by Mia Strange
And that was The Bone Man for ya. He would die right here alongside of me and not once put the blame where it belonged. Squarely on my shoulders. What more could you ask for in a best friend? I blinked back a threatening tear. I didn’t deserve him. I didn’t.
We stopped about twenty feet from the Shades. Looking like living shadows, the ghosts radiated pure, unfiltered hate. And evil. Let’s not forget the evil.
I could feel their black magic crawling through my skin and scratching at my soul. If we let them, they would scratch so hard, they would make a hole, and suck your soul away. And once your soul was gone, you were either dead or Phil. I’d rather be dead than be related to Phil. Really.
The Bone Man felt it too. He shrugged his thin shoulders, trying to chase away the Shade needle and pin sensation that prickled over his skin.
Phil was almost to us, but his shadow had stopped. As if thinking, the shadow lingered and fluttered in the cold night breeze. I’d never seen anything like it. After a moment, the shadow decided to rejoin the zombie. I almost felt sorry for Phil’s shadow. Soulless Phil? Or the black, evil, bottomless hole that was a Shade? Some choice.
I looked at the Shades ahead of us. The shadows flickered, morphed into shadowy, living entities, and moved toward us. They still had no faces. I don’t count gleaming white skulls as a face. But that’s just me.
I guess, if I had to admit it, the Shades weren’t totally unexpected. Dr. Dark always did a thorough historical search of each city the Troupe played in. Seattle had come up with a bull’s eye on the creep—o—meter. The Georgetown Morgue. Almost eighty years ago, in 1969, the owner and eight employees were interrupted during a staff meeting. An interruption that went way beyond wrong. The meeting ended with all nine dying in the crematorium. Behind slammed doors, locked in tight, the nine were burned alive.
No one had ever been caught for the mass murders.
My guess? These shades were the victims. And if I was right, we were in big trouble here. After eighty years, pissed off didn’t begin to cover their rage. Or their need for revenge.
So, hello to the Georgetown Shades. All nine of them. Lovely.
And here I hoped that just for once this urban legend was just that. A legend. But legends come from somewhere, Skye. I could hear the words of Dr. Dark in my head. It’s better to believe. It’s better to keep your mind open to the possibilities. You’ll stay alive longer that way.
I listened. Sort of. Kind of. Understand, that Dark warned a lot. Non—stop at times. He had warned us all away from the morgue long before our train pulled into what was left of Seattle’s King Street Station. I’d heard it. Honest. And really, I had no intention to stop for a visit. None.
Not really my fault, though, given that I’d been running for my life at the time. My anger began to simmer as I pictured Dr. Dark’s disappointed look. He’d so hoped that upon graduation in a few weeks, upon entering the Academy’s University level, that I would somehow, settle down, gain some maturity, and well, basically, stop fucking up.
Stop looking for the girl on the tombstone. Stop looking for Emma.
My anger rose to the surface. That would never happen. Never.
“It’s not like there was a full color brochure on the ten best places to hide in Seattle, Dark. I did my best. Stay alive. That’s the first rule? Isn’t it?”
I didn’t even realize that I’d spoken out loud until The Bone Man raised an eyebrow and said, “You might want to wait until you’re sure we’re gonna live through this before you mount your defense.”
I glared at him.
With me still in his arms, he shrugged. I went up. I went down.
He was, of course, right. It’s just that the Georgetown Morgue had been close, handy, and yep— pretty much the wrong decision.
Damn if Dark wasn’t right. As usual.
Evil lurked within.
And now? It had followed us out.
5
Zombie Phil now stood squarely in front of us, throwing a block of sorts. He held his stiff arms out to the side, in some crazy attempt to shield us.
Awe bless his little non—beating heart. I didn’t know he cared. And he probably didn’t.
Technically that was a move The Bone Man had taught him for the stage. The one where Phil holds out two gruesome, severed, sculpted wax heads. Heads our youngest, and most annoying, albeit insanely talented, Troupe member, Jinn Sato, had made.
The stance was only visually effective. We were hiding behind false security. The zombie couldn’t begin to shield us from the danger.
The Bone Man knelt, and sat me down on the cold pavement. As he stood, his snow—white hair fluttered in the night breeze, looking like the wagging fingers of a ghost. Holding my stomach, I struggled to sit in a cross—legged position. I doubled over from the pain, and tried not to tip over. I straightened— and oh man it hurt— but I needed a better view of the action. If this was the night I died, I’d like to see it coming.
“Stay put, Skye,” The Bone Man said. “You can’t help with this. If you do, if you try any magic, in your shape, it will kill you.”
“If I don’t, we both die.” I looked at Phil and felt a pang of guilt. He was a Troupe member after all. “And him.” I tipped my head toward the zombie. “We’ll lose him, too.”
The Bone Man quirked a smile. “You’re soft on Phil. Admit it.” He reached for his blade and stood his stance. A fight to the death kind of stance. How I wish I was standing with him.
“Come to think of it, you two do make an interesting couple. Kind of a Beauty and the Beast sort of thing. And you know, for a zombie, Phil’s a real beauty.”
My immediate reaction was to tromp on The Bone Man’s foot with my heel. And I was wearing just the boots to do it. But I held my breath and didn’t move. My energy was better saved for defense. Not for wounding the only warrior we had. But if we lived? I’d get back at him. The two of us had been known to deliver paybacks up to a year later. I was a Scorpio. And the one thing about Scorpios? We never forget.
The Bone Man plopped his top hat squarely on my head, and pointed his wickedly thin finger with a painted black nail at me. “Stay.”
The Bone Man stepped over my head, putting himself between me and the encroaching Shades. He reached out with those amazing long arms, grabbed Phil by the shirt collar and pulled the zombie closer. Phil now served as sort of a zombie, non—human shield. We, the survivors of this terrifying world, were just shallow like that. Throw a zombie under the bus. Or in front of a Shade, or— well you get the idea. When in doubt, throw a zombie block.
Words to keep on living by.
And yet, as I looked at Zombie Phil’s back, at the familiar plaid shirt and overalls with patches on the butt The Bone Man dressed him in, I felt sorry for our zombie. Soon his eyes would glaze over, and what was left of his mind would be focused on the raw slab of meat the Shades offered. An illusion of course. But he’d focus on it right up until they reached into his chest and tore his heart out. Then they would search for a soul. And when they didn’t find one… I shuddered.
Still, as The Bone Man knew, it would buy us time. Prolong our life, for what? Three minutes? Four?
Wait.
This was Phil. Drooling Phil. The zombie with chicken feathers stuck in his nose. So more like two and a half minutes. Tops.
But for those experienced in surviving, and that would be The Bone Man and me, it was a much longer reprieve. And even though I had screwed up big time tonight, we were all professional survivors. Dr. Dark had made sure of it. Although with me out of the action? It may not be a reprieve after all. Still. A few minutes could make a difference.
So, what can I say? Phil would be offered up first. Cold? Yep. Calculating? Absolutely. And it didn’t change anything.
It was time for Zombie Phil to take one for the team.
Almost tipping over, I reached out with my hand and caught myself on the asphalt. The once white handkerchief stuck to my palm. The blood—soaked hanky slipped on t
he wet pavement and I slipped along with it, falling on my side. The Bone Man’s hat popped off my head.
The bleeding from my belly wound had slowed, but with the pressure off, a thin line of crimson spilled onto the filthy gray surface. Blood started to pool. The Bone Man must have heard me gasp, because in a heartbeat he knelt beside me. “Careful,” he whispered. “Careful.” With his help, I was sitting upright once more.
Standing, The Bone Man reached into his exquisitely tailored overcoat, the one with the double—breasted brass buttons that had been hammered by hand. The beautiful ankle length duster was now hideously stained with blood— my blood. He drew his steel machete from the lining— the infamous blade with the arched curve. I’d once asked him about the extreme angle. I was immediately sorry. It’s that ‘curiosity kills the cat’ kind of thing.
“Better to dig into the cranial cavity of a zombie,” he’d said. “Like scooping out a ripe melon.”
“Wow. Too much sharing,” I’d said.
“You asked,” he’d said.
I didn’t realize at the time however, that hearing how it was used, didn’t begin to compare, to seeing how it was used. Trust me on this.
The scrimshaw, bone handle of the weapon bore the image of a laughing skull. As The Bone Man put the tip to the pavement and leaned on the weapon, the skull winked at me. Residual magic from our show.
“Stop,” I said in a raw, ragged voice. “You may be entertaining for the audience, but you’re totally useless here.” The skull’s mouth yawned open in silent laughter. Nice.
“Animated?” The Bone Man looked down at his blade.
“Yeah. And really, I fail to see the humor.”
“Yeah. Tell me.”
Ignoring the skull, I eyed the blade. Would the weapon work on the Shades? Doubtful. But The Bone Man would try anyway. The two of us were always armed, we just felt underdressed without weapons. And right now? With my blades stripped and lost in a fight that I obviously didn’t win, I felt bare—naked.
The Bone Man reached into the other side of his coat and handed me a much shorter version of his blade, a vintage cutlass. Minus the animated art, my blade was designed for more intimate work. The up close, wet, and personal kind.
Shit. I could hardly wait to play slice and dice. Let alone scoop—em—up. Whatever. I shook my head. What a fucked—up night.
The Bone Man raised his blade and assumed the position. The death stance.
I gripped the handle of my weapon until my knuckles turned white. I’d be lying if I said fear had nothing to do with it. The Bone Man was a friend. My friend. And given my winning personality and boatloads of charm, like I said, I didn’t have many. I couldn’t afford to lose him. Not on this night, not in front of me. It was my fault he was in harm’s way. I couldn’t lose him like this. Never like this.
The toxic rain increased to a steady downpour, tapping out a tattoo rhythm on the pavement. The thick drops splashed off the road and splattered against my body. I was now getting drenched coming and going. The steam seeped through the pavement from every crack and crevasse, from every gouge and gap. And with it came the steam magic.
Magic only I could see.
The Bone Man reached into his coat and threw a pair of goggles at me. They were engraved with our Academy shield.
“Where….”
“Borrowed,” he said, which we both knew was a lie. He’d stolen them. But from where? And more importantly, from who?
He donned his, and we shifted the lenses, yellow for me, blue for him. Our eye sensitivity varied as much as our genetic makeup and our sight depended on dialing in our differences. Thanks to Dr. Dark we could. I just wish we could dial in our options as well. Still, between acid rain and constant steam, and for The Bone Man, a flash of rare, occasional bright sunlight, the goggles helped plenty. Plus, living with Phil? Come on. It’s best to be prepared.
The Shades stopped and sniffed the air as if they too could smell the magic. But they couldn’t. Not like me. I don’t know why I knew this, but I did. Guess it was because if they could see what I could, they might have floated back to the morgue, fast, on little Shade feet. Because what the magic revealed one moment, then blanketed away the next, terrified me.
And given what I’d been through tonight? Well?
That was saying a lot.
6
The gas street lanterns flickered, working hard to give off light. There were only two on this street, and they had been off the entire time. In various stages of disrepair, the lamps had been on a permanent dimmer switch, thanks to the Pickers.
Always the opportunists, and parading as ‘legitimate’ entrepreneurs, the Pickers were like a traveling Wal—Mart. Not that we had functioning Wal—Marts anymore. The Pickers were pretty much left alone by both The Gov and the populous alike.
Why?
Because they had cool stuff.
And in a world as dark as ours, The Pickers’ version of retail therapy was in a word? Fun. So, we all let the street lamps pay the price. It was the same in every city across the country. Street lamps, with their valuable copper wires, and vintage parts, were a short—lived luxury.
The result was a sickly yellow pallor that blinked on, then off, then on again. We looked jaundiced, even Phil. On the up side, at least the zombie had some color. I mean Zombie Gray wasn’t a real color was it? I don’t remember seeing it in my box of crayons growing up. And I had the big—ass pack. The one with the built—in sharpener. Nope, I was sure Phil’s “Zombie Gray” was not in there. And whereas I wasn’t ready to call Phil a ball of sunshine, the dim, yellow color was an improvement.
Looking past The Bone Man’s legs, I could clearly see what the magic had shown me only a moment before. I couldn’t help myself. I gasped.
“What?” The Bone Man turned to face me. “What is it?”
I used my sword, afraid to let go of it, and pointed down the street. The Bone Man, twisted, and followed the tip of my blade.
The magic chose that moment to unveil to The Bone Man what the darkness had hidden. The lanterns roared to life, hissing gas and spewing light down the long city block. The brightness was magical, and momentarily blinding.
We both slammed the lenses in our goggles into full protection mode. The pathway ants flew into a frenzy. They scrambled on top of each other, tripping and tipping over. Some ran in circles. Phil simply stood there, reaching out, batting at the light, like he could turn it off. Phil’s technique may have worked. The light dimmed to a tolerable hue, but not before the shadows lifted and revealed what I had first seen.
Dark forms shuffled up the long block behind the Shades. The twisted figures moved slowly, as if they were being pulled through an ancient Hollywood editing machine, the old hand—cranked style where each frame was scrutinized.
Some crawled. Some moved along on their stomachs, pushing across the pavement with raw hands and bleeding knees. Some slid down the sides of brick buildings, landing on unwilling legs that cracked and snapped. But most walked.
No.
Wait.
That wasn’t right.
They shuffled. Just like Phil. They were dragging broken chains dangling from their still shackled necks and ankles and wrists. The metal links clanked against the asphalt, sending eerie echoes up the street. A spark would flare up here and there as the chains hit hard against the pavement.
So. Another zombie chain gang, gone rogue. Great. Phil’s relatives were showing up.
The Bone Man let out a long, exasperated breath. “That’s a lot of damn zombies, girl.”
“Nice, Phil.” I glared up from my sitting position. “What a time for a family reunion.”
The Bone Man propped his blade against his thigh, pulled a flare from the inside of his coat, and snapped it open. The flame roared to life and the Shades, as if remembering how they died, shrank back. But not far enough to make a difference on my terror—o—meter.
“Don’t blame Phil,” The Bone Man said without taking his eyes off the S
hades. “He’s from Missouri. Not Seattle.”
I did a mental eye roll. “Why are you always defending him? I tell ya, you’re gonna feel different the day he gets sick of Colonel Sanders and goes for Mc—Human. Then, you’d better watch your nuggets.”
“Yeah, yeah. Just let me worry about my nuggets. You got a count?” The Bone Man nodded toward the zombies.
“Too many.”
“Yep. That’s my count too.”
I couldn’t count how many. Didn’t matter. Outnumbered didn’t begin to cover it. They were a city block away and coming on strong. Not fast mind you, but with more and more joining them, definitely coming on strong.
There was no telling how long they had been off the chains. Without their handlers, there was no way this horde had been thinned. Meaning the odds that some of these grays had entered the Dead and Done phase was likely. I tapped down my fear and forced myself to focus on one thing at a time.
I turned my attention back to the Shades. They were after all, first in line.
So., I had a choice.
Get my soul sucked dry and my body left as a dying hulk of flesh smoldering on the wet pavement to get chomped and chewed and dismembered by the rotting dead— or, get rid of the handkerchief, do a few sit—ups, bleed out on the spot, die, then get chomped and chewed and dismembered by the rotting dead.
Phew. That was a lot to think about.
I kind of liked choice number two. First, I’d get to keep my soul. Shades couldn’t grab it if I was dead, plus the zombies would eat me, true, but they couldn’t turn me if there was nothing left to turn. In this case? Death was my friend.
Right now? Number two seemed like a win—win situation. Ya know? Somehow it didn’t cheer me up.
Mmm. I chewed my lip on the non—split—open side. Choices, choices.
But as I looked up at The Bone Man, I knew I wouldn’t take the coward’s way out. I cared about him too much to ever let him go it alone. Still, the truth? I can’t remember when I wanted to do sit—ups so bad.