Praise the Dead

by Gina Ranalli

  They were all she had.

  The radio broadcast had talked about frightening things, but held a note of positivity, too. Things were a bit of a mess right now, they said, but they were confident that everything would soon be under control and they would figure it all out and the world would go back to normal.

  Lindy sat forward, leaning between the two front seats. “Pull over, Jado,” she said.

  She glanced over her shoulder. “What?”

  “I want you to pull over. Right here.”

  “I can’t do that, sweetie. We’re on the freeway.”

  “But I need to listen!”

  “Listen? Oh, you mean to the . . . messengers?”

  The girl nodded earnestly. “Please.”

  “I’m sorry,” Jado said. “But we can’t just pull over here.”

  “There are woods on the side of the road! It will only take a minute.”

  “The next rest stop, okay? If we pull over now there’s a chance a police cruiser will stop to investigate. That could be a potential nightmare.”

  “She’s right, kiddo,” Jackson put in. “Especially with that eyesore of a bus on our butts.”

  Lindy sat back in her seat, slumping in defeat.

  “The next rest stop isn’t far,” Jado told her. “We’ll stop then, okay?”

  “Yeah, okay.” Lindy sighed, watching the blur of green whiz by her window. Maybe it was for the best anyway. What if the birds told her something she’d rather not hear? Or worse yet, what if they didn’t speak to her at all?

  Chapter Twenty-five

  Andrew could only move his army in small bursts, out of one affected neighborhood and into another.

  Jude told him to think of it as a game of chess: one slow move at a time, with some moves taking longer than others because you had to think about them more carefully.

  Though he’d never played chess in his life, Andrew liked the analogy. They had to become increasingly clever to avoid detection from law enforcement and military officers, but now that he had Jude, he didn’t have to think about these things. The albino was proving to be very useful after all. It had also been his idea for Andrew to concentrate more fully on his link with the dead.

  That was Jude’s word: link.

  More and more, Andrew found he could control his minions without being anywhere near them. It was almost as if he could enter their dreams, but of course, zombies didn’t dream. They never slept, but what they did have was a sort of hive mind—one that Andrew could manipulate with his thoughts alone.

  It was often exhausting but becoming less so with each passing day. His mind was like a muscle, growing stronger the more it was used.

  And he was using it often.

  “Check it out,” he told Jude early one morning as they took refuge in a desolate subway station.

  At the far end of the station, a single form lay curled on a bench. Upon closer inspection, it was a homeless person getting some shut eye. They walked towards the sleeping man, making no effort to keep their voices down.

  “A security guy will come through here once every thirty minutes or so,” Andrew said. “Would be more often if it wasn’t 3:00 a.m. or if there was more people down here. During rush hour, there’s a couple of guards down here the whole time. My step-dad told me just the sight of them keeps people behaving, for the most part.”

  “I don’t think I want to be down here when the guard comes,” Jude said, his boots clicking against the concrete with every step. “I don’t exactly look inconspicuous.”

  “Part of the plan, my man.” Andrew laughed. The more he remembered his step-dad, the more he found himself talking like him. It was kind of fun.

  When they reached the sleeping figure, Andrew loudly said, “Hey, wake up, dude! It’s a new day! New day, new bottle!” He glanced at Jude, highly amused with himself. “Funny, huh?”

  “Hysterical,” Jude dryly replied.

  “Wino man, get up!” Andrew lifted a leg and nudged the man’s back with the toe of his sneaker.

  “I think this guy’s left town, Andrew.”

  “Nah. He’s just wasted.” Andrew bent over and shouted directly into the man’s ear. “Get up, the cops are here!”

  That was the magic phrase.

  The man shot up so quickly he fell off the bench, his ratty trench coat in a tangled mess. “What? Where?” His bloodshot eyes found the boy and the man standing over him and after a quick glance around the station, realization dawned on his leathery old face. “You punks,” he snarled. “Don’t ya got nothing better to do than dog an innocent fella trying to get his beauty sleep?”

  “What’s your name, old man?” Andrew asked, not bothering to be polite.

  “None of your blasted business! Now, get outta here ’fore I call the cops for real!” The man struggled to his feet and planted himself back on the bench with a loud huff.

  “Security will be down here soon enough,” Andrew said.

  The drunk regarded him as if he was a particularly disgusting dog turd. “You talkin’ about Stan? Ha! He’s one of my best buddies! Why you think I’m here in the first place? Now go slither back under the rock you came from. I’m tired!”

  Andrew chuckled. “Here that, Jude? He said he’s tired. Maybe what he wants is the Big Sleep. What do you think?”

  Jude didn’t look like he cared one way or the other. “What’s the point of this? We don’t want to bring attention to ourselves.”

  “It’s a new trick I’m practicing. You’ll see. Now kill this guy.”

  Surprised, Jude said, “I’m sorry?”

  “Trust me. Just do it.”

  “I’m not going to kill a bum for your amusement!” For once, Jude actually sounded angry. “We need to keep focused on the task at hand!”

  The drunk, for his part, was waking up in a fast hurry. “What are you two weasels talking about? Get on out of here now! Leave me alone!”

  Ignoring him, Andrew studied Jude. “You said you would do anything for me.”

  “I . . .” the albino stammered. “I did. I mean, I will. But not this! This is completely unnecessary!”

  “Anything means anything, Jude.” Though calm, Andrew’s voice had taken on a sternness that it didn’t usually carry. He sounded like a parent warning a child, anger bubbling just beneath the surface of his words.

  Jude hesitated. “This is absurd,” he said finally.

  “Do. It. Jude.”

  The homeless man, sensing the seriousness of the situation, leapt to his feet and made a wobbly run for it, heading towards the exit.

  “Jude!”

  His Adam’s apple bobbed once and then Jude turned towards the fleeing man. From somewhere within the depths of his long leather coat, he produced a shiny silver throwing knife, flipped it around expertly, and let it fly.

  As if it was guided by angels, the knife found its mark, true and straight, sinking into the center of the drunk’s back and dropping him mid-stride.

  The drunk made a gurgling sound and Jude sighed heavily before turning back to Andrew. “Happy now?”

  Transformed back into a little boy instantaneously, Andrew did a little bounce. “Watch this! Watch this! It’s gonna be awesome!”

  “I’m sure awesome is a relative term,” Jude replied, unable to hide his disgust.

  “You have good aim.”

  “Thank you.”

  “Where’d you learn to do that?”

  “My father taught me.”

  “Oh. Think you can teach me sometime?”

  Jude reached into his coat again and brought out his sunglasses. Despite the fact they were underground, he placed them on his face and looked down at the boy. “I’m sure I could.”

  “Cool! Oh, hey, look! We’ve been on video this whole time.” Andrew pointed up at a video camera mounted on the concrete ceiling.

  “Excellent. The police should be here any minute.”

  “Well, actually, check it out. It’s not aimed towards us. But, it is aimed towards him.”<
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  Jude sat down on the wooden bench previously occupied by the bum. He crossed his legs and folded his arms, exuding impatience from every pore.

  “Wino’s dead now.” Andrew grinned. “Took him a minute, but that’s okay. I won’t hold it against you.”

  “I appreciate that.”

  The clap clap clap of hard shoes on cement caused them both to look in the direction of the stairs leading down to the subway platform. Sure enough, a security guard raced towards the fallen homeless man, radio in hand.

  “Charlie! You okay, man?”

  “And now . . .” Andrew whispered, pausing for dramatic affect. “He’s alive again.”

  Jude watched, waiting for the newly undead man to reach up and grab the security guard, anxious for a bite to eat.

  Nothing happened, and when the guard bent over, examining the knife jutting out of Charlie’s back and within easy reach, the dead man remained unmoving.

  “I think you might want to try that one again,” Jude said.

  “Nope, he’s a zombie.”

  Even with the black shades, Jude managed to look skeptical. “Then why isn’t he attacking?”

  Andrew let out one of his famous giggles. “I’m training them to play dead. You know, like dogs.”

  The guard looked up from the body at Andrew and Jude. For a moment it seemed as though he was debating speaking to them but instead he straightened up, raising the radio up to his face.

  “Now!”

  As if Andrew’s whispered word was a switch, the zombie’s hand flicked out, snatching the guard’s ankle and pulling the man off balance.

  The guard yelped a curse, dropping his radio. The sound of cracking plastic filled the station.

  “Charlie! I thought you were—”

  Like a ravenous animal, the zombie thrust his neck out and bit hard into the guard’s leg. The screams were much louder than the breaking radio had been.

  Andrew looked on with a twinkling glee while Jude remained somewhat indifferent.

  Once the savagery was done and Andrew had sent both zombies out into the night, he turned to Jude. “So, what do ya think?”

  “Impressive.”

  The boy grinned. “I knew you’d like it. Now we can get the minions in just about anywhere!”

  “Anywhere they bring dead bodies.”

  “Right, yeah, but think about it! Hospitals! I can make them play dead all the way into the . . . uh . . . what do you call it?”

  “The morgue?” Jude said.

  “Yeah, the morgue, but in the ambulances and all that! So awesome! I don’t know why I didn’t think of it before.”

  “Maybe you weren’t strong enough yet.” When Andrew’s grin vanished, Jude knew he’d made a misstep. He backpedaled quickly. “You’re just learning how to play chess and you’re already mastering it. Having them play dead! I never would have thought of that.”

  Smugly, Andrew replied, “That’s why you’re not the king and I am.”

  “Exactly,” Jude said, his body tensing just a fraction. “That’s exactly correct.”

  Chapter Twenty-six

  Lindy and her band of ragtag soldiers rolled into the city when most others were trying to escape it.

  Both the Cherokee and the school bus had been abandoned several states back and now the six of them rode uncomfortably together in a nondescript minivan, Jackson, Jado and Sebastian all taking turns behind the wheel.

  Monty sat in the very back with Lindy. To pass the time and take their minds off of what was ahead, they played cards and talked about popular music and movies and tried to pretend they were regular teenagers for a while, despite the madness that was unfolding around them.

  It was the first of July, but the sound of the occasional pop in the distance had nothing to do with premature celebrations of Independence Day.

  The zombies were taking over and the people were fighting back as best they could, mostly on their own as by now even the military was losing its feeble grasp on any type of control it might have had previously.

  “We could be in trouble here,” Lindy said, gazing out at the abandoned street.

  “Us?” Monty did his best to smile. “No way. We have you. We’re here to save the day.”

  “Even if we’re able to stop that kid, we can’t save all the people who’ve already been turned.” She shook her head, sad, as a woman pushing a baby stroller ran down the sidewalk, her face pulled back in a mask of sheer terror. Lindy could only imagine what the woman had already seen to make her look like that.

  “Keep your eyes peeled for a gas station, guys,” Sebastian said from the driver’s seat. “We’re running on fumes.”

  “What?” Jackson sounded annoyed. “Why didn’t you stop before we entered the city?”

  Sebastian said, “I tried to, man. Couldn’t get in anywhere. Places were either packed or dry.”

  “Well, the situation won’t be any different here!”

  In her naturally soft voice, Dusty piped in. “Let’s all just try to keep a positive attitude. Snapping at each other will serve no purpose whatsoever.”

  As it usually did, her words somehow calmed the testy, anxious men.

  “Think we’ll find food anywhere around here?” Monty asked. “I’m starving back here.”

  “Yeah,” Sebastian said. “What are you in the mood for? Burgers? Pizza? Maybe some Thai?”

  Everyone’s chuckles were abruptly cut off when the big man suddenly swore and slammed on the brakes, sending all the occupants of the minivan forward, straining against their seatbelts.

  “Guess leash laws no longer apply, huh?” Jackson asked as the frightened dog they’d almost hit scurried away.

  Lindy breathed a sigh of relief when the scruffy red dog jogged by her window. Her affinity for animals of every species was almost scary, it was so strong. As she’d grown older, the more attuned to nature she’d become, to the point where she could almost swear she could sense the feelings of trees.

  “Ridiculous,” Jackson called it.

  Jado, on the other hand, was more sympathetic, though she couldn’t even pretend to understand it.

  “Close call,” Monty said, leaning over Lindy to watch the dog move away. “Hey, that’s how they make furry angels!” he yelled out the window, laughing.

  “Hush,” Dusty told him, turning in her seat. “There’s no need to draw attention to ourselves.”

  “Right,” he agreed and settled back. “Sorry.”

  “I think we might have bigger problems than Montgomery making a ruckus,” Sebastian said. “Look. Company.”

  Following the direction of his pointed finger, the rest of them saw their first zombie.

  It was a woman, probably in her mid-thirties. Long, dark hair, streaked with green. A tad on the heavy side, but probably quite pretty before dying then living again. One arm was missing, ripped right out of its socket, where only loose strands of gray meat hung, swinging with every step she took.

  Lindy immediately became nauseous at the sight.

  Making a clucking sound, Dusty whispered, “That poor woman.”

  “Poor woman?” Jackson asked. “That poor woman is headed this way, probably looking for her own lunch. Step on it, Sebastian.”

  Jado sat up straight. “No!”

  “She’s right,” Sebastian said. “This is the perfect opportunity for one of us to put our money where our mouth is.”

  They all exchanged glances and Lindy thought it was ironic she was the only one who seemed disturbed by this proposition. She swallowed, her eyes drifting back to the zombie and that shoulder. Her head throbbed and she prayed she wouldn’t faint. How would that look? She was somehow supposed to be this group’s leader, though she was only fourteen and grew woozy at the sight of one single zombie.

  Maybe a mistake had been made somewhere along the line . . .

  “I’ll do it,” Dusty said, surprising everyone.

  After a beat, Jado asked, “Are you sure?”

  “Of course I’m sur
e. Look at that abomination. That was a human being once. She deserves some dignity in death, just as every single one of God’s creatures deserves dignity.”

  Listening to Dusty’s voice somehow calmed Lindy’s frayed nerves. The woman spoke the truth, after all. They had all come here to do good, and doing good was often dangerous, unsavory work.

  Which was why so few people actually did it.

  “I’ll do it,” Lindy said. Her face was grimly set and any nervousness or squeamishness she’d felt only moments ago was now gone.

  “I don’t think that’s a good idea,” Jado said, though she looked uncertain. “You’re the last one who should be getting out of the safety of this car.”

  “That’s right,” Jackson said. “I’m not letting you—”

  “No, that’s wrong,” Lindy argued. “I’m the one who needs to prove myself more than any of you.”

  Outside the zombie had reached the minivan, clawing and snarling and drooling on the other side of Sebastian’s window.

  Dusty unfastened her seatbelt and attempted to climb over Jado to get to the sliding door, but she barely lifted herself from the seat when Jackson had stepped out, already raising the .44 Special he’d been keeping in a shoulder holster for the last three hundred miles.