“Okay,” Tiff said, snapping gum. “So Caleb raised Clyde...”
“Is that the name of the zombie in question?” Smith asked.
I nodded.
She continued, “And he knows what needs doin', even if Caleb doesn't 'call' or 'ask'?”
“Exactly.” Smith looked relieved.
“Caleb didn't consciously 'call' Clyde. But, because of physical proximity, coupled with extreme duress,” in my periphery vision I saw Ceci squirm around, “he had enough 'thought process' of his own, to respond to the threat to the host.”
“The host being Caleb,” a boy in the back of the class called out.
Smith nodded. “If the host had ill intent and was also powerful, well, the result of everything could have been much different.”
The class grew quiet, chewing on that lovely fact.
“There's no way to control it then? I mean, I could do like...a sleepwalk-with-the-dead parade?”
Tiff laughed. “Nice, Caleb.”
“Not so funny, Tiffany,” Smith responded solemnly.
“It's Tiff, Mr. Smith.”
Smith ignored her, going on, “The pharmaceutical giants are even now fashioning a suppression drug that would be a broad depressant. It would negate abilities from manifesting say, in the middle of sleep.”
I thought of how Clyde had been skulking around the garbage separator. Huh.
Tiff flipped up the hood on her standard hoodie, effectively hiding her expression, which looked kinda like, screw you and the horse you rode in on.
I stifled a laugh, hiding it in my hand like a cough. She was truly great.
The bell shrilled and Tiff grabbed her backpack and pulse, her thumb on it and mine vibrated:
I'm gonna commit suicide if Smith is flappin' his gums the whole year about this profanity-block. -TW
Should I be offended that you don't give a ripe profanity-block about my subconscious raising an army-o-dead.-CH
Profanity-block-no! Who cares? I mean, seriously, if you were gonna do gnome-genocide on everyone, wouldn't you have done it by now? -TW
laughs I guess...ya know, you were talking about magnet fetishes with Jonesy.-CH
Cut the crap, Hart, Jones is totally dumb, not that I don't think he's a player. -TW
Tell me what you really think! I still think you have a problem with gnomes.-CH
Everyone knows that they're never in the same place in the yard in the morning.-TW
What-the-profanity-block! -CH
It's a phenomenon. I'm sorry you're too lame to notice. NMP.-TW
Not her problem? Huh.
A hand landed on my shoulder and with a thought, I put my pulse to sleep as Tiff glided by, her eyes landing on Smith for a fleeting second then meeting mine in a better you than me look.
“Stay after class for a moment, Mr. Hart.”
“I don't have that long. I've got Griswold next hour, Mr. Smith.”
He grimaced in sympathy. Apparently, she was real popular with the adults too.
“Okay quickly then: I heard through the grapevine that you and Tiffany Weller are working in collusion with the police for the apprehension of the serial killer that's murdering the Nulls.”
A red flag of warning hit me between the mental eyes. I suddenly wished Jade was here so she could do the whammy on this guy.
“Yeah,” I was in the keep-info-from-the-adult mode (which always came naturally, I noticed).
“I just wanted to offer my help as an AFTD in case they need an adult in the mix.”
“Ah, thanks, but I think we have it.”
“Will you tell Sergeant Garcia?” he asked.
I nodded. Weirder and weirder. What were these two talking back and forth about? Supposedly the whole thing was hush-hush. I'd talk to John Smith about it, he'd tell me what was doin'. Garcia seemed to be on perpetual PMS-mode. I didn't want to dick with the drama on that.
****
I could see Griswold's sour pucker from my position on the floor perfectly. All the teens were surrounding me in a circle, my arms burned and shook. I'd been late because Smith had wanted to flap about the investigation. Nice. So now I was doing extra push-ups and Griswold (as usual) was all about me failing.
Which just made me not want to, of course.
Jade was behind her making faces, which I appreciated and I was containing my expression because every ounce of me wanted to rest. I was on the seventy-ninth one in a row. Over the summer, I had increased from forty a night in June and I was up to seventy.
“Just cry Uncle, Hart and I will let you just get a demerit for not suiting up on time.”
“No...” I ground out. “I can do the hundred.”
Jade smiled and Jonesy fist-pumped while John slapped his forehead, clearly saying, stubborn swine.
Yeah, I kinda was.
I pumped out another ten, my arms on fire, but no snow on the mountain. Which made Griswold glower harder; she hated that my form kicked ass. Of course it did, or Gramps would have put his foot in my ass. I gave a little smile remembering his drill sergeant ways:
“Caleb, your ass is so high you're catching snow on the mountain! Keep it straight! Elbows by your side, chest on the floor...no rest, back up. Pump it Pal! Get moving! Oh... for the love of God...
Gramps got down next to me and pumped out the next twenty like melting butter out of the pot.
Hell, I'd never be as strong as him.
He saw my expression, and reading it correctly, he said, “Stronger!”
“What?” I gasped out between a poorly executed push-up.
“You'll be stronger than me one day.”
Today was apparently Not The Day.
My girlfriend's eyes were on me but for a different reason; she was so hot! I pumped out another three... I was certainly not gonna cave in front of My Woman!
Ninety-three
Pump-gasp-burn...
Ninety-nine.
One hundred!
“Hmph!” Griswold made a noise in the back of her throat. “Walk it off, Hart.” She waved the clipboard at the indoor track that circled the basketball court.
I walked it off.
“Come on people! Show's over. Get your butts over there and do your warm-up for dodge ball.” She grated on our ears.
The sissified version of dodge ball.
The Js gave me guy claps on the back. “I guess you could climb that fence at the dump pretty easy now, huh, Hart?” Jonesy asked.
I nodded, yeah, probably could. Not that climbing that dumb thing was first on the list.
My arms felt heavy and fatigued. I'd gone over my push-ups-for-the-day. Amazing what ya could do with an audience.
Jade came up beside me and squeezed my bicep. “Nice job there, stud.” She winked.
I looked down at her in her super-short shorts (I was a fan), and her high-top sneakers and matching tee. Griswold's only allowance on suiting up was we had a choice of footwear. So, Jade chose the snazzy All-Stars.
I looked down at her feet and said what I thought, “You have elf feet, Jade.”
She looked down at her feet. “No, they are the right size for me.”
Mine looked like surfboards next to hers. “You have huge feet but not like John,” she said, looking pointedly at The Feet that were John's.
We looked at John who was skinnier and taller than last year and wore a size fourteen. (I was only a twelve.)
Sophie said, from slightly behind us but next to Jonesy, “You know what they say about a guy's feet.”
Actually, no.
Tiff piped in. “They say that there is a direct relationship between feet and penis size.”
Jonesy stopped walking. “No shit, frickin' Terran has a donkey-dick?”
Griswold, who was without paranormal skills of any kind still seemed to have exceptional hearing.
“Jones, front-and-center.”
“Shit,” he said dejectedly.
“Now!” she yelled and we all restrained ourselves from covering our ears.
/>
He jogged over there and she pointed to the floor. “Give me a hundred like your good friend, Hart. Seems to be a trend today with you boys. Buck up!” Her beady eyes flicked to mine before returning to Jonesy. “You had me last year, you definitely know what the deal is. Just because you're here for the first time today, Jones, doesn't mean that I'm going to be soft.”
Yeah, we knew.
The double doors opened and two suits came in, who I recognized immediately formula people. The one guy that had looked like he was starved and smoked (illegal) was with a stocky dude. They were part of the AP Testing brigade last year. What did they want here now?
I didn't like it.
Then Jade said, “Those are the government guys.”
I whipped my face to stare at her. “Which ones?”
“The Graysheets,” she whispered. “They were the ones that were messing around with your locker.” Her eyes were wide and frightened. We sure didn't need a repeat of last year.
John, Tiff and Sophie made a loose circle around me. Then we walked over to stand behind Griswold.
Jonesy said from the floor, “Ah, duh? Am I gonna do these or not?”
“Stand up for now, Jones. But you owe me fella,” Griswold said.
“Right,” he said, obviously scheming on how to get out of it.
Not because he couldn't do a hundred push-ups, he so could. But because she wanted him to. He was against following the rules on principle. Jonesy Principle. It was a lengthy and unspoken code that only he fully understood.
“We need to speak with a Caleb Hart,” the scary-skinny said, then continued, “and Tiffany Weller,” he finished, his eyes already on mine.
Nope, still not liking it.
I need not have worried because these guys didn't get it. They were gonna have to deal with Griswold.
“Sorry, Gents. This is my class, and more importantly, my time. You'll have to have more than desire to interrupt my class. This is Physical Education. Get it?”
The skinny guy blinked.
I kinda got the feeling that it was a first for him, being talked to like that.
Jonesy liked it, a grin breaking out over his face. They were getting a taste of the Force That Was Griswold. And he wasn't going to be a push-up king just yet.
All show of civility scattered on the wind as the skinny guy held up some papers in his hand, folded neatly. His fingertips were stained yellowish brown with nicotine.
“Huh. You two are slow learners. Here's the deal: you leave now, and address My Students on their time, with their parents in attendance, of course. Not on our mutual time. Is that clear?”
“Crystal,” stocky said, flashing the piece he was packing under his jacket as skinny made a move for Griswold.
But she was ready.
Effing-incredible.
We watched in awe as our PE teacher, who was secretly so much more, turned her pudgy body into Skinny, grabbing his hand, wrenching his thumb back to his wrist and he howled. She responded by head-butting him and he started to go down.
Stocky leaped forward and she said in her special voice, “Do it and I will slam the flat of my palm into your nose and the cartilage will spear your brain.”
He hesitated, hovering between decisions.
I was thinking Griswold might need a little help. “Alex!” I yelled.
“Right here,” he said.
“Show this chump the door.”
“Okay,” he said.
To which stocky replied, “Beat it, brainless. We're here for the AFTDs.”
He planted his hands on his hips, he was powerfully built and low to the ground. One of those dudes you knew did wrestling and martial arts in the day... probably still did. He had a way of moving I recognized on my judo instructor.
Alex walked over to him and said, “I'm not brainless...dickhead.”
He shoved the guy toward the double doors, his friend's moaning a background symphony as he flew the fifteen feet to the doors, blasting through them entirely and landing with an audible thud outside. In a deafening shriek, glass and wood sprayed everywhere.
Griswold barked out a laugh. “Unclassified, my ass. Looks like you've been holding out on me, Sims.”
Yeah, he'd outed himself good. Oh well, drastic measures had been needed.
She looked at Sophie, her foot planted on Skinny's shoulder. “Morris, go directly to the principal's office. Tell her to pulse 911; that we have a situation here.”
Jonesy said, “Can I go with her, Miss Griswold?”
She narrowed her eyes at him. “You think you're capable of going from here to the office without some calamity falling on your head?”
There was a bloated silence.
Finally, Jonesy nodded. “Yeah.”
“Humph! Okay, get moving. And go around,” she spun her finger, indicating that Sophie and Jonesy needed to avoid Stocky in the hall.
****
Their stories checked out. They were legitimate government personnel, visiting the school to do a random check of a handful of freshman representing each group of paranormals.
Packing Hardware. Hmm.
Right.
My group knew better. What a crock of shit that was.
Griswold got a vacation for taking things to the “physical” level. Whatever the hell that meant.
I never thought I'd give the enraged cow a break but she had stuck up for us. Hell, protected us. Like we mattered. Who knew?
We'd have some lame sub. Jonesy would work the sub over, whoever it was, it was his modus operandi.
We agreed to meet at the hide-a-way right after school ended because there was another Null found dead. Recent. Like a kid from the next town.
Our killer was circling closer all the time and Tiff and I were feeling the pressure.
We were in the school commons and the pulse-chime had just sounded its ending tone for the day. The high school commons was different than middle school. We had stacked lockers that had pulse locks (pretty important since there were a few Lock-Manipulators at KPH).
I was turning when Sophie said, “Hey, Caleb?”
I cocked an eyebrow.
“I've got a friend I think might be pretty cool. I just met her but she seems nice and I was wondering...”
“Who?”
“Mia Cote.”
“Hell, no!” Jonesy spat out. “She's that traitor that got the cops on Caleb's dick when he raised grandma at Scenic.”
Bry flinched; I guess the memory was still pretty fresh. Huh.
Tiff said, “Okay, she blew it. But, let's address how frickin' scary that whole day was.” She punctuated her statement with a bubble the size of a softball.
We watched, fascinated as she maneuvered it back into her mouth after popping, getting the excess with her tongue.
Kinda talented.
John broke away from staring at Tiff. “She has a point but we can't take anyone on that's new unless they have something intrinsically beneficial to offer.”
“To offer who?” Jade asked.
“The group,” I said, understanding John's hesitation. Bry was cool but we couldn't have a butt-load of mundanes loading us down.
Speaking of which. “Have you found out yet what ya are, Jonesy?” I asked.
He shrugged. “No clue. They don't know yet either. I popped on the AP but they think it's something new.”
“I don't want to know, actually,” Sophie said.
He smiled. “I told you how skilled I am, right?” He waggled his brows.
“Yeah, many times,” she said, unimpressed.
John and I looked at each other: they were so perfect for each other it was scary. But we were pulling the No-Interference-Card. Let them figure it out.
Bry said, “What is she Tiff? Sophie?”
Sophie said, “She's a Photographic.”
“Yeah, so? What-the-hell good is that?” Jonesy asked.
Tiff did a hard eye roll. “It's a pretty awesome skill for school, college and all that happy crap.�
��
Alex said, “Yeah, that is like, 'no-studying-needed'-- awesome.”
“Why study?” Jonesy asked seriously.
“Ah, to pass, doofus,” Christi said, having just heard the tail end of the conversation.
Jonesy's eyes narrowed to slits. “And you're so brilliant, right?”
“Smarter than you.”
“Prove it, gorgeous,” Jonesy said.
Sophie huffed in the background.
“Because, I just read somewhere that there can only be an IQ difference of fifteen points between siblings,” Jonesy said.
Jonesy was reading? Wow.
He looked at us all staring at him dumbfounded. “Thanks for the love, assholes.”
John barked out a laugh.
“Okay, bestow your wisdom,” Christi said, tapping her foot. Then, “What does that have to do with how smart you are?”
“I was thinkin' of your bro, Brody.”
“Yeah, what about him?” she demanded, crossing her arms under a perfect set of ta-tas.
“See, I know he's a dumb-ass because of the company he keeps. That got me thinking, if he has the same IQ as the rest, which is roughly equivalent to a yard tool, then where does that put you, sweetheart?”
A dull red blush colored her throat and face; she turned on her heel to Bry. “It's me or them!” she hollered in his face, stomping her foot.
Stomping her foot. People actually did that?
Bry fumbled around, thinking about the whole Appropriate Response thing. After a few seconds of silence rolled out Tiff said, “Can't take back the pause.”
Shit-in-a-sock.
She whirled on Tiff. “You're a sick bitch. You and your creepy friend.” Her eyes fell on me. “And your creepy grandpa and all your shitty-ass friends. And,” she looked at Jonesy, “you're black too!”
Jonesy was stunned, but recovered. “See, there's the proof, you just noticed. Wow, I rest my case. I've been African-American for like fifteen years, brainiac.”
“Ugh!” she nearly shrieked, shoving Bry and storming off.
We watched her hot body walk away and it was bittersweet for the guys. Mainly bitter.
“Well, that's a relief to not have the Complication of Christi,” I said neutrally.
The Death Series, Books 1-3: Death Whispers, Death Speaks and Death Inception (The Death Series, Volume 1) Page 57