by Ty Drago
Someone shuffled their feet. Someone cleared their throat.
“Tom?” a female voice asked.
He turned.
Jillian said, “There’s … um … something I need to tell you.”
I know.
Chapter 15
RESOURCE IN ACTION
“Tell me that’s you, little bro.”
“It’s me,” I said into the phone.
“Thank God.”
In the background, I heard the Burgermeister exclaim, “Well, it’s about time!”
“Sorry,” I said. “I lost my sat phone.”
“That much we knew,” Sharyn told me. “But ain’t you been talkin’ to Haven on another phone? A borrowed phone?”
“Yeah. I … um … lost that, too.”
She laughed, though there was an unmistakable edge of worry in it. “Well, ain’t you had a morning! Where you at?”
“We’re hiding out in an old condemned boathouse on Kelly Drive.”
“Boathouse Row?” Sharyn groaned. “Hot Dog, we’re on the wrong side of the river!”
“Dave’s with you?”
“Yeah.”
“What about those two Seers he was bringing in. The girls?”
“Chuck and Katie took ‘em back. Hot Dog stayed with me.”
“Why?”
“Well, he—” There was the sound of muffled disagreement, followed by the clatter of a cell phone being passed from one person to another.
Then the Burgermeister’s voice: “’Cause I’m sick of you getting into trouble and I’m not there to bail you out, that’s why!”
Despite myself, I smiled. “Is it just of two of you?”
“Whatcha mean, ‘just’? Me and Sharyn are like a two-person army!”
That won a chuckle out of me, mainly because it was true.
“You okay?” he asked, more serious now.
“Yeah,” I said.
“Julie okay?”
I glanced at the girl sitting beside me on the dirty floor. “She’s better than okay. She’s actually pretty cool.”
Julie smiled at this.
“Great,” Dave said. “Now … what’s this crap about you traveling with a deader?”
I looked over at the Zombie Prince, who crouched near the far wall. He seemed to be listening, his body impossibly still. Corpses don’t fidget like living people do. Instead, when they’re motionless, they’re completely motionless—almost like statues or, well, dead bodies.
It’s creepy.
“Long story.”
“You really trust this dude?”
“Yeah. I do.”
“Why?”
A good question. Yes, he’d stuck with us, even saved our lives on at least two occasions. But all that could have been just smoke and mirrors. He said he didn’t expect me to take him to Haven. But maybe that was just crap to keep us happy until he picked the right moment to turn on me and make me talk. Or maybe his scheme was subtler than that. Maybe he wanted to meet Tom in some public place just so he could kill him. True, the Corpses usually didn’t risk open confrontation in view of normal people.
But, like Dillin kept saying: the rules had changed.
I’ve changed them.
So, given all that, why did I trust the Zombie Prince?
“My gut,” I finally said.
“Your gut,” Dave echoed.
“My gut.”
“You’re nuts.”
“I know.”
He made a sound halfway between a laugh and a grunt. Then there came another clatter, and Sharyn said, “Listen, little bro. Can you get to the Water Works?”
“I dunno. Maybe. Listen, there’s this particular Corpse chasing us. Name’s Parker. He’s some kind of special commander that the Queen brought over to come after us. And, even worse, he’s got these … things with him.”
“Things?”
“They’re called Malites. They actually Malum kids, freaky as that sounds. Except they can possess the bodies of living animals and … morph them.”
“Morph ‘em? Into what?”
“Little killing machines.”
This time, when Sharyn said it, it was without a trace of humor. “Ain’t you had a morning.”
“Yeah.”
“Got a car?”
“Not anymore.”
“So you’ll have to hoof it. Keep off the streets. Stay close to the river. Hot Dog and I’ll meet ya at the Water Works.”
“Okay,” I said.
“Stay ahead of these Malite things. Stay alive.”
“I’ll try. Um … Sharyn?”
“Yeah, little bro.”
“Sorry about this.”
The Angels Boss had such a musical laugh. “Will Ritter, apologizing for causin’ trouble? That’s a new one!”
Then she broke the connection.
I lowered the phone and rested my head against the cold, half-rotted wood.
“Everything … okay?” Julie asked.
I sighed. “We’ve got a plan.”
“Good,” she said, sounding pleased. Then, after a pause: “Are you my sister’s boyfriend?”
My throat went suddenly dry. Must have been the abrupt change of topic. “Huh?”
Her gaze remained steady, almost challenging. “Are you my sister’s boyfriend?”
“Um …” My mouth felt suddenly dry. “I guess so.”
“Oh,” she said. Then after a thoughtful pause, she added, “Because if you weren’t, I was gonna ask you to be mine.”
I gaped at her like an idiot.
Okay, so what was the rule for this one? How do you respond to getting hit on by an eleven-year-old girl who also happens to be your girlfriend’s sister?
Me being me, I played it smooth.
“Um … sorry.”
Crushed it.
After a full minute of uncomfortable silence, I finally got up, dusted myself off, and walked over to the Zombie Prince, who still hadn’t moved. Julie watched me, but said nothing.
As I approached him, Dillin whispered, “She’ll be fine.”
“What?”
“Ms. Boettcher. She’ll be fine. It’s just hero worship.”
“Great.” The last thing I needed right now was relationship advice from a Corpse. “Ten minutes are up. What do you think’s going on out there?”
“I know exactly what’s going on,” he replied. “The police are canvassing witnesses. They’ve arrested the fellow with the gun. So far everyone’s saying he opened fire, though that doesn’t explain the woman who was savaged by her dog, or my former, armless host. So things are pretty confused. Fortunately, no one’s reported seeing us run in here. At least not yet.”
“You can hear all that?” I asked, astonished.
He nodded. “One of cops even tried the door while you were on the phone. Thankfully, the brace held. He thinks it’s jammed from age.”
“Jeez! Why didn’t you tell me?”
“You were busy.”
“How about the Malites?” I asked.
“I can’t hear them. If they’re out there, they’re staying quiet and out of sight. Probably at Parker’s direction.”
“Is Parker out there?” I asked.
“Oh, yes. He’s conferring with the other policemen. They seem to be calling Parker ‘chief.’”
“Chief? As in chief of police?”
“I assume so.”
Parker was the new chief of police? News to me. But it meant the cops on the scene, both human and deader, would obey his every command.
Not good.
I said, “Sooner or later, they’re coming in here.”
“Yes,” Dillin said.
“We need to leave.”
“Yes,” he said.
“The Undertakers want to meet us at the Water Works.”
“So I heard …”
“It’s only a mile or so down the road,” I pressed.
The Zombie Prince looked at me in the darkness. “Might as well be a hundred. We’re not going to get past those Malites, never mind the dozen or so police out there.”
“Then … what?” I said in disgust. “We just wait here until Parker comes in and kills us?”
He said, “I’ve been trying to come up with a way to get us out of here unseen.”
“Any luck?”
“None,” he said. Then, after a pause, he added, “My people are afraid of you.”
“Huh?”
“My people are afraid of you,” he repeated.
“So I hear.” I wondered where this was going.
“But … we also admire you.”
“I’m touched.”
“Don’t you want to know what we admire you for?”
Nope. I just want to get Julie safely out of here, like I promised Helene I would. I couldn’t care less what a bunch of ten-legged monsters, who’d kill me as soon as look at me, “admire me for.”
But out loud, I replied, “Sure.”
The Zombie Prince said, “Because you’re resourceful, Mr. Ritter. You have no idea how rare a thing that really is. I come from a world where, with few exceptions, each of us does as we’re told. As a people, we are not resourceful. In fact, we are taught from an early age that any sort of independent thinking is dangerous. As a result, we both fear and admire that trait in our enemies.
“What’s your point?” I asked.
“Oh, I think you know my point,” Dillin said. “I’ll be sitting here listening. If it sounds like we’ve run out of time, I’ll let you know.”
Then he turned away and went statue still again.
I watched him for a bit. Then I looked over at Julie. In the dim light, I could tell she was looking back at me, though I couldn’t read her expression. But something told me she’d heard at least some of my conversation with Dillin—and that she, too, was waiting for me to save the day.
No pressure.
I switched on my flashlight and scanned the walls again. Three doors. Two padlocked from the outside and the third wedged shut from the inside. The walls were old but solid. The floor was partially rotted away, but there didn’t seem to be anything below it, at least not anything useful. The boat doors were closed tight and, even if they weren’t, how far would we get trying to swim the Schuylkill River?
Then I shone my light up at the ceiling.
And that’s when I saw it.
I hadn’t noticed it before because, well, I hadn’t been looking for it.
“Hey, Dillin,” I said.
He was at my side in a heartbeat—mine, of course, not his.
I gestured up at the ceiling, and at the ancient something that hung there.
“Think that might still float?” I asked the principal.
Chapter 16
SCULL
Know what a double scull is?
Well, one of them was hanging from the ceiling of this forgotten boathouse, its long, lean shape lost in the shadows between the rafters—until I’d shone my pocketknife’s flashlight directly up at it.
One of my dad’s best friends had been heavy into crew. Once, my family had actually come down to Boathouse Row to watch him compete in one of the twenty or so rowing races that Philly hosts each spring and summer. I remember thinking that the boats seemed barely wide enough to sit on, and even asked my dad why they didn’t just fall out.
He’d laughed and replied, “That’s why they row so fast, Will … so they can make it to shore before they capsize!”
Believe it or not, at least five years passed before I realized he’d been kidding.
Basically, a double scull is a boat built for competitive rowing. It seats two rowers, one behind the other, and is designed to cut through the water fast—really fast.
But could it get three of us downriver to the Water Works before Parker and his Malites wised to the trick?
“Float?” the Zombie Prince remarked. “I’m not sure that old thing won’t fall apart the minute we get it down here.”
“Except, I don’t see how we can get it down here,” I told him. “It’s gotta be … what? … twenty feet up?”
Dillin looked thoughtful. “I could possibly make the jump. But given the chains holding it, I’d be as likely to break the boat as free it.”
Then a voice said, “How’d they get it up there?”
We both looked at Julie, who’d come to stand beside me.
It was actually a solid question. So I traded my pocketknife’s flashlight for its telescope, which had a night-vision feature. With it, I zoomed in and studied the chains holding up the dusty old boat. Then, moving slowly, I followed those chains. There were four of them, and they came together at a spot somewhere above the scull, where I couldn’t see. But I could see a single chain, all but lost in shadow, that ran away from the boat to a nearby pillar and then disappeared into a hole.
“Hang on,” I said, going to the pillar. There were a half-dozen just like it in the boathouse, all of them holding up the old roof. But this one, I noticed for the first time, seemed to include a little door, set right at eye level.
I used my knife blade to pry it open.
And there it was.
A crank.
“Julie, you’d make your sister proud!”
The girl grinned.
To Dillin, I said, “This thing might be rusted solid, or it might fall apart the second I touch it.”
“Do it,” the Zombie Prince replied. Then he positioned himself right under the hanging scull.
I gave the ancient crank a tug. It didn’t move. I tugged harder. A creak and then a shudder ran through the pillar.
The chain moved an inch. Then two inches.
Then it broke.
A loud, rolling rattle ran up through the pillar and across the ceiling. The scull came suddenly free in an explosion of dust and slackened chains.
Instinctively, I spun Julie around and put my body between her and the falling boat. I tensed, waiting for a crash that might just bring this whole place down around our ears.
It never came.
I opened one eye. The boathouse was choked with dust.
“Cover your mouth,” I told Julie.
Then I straightened and turned.
Bob Dillin stood with his legs apart, cradling twenty-five feet of scull, easily supporting its weight with Royal strength—and with poor Ray Exler’s dead arms.
“Now what, Mr. Resourceful?” He smiled at me.
“Cute,” I told him. “Think they heard that outside?”
“Maybe. Let’s move quickly.”
We examined the boat. It had just two cramped seats and absolutely no cargo space. There was only one set of oars.
“If we can get the boat doors open,” Dillin said, “do you think you can handle this thing? Get yourself and Julie to the Water Works?”
“How hard can it be?” I asked with more confidence than I felt. “But what about you?”
“I’ll meet you there. I can go on foot, draw Parker and the police away from you.”
“We should stay together,” I said automatically.
He gave me a pointed look. “Should we? Surprising talk from an Undertaker … to a Corpse.”
Can’t argue with that.
“If they catch you, you’re toast,” I told him.
“True. But first they have to catch me.”
It sounded like something I would say.
Julie came forward, moving with her gentle, silent step. She spent several long moments just looking up at Dillin—or, more accurately, at Ray Exler’s dead body possessed by Dillin.
Then she did something neither of us anticipated.
She hugged him.
Her thin arms wrapped around his waist, the side of her face pressed against his flat, biker’s stomach. For a moment, I thought the Zombie Prince might balk at the contact, struggle even. But he didn’t. Instead, he placed his d
ead hands on the top of the girl’s head, his pale fingers gently stroking her short dark hair.
“Thank you, Mr. Dillin,” Julie whispered.
“You’re … welcome, Ms. Boettcher,” he replied awkwardly. Given what I knew about Malum and Malites, I doubted too many hugs got thrown around on their world.
When Julie pulled back, there were tears in her eyes. The girl was young. And green, at least in the Undertakers’ world. But she was no fool. She knew our chances of seeing the Zombie Prince again, even if she and I made it to the Water Works, were slim to none.
I knew it, too.
Except I wouldn’t be hugging him.
No way.
“Um …” I said. “Is there something you want me to tell Tom?”
He regarded me with Ray Exler’s eyes. “You have a soldier’s practicality, Mr. Ritter.”
I didn’t reply. I mean, “thanks” didn’t seem like the right thing to say.
“But don’t be too quick to count me out,” he added. “The odds may be long, but they’ve been against me since the moment the Queen chose me as her consort. We may yet meet up at the Water Works.”
“I hope so,” I replied. “But … just in case?”
“Just in case,” he echoed. His eyes slid from me to Julie, and from Julie to the scull, and from the scull to the boat doors. “All right. But while I talk, let’s get this thing in the water and see if it doesn’t, in fact, sink.”
So we did.
He talked. Julie and I listened, and—miraculously—neither the police nor the Malites burst in.
We didn’t interrupt him. Yet, every word he said seemed to drill itself into my brain. I moved in a fog of mental overload as the Zombie Prince told me more about the Malum than I’d ever known—or ever wanted to know. He described his world, his life as a privileged Royal, his commitment to the Fifth Column, his selection as Cavanaugh’s consort, and his eventual determined sacrifice: to come to Earth, find the leader of the Undertakers, and tell him—
—this.
By the time he got to the end of it, the scull floated in the dirty, waist-deep water that filled the bottom of the boat ramp. All three of us were soaked, which made both Julie and me shiver, while Dillin simply shrugged it off with a grim smile and the observation, “At least it isn’t seawater.”