amy patted her knives in response. “Why are you here?”

  “Because of Brynner. And my daughter.”

  Amy’s mouth fell open. “You have a child? I did not know.”

  “She’s in a care home. It’s hard to explain.” It was easy to explain Esther’s condition. What was hard was explaining my inability to face the truth. “She’s . . . sick.”

  “Your daughter was well hidden, if even the old ones did not know or suspect.”

  My phone beeped. And again. And then again. I walked over and unlocked it, reading the messages.

  “What is it, Grace Roberts?” Amy crossed her arms, one eyebrow raised.

  I turned away. “Re-Animus attack in Chicago. Hundreds dead.”

  I spun, lunging for the pile of guns, and went flying, crashing through the chairs, landing in the dirt. Behind me, Amy stood, kicking the guns away. She chuckled to herself. “Grace Roberts, what is wrong?”

  “I called Grave Services last night. Told them what a great teammate Amy Rust was. How much we liked her. How much I owed her.” I rose, wincing from the sharp pain in my ribs, and tossed her the phone, with the message that had just come in still on-screen. “There is no Amy Rust. And I should have realized before, Ame. Ra-Ame.”

  Amy nodded her head. “Always with the theories. But this one, this one is right.”

  “You showed up right after we captured the spawn. The Re-Animus said he crept into your tomb and woke you. That he whispered my name. And you knew my name before I told you.” I shuffled around the sun shade, looking for a weapon.

  “You are special, Grace Roberts. Your eyes see the fifth sign. The paths of the dead are open to you. And your mind, it sees our weaknesses. So though I have come to reclaim my heart, I will offer you a different choice.” She took out one of her curved blades, slicing away the bangles on her wrist, to show ancient wounds.

  “I died, Grace Roberts, but here we are. And you, too, may join me. Did you not say you would die? I will give you a piece of myself, and you will remain. I will keep you safe while you grow strong. You know the new ways.”

  She had to be kidding. “There is no way that will ever happen.”

  “That is always your decision. Perhaps when The Death that Follows is gone, you will feel different. Perhaps if we visited your daughter, you would feel different. I could speak through her, if you wish.”

  Blinded by rage, I leaped at her, winding up in the dirt again. And inches from my face, a scorpion crawled. I scrambled away from it, backing into Ra-Ame.

  “What is this, Grace Roberts? Why does your heart pound?” She walked past, hips swaying, and picked up the scorpion. “Where I was raised these were pets and food. That was so long ago.” She tossed it away into the brush.

  Ra-Ame reached over and touched my cheek, making me shiver. “I have never lied to you, Grace Roberts. I told you I came to see that man for myself. And I meant in my heart to kill him that first night. But I met someone. A woman my equal. I had forgotten, through the ages, what it meant to laugh and discuss.”

  My hands trembled as I spoke. “Let Brynner go, and take me. I’ll cooperate if you do.” I bowed my head before her.

  “You would not believe me, Grace Roberts, but I have consulted many oracles in the last year, heard many prophecies. I must possess the heart of a Carson to survive another age.” Ra-Ame spun a knife on the tips of her fingers.

  “There are no oracles.”

  “I said you would not believe. For a time, I thought it meant I must have his body. But prophecies are like the old language. There are many ways to read them. I will do both. I will tear his heart from his chest, and still keep it safe for the ages.”

  “Then you’ll fail. You can’t have both.” Her insanity exceeded words.

  Ra-Ame grinned at me. “I believe I can, Grace Roberts.” She whistled. “Brynner Carson. Ra-Ame is here.”

  He came crashing through the brush, pulling his trench coat around him and looking around like a wild animal hunting prey. His eyes met mine, and he reached into his trench coat.

  In a blur I couldn’t see as much as feel, Ra-Ame pointed a Deliverator at me. “Do not move, Death that Follows. Obey my instructions, and only you will die here. Disobey, and I will kill her, then you.”

  I shook my head. That wasn’t going to be part of the plan.

  She waved the gun in my direction. “First, give my heart to Grace Roberts.”

  Brynner drew it out of the trench coat and tossed it underhand to me. The jar clinked as I caught it, then shifted as the heart moved.

  Ra-Ame stepped between Brynner and me. “And now the blades. Be careful or I will carve off her lovely nose.”

  He pulled two blades from his belt and threw them into the sand, a hairbreadth from her toes.

  “Kneel before me, Death that Follows.” She looked back to me. “Open the jar, Grace Roberts. Give me my heart. Do not fear, the sun will not harm it.”

  I knelt in the sand and pried the lid open. Though I couldn’t remove the top, from inside, a musty odor like burnt mushroom wafted.

  Ra-Ame hefted the Deliverator. “Guns. These are no weapons for a warrior.” She threw the Deliverator into the brush and drew her blades. “You thought to harm me, Brynner Carson. To wage war against me and my children. But you are not fit. You move like an ox. You have no skill. And now you will die in the desert, just as I told you.”

  Brynner rose. “If I’m going to die, I’m going out fighting.” He raised his head, reaching back inside the trench coat.

  Four knives. I’d brought him four.

  Ra-Am
e laughed and curled her fingers in, beckoning to him. “You are worthless, lesser Carson. Your father, I would have killed from a distance. A man of skill. A warrior my equal. He would have recognized me so long ago. You are not your father.”

  Brynner hung his head, struck by her words. “So everyone keeps telling me.” He drew out his hands, holding twin Deliverators. And shot her twice. “Dad would have insisted on knives.” He followed up, putting a bullet through one eye. “Dad would have gone toe to toe with you.”

  He fired again, blasting into her kneecaps, and then over and over until both guns ran dry. “I’m not my father.”

  Then he reached into his jacket and withdrew a single blade.

  Ra-Ame collapsed forward, her limbs moving weakly, but the holes in her did not bleed.

  As he knelt to drive it through her skull, Ra-Ame convulsed. The brown skin covering her boiled like water, peeling off. Beneath it lay a ghostly, pallid carapace. She rolled, dodging his killing blow, and leaped for me.

  Blind, white eyes stared at me as she came, screaming.

  I ran.

  I sprinted for the rocks we’d camped by, still pulling at the jar.

  The moment the lid came off, a bulbous, wet mass pushed itself out onto the sand.

  Brynner tackled Ra-Ame from behind, buying me precious seconds.

  The heart unfolded, moving and oozing from side to side. It writhed in the sun like a monstrous black maggot or a tiny infant, letting out a high-pitched squeal.

  Ra-Ame’s head jerked up at that sound, her face contorted in rage. With a kick like a draft horse, she sent Brynner flying and charged toward me. I swung the jar like a club, hitting her in the head, causing the jar to rattle again. Rattle?

  Brynner tackled her, rolling in a pile of flailing blades. He shouted without looking at me, “Kill the heart, Grace.” I turned over the jar, and a dagger slipped out into my palm.