by Ty Drago
But then, of course, I did.
He was Tom.
I worked up my courage and pulled aside the curtain, hoping to catch the Chief’s eye.
Instead, I caught Ramirez’s.
“Case in point!” he exclaimed. “How old is this boy? Eleven?”
Shades of Alex Bobson. I felt my face flush. “I’m thirteen.”
The FBI guy ignored me. “It’s obvious he idolizes you! And I’m sure the rest of them are the same way. They do what you say, think what you tell them to think. I was wrong before! This isn’t a street gang! It’s a cult! The Cult of Jefferson!”
“That’s stupid!” I exclaimed. “Tom’s the reason I’m still alive…the reason we’re all still alive!”
This time, Ramirez didn’t ignore me but instead directed his fury at me like a flamethrower. “So you ‘see’ these things too? These walking dead men?”
Now I understood all the yelling. Tom had decided to risk the truth, and the FBI guy had reacted the way grown-ups always did.
“Yeah,” I muttered.
“What did you say?” he snapped.
I took a deep breath.
Enough.
“Yeah,” I said again, louder this time, matching his glare with one of my own. “I See them. I’ve been hunted by them. I’ve watched friends of mine die because of them.” Then, after a long pause, I added, “Kenny Booth was one of them.”
Ramirez’s mouth opened and closed. For the moment, at least, his anger cooled. “Booth,” he echoed. His voice sounded hoarse, probably from all the screaming. “Booth,” he repeated.
“He was their boss,” Tom explained calmly. “And he was eyein’ up the mayor’s office. We had to stop him.”
“Kenny Booth is dead.”
“Straight up,” Tom replied. Then he looked right at me—hard—like he was trying to tell me something.
Unfortunately, I didn’t get the message.
“I killed him,” I told Ramirez defiantly. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Tom’s shoulders slump.
“What?” the FBI guy gasped.
“Will…” Tom began.
“Booth died on live television,” Ramirez remarked. “Exploded. But nobody was ever able…I mean…the cause of death was never fully…”
“The Corpses got this thing about salt,” I said. “Like an allergy, I guess…but worse. I got Booth to swallow a salt pill I’d tricked out to look like this candy he liked. I wasn’t even sure it would work until it did.”
Across the room, Tom rubbed his face with his hands.
Ramirez sat back on the gurney. “Karl Ritter’s kid,” he muttered. “My God…”
Tom pushed off the wall and came to stand beside me. “Agent, I get where you’re at. This can’t be real. This city can’t be infested by legions of animated cadavers. And the thirteen-year-old sons of police detectives don’t go around murdering TV journalists.”
“What have you done to these kids?” Ramirez demanded. “What is it? Drugs? Hypnosis?”
Tom nodded, not in agreement but more like he understood the FBI guy’s viewpoint. I had to admire the Chief’s patience. I wasn’t sure I’d let a stranger tear into me like this without getting seriously pissed. Especially when my sister might be dying—a casualty of the war this dude denied even existed.
“How’s about I make a deal with you, agent?” Tom said. “You give me twenty-four hours. I’m going to set up a kind of demonstration…something that I hope’ll convince you I’m tellin’ the truth. If that don’t work, then tomorrow night, my people will knock you out and drop you off anywhere in the city you want…within reason.”
The agent studied him. “How do I know you won’t just kill me?”
Tom shrugged. “You’re a problem…one I ain’t sure how to solve. We can’t keep you chained up forever. You need food, water, bathroom breaks. And never even mind the fact that this is my bedroom. Now, given all that trouble, if we was killers, you’d likely already be dead. Whatever you think of me, you gotta see the truth of that.”
Ramirez seemed to calm somewhat. “Let’s say I buy that for now. What kind of demonstration are you talking about?”
“I’m still working on the details,” Tom replied. “In the meantime, I suggest you chill. I’ll make sure you get some water. All that hollering must’ve burned your throat pretty bad.”
Then, before the FBI guy could reply, Tom put an arm around my shoulders and led me through the curtain and out of the room.
Once we were in the corridor, he stopped and gave me a hard look. “That wasn’t smart, bro.”
“You were straight with him about the Corpses,” I replied defensively. “So was I.”
“I didn’t confess to wasting a public figure on live TV. You did.”
I looked at him, my mouth hanging open. He looked right back at me.
“So what’s gonna happen when we do let him go?” Tom asked me. “You think…even when this war is over…that he’s just gonna forget you said that? He’s a Fed, Will! That’s like a super cop! No way is he gonna let you off the hook for what he figures was a cold-blooded murder!”
I actually felt the blood drain from my face. “I…didn’t think about it that way,” I stammered. “I just wanted to…convince him…” The words trailed off.
“Yeah, I know,” the Chief said. “And at this point, that’s about your only shot. We gotta convince him! It’s the only way you’ll ever be able to go back to your life.”
Now it was my turn to rub my face with my hands. “I messed up, Tom. I’m sorry.”
He shrugged. “What’s done’s done. Now we just gotta deal with it.”
“How?” I asked, wishing I didn’t sound quite so desperate. “I mean…how do we convince him? He’s a grown-up! He can’t See the Corpses! What can we possibly do that won’t make him just shake his head and call us crazy again?”
“That’s what the door’s for,” Tom remarked.
“I told Alex about it,” I said.
At that, he almost smiled. “Yeah, I heard about your visit to the Monkey Barrel. Alex came to me a while ago. Complained every which way about you. Said you and Dave ganged up on him and hit him.”
“That’s not what happened!” I snapped.
But he raised a hand. “I can guess what went down. Alex got outta line, Dave’s temper cracked, and you did something to keep it from turning ugly. Am I close?”
“Yeah!” I exclaimed, astonished. “How did you know?”
“Let’s just say I’m familiar with the parties involved. Know why I sent you down there in the first place? I could have sent anybody to order me up that door.”
“I dunno,” I replied. “I figured it was ’cause I was there at the time.”
“That’s part of it but not most of it. Will, Alex’s got a lot of anger. He’s a solid Monkey and a decent enough Boss, but that chip on his shoulder is more like a plank. And he seems to point a lot of that your way.”
“I’ve noticed,” I muttered.
“It’s a situation that needs to be handled,” he continued. “And I sent you down there because the only way it will be handled…for good and all…is if the two of you handle it yourselves. I know you try to steer clear of Alex, and I don’t blame you. But that won’t solve the problem.”
“What will solve it?” I asked.
“Making him see you like I see you…like most of Haven sees you.”
I grimaced. “Most of Haven sees me as Karl Ritter’s kid…and figures you treat me special because of that.”
“That’s Alex talking.”
“But he’s not wrong, is he? I do get special treatment because of who my dad is!”
Tom folded his arms and studied me. “What special treatment exactly?”
“Well…” I
paused. “You put me on the Angels way younger than usual.”
“I did the same thing with Helene. Know why?”
I shook my head.
“’Cause she’s good, Will. We’re an army, and an army is made up of soldiers. But not all soldiers are combat material. Helene is. She proved that when she pulled you out of your middle school on the day you got your Eyes. Half the city was looking for you, but she kept her head and got you both to Haven safely. So I asked her to join the Angels.”
“And me?”
Tom rolled his eyes, something he didn’t do very often. “Will, you got more courage than most kids years older. Sometimes it’s a reckless kind of courage that gets you into trouble…but more often than not, it works out for you. And half the time, you don’t even know it. Where else would I put you but the Angels?”
I stared at him, speechless.
Then he added, “But that ain’t all of it.”
“Huh?”
“You got a serious mind.”
I blinked. “A what?”
“A serious mind. Once you committed to the Undertakers, you gave it all you got. You don’t just suffer this war the way most of the others do. You come at it like a challenge, a problem to be solved…like something that stands between you and your family.”
“Well…it is!”
“Sure, it is,” he agreed. “What’s more, it’s a challenge every kid in Haven faces. ’Cept most don’t handle it like you do.”
“How do I handle it?” I asked, feeling uncomfortable and not sure why.
“Let me ask you something,” Tom said. “When’s the last time you played?”
“Played what?”
“Anything. Cards. Monopoly. A video game. When was the last time you dropped yourself in front of one of the TVs in the rec room and just watched cartoons for a couple of hours?”
I started to say something but stopped myself. The fact was that I couldn’t remember. In all the months I’d been living this life, hadn’t there been a single moment of good old-fashioned fun?
No. Of course not. Haven wasn’t about fun. Being an Undertaker wasn’t a game.
“So?” I asked, a little defensively.
“So, you said just now that you get special treatment,” Tom replied. “Well, I say you get treated the way you should get treated. A while ago, I told Ramirez that there were grown-ups in the Undertakers but no adults. Remember?”
“Yeah.”
“I like to think I’m one of those grown-ups,” Tom said.
“You are,” I admitted.
“And guess what, bro? So are you.”
I stood there in that cold, dank corridor, trying to take it in. I’d been a kid once, just a normal middle school kid worried about homework and friends and crushing on the girl who sat beside me in math class. I’d had friends that I’d hung out with in the evenings and a mom who nagged me to pick up my dirty clothes and put my shoes away. I’d owned an Xbox, a PlayStation, and a Wii.
Back in those days, I’d whined when there was nothing worth watching on TV or if the dinner menu didn’t suit my liking. But I’d also laughed at my baby sister when she said or did something cute, at my friends when they cracked a joke or tripped over their own feet. I’d made fun of Old Man Pratt, who lived next door and was probably the meanest person on Grape Street.
But then I’d gotten the Sight, and Old Man Pratt had turned out to be much meaner than I’d ever imagined.
Old Man Pratt had been a Corpse.
These days, I didn’t whine, and I didn’t laugh. Games held no interest for me. All I wanted to do was work, push the cause forward, fight the Corpses—so I could someday see my mom and sister again.
But would they even recognize me? Would I even recognize myself?
Tom said, “An eye-opener, ain’t it?”
I nodded wearily. All my discomfort and irritation was gone. Suddenly, I felt tired. Very tired.
“You’ve been up for almost twenty-four hours, bro,” the Chief said. “Go and get some sleep.”
“I want to see the demo for Ramirez,” I protested.
“You will. But there’s stuff to be done first to prep for it, and I need you for that. I’m calling a meeting of the Angels in”—he checked his watch—“four hours. That’ll make it around eight o’clock tonight. Be there, okay?”
“Okay,” I replied.
“Good. Get going now. Think on what I said.”
“I will,” I promised, a little reluctantly. Just what I’d needed—one more thing to think about!
Chapter 19
Darkness
The dark alley in the Callowhill section of the city stank of rotting food, urine, and human despair. Against one grimy wall, a man dressed in rags lay in a drunken stupor, clutching a near-empty bottle in one gnarled hand. His face, barely visible in the light that leaked in from the street, was twisted in half-conscious despair and pain—a mask of suffering.
Lilith Cavanaugh reveled in it.
She stood amid the filth, wrapped in a stylish blue pants suit and fine wool long coat, and waited.
Just coming here was a risk, of course, but a worthy one.
Also, as it happened, a necessary one.
Pierce stood at the mouth of the alley, eyeing the street and repeatedly checking his watch. The host he wore was new, barely a week dead. He’d transferred his Self into it just before they’d come out here. But Lilith’s own body was in desperate need of replacing. Unfortunately, male cadavers were easier to find than females.
It was unbearable.
For the hundredth time that day, the image of Susan Ritter filled her thoughts.
What a fine replacement she would make.
“He’s late,” Pierce said. A pointless observation.
“He’ll be here,” Lilith replied.
“Ma’am…” her assistant remarked hesitantly. “I’m…uncomfortable with this arrangement.” He looked at her. Then, reading her irritation, he immediately turned away again.
“Do you have an alternative suggestion to make?” she asked coldly.
“No, ma’am.”
“Are you willing to take on this man’s task?” Lilith pressed.
“No, ma’am.”
“Can you imagine any one of our people who would be willing to assume the duty? Any at all?”
“No, ma’am,” he replied.
“Then tell me—what choice do I have?”
Her assistant hesitated again, perhaps weighing whether his next words were worth the danger or not. Finally, steeling himself, he said, “We could find another way.”
Lilith had to admire his courage. Speaking truth to power wasn’t something she encountered very often. Her opinion of Pierce rose a little higher.
Nevertheless, she replied flatly, “This is the only way.”
Pierce looked as if he might say more but then thought better of it. Apparently, his courage didn’t extend to pushing the matter further.
Wise as well as brave.
“He’s late,” Pierce said again.
Fool.
Then a voice spoke from behind her, “Your assistant should learn some patience.”
Lilith spun around, experiencing a sensation she hadn’t known for longer than she could remember: shock.
And she didn’t care for it—not one little bit.
The man in rags stood before her. He still reeked of alcohol, but his desperate, empty expression was gone. The eyes that now held hers looked clear, their gaze steady.
He spoke again, “Sorry if I scared you, Ms. Cavanaugh.”
“Startled,” she corrected, working hard to hide her annoyance.
“Sure.” He smiled, showing white teeth that gleamed in the dull light.
P
ierce appeared at her side, his manner protective. Another small point in his favor, Lilith thought, though unnecessary. The stranger wasn’t a big man, barely five-foot-eight, with a slight frame. She could snap his spine in seconds with her bare, manicured hands.
And she still might, considering the “startle” he’d given her just now.
Instead she said, “Mr. Dashiell, I presume?”
“Just Dashiell.”
“All right then, ‘Just Dashiell.’ First, let me compliment you. A very effective disguise. Should I assume that you’ve been waiting here for us all this time?”
He nodded. “I like to get to know my potential clients, observe them for a while. See what sort of people they are.”
The Queen smiled inwardly. If you only knew.
But of course, this human’s mind was as limited as the rest.
Then she corrected herself with some irritation: well, not quite all the rest!
“And what sort of people are we?”
Dashiell nodded to Pierce, who glared silently at him. “Your man here is the nervous type. They tend to make mistakes.”
“I see,” Lilith replied coldly. “And me?”
“You’re a little harder to figure,” the man admitted. “You’re not the all-smiles, super-friendly civil servant I’ve seen on the local news. No, the fact you’re even here proves you’ve got a darker side. And the way you stand in this rat-infested alley, looking not only like you own but like owning it…well, let’s just say I haven’t been able to categorize you yet.”
“Charming,” Lilith remarked, though inwardly, she was pleased. This human, while as blind as the rest, seemed not entirely inobservant. Even that infuriating prank he’d pulled—sneaking up on her that way—suggested a level of resourcefulness that would suit her immediate needs.
I’ll use him…then I’ll kill him.
“Charm,” Dashiell said, “is not usually what my clients are looking for.”
“I suppose not,” the Queen replied. “Still, I think we can do business. Are you clear on the particulars of the job?”
He nodded. “Are you clear on the particulars of payment?”