The Rising Dead

by Stella Green

  “What?”

  “There’s no word for what we are.”

  A screaming hawk and the light thudding of their feet on the solid ground were the only sounds. Matt considered the Stranger’s account. It was much like his own, but older. Northwest Territory? How long ago was the Northwest called a territory? Had the Stranger been traveling alone like this all that time? He had to know more than he was saying. Matt had met other dead people like himself, and they had all been psychopaths who helped Mr. Dark. It was clear to Matt that the Stranger wasn’t an agent of Mr. Dark’s. He didn’t want to rescue Cheryl, but he had been willing to fight to save her when she was right in front of him. And, of course, he’d saved Matt twice. It seemed that the Stranger belonged to no one.

  “What about Cheryl?”

  “It’s a shame. They seemed like nice people.”

  Matt had only so much patience. “That’s it? Cheryl’s not dead yet.”

  “Maybe.”

  “You know, you and I could go get her. We were kicking ass at that gas station.”

  The Stranger ignored him, seemingly lost in his memories.

  “You helped me. Why not at least try to help her?”

  The Stranger sighed, not in frustration, but in a sort of resignation. The sigh was heavy with something that had built for many years. “Every death leaves its fingerprints on you. You don’t know it yet, but the smudges become heavy. When you fight, you’re playing his game, which makes him stronger. The weapons get better and the killing gets easier, but it’s the same game.”

  “What is he?”

  “I don’t know. If I did, I could figure out how to kill him.”

  “He can die?”

  “I like to think so. I’ve tried. I believe I’m here for more than his amusement, to feed his need for bloodshed. But he’s grown stronger and more dangerous. I think my chance has passed. In the beginning he could control one or two people at a time, but now he can summon a small army. He is evolving. I think he was flesh and blood once, like we were. Violence and evil give him power. He uses that power to spread evil and becomes even stronger. It’s like a snowball rolling downhill.”

  Matt grinned at the comparison—both of them had died in snow. He wasn’t sure, but he thought the Stranger had made a little joke.

  “I’ve tried to kill him. Twice. The first time I doused him with kerosene and lit him up like a torch, but he didn’t burn up. It was like he was part of the flame—or it was part of him. He just laughed and danced through a little mining town while people screamed. Every few minutes he would stop and touch a building long enough to set it on fire. The old wood siding on those houses caught fire in seconds. I was running after him knocking on doors and carrying out kids, old people, and dogs. You’d have thought he’d get tired of it, but no, he set the whole town on fire.” The Stranger shook his head. “People lost everything right before winter set in.

  “Later, up in northern California near San Francisco, I set a trap. Went out with a boat full of smugglers and thieves. I waited with those stinking, decaying halfwits until we were out near the Farrallon Islands, where the big sharks are. Then I started a fight with the scum, figuring it would draw him in. Once I knew he was on board, I scuttled the ship. Sank the whole damn bunch. As I was swimming away, he popped up next to me and grinned. At first he looked normal, but his teeth began growing until they were the size and shape of sharks’ teeth. Big ones. I could feel sharks all around me. Their skin was so rough, it made my hands bleed. The creature was laughing the whole time. We swam like that for hours. As we got closer to shore, three small boats of crab fishermen got caught up in the school of sharks. One of the boats was tipped over. Those men were dead before their screams faded away. The others who were still in their boats had to listen, knowing the same was about to happen to them.” The Stranger stabbed the ground with his walking stick. He drove it deep into the rocky soil. “It’s like trying to kill a ghost.”

  Listening to the Stranger’s grisly history didn’t discourage Matt. Instead, he was more determined than ever to find Mr. Dark. Knowing he wasn’t the only one fighting back was good news. Even a reluctant ally was welcome. Here was a man with enough courage to try to defeat Mr. Dark. Someone else who wanted Mr. Dark dead—well, destroyed, because whatever Mr. Dark was, Matt was pretty sure he was already dead, at least by any human standard.

  “How did you know I was like you? As soon as we met I could tell you knew somehow.”

  The Stranger looked at him with a puzzled expression and then coughed out a laugh, the way people do when they’re surprised. “You never noticed your own eyes?”

  Matt shrugged. He didn’t spend much time looking in mirrors. As long as his eyes didn’t bother him, he wasn’t going to be bothering them.

  Stopping suddenly, the Stranger turned to Matt. “Look at my eyes.”

  The desert sun was harsh and reflective, making it hard to see details, but Matt could see a thin ring of light around the Stranger’s pupils. It was subtle but easy to spot once he knew where to look. No wonder the Stranger’s eyes looked so bright.

  “Do I have that, too?”

  The Stranger nodded.

  “Did you ever meet someone like us that was working with Mr. Dark?”

  “Yep.”

  “Did they have the rings?”

  “Yep.”

  “I didn’t notice.” Matt spoke softly, but the Stranger caught it.

  “You didn’t even notice your own.” The Stranger grunted out a laugh. “I’m sure they tried to hide their eyes somehow. Whatever he is, Mr. Dark isn’t stupid.”

  “I’ve seen him look surprised, though. A few months ago a man-made virus spread through a group of people stranded in a blizzard. Everyone heated up, burning hot and then acted crazy. I cooled one of them down in a lake. The man had been completely taken over by Mr. Dark, but when he recovered from the shock of the cold, Mr. Dark lost control of him. We could save Cheryl and then try to find the people who made that virus. It might be a way to get rid of him—at least weaken him and immunize people from him.”

  The Stranger shook his head. He also walked faster, as if eager to leave Matt and his ideas of fighting Mr. Dark behind.

  CHAPTER SIX

  As the sun began to set, the desert light changed. Subtle colors that had been washed out by the earlier brightness became visible. There was a softness and majesty to the cactus and mesquite trees. Doves and quail began announcing themselves while they searched for bugs and seeds. A cottontail rabbit popped out from under a bush. The Stranger raised his stick, but the little rabbit scooted into a hole before he could reach it. Matt realized that he was hungry, and rabbit would have made a good dinner.

  They walked on, both watching for a chance to catch dinner, but there were no more little bunnies. The one that had escaped only made them hungrier. Just before it became completely dark, they saw a structure in the distance. It was too far away to see clearly in the low light, but without discussion, they both trudged toward the building. Walking in the darkness was easy because the desert was flat and cooling off quickly. Still, it took them several hours to reach the spot, which was deceptively far off. Matt knew it was just another desert trick.

  Even in the dark, the little shack looked lopsided. Boards were sticking up on the porch and one side of the roof sagged. Matt guessed it was an old hermit’s cabin. In this lonely location and barely standing, it wasn’t of much use. All Matt wanted right now was a bed—well, a bed and a rabbit—but he’d settle for a reasonably even floor. He doubted that the rickety place had more than that to offer. The little porch lurched and made a human-sounding squeal when both men stepped onto it. They waited to see if it would collapse before continuing. Matt was glad the place was deserted, because they certainly would have given themselves away.

  The Stranger moved forward, opened the door, and stepped inside, letting the door bang shut behind him. As the door closed in his face, Matt shook his head. He didn’t expect anyone to hold do
ors for him, but the Stranger had developed some bad manners. When Matt entered, he sensed something was off. The Stranger had stopped a couple of feet inside the door. They weren’t alone in this hovel, but they couldn’t see well enough to figure out who else was there. Matt gestured for the Stranger to go to the right while Matt moved to the left.

  A girl shrieked.

  “Damn it. She’s got a knife and she stuck it in my arm.” The Stranger sounded more angry than hurt.

  The girl yelled in a language that sounded like Spanish.

  The Stranger answered her calmly. They spoke for a few minutes. Then Matt heard her moving. She lit a match followed by several candles.

  The candlelight lit up her pretty face. In her hands she had a rough-looking little steak knife that she must have found in the shack. It was so dull and rusty that Matt was surprised she could break the skin on the Stranger’s arm with it. The girl was dressed in jeans and an embroidered blouse, with a red and yellow scarf around her neck. There was no rot, but she did look as fierce as a cute teenager could look. Matt had no doubt that she’d try to put that nasty old knife right through him if she thought it was needed.

  “Did you tell her we’re not going to hurt her?”

  “Yep. This is Maria. She thought we were coyotes. Still not completely convinced we aren’t.” The Stranger knelt down and pulled a scarf out of his rucksack.

  Matt thought he was going to wrap his wound, but instead the Stranger ignored his bleeding cut and held it out to the girl.

  When he reached towards her, Maria yelled, “Stay there,” in English.

  He hung the scarf on the end of his walking stick and extended it so she could take the cloth. The Stranger easily could have knocked the knife out of her hand, but the girl didn’t seem to know that. She pulled the fabric close, spreading it out in her fingers like she was reading it in the candlelight. Matt could see symbols on it, and he hoped that they were friendly.

  Instead of calming her, the scarf seemed to frighten her. She staggered backwards, staring at the Stranger and shaking her head in disbelief before dropping to her knees with her face buried in the cloth. When she looked up, her cheeks were covered with tears. “You are the White Jaguar. I prayed for help and the saints have sent you.”

  “I’m not the White Jaguar. That’s a myth.”

  “You speak Mayan. You have the walking stick, and”—she held up the scarf—“you have this. We tell our stories in our weaving. Why would you give me this and then deny it?”

  The Stranger spoke to her in Mayan again, but she just shook her head and asked, “Have you forgotten us?”

  The girl, still on her knees, turned to Matt. “You must make him save my sister. My family paid five thousand dollars to have me and my sister taken into California, but now the coyotes want more. They said if our family didn’t pay they would sell us as prostitutes. I ran away, but my sister is still there. Please! My family has no more money to send.”

  “Did they use a white truck with the name Top Star Moving and Storage on it?”

  “They made us ride in that truck.”

  Matt realized that the men who’d taken Maria and her sister must be the same ones who’d taken Cheryl. He had heard about teenagers and even little girls being sold as sex slaves by Mexican gangs. He’d already seen Americans doing the same to American girls. Taking down the ring of sex traffickers in Breckenridge had felt great. Things had gotten bloodier than he would have liked, but with the police and the politicians running it, if he hadn’t stepped up it could have continued indefinitely. “I’ll help you. I think they have a friend of mine, too.”

  The lost and anguished expression on the girl’s face changed to a doubtful one. She turned to the Stranger. “The White Jaguar must go.”

  The Stranger yelled, “No. Damn it!” and marched outside across the creaking porch.

  More tears rolled down her cheeks as Maria stared at the closed door. Matt also wanted him along for the rescue, but it wasn’t a deal breaker. However, the girl clearly believed that the Stranger was necessary and that alone, Matt would fail.

  Matt caught up with the Stranger, who was headed into the desert. “Go back in there and tell her you’re coming, too.”

  “I’m not.” The Stranger was staring up at the millions of stars covering the sky.

  “Tell her anyway. Give her some hope. Let her at least sleep a bit tonight.”

  The Stranger continued to look upwards. “I’ll tell you what. If I lie and tell her that I’ll try to rescue her sister, then tomorrow we take her somewhere safe and we both keep going—in different directions.”

  Knowing he needed help, Matt tried one last time. “It’s not just Cheryl now. It’s also this girl’s sister and who knows how many others about to be sold as sex slaves.”

  “At least they’re alive.”

  “You bastard.”

  “You’ll cause more harm than good. I know. I’ve tried.” The Stranger’s voice dropped off. He turned toward the dark horizon. “You ever see something so horrible that you think it might drive you mad?”

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  El Petén, 1924

  Animals were screaming in the trees. The Stranger wasn’t sure if it was howler monkeys or a flock of scarlet macaws. The jungle on the border of Southern Mexico and Guatemala was lively; the rivers and lush green plants created a home for strange-looking creatures with huge eyes. Some, like the sloth, he recognized. Others were so odd-looking that he suspected no one had given them an English name yet. To avoid the deep mud, he was holding onto branches while he walked on the massive tree roots like they were stepping stones. He had nearly been bitten by a snake that twisted around the heavy foliage waiting for the unwary. The Stranger was on his way to the tip of South America, but even with his knowledge of maps and navigation, he struggled to stay on course as he hacked his way through the tropical forest. A Mexican girl had told him that “Guatemala” meant “land of the trees.” It was aptly named.

  The cries of the fishermen being eaten alive by sharks had still echoed in his head when he started walking south from San Francisco with the idea of mapping a route to the Strait of Magellan. He knew it would be a long, punishing journey, and he was fine with that. Many years had passed and he was still going. The slow trip through Mexico had given him time to learn Spanish. There were so many dialects in Mexico—he couldn’t learn them all, but he could speak enough to get along anywhere in the country.

  He was good with languages. As a child he had hoped to travel Europe and perhaps become a diplomat like Thomas Jefferson, but his father insisted he learn the family business of land surveying. It was an important skill in a new country with boundless frontier—even more so after George Washington, the most famous surveyor of all, became president. When he was older he was grateful for his father’s decision. What other respectable profession allowed a man to spend months in the wilderness instead of chained to a desk?

  Most of the Mexicans he met were poor, but quick with an offer to share their food. In the 1920s, Mexico was an easy place to starve, and he declined their offers with gratitude and respect. Northerners like him were a novelty, which usually meant a small throng of children trailing him through villages. He didn’t mind their curiosity. Short conversations with children had become his main contact with people. It was enough.

  More animals joined in the calls. There was agitation in the trees. It seemed like the whole jungle was leaping from limb to limb and crying out in panic. Half a dozen different birds were all calling out frantically. The screeching was definitely monkeys. Above him, he could see them shaking branches like they were shaking their fists at someone. He wondered what was scaring them. Was it him? Were they so isolated that a human could cause this much fear? He stopped and stood still next to a tree. The terror above him seemed to settle down, but it didn’t stop. The scent of moldering plants that enveloped the jungle was stronger, seemingly increased by the commotion. He listened for trouble. Except for a fuzzy brown spider
that had fallen onto his arm, he couldn’t hear or see anything to worry about. With a quick movement he sent the spider flying back to the trees.

  A few minutes after he returned to beating a path with his walking stick, a panicked mule deer nearly ran into him. Then he heard a human shrieking like the fishermen had. The Stranger ran toward the sound as fast as the jungle allowed, until he found the source—a jaguar dragging a boy. At first he thought the cat had the boy by the throat, but the animal’s teeth were sunk into the child’s shoulder next to the neck. When the jaguar saw the Stranger, it leapt eight feet onto a branch, still holding its prey, and began to climb up the tree, carrying the boy like he was a kitten. The big cat paused to growl down at the Stranger, then chewed the boy’s shoulder, causing fresh screaming. In Mexico, the Stranger had heard of these big cats, but it was rare to see one. He couldn’t help being awed by the beauty of its hypnotic spots and the power of its massive muscles.

  The cat crouched, preparing to leap to a higher branch, so the Stranger jumped up and poked the cat hard in the ribs with his walking stick. Pain and surprise caused it to let go of the boy, who tumbled down from the tree. In one motion, the Stranger caught him and tossed him gently to the side as the cat growled and leapt. While it was still in the air, the Stranger cracked it on its head. The jaguar changed direction, but not before catching the Stranger’s upper arm with its claws and leaving a long, bloody trail of scratches.

  Hitting the ground, the cat leapt a short distance away and turned to study the Stranger. Stunned and missing a tooth, it growled but seemed confused and hesitant to attack. Jaguars were kings here and the Stranger had upset the order of things. The cat snarled and growled again, but it was slowly backing up. Then it disappeared behind a wall of ferns and vines. There was no way to know if it was gone or just planning another attack.