Death 07 - For the Love of Death

by Tamara Rose Blodgett

  I don’t have time to dwell on the why. It will have to suffice that he’s not from any dirt here.

  We’ll see what happens when we get to this other Earth.

  If we can.

  I don’t think of Mom. I have my own family to consider.

  I’m back to surviving the moment.

  It’s funny how fast I return to the mindset.

  *

  There are a lot of us. That makes for noise and loss of control. At my count, it’s over fifteen souls.

  The zombies are soundless.

  Then there’s Jones.

  “And then we had them right where we wanted them—”

  “Jones, shut your yap,” Tiff says.

  Jones gives her a hard look. “You’re so boring now.”

  Tiff rolls her eyes, popping a new wad of gum in her mouth. “Yeah, whatever.”

  Archer turns, finger to lips.

  We move through the last bit of greenbelt, the woods standing sentinel at our backs.

  Archer slides a thin sheet of paper out of the cardholder. It’s not the archaic paper of my teen years but a clear, crinkly sheet.

  He uses the thumbs and index fingers of both hands and rolls one side against his own thumb.

  “Old tech,” he says in an absent-minded way.

  He smooths it against the pulse pad, a holdover from the days before mind-com overtook Pulse technology.

  The pad scans the thumbprint and greets a doctor that doesn’t exist in our group.

  “Nice, Archer.”

  Archer wastes a grin on Jonesy and slides through the door.

  I follow, towing Jade behind me.

  I spot pulse security monitoring and Archer flings a disc toward the port that holds facial recognition inside.

  If it logs us, the SPs who are not already here will come en masse.

  Like the creatures from the old classic Alien, the disc smacks the pulse-monitor and flows over the sensor, strangling it.

  “Will that work, Lewis?”

  “It will work, and the how is the best part, Deegan.”

  My daughter gives it a look of such pure suspicion I stifle a laugh.

  “Daddy.” She sees my expression and smacks my arm.

  Archer watches the others file in. “Big group.” His gaze moves to Deegan. “This will give a false read.”

  Terran grins. “I bet you’ve got some faces in there.”

  Archer smirks. “Yes, some key people have been tapped to appear.”

  “So all the assholes are showing up as coming in the hospital?” Paxton asks, and I frown.

  Archer nods. “It’s not the celebrity some might have hoped for, but it will be a matter of infamous rather than famous.”

  “What room?” Jonesy asks, quietly for once.

  “305.” Gramps lights up.

  “Gramps, come on.” I say.

  “Think better with some nicotine.”

  “You’re gonna make sensors go off, Gramps,” Deegan says.

  “Well, Mr. Archer better figure something out. Wanna keep my IQ in the triple digit range.”

  “God,” Bry says, “this is the best.”

  “The best—yeah.” Tiff rolls her eyes again. I take note of her and John's linked hands.

  Archer pulls a handful of white dust out and throws it up at the pulse-activated sprinkler system.

  The smoke from Gramps’ cigarette rises, dissipating beneath the upside-down umbrella-shaped metal devices.

  “This is a little more than understanding locks, Lewis.” Sophie looks over his black cargo pants’ many side pockets.

  “He’s a burglar, smart one.” Tiff moves toward the stairs. Sophie gives Tiff a hard look.

  “Let’s book.”

  I leave Gramps looking after Tiff. I mouth no, and he moves after us. Don’t poke at the snake that is Tiff. Not right now.

  It’s late, and the steps are deserted in favor of the elevators.

  We’re quiet, but our footfalls still echo.

  We rush forward. A few nurses look up, startled by our large group barreling down the hall.

  “Hey!” one nurse says, rising from behind her half-moon desk.

  I turn to Tiff. “Figure this out, will ya?”

  She smirks, looking rough around the edges, but she’s still in there somewhere. “You betcha, Hart.”

  “Tiffany.” John grabs her hands. “Be careful.”

  “You know it, stud.”

  A ghost of a smile flashes across John's mouth. Then he cups the back of Tiff's head, touching his lips to her forehead.

  His eyes meet mine. “Let's make it snappy, Caleb.”

  We leave Tiff in the hall and push through the door marked 305.

  The door slaps behind us.

  Mom isn't there.

  Only a neatly made bed remains.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

  Deegan

  I crowd behind everyone but can't see anything. Being short sucks.

  Why is no one talking?

  Mitchell moves with me, but I’m so intent on reaching Gram, I don’t notice.

  I see what everyone else does last.

  She’s not here.

  Dad is blank, in the middle of pulse-com with someone.

  “What in the blue hell is happening?” Gramps shouts.

  “Shh,” Mia says softly, and Gramps sucks on his cig like a joint.

  Dad turns to him. “Intensive care. Organ failure.”

  “Where?” Gramps voice is like a gun going off, and I flinch.

  “Upper floor.”

  “Can I swear now?” Pax asks.

  “Not funny, youngster. Now get moving,” Clyde says. He and Bobbi race into the hall.

  “It's all I could find,” Tiff says apologetically as we come out.

  I shout in alarm, and every bit of me is sorry that I break our careful silence.

  Spiders swarm the floors, turning the floors and walls black with their scurrying bodies.

  “What?” Mitchell shouts, grabbing my shoulders.

  Tiff smacks some gum. “The SPs are coming.”

  Her eyes are big, and I know she’s made the bugs come.

  “I can stave them off for a little while, but this is a newer building. There aren’t very many dead things.”

  I let the fist of my death energy go. The one Dad talks about and it seeks… seeks.

  I open my eyes. “There are dead.”

  Pax’s gaze is on me. “No, sis—we’re not that desperate.”

  I look back at him. “Not yet, Pax.”

  We direct our stares to the black expanse of glass and beyond that, the federal penitentiary.

  *

  We burst inside the Intuitive Care Unit.

  Grandpa Kyle stands, not a bit of stoop to him from age, his hand covering Gram's.

  Intuitive care machines work to keep Gram alive, though her organs are quitting.

  “Caleb, Jade,” Grandpa says. “What on Earth?”

  Gramps stalks over to Grandpa. “Listen up, Kyle. You know I have a boatload of respect for you.” Gramps crushes the cigarette underneath his shoe and Grandpa Kyle scowls. “But we need to get Peanut away about now.”

  Grandpa's eyes become slits. “Is this some scheme?”

  “Yup,” Tiff guesses from behind me.

  “Tiffany Weller.”

  Tears brim in Grandpa’s eyes then chase each other down his face. “To what do I owe this pleasure?”

  A lump forms in my throat. Gram is dying, and Grandpa Kyle is trying to be polite.

  Tiff smacks a bubble, causing many in the room to jump. “We're going to take Ali to an Organic and save her.” No one delivers raw commentary in quite the way Auntie Tiff does.

  Grandpa gives a small smile. “I'm sorry, that's been attempted and defeated soundly. There is no cure for what ails her.”

  “It’s okay, Grandpa,” Pax says. “Mitch the dead guy says his Earth has Organics that can lick it.”

  Grandpa's eyes land on Pax. “Have yo
u been blinking?” He assesses the situation that fast. His entire brain is a leap of logic.

  Pax nods. “Not on purpose, but there was a… problem, and I needed to get out of here fast.”

  Grandpa is super smart. Supposedly, my fat brain came from him. Like a pipeline of intellect, he jokes.

  “I don’t think it’s safe to move Ali.”

  Pax grips Grandpa’s shoulders, and their resemblance strikes me. When Mitchell takes my hand, I instantly feel better. More.

  Mitchell cocks his head. The other zombies tense. The little girl zombie says, “They’re coming.”

  Pax glances at me then the door. “Hang on.”

  I turn to everyone. “Hold on to someone, everyone—hold on.”

  Before Pax blinks, I see Gram’s eyes.

  So blue.

  Still so alive.

  Darkness falls.

  *

  I feel fear. It’s so intense I can’t shake it.

  I land somewhere and a large body, tight against mine, rolls with me.

  I take several deep breaths and open my eyes.

  Pax is already standing, Gram in his arms.

  She’s gray, I think before I can stop myself.

  Mom snatches her hand away from my arm.

  Sorry, I mouth.

  She picked up on all my concerns in a bitter pill of instant empathic understanding.

  It’s okay, Mom mouths back.

  Someone lifts me off the ground.

  Mitchell looks down into my face.

  “I’m okay. You can put me down.”

  He sets me on my feet, and I try to stabilize my breathing, my body’s functions.

  “How far are we?” I ask, counting heads. I think we have everyone.

  Pax looks around then snaps his gaze to Gram.

  She bleeps on my undead radar.

  “Hurry!” I scream.

  Gram’s flickering in and out. We’re losing her.

  Pax runs and we follow.

  “The bots!” I shout.

  I look at Mitch, and he hesitates. I nod, and he runs to the back of the group with George and his wife and daughter.

  The bots are coming.

  I run after my brother.

  *

  Kent Medical Clinic, East Hill

  Telekinesis would be really great right now. I could hurl myself through the air and bounce my way there.

  Pax has easily outdistanced me, though he carries our dying grandmother.

  He's a Body here as he is back home.

  But on our Earth, he’s like a three-point or something. Here he seems more.

  Much more.

  I’m not. I’m out of gas, gasping with my lungs burning. Though I’m in shape because of my training at the dojo, it’s not enough to sustain me for a mile of all-out running.

  “I feel her!” I bellow.

  I know, Pax says in my mind. It almost causes me to stumble. We’re almost there.

  Okay, I reply.

  I chance a glance over my shoulder.

  Everyone else is far behind me. The guys are gaining; the girls straggling.

  Except Tiff. She keeps up just fine.

  My zombie is tossing bots as they move through our group. Pax’s zombie family is making it work beautifully.

  Gramps and Grandpa Kyle hold the rear.

  Don’t let my grandpas die, Mitchell, I command. Every bit of what makes me AFTD slides out on that mental utterance.

  It makes me less aware.

  I see the med building up ahead and jump the small ravine in front of me.

  A hand grabs my ankle as I’m motoring through the air.

  I land hard on my back, my mouth opening for air I can’t get. My wind’s gone, slapped out of me from the fall.

  Brad's face fills my vision.

  I scream, but it’s soundless.

  He covers my mouth anyway and drags me off behind him. My wind returns and with it, my voice.

  He punches me in the face, my head swimming from the strike.

  I rock back then try to stagger to my knees.

  “No you don’t, Deegan,” he whispers, hitting me again. My vision triples. I collapse on my side.

  The others jump the ravine that is slightly deeper than a drainage ditch.

  Mom is in the middle and frowns after she clears the narrow trench. Her face looks a little like someone jolted by an electrical current.

  Mom!

  Mom… my mind tries.

  Failing.

  Hands clamp around my wrists, and my body slides over the uneven ground as I’m dragged off.

  I send one brief stabbing thought to Mitchell. It’s not enough. He’s too far away, helping the others.

  Then nothing.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

  Pax

  I tear through the front door, whipping my head first left then right.

  The bot receptionist is back. It takes one look at me holding Gram and opens its mouth for a psycho banshee wail.

  I scramble, picking up a model of the human body used as cool décor for the med clinic.

  I fling it at the bot’s head, and the top of its skull shears off. It hangs like a scalping by one of Dad’s Skopamish.

  The screaming begins.

  Damn, should have gone for the mouth.

  I sprint past, the piercing artificial shriek all I can hear.

  Gram moves in my arms, and I feel her death in my mind. My energy seeks hers, reaching for her life.

  It's what my power does.

  I reel it in as I blast through the hall.

  Please, Jezebel, be working.

  I see her name on the door before I hit it open, Organic, Level 5, Trident, Jezebel.

  It swings closed and Jezebel looks up, startled eyes pegging my face.

  “What?” She flicks her gaze to Gram, and her mouth goes slack. “Oh no, what is this?”

  Her energy meets mine.

  “Save her,” I say.

  I pivot, gently placing Gram on the table, and her eyes roll toward me, dry in their sockets but vibrantly blue.

  “Gram,” I say softly, and she shakes her head.

  “Don't make me one...” Her words are so low I hardly catch them.

  But I do.

  I swallow hard. “No.”

  “Paxton, step aside.”

  I do. Jezebel goes to Gram, palms flat on her torso. “She's advanced.”

  She does a scan.

  Before my eyes Gram's skin lightens from gray to a listless white.

  It blooms with color, her eyes getting brighter.

  Her breath hitches.

  “I don't know... I am stabilizing.”

  Jezebel holds her lip between her teeth, her face tight with anxiety.

  Something beeps behind her.

  Without turning, Jezebel instructs, “Get rid of that, Paxton.”

  I turn and look at her pulse-screen. It floats, disembodied and old-fashioned. I can’t find the thing that turns off the noise.

  I bash it into the wall instead.

  Jezebel scowls, never taking her eyes from Gram. “That is not what I meant.”

  “Right, but I couldn’t figure it out.”

  “Why did you wait so long? Her organs are failing.”

  I lean forward. “Still?”

  “No. I have her stabilized, but she’s not out of the woods.”

  I turn the phrase over in my mind. She's still in danger.

  “What do ya need?”

  “Another level five.”

  Five-point, I instantly translate.

  “I'm a three.” I don't say anything about level. I'm not going to make the distinction right now. Gram is struggling. She still might not live.

  She sighs, her hands rest on Gram like permanent markers. “’Kay, get your butt over here.”

  I move closer, and Gram’s eyes follow me. “What’s happening, Pax?”

  I take Gram’s hand and instantly taste Jezebel’s healing energy. I find Jezebel’s gaze. Deep brown rega
rds me from a darker face. “Boy, give me what ya got.”

  I do, training my energy through Gram right to her.

  Her eyes widen, then she flashes brilliant white teeth at me. “You’re no level three.”

  As long as Gram lives, I can be a level twenty and I wouldn’t give a shit.

  I think, live.

  Her body is a catacomb of disease. I picture it in my mind, running through the trails of cells that have turned her body against itself.

  I don't have the map. Sweat beads on my upper lip. “I don't know how to repair this.”

  Jezebel breathes evenly. “I do. Follow my lead. We’ve been treating metastasized cancer for a decade.”

  I can’t think about how significant that is right now.

  Jezebel pops into my mind. It’s not the older woman with a short cap of dark, fuzzy hair graying at the temples. It’s a young Jezebel with a saucy lift to her full lips and hair so big it touches the outside of her shoulders.

  She motions for me to follow her inside my mind.

  She has a mop and bucket.

  A second appears. “Take these, sugar.”

  I startle as a mop’s wooden handle moves into my head.

  She looks at the vault of Ali Hart’s insides and says, “Clean.”

  I look around and see the mess as her palm sweeps it. Oh… shit, that’s what that looks like.

  Sludge, somewhere between black and green, moves like brackish water through healthy blue blood.

  “It’s not invisible anymore. Once an Organic found the map.”

  It flickers.

  “Concentrate,” she says. Her young Jezebel face frowns.

  “Yes, ma’am,” I answer.

  “Don’t get smart.” She dips her mop in the bucket and swipes a path of whatever’s in the bucket against the slow-moving cancer.

  It shimmers over the top, a pop-crackle sounds off, and the blackish-green wasteland of soup rises, disappearing inside the body.

  She reveals blue waters. Not like the sky but like the deepest hour of midnight kissed by the ocean. It moves, sparkling like an unveiled river.

  I lift my face to hers, my mop dripping and a grin I can’t keep off my face.

  “Dunk that each time, Pax.”

  She smiles back. “Feels good, don’t it?”

  I can only nod.

  Gram might make it. And for once, I feel so much more than I usually do. Raising the dead is nothing compared to healing the living.