Tiff laughed. “You guys are so tame, you should be in my house.”
“Yeah, no shit.” Bry agreed.
“I don't think I want to hear the Weller stories,” Jade said as politely as possible.
“Probably not.” Bry agreed.
We started to polish off the food, our plans for Jade's birthday weekend set when Gramps gate swung open and the formula-guys waltzed in.
They were the same ones from school.
On Gramps' property.
Gramps slowly stood, taking in the measure of the pair and said to me, “Caleb, go in the house and get the puppy.”
Oh shit.
“Pop,” Mom began and he looked at her and her hand fell away from his sleeve.
Jonesy looked at me. “Don't tell me the puppy is some sissy thing.”
“Not from Mac it's not,” John said and Bry nodded.
It so wasn't. I jogged into the house with the suits marking my progress.
I grabbed the KEL-TEC KSG bullpup shotgun that Gramps had trained me to use. He said it was the very best home self-defense weapon.
I checked that the safety was on and jogged back to where he stood, the nose of the shotgun pointing at the grass. My judo training, however short, swirled at the back of my head.
Gramps was big on preparation.
Mom covered her mouth with a hand and Helen said, “I think I'm going to sit down.” She looked around. “And watch the drama from there.”
Bill nodded, settling her in a chair and called Jonesy over with a hand.
“What in the Sam Hill is going on here? Who are these guys?” Bill started in.
Jonesy shrugged. “They're the guys that were lurking around during the AP Test last year.”
“So, they're okay,” Bill clarified.
Jonesy thought about it. Finally, he shook his head. “I don't think so, Dad.”
Bill straightened. “We need to get to the bottom of this.”
Jonesy put a hand on his arm. “Mac's got this, Dad.”
Bill looked at Jonesy, nearly his height now. “What do you mean?” He lowered his voice, “He's older now, Jonesy.”
Jonesy nodded. “Doesn't matter, he's got it goin' on, Dad.”
Bill waited with Jonesy and I gave the puppy to Gramps, stock first, like he'd shown me.
The suits put their hands under their jackets. “Hold up there, fellas.” Gramps said, pressing the muzzle of the shotgun under the tender flesh of Skinny-who-Smoked. “What are you doing on my property, packing heat, without being properly introduced?”
“Mac...” Dad began.
“Not now, Kyle. We need to get these introductions out of the way and then we can swap spit and take long showers. Right now, I don't know their plan.”
Stocky said, “Are you Mackenzie O'Brien?”
“I am,” Mac said, the muzzle never wavering.
“Can you take your gun away, sir, so that we can talk to the group here?”
“No.”
They stared at each other and whatever Stocky saw convinced him of Gramps' intent.
Gramps wasn't much of a negotiator.
“Alright, I'm going to disarm,” Stocky said.
“Slow Pal, or we're going to see daylight through his head.”
That was it for Helen, who ran to the house, making pre-barf sounds.
Huh.
Jonesy looked after her and Bill shrugged. “Nothing stops it,” he said, not without sympathy.
Stocky took Smoker's gun from the holster and put it on the ground and I gave Dad a look and he picked it up and put it out-of-reach. He repeated it with Stocky's gun.
Gramps hadn't moved. “Now the ones at the ankle, fellas.”
Stocky sighed, reaching to lift his pant leg up to reveal a super-small gun there too.
We put his and Smoker's guns with the others.
Stocky planted his hands on his hips like, well?
Gramps lowered the muzzle and stepped back carefully; never lowering his eyes from the two of them.
“Not to be redundant but what are you doing on my property?” Gramps repeated warily.
The two looked at each other, then the loosely assembled crowd of teens and adults.
“We're sorry to intrude...” Stocky began, his hair lifting off a head that was almost bald, the suit sitting on him oddly, his muscular physique pushing it out in all the wrong places.
“No, you're not,” Gramps began.
“Mac, would you just let him speak please,” Dad said.
Gramps looked at Dad and neither flinched.
“My paranoia is justified, Kyle. You could use a healthy dose yourself. Especially after the last year.”
Dad sighed. “It is not that their appearance here doesn't give me pause, but I'm not presuming it is the imminent threat that you appear to.”
Gramps grunted, “I always get excited by guys that show up with guns; always.” His eyes narrowed on them.
Smoker put his hands together, imploring. “We need to take the AFTDs...”
Mom said, “Absolutely not. My son is not going anywhere. And I don't know Tiffany's parents, but since they are not here right now, I will speak in their stead, emphatically no.” She placed her hands on her skirt, the bells sounding off and tried to look intimidating. If they let her Go On it would be. I could speak from experience.
Tiff had sidled her way over to me. It was feeling a lot like last year.
Bry and the Js came over too.
It was Alex that got the clowns attention. “The Body can stay there,” Stocky said, pointing at Alex. “We don't want to have to hurt him.”
“I wouldn't worry about that,” Gramps said, his hand stroking the butt of the puppy.
Jade got behind me and I turned to her. “I need room, stand back.”
Why? she mouthed.
I grabbed her wrist and her mouth became an “O.” She was getting what was happening here. Maybe they just wanted to talk to us but I hadn't a grain of truth from the lot of 'em last year and I was picking up on Gramps' uneasiness.
He had a point: guys with guns. Duh.
I couldn't help Gramps if Jade was too close.
I looked at the Js and John nodded back, he'd do what he could but a Null wasn't any help against mundanes. Jonesy was a mystery and Bry was a mundane.
Hell, things weren't looking good. They'd effectively separated Alex from us and he was the one dude we wanted at our backs.
“We need to warn them. We have reason to believe that the serial killer is aware of the kids trying to help with the investigation. We have paperwork that allows us to take the kids in for questioning.”
Gramps raised the muzzle again. “No.”
Bill said, “This is America, last time I checked. We are not interested in being bullied because of some paperwork. Our children are not leaving with you.”
Smoker looked at Bill. “It's not your child we need, Mr. Jones.”
“Any child,” Helen said, having returned to the group, wiping a shaky hand over her forehead. “You're not convincing us of anything but the intentional cloaking of your motives behind contrived reasons. Can't sugarcoat a turd,” she said.
She was so Jonesy...only an old chick. Weird.
Smoker was momentarily distracted by her hair as she gestured when speaking then he looked at Stocky. “Show him the papers.”
Dad stepped forward. “I will look at them, Mac. Maybe, for the time being, you can put the gun down again?”
Mom looked at Gramps and he said, “Fine.”
The suits let out a breath.
Dad looked at the papers while Bill and Helen looked over his shoulder. Mom and Gramps had their eye on the suits and the teens milled around, not willing to go any closer to the formula-guys.
I looked at Dad's expression, which went from neutral to disbelief. It says here that you think the killer is on the inside?”
Smoker nodded. “The kids could be working the case and there may be someone, a lab tech, a crime-scene fly.
..”
“What did you say?” I asked.
He looked at me. “This isn't really supposed to be discussed in front of...”
“I'd just go for it,” Gramps said.
Stocky looked at the two of us. “You two kind of cut from the same cloth, eh?”
“Pretty much,” Gramps said. “Now talk.”
“It could be a forensic tech...”
Wow, that narrowed it right down since I'd met probably a hundred since Tiff and I began. Tiff confirmed this thought, rolling her eyes so hard I only saw the whites.
He continued, “or it could be someone that goes to the crime scenes and just watches.”
“Sometimes these sick shits like to see the aftermath,” Smoker elaborated.
Huh.
Tiff snapped her head around and said, “Smith.”
“What, the Null?” I asked.
“The Teacher,” she enunciated slowly.
Wow, shit. Of course.
“You've thought of something?” Smoker asked, moving forward.
“Stay where you are,” Gramps said.
He hesitated and slid something out of the cuff of his button up sleeve and put his opposite thumb against it, he held it for a second and five dudes poured into the yard.
Wonderful.
Gramps didn't hesitate. “Ladies! Get yourselves behind the gents.”
The chicks all congregated behind Gramps, Bill, Dad and the teenage boys.
I heard Helen say, “I think I'm going to be sick again.”
More formula-people. They loosely circled Stocky and Smoker.
Unfazed, Gramps said, “Reconnaissance, fellas?”
Smoker nodded curtly, “It's all about the greater need, Mr. O'Brien and our need is great.”
Stocky said, “Hand over that weapon, O'Brien.”
Gramps smiled. “You know when you'll get it, don't you?”
Mom said, “When you pry it from his cold, dead fingers,” she said by rote.
Smoker smiled. “That can happen.”
“Caleb,” Gramps said.
“Yes, Gramps.”
“Have I told you about this place. How old it is?”
What?
“No.”
“Yeah, I guess I got the last piece of land that had Indian burial grounds on it.”
My mind was spinning, churning out the possibilities.
My Dad apparently, was thinking faster. “That can't be, you'd have to ...”
“...be grandfathered,” John finished, surprise dulling his voice.
Sweet! I grabbed Tiff's hand and she mine but it was Gramps hand that latched onto my forearm. “Bring them Caleb, bring them all.” His eyes held mine, calm and deadly serious.
*
The Dog saw the Bad Men appear in the Old Alpha pack's yard and growled. He knew that the Bad Men wanted his Boy, he could smell them. He could also smell the Boy's kind here...buried in the soft earth. He wished to stand beside the Boy. He whimpered: how to get the glass to be gone? The Dog looked for a way to be with the Boy. There! He would break through the soft material that was very small holes, he backed up, using the top of his head and his forefeet to tear the mesh of this strange portal...
I felt Onyx break through the screen just as I released my power, all of it sweeping through me and using Gramps and Tiff like conduits.
I was vaguely aware of the formula-people's panic as they drew their weapons out of their suits, training them on us and I said in a voice that didn't sound like mine, “Can't kill me if you need me.”
“Stalemate, guys,” John said sorta loving the moment.
Onyx roared up to my position, pressing his body against my leg and a burst of power shot through me as hands broke through the grass.
Gramps said, “Oh, hell in a hand basket.”
The guns that had been pointed in our direction were pointing now at the once-perfect lawn. I was suddenly reminded of the gophers. That's what it looked like: limbs like small trees had burst from the ground, and the zombies poured out of the earth.
****
Well, it was almost funny, but not for the formula-people, who were now faced with Indians.
Skopamish again. I guess they had been pretty prolific back in the day.
The whole tribe was here and it was not the same guys that I had raised (perfectly) by Jade's house with the last mess.
Smoker screamed, “Fire people! That's the only way.” He began to run for the driveway gate, where I was sure they had all kinds of goods in the trunk.
I turned to the nearest Indian. “Get him.”
He made a war cry and sprinted after Smoker, easily overtaking him while Stocky went for his weapons on the grass. Gramps was faster, catching him in the back of the neck with the butt of the puppy.
He went down like a sack of potatoes. Tiff and I kept our hands clasped. Two agents went for Gramps and Dad waded in while the other three faced off with the remaining tribe.
My zombies had a blade in one hand and a tomahawk in the other, swinging them loosely at their sides, semi-circle. The agents tore out their guns, save one.
Gunless looked at me and tapped his head. “Five-point Null, brat.”
Shit!
I looked at John. “He's a Null. Can you do a reversal or something?”
John shrugged, watching Gramps doing hand-to-hand with an agent, Dad was kinda getting a beating but hanging in there and Helen was barfing on the grass while Bill watched over her with a look of this-can't-be-happening.
I sympathized but I was kinda getting used to it.
Just part of the fun the Hart family offers. That'd make them pause for future get-togethers.
The Gunless Null strode toward us and I saw the Chief straddling Smoker, banging his head into the concrete driveway.
Zombie protocol, head-banging.
With my mind, I called the tribe to me and the Null didn't even hesitate, reaching out to grab me, when John leaped in front of him, grabbing his tie and hanging on for dear life.
“What the hell,” Agent Null shrieked, flinging John off, who whipped around and hung on to the back of his leg like a dog.
Speaking of which, Onyx had slunk forward and now had a teeth-latch on the guy's shin.
“Fuck! God-damn,” he said, trying to kick, limping forward to reach Tiff and I. We drew backward.
The Boy would not be taken by the Evil Man...the Dog began to clamp down on the Bad Male's appendage. The Dog would communicate with the dead creatures that the Boy controls. The Dog looked at the nearest creature who wore clothing made of animal and something on his head that was like the things which smelled delicious that flew above his head.
'Save the Master,' the Dog thought at the nearest one, who turned its glittering eyes to the Dog. His gaze comprehending, then shifting to the flailing male that was now injured by the Dog's sharp mouth.
The Dog held nothing back, hanging on to the leg of this Bad Male that had come for his Boy, the Boy's companion grabbing the other leg.
Caleb saw Onyx communicate something to his zombie and the Indian turned to Agent Null, swinging his tomahawk in the air, the arc of metal catching the sunlight, briefly blinding me.
He made a shrill war cry and brought the sharp end down on the shoulder of Agent Null with a meaty thwack!
The tomahawk bit about four inches in, nearly separating the shoulder from the torso. Agent Null keeled over. His blood sprayed, geyser-style in the air, hitting the faces of both the nearest zombies and the agents. The zombies immediately licked the blood off their faces with black tongues.
Huh, I kept missing that.
The formula-people stumbled around, arms pinwheeling and trying to wipe blood from their eyes, then they opened them and the eyes looked like stranded egg whites in their faces.
“Caleb!” Mom screamed, breaking my concentration.
Dad was being straddled by an agent and Gramps had gotten his guy down and out.
“Some help here, Caleb!” Gramps yelled.
I turned to the next zombie, his headdress of feathers hanging slightly askew and said, “Save my dad.”
The zombie raced over there and as an afterthought I said, “No chopping!”
Jade had started throwing up in the grass and Jonesy said, “Come on, Jade, it's just a flesh wound.”
Not helpful. I let go of Tiff and raced to Jade who put her hand out, “I'm sorry! It's just so gross!”
Lots of barfing going on.
Agent Null was bleeding out on Gramps' lawn, he was gonna die.
The tribe, John, Onyx, the rest of the girls and Mom came to stand next to me. Dad hobbled over. “Caleb, call off the dogs, I think that zombie over there is going to permanently maim that guy.”
I looked over at the agent that had tried to beat the shit out of my dad and couldn't work up to a point of sympathy.
The Chief came back to the circle, dragging Smoker behind him, the back of his head a bloody pulp.
Cripes.
The other agents backed up, their guns pointing at the group.
The Chief said, “This one struggles no more,” he said, dumping the body like so much trash at my feet. He turned his body to look at the remaining agents, his whole body poised for battle and for violence.
“What is he saying, Caleb?” Mom asked from behind me.
I looked at her. “What do you mean, Mom? You were standing right there.”
“He's speaking Injun,” Gramps said.
Nice.
I laughed and the agents shifted uneasily. No one acknowledged the agent who lay dying at my feet.
“No Gramps, I hear them perfectly, they're speaking English.”
Dad and Mom shook their head. Jade came over, taking my hand. “No they're not, Caleb. I don't know what they're speaking but I don't understand them. They kinda sound like my grandma did.”
I looked at Tiff who shook her head. “I don't know either.”
Huh.
“Someone call the police,” Dad said, cradling an arm while Bry hopped to it, pulsing 911.
I looked over the tribe, the one zombie's hand clinging to the tomahawk, the blade wet with blood, shining like black oil, their eyes not leaving mine.
“Thank you for coming to my call, Tribe of the Skopamish.” giving a little bow.
The zombie who had almost cut off the arm of Agent Null laid the flat of his tomahawk against my heart, bloodying my shirt.“You call, and we shall answer.”
The Death Series, Books 1-3: Death Whispers, Death Speaks and Death Inception (The Death Series, Volume 1) Page 61