Grave Measures (The Grave Report, Book 2)

by R. R. Virdi

  The back of my neck tickled. The hairs located there shifted. Forget hearing the acute puffs of air behind me; I could feel them! I spat a curse and snapped around. My fist careened into the space behind me.

  A rush of white mass hurtled at me, passing through my body without a problem—for the creature at least. Hands chipped out of ice gripped tight around the base of my throat and heart. I fell to a knee. The ground moved like it was set on a turntable. Still reeling, I fought to right myself and figure out what the hell happened.

  A shriek helped clear the cobwebs. Her eyes were shut tight, as if that simple act could deny the reality of what was happening. The woman’s hands thrashed, trying to bat the creature away. It didn’t work. It was my first real look at the phage in action. That was the only thing holding me firmly in place.

  I took it in as quick as I could. Some people tan; some people don’t. This thing went overboard on the sunblock treatment. It had arms that belonged to a scarecrow. They were slender, twisted things that raked at the woman. Wine-colored tendrils flailed as it continued its assault.

  Instinct took swings at reason within my skull. It told me to charge the creature. Pinching the bridge of my nose, I inhaled and shut my eyes. It’s not real, I reminded myself.

  Another scream tore me from my reflection. “Damnit,” I hissed. It didn’t matter if it was real or not. If I see a monster or someone being mauled by one, I get involved. Too many cases. Too many monsters. It gets drilled into you. I rushed the creature and swept at the nearest of its tentacle-like appendages. My hand passed through it like I was grabbing fog.

  Illusion or not, I had to try. I had to. You can’t stand by watching something like that. Suffering is real. It doesn’t matter if you’re witnessing it from afar or right before you. It doesn’t matter if it’s suffering from the past or present. It all hurts.

  The creature’s tendrils stopped their flurried movement. They worked to restrain the woman.

  I lashed out with a kick to the creature’s sternum.

  The woman released the sort of scream that tears the lining in your throat. It was peppered with sobs as her body shook. The phage’s serpent-like appendages coursed over her body and toward her face. She ceased her frantic motions. Her lips trembled and tears streamed from her eyes. I could see her quit.

  The phage wasn’t content with silence—or sobbing for that matter. Tendrils slipped into every orifice of her face. Wet twigs cracked as the phage’s limbs wormed their way up her nose. Cartilage and bone broke. Her lids parted and there was little white left in her eyes. The pupils were large and watery.

  Her body convulsed like someone in the throes of an electric seizure. The phage’s tendrils slithered into her ears next. The mouth followed. Dribbles of black grease formed in her tear ducts. They clung there, trembling, yet refusing to fall. Seeing someone of her complexion pale is enough to freeze your innards. It doesn’t matter how many times you’ve seen monsters kill someone. It’s never pretty. You never get used to it.

  I could only hazard a guess as to what was going on inside of her. The phage’s tendrils were high-powered jets, sending streams of pressurized toxins through her body. Her brain was engorged with tainted blood. Her sight flooded with the worst horrors she could imagine. Same with her touch, her sense of smell—all of it. She wasn’t seeing nightmares; she was living them—dying in them.

  Her eyes turned to me, registering my appearance. I met her gaze and couldn’t tear myself away. The color in her eyes began to fade. She stopped moving.

  The last bits of moisture in my throat fled in a shower of spittle. My tonsils felt sunburned. Something clawed at the lining of my esophagus, leaving it raw. Sand filled my lungs and dried them. I panted as my screams echoed over still fields of wheat.

  Liquid wax, onyx in color, welled in her lids. It gushed forward to mask her face. Her ears leaked the same substance until tar-like bubbles frothed from her mouth. The phage withdrew its tendrils in a slow, almost pleasurable-looking fashion. Black mercury poured from her body and marred the gold of wheat surrounding her. A gust of wind rolled in. The small brush tops of grain bowed to it. It passed by and, with it, so did the dead woman and phage.

  Sharp cracks sounded from within my knuckles. My fingernails dug into my palms. “Hey, douche canoe!” I roared. “When I find you, I’m going to shove my boot so far up your chalky white ass, you’ll taste the Kiwi!”

  Something scraped like dead leaves brushing over a sidewalk. Shifting my shoulders, I turned my head. Another phage loomed several paces away, hunched. For a thing without eyes, it looked at me like I was an Everlasting Gobstopper. Bodiless screams filled the air. I refused to look for their source.

  “I get it,” I snarled. “This is you showing me your greatest hits or something? The fall of Babylon?” My clap echoed around us. I paused before clapping again. “Congratulations for the epic effects. So, what, you wanted me to share in your nostalgia?”

  The illusion didn’t reply.

  I exhaled through my nose and shook my head. I turned my back to the phage. My voice dropped to a whisper just loud enough for the phage to hear. “When I find you, I’m going to stake you, right through the chest. I’m going to tear your fucking heart out!” Each syllable dripped with venom. I took several steps before my back exploded in pain. The impact sent me stumbling. I regained my balance and sent my elbow crashing behind me without looking.

  I connected.

  Whirling about, I brought my hands up, fists clenched. I’d just smashed my elbow into the freak’s face! A thin line made its way across its forehead, presumably from where I’d struck. A darkened jelly oozed from the cut. The phage made no sounds of anger. It didn’t even seem to notice the cut. It blurred into motion that I couldn’t register. All the air was driven from my lungs and my vision shifted.

  Gray brick, waning lights, and the sound of dripping water replaced the fields of wheat. And faded just as quick. The hell was that? I shook off the phage’s hit.

  Breathing like I’d run a marathon with my mouth and nose duct taped, I glared at the phage as my body heaved. One second it was feet away; the next, its fingers dug into my arms. Each one felt like a blunt needle squeezing with hydraulic pressure. This thing was strong! But I was smarter and downright uppity.

  Racking my throat, I worked up whatever mixture of saliva and bile I could. I spat. It struck the phage with a thwook, trailing over the thin skin where the phage’s eyes should’ve been. My childish action hadn’t elicited a reaction, so I used my head. My noggin snapped forward and crunched into the phage’s skull. It reeled, its grip faltering.

  Releasing a snarl, I covered the distance between us. I wrapped my arms around it. We tumbled to the ground. One of its tendrils brushed near my mouth. I got stupid. Opening my mouth, I clamped down, sinking my teeth into its flesh. The creature’s body spasmed as I cut into the tendril.

  It tasted like calamari…five years past its expiration date and filled with sewage.

  I gagged and let the chunk fall from my mouth. Something with the consistency of cottage cheese flooded my pie hole. It squirmed within my mouth. The crap was alive! I strained the muscles in my throat, working to keep the monster gook from going down.

  I retched. A torrent of colors shot out of me, courtesy of the Lucky Charms. A myriad of colors swam together and covered the phage. Bet it didn’t expect me to upchuck all over it. My body heaved and something somersaulted in my gullet. The pit of my stomach felt hollow as I tried to keep myself from vomiting again. Something pushed against my ribcage and I tumbled off the phage. Another jolt arced through my body as I scrambled, trying to get to my feet. The phage bolted.

  “That’s right,” I slurred, fighting a hiccup. “You better run!” Knuckling my eyes, I searched for the phage. There was no way it jumped me only to scamper when things got bad. Heck, it wasn’t even a tough situation for it. I couldn’t have killed the phage no matter how much I wanted to. All I managed to do was headbutt the sucker and puk
e my guts over it. My ribs shook as I laughed. I wondered if that’s what caused the creature to panic. Between hurling on it and taking a literal chunk out of the thing, it probably viewed me in a more dangerous light.

  Good. It better be as wary of me as I was of it. If it erred on the side of caution, I had a chance of surviving the hallucinations. If it decided to jump me again, things wouldn’t go so well.

  “Screw it,” I panted and turned tail to wobble away. I had gotten as much as I could for the moment.

  Remaining under the influence of the hallucinogen was becoming a hindrance rather than a boon. I had found the phage, it had kicked my ass, and I’d thrown up. Not the stunning victory I was looking for. At least I had come away with some knowledge. Seeing the phage let me know I was right about what we were dealing with. I sort of had an idea of where it was holed up. The deteriorating ruins at the heart of an ancient empire.

  I’m sure there was a map that would lead me back there.

  Endless kernels of wheat brushed against the back of my hands as I plowed on. With no bearings, it wasn’t easy to navigate my way through the fields. Everything blurred into a smear of yellow-gold. Hollow dripping filled my head. My vision swam as I walked. The air felt like walking through low hanging fog. Dampness tickled my skin. The sun was overhead and I was walking through fields of grains. If anything, it should’ve felt warm and dry. Someone was playing competitive ping-pong within my skull. Sporadic bursts of impact jarred my head.

  Cupping my hand over my eyes, I kept moving, trying to get clear of my surroundings. My vision snapped out of clarity like a nineties television with a bad antenna. I must’ve been burning through the phage’s toxin, courtesy of my regenerative abilities. Whoever pulled my strings ensured my meat suits could take a pummeling. Guess they didn’t want their toy broken so easily.

  As my body worked the toxin out of my system, my muscles started feeling gummy. My legs turned to rubber and caused me to wobble. I peeked through the slit between my fingers. I shouldn’t have. The world waned beneath me. Gold gave way to old concrete, not the marbled floors of the asylum I expected to see. Then it all snapped back into vibrancy. Stalks of wheat around me. The toxin wasn’t letting go without a fight.

  I pushed through it, eyes shut, willing my legs to carry me further. Nothing was going to stop me from making it back to Ortiz. Nothing, I resolved.

  The pain intensified. Memories flooded my mind. Charles sat cross-legged on the floor of the rec room, hunched over paper and pad—coloring. He scribbled at a pace that would whittle the crayon to nothing. The image washed away like a stain splashed with bleach. Another filled its place. Charles huddled under his blanket, clutching at his head, twitching. His mouth was tight, the skin around his eyes wrinkled under the strain. Beads of sweat dotted his face. A leg kicked out in random intervals. He screamed in silence.

  “Jesus,” I breathed as I endured the broken slideshow of memories.

  A plump nurse with the demeanor of a favored aunt smiled at Charles. His expression twisted as he spoke. It looked like he was struggling to remember how. Charles’ mouth moved in odd shapes, sounding words out. The nurse patted her bun of hair, the color of a dulled penny. She gestured to her sides at nothing and Charles followed it, nodding at unoccupied space. That too rolled into another memory. Doctor Cartwright stood in Charles’ room, hands digging into Charles’ shoulders, fighting to restrain him. The doc’s face slipped between a lined beaky looking one to paper white—devoid of most features. Tissue paper thin skin stretched over his eye sockets. It had a toothless mouth with thick bits of skin hanging between and connecting the lips.

  I shook my head and wheezed from the onslaught of imagery and experiences. I stumbled. My hand lashed out to find balance on a textured surface that was like dried plaster. I removed the hand shielding my face. I blinked. Marbled floors. Drywall. A long corridor. I turned back to find that the hall ended in another split. There was no discernable way back to where I’d encountered the phage.

  “Figures.” Compulsion took over and I glanced down at my arm. Roaring, I sent my fist into the nearby wall. Another hour gone.

  Twelve left.

  Flecks of drywall fell as I pulled my fist from the cracked surface. Shoving my hands into my pockets, I moved at a brisk pace. It wasn’t going to do me a whole lot of good to be found near a damaged wall and screaming. Straitjackets, anesthetic and restraints were not going to help this case. And I didn’t need any more bondage experiences.

  “Charles!”

  “Ortiz?” I said, confused as to why she was running down the hall after me. “What’s up?”

  Her voice was neutral but her eyes shook. They were dilated. “It’s Lizzie.” She bit the corner of her lip, pausing. I could see she didn’t want to go on.

  “What?”

  “She’s been taken.”

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  “What?” I barked.

  Ortiz flinched.

  “Sorry. Sorry. I…” I trailed off, pressing my palm to my forehead.

  “I don’t k

  now what happened. She was in bed. One second I was leaning against the wall in her room, and the next moment I felt like I hadn’t eaten in days. I thought I was going blind at first. The room turned dark. It was like a cloud of ink...like before.”

  “Myrk.” A guttural burble formed in my throat. “I don’t get it.” I pressed hard with my palm. “I just saw that freak not too long ago. Hell, I fought it.”

  “You what?” snapped Ortiz.

  It was my turn to flinch. “When I was searching for where the phage could be hiding, I might’ve bumped into it...by accident.”

  Ortiz arched a single eyebrow. Her posture tightened and I noted subtle aggression in it. “Didn’t you say something about not engaging the monster if you came across it?”

  I let out a low mocking whistle. “Engaging, huh?”

  Her eyes narrowed.

  “Yeah, yeah.” I tried to assuage her anger. “You wouldn’t believe it all. Long story short, I tripped out, fell down some stairs, ended up in Babylon—”

  “What?”

  “Hallucination,” I explained, spitting the word. “I saw Babylon. Bits and pieces of it anyways. It was broken down. I saw people. Memories of the phage, I think. Its greatest hits collection, reliving Babylon’s collapse. I saw images of it attacking people.” I stopped as I recalled the woman.

  “Charles, what’s wrong?”

  I told her.

  “I’m sorry, Charles. It must’ve been hard watching and not being able to do a thing.”

  “It was.” My voice was raw. “Take me to Lizzie’s room. Tell me everything that happened again, as it happened. Leave nothing out.”

  Ortiz nodded and took off. I followed, knuckling the sides of my head as I did. An imaginary congestion clouded all thought. I felt like a puppet being tugged along. I was going through motions. I kept walking best I could. The more I pushed, the more I felt like weak strings pulling on other bits of string. Despite all of it, there was a little girl out there in the hands of a monster.

  Thoughts are powerful things. Never let anyone tell you different. That singular notion of Lizzie alone with the phage did more to wash away my weariness than anything else. My body tightened as I picked up my pace. It didn’t take us more than a handful of minutes to get to Lizzie’s room.

  Ortiz went in first. I shadowed behind her. Upon entering, her body went rigid. Her hands balled tight by her sides. I could see the muscles in her neck and arms strain. The door crashed shut after I batted it with the base of my fist. I adopted a similar posture to Ortiz’s when I saw who was sitting on Lizzie’s bed.

  She had swapped her pearl spun shift for simpler clothing, donning the outfit of an asylum nurse. And none of it did a thing to dull her unearthly beauty. Her hair hadn’t changed. It was still done up with nine distinct tails of white which bobbed occasionally. She sat on the edge of the bed, leaning back with her legs crossed in comfort.

&nb
sp; “You,” I said without any particular fondness. We may have needed her, but she had damn well taken her time showing up. That wasn’t winning her any points with me.

  Lyshae’s ears twitched. A lazy feline-like grin slid over her face. “Charles.” She emphasized the name a bit more than I would’ve liked. She inclined her head in the slightest toward Ortiz. “Woman.”

  Ortiz’s body and fists tightened further. “I have a name.”

  Lyshae’s smile widened. “Oh, do tell?” Her eyes flashed with a hungry look.

  “No!” My tone could have driven nails through a wall. Ortiz gave me a look. “Bad idea to trade names with someone like her.” I made it clear how dangerous it was without having to elaborate further. Ortiz nodded.

  Lyshae sniffed with an air of indignance.

  “Why are you here?”

  “To check on my investment of course.”

  Ortiz stiffened beside me.

  “What’s with the scrubs? Your cheap dress get dirty?” I said.

  Lyshae’s expression flickered before she addressed Ortiz. “Always so pleasant, isn’t he?” Ortiz didn’t reply. Lyshae turned back to me. “A choice. I felt it appropriate attire to wear as I sought to aid you in your case.”

  “Huh?” I replied with an abundance of Vincent Graves wit.

  “Your case,” she repeated in a voice reserved for someone rather dimwitted. “We struck an accord, did we not?”

  I bristled under the reminder. Three favors. Three distinct, potentially dangerous favors that would be well out of my comfort zone. Lyshae would see to that.

  “Yes.”

  She gestured to herself with a downward wave of her hands. “It was necessary. It would have been difficult to walk around the asylum and engage in conversation with people as my normal self.”

  “Normal self?” Ortiz piped up. “All she did was change her outfit. She doesn’t look like anyone who works here.”

  Lyshae rolled her eyes. “Would you care to explain, or should I?”