by Ty Drago
“I don’t understand it either,” I admitted. “But my instincts are telling me to check it out.” I turned to Julie. “But you’re going with Dave.”
The girl shook her head.
The sirens were at the school. I could hear police cruisers screeching into the driveway out front, on the other side of the big building.
Time’s up.
Dave knew it too. With a final, desperate look at me, he picked up groggy, confused Redhead like she weighed next to nothing, took crying Blond by the hand and headed across the soccer field toward the woods. I noticed that he didn’t ask Julie to follow him. The Burgermeister had long ago learned not to argue with crazy.
Julie came to stand beside me, her expression fearful but brave.
“You really ought to go with them,” I told her.
“Yeah?” she replied. “You, too.”
I thought, Helene’s gonna kill me.
Then I grabbed Julie’s small hand and pulled her at a run along the back edge of parking lot, putting as much distance as I could between us and the loose collection of headless Corpses. We had maybe seconds before those “proper authorities” I mentioned arrived on the scene.
Then the hunt would begin again.
Chapter 4
THE ZOMBIE PRINCE
A few facts:
One: The Corpses Dave had just decapitated weren’t dead. By lopping their heads off with his shovel, all he’d done was trap the Malum inside their useless stolen bodies. They’d stay like that until more of their kind showed up and carried them off somewhere so that they could “Transfer” into fresh cadavers.
Two: In the meantime, to any Non-Seers, which includes the entire grown-up population of Planet Earth, these four deaders would appear as simply unconscious. No one would even notice that their heads were detached. The Corpses are masters of illusion. We don’t understand how they get into people’s brains and make them un-See their true rotting bodies, but they do it really well. Heck, you could take a picture of the headless bodies and a Non-Seer still wouldn’t recognize what they actually were!
And Three: Corpses are evil—pure, bone-deep evil. No exceptions. None.
Except—
“I’m here to help you.”
Julie and I huddled together, peering carefully around the corner of the school at the circle of activity going on in the rear parking lot.
Three cop cars had pulled up, their lights flashing. Uniformed police had gathered around the broken bodies sprawled near the soccer field entrance. No teachers yet. They were still inside, under lockdown. Once the cops had searched the school, then they’d all come out and start talking.
Still, I was a bit surprised that the Zombie Prince wasn’t around somewhere. Even in a lockdown situation, you’d think the principal would be out and about, doing, you know, principal things.
“I don’t see him,” Julie remarked.
“Me, neither.”
So far, none of the police on the scene were Corpses. But I knew that, sooner or later, some of the Queen’s minions would show up to help their fallen buds. Maybe they’d arranged to be driving the ambulances.
We couldn’t risk waiting around to find out.
“So … what’re we going to do?” Julie asked me.
“Find the Zombie Prince.”
“Who?”
“Principal Dillin.”
She looked curiously at me. “Why do you call him the Zombie Prince?”
“I … kinda like labeling stuff.”
“Why?”
I shrugged. “No clue. Let’s see if we can get into the school. Maybe he’s in his office.”
I turned. Julie turned.
And Ms. McKinney grabbed us each by the throat.
Julie tried to scream, but all that came out was a low gurgle that would never have reached around the corner to the circle of cops. Still, she did better than me; I couldn’t make any sound at all.
“Naughty children,” the dead teacher hissed.
She’d come up on us quietly, and apparently downwind, because her rotting body stunk like a truckload of bad eggs. As she lifted us both off our feet, I tried to kick at her, but the angle was bad. I didn’t dare Tase her. Doing that would zap all three of us, and I knew from experience how that felt.
My water pistol was in my back pocket but, struggling as I was, I couldn’t seem to muster up the strength to go for it.
As it turned out, I didn’t have to.
Julie swung up her legs and wrapped them around the teacher’s arm, using the leverage to pry the dead fingers from her neck. Then, bending backward in a way that would’ve totally snapped my spine, she snatched the water pistol from my back pocket and, twisting, fired its last squirt into McKinney’s face.
Air flooded my lungs as Dead History Teacher released me and collapsed, her arms and legs flailing. I dropped in a heap to the ground while Julie totally stuck the landing.
I looked at the girl.
She looked at me.
“Gymnastics,” she said.
Helene’s sister, I thought.
If Dave had been here, he could’ve snapped the Corpse’s neck like a twig. Unfortunately, I’d never been able to manage that much upper body strength. So all we could do was leave McKinney where she lay and run along the school’s outer wall to a door that led to the Administrative Wing.
And the principal’s office.
The door was locked, as middle school doors always are, especially during a Lockdown. Fortunately, my pocketknife has more going for it than just its Taser.
I pressed the 1 button, releasing the lock pick.
Thirty feet away, McKinney still convulsed. But, it wouldn’t last.
I set to work on the lock.
Ten seconds passed. Dead History Teacher’s spasms slowed. Then they stopped.
Fifteen seconds. Still sprawled on the grass at the edge of the building, McKinney craned her neck in a way that would have killed a living person. Her milky eyes found us.
“Naughty children,” I heard her say.
Twenty seconds.
“How long does it take?” Julie asked me, fresh terror in her voice.
“Almost there.” I worked my pocketknife deeper into the doorknob’s keyhole.
McKinney leaped to her feet with super-human grace and spun around. She was snarling. This particular deader was really into snarling.
Twenty-five seconds.
Click!
“Go!” I cried to Julie.
I yanked the door open and we ran inside. The exit closed behind us, its lock re-engaging. That would buy us a little time.
But just a little.
The hallway stood empty, the classroom doors on either side shut, locked and shuttered. Beyond them, hundreds of kids and dozens of teachers huddled in careful silence, waiting for someone to announce the “all clear” on the school’s PA system.
Lockdown.
I grabbed Julie’s hand and together we ran toward the first corner, our feet hammering loudly on the tile floor. Behind us, I heard McKinney pull uselessly on the exit door and then howl in frustration.
I almost smiled.
Then we rounded the corner and ran straight into a cop.
He was human and in uniform—one of Allentown’s finest doing his secure-the-school duty.
“Where are you two going?” he demanded.
I Tased him.
“Sorry,” I said, as he gasped and dropped.
Two innocents in one day, I thought bitterly. That’s a record.
We had to duck three more cops on our way to the Administration Wing, but we made it without getting spotted. Unfortunately, Marcy McKinney hit the school’s main doors at pretty much the same time.
We saw her. She saw us.
I’d half-hoped these doors would be locked as well. But they weren’t, probably because the cops had needed a way to get inside. Whatever the reason, Dead History Teacher snarled a
nd charged in, rushing toward us as I pulled Julie past the Main Office and down the narrow Administration Wing corridor.
Like the rest of the school, this hallway stood deserted. The Guidance Office, Attendance Office, and even the Nurse’s Office were all shut up tight—though I reminded myself that the school nurse currently lay, headless, in the back parking lot.
Julie and I skidded to a stop outside a big wooden door with a plaque on it that read: Robert Dillin, Principal.
He’s probably in there, I thought.
The dead principal.
The Zombie Prince.
I hesitated—but just for a second, because Ms. McKinney was already at the mouth of the Admin Wing, glowering at us. She looked kind of like a dead Bruce Banner just before the big green switch gets flipped.
I grabbed the doorknob.
You sure about this?
I was about to burst into a cramped, enclosed space—Dillin, I knew, had no outer office, and his inner office was pretty small. Even if he was in there, what did I hope to accomplish? With one alien invader in a stolen cadaver on my six, did I really think another alien invader in a stolen cadaver was going to answer my questions, much less help me?
Why was I doing such a stupid thing?
Because there’d been “something” about the way he’d said they weren’t all monsters.
But, no. I’m not sure about this at all.
I pushed Julie and myself into the office as Dead History Teacher came at us—fast.
“Hello, Mr. Ritter.”
He sat behind his desk. No secretary or assistant for Bob Dillin. He was a hands-on kind of principal. Students were always welcome to stop by between classes if they had some concern. At least, that was what he said at the monthly assemblies. I’d always thought that promise grimly funny, given what I knew him to be.
But, right now, I was counting on it.
Julie and I looked at the “man.” I felt the girl’s tiny hand slide into mine. I gave it a squeeze, conveying a confidence that I sure as heck didn’t feel. I pressed my back to the door and, with my free hand, felt for the lock and turned it.
A second later, Ms. McKinney slammed into the other side, shaking the whole frame.
I considered playing it cool, but I just didn’t have the energy.
So I said, “You gonna kill us, or what?”
Dillin stood. “No, I’m not going to kill you. Who’s that behind the door?”
“McKinney.”
He nodded. “Ah, Marcy.” Then he smiled—actually smiled. I’d seen them grin hungrily and leer smugly. But this was the first time I’d ever seen a genuine, bemused smile cross a Corpse’s face.
It was—jarring.
“Well, we’d better let her in before she bashes the door down,” he said, coming around the desk.
Instinctively, I pulled Julie to one side, keeping as much space between us and him as possible. My pocketknife was in my hand, its Taser ready. Julie still held my water pistol, but I knew it was probably empty. But both, of course, weapons would be next to useless on this guy; Royals were too fast.
Except, he didn’t attack. Instead he went to the door and, to my horror, unlocked and opened it.
Dead History Teacher leaped inside, her purplish fingers twisted into savage-looking claws, her dead eyes wild, her rotting teeth bared.
“Hello, Marcy,” Dillin said. “Why don’t you come in?”
She ignored him, scanned the office and, spotting us, readied to pounce.
Then the principal clamped his hands on either side of her head from behind—and twisted it right off her shoulders.
Julie didn’t scream.
I did—well, just a little.
The headless body stiffened and then dropped to the carpeted floor, twitching slightly. Her host cadaver had been embalmed, so there was very little blood. For a long moment, Dillin studied the face in his hands thoughtfully. “This must be terribly confusing for you, Marcy,” he said.
“Traitor!” the head replied in Deadspeak.
Julie jumped a little at that. I gave her hand another squeeze.
“Well now,” the Zombie Prince replied. “That depends on your point of view, doesn’t it?”
Then, pressing with both his palms, he squeezed the severed head until it—well—popped. Eyeballs fell out. Brains squirted.
I’ll be seein’ that one in my dreams tonight.
He dropped what was left and looked at us. “We should go someplace else to talk. Even in this state, she can hear us.”
“How?” Julie asked.
“Long story,” Dillin and I answered together.
I’d just jinxed a Corpse. Okay, that was really freaky!
“Follow me, both of you,” he said. Then, after a pause, “Unless you still don’t trust me?”
I held up my Taser. “I wouldn’t call it ‘trust’.”
He considered that. “No, I don’t suppose you would.”
Leaving what was left of Marcy McKinney staining his rug, he stepped out into the Admin. Wing, turned right and disappeared, apparently convinced that we’d follow.
We did.
He didn’t lead us far, just to an empty teachers lounge a few doors down from his office. Once inside, I immediately pulled Julie over to a window that looked out over the front of the school. Everything seemed pretty quiet out there, even serene. It was easy to forget the headless bodies and cop cars in the back. The window was partly open to let in a late spring breeze.
We can go through it if we have to.
“We’re keeping the goings-on in the back of the school as low key as possible,” Dillin explained. “Five of my staff are down. Six, if you count Marcy. Is this a typical day for you, Mr. Ritter?”
“I’ve had worse.” I shrugged. And I had.
“So I’ve heard.” He crossed his arms and tilted his head. The gesture seemed really—human, but all it did was freak me out a little more. “You’ve become something of a legend amongst my people, did you know that? Well, no. ‘Legend’ isn’t the right word. Your culture does have a term for it, though. Let me think …”
He thought.
We watched him.
“Boogeyman.” He snapped his fingers—another really human gesture. “That’s it! You’ve become the Malum boogeyman!”
“Great,” I muttered, not sure how I felt about that.
Julie blinked and looked at me, either with newfound respect or hardcore skepticism; believe it or not, it’s the same expression.
“What do you want?” I asked, glowering at him.
“I told you,” the Zombie Prince replied. “I want to help.”
“Okay … why do you want to help?”
He considered the question. “Yes, I imagine my demeanor must confuse you.”
Julie said, “Ms. McKinney called you a traitor.”
“In her eyes, I am. The term on my world is Oreth Oreg. The closest English translation would probably be ‘betrayer,’ but that doesn’t quite say it. Organized betrayer. That’s closer.”
“I don’t get it,” I said.
He took a step toward us.
I pulled Julie a step closer to the window.
“Between us,” he remarked. “You and I have effectively dispatched … dispatched but not destroyed … all of the Malum who were stationed in this school. But others are coming. Many others.”
I shrugged. “No kidding. What’s your point?”
“That you need to leave and, after what I just did to Marcy on your behalf, I need to leave. My wife will be none too pleased. She’ll be hunting for me … and it would be very unwise to let myself be found.”
At least, that was what I think he said. To be honest, I stopped listening after “my wife.”
“Hold up!” I snapped. “Who’s your wife?”
The Zombie Prince met my eyes. Dead gaze on living gaze. Then he did something that struck me as especially human.
He sw
allowed.
And I thought: So why would a dead guy with no saliva … swallow?
For that matter, what does he swallow?
“My wife is the Malum ruler, Mr. Ritter,” he finally replied. “You know her as Lilith Cavanaugh … the Queen of the Dead.”
Chapter 5
EVENT HORIZON
Tom
“He’s my boyfriend! She’s my sister! How can I not go?”
Tom Jefferson, Chief of the Undertakers, stood in one of Haven’s many narrow, crumbling corridors. They were deep below Philly’s gargantuan City Hall, in a sub-basement that no one even remembered, much less used. It wasn’t a particularly comfortable place—always dark, always dank—but it was safe enough.
And, in Tom’s mind at least, it was home.
Except, right now, “home” was where three girls were yelling at him.
No, that wasn’t fair. Helene Boettcher was yelling. Jillian, and Tom’s twin sister Sharyn, were just watching.
His sister looked amused.
“It’s a two hour trip by train,” Tom said. “By the time you get there, whatever Will’s got himself into will probably be over.”
“He hasn’t called!” she complained.
“I know.”
“And he’s not answering when the Chatters call him!” she exclaimed.
“I know.”
“And that doesn’t worry you?”
Tom glanced at Sharyn, who shrugged. Then he glanced at Jillian, a girl from his past, a girl only recently back in his life. There were feelings there, complicated ones. She met his eyes. Jill had great eyes.
Tom turned back to Helene. “Will Ritter’s come back from the dead,” he told her. “He’s tamed monsters. I stopped worrying about him months back. You oughta do the same.”
Helene gave him a look that should have scorched his nose hairs. Tom faced it down. Tom faced down a lot of things in his job and, so far, not one of them had killed him.
Of course, the day is young.
Wordlessly, the girl stalked off.
Sharyn waited until Helene was safely out of earshot. Then she asked, “How many and how soon, bro?”
“Take Chuck and Katie,” Tom told her. “And go now.”