by Annie Walls
“Holy Mary. You have to stop, but I won’t say anything.” He pauses, “And of course, I’ll help you blow them up, if need be.”
I can’t help a grin. Leave it to Reece. “Maybe I can let some out for target practice.” I shake my head. “No, that would make it worse. I want to keep it under wraps for now. I hope Guido doesn’t get word that I can do this.”
He nods his agreement and walks toward the targets.
I’m going to my loft, when Mac catches up with me in the courtyard. “Hey, Sunshine.” The sun is setting and casts an orange glow on everything.
“Hey, yourself.”
Wariness settles in my bones at his intense stare. “Mago’s here,” he tells me with a tight mouth. “He wants to talk with you.” The world tilts.
CHAPTER TWENTY
The first thing I do is meet with him alone. Mago unnerves me, to say the least, and even more so with the recent very vivid, very tangible dreams. When I open the door to Mac’s room, Mago studies the mural on the wall. Goose bumps rise on my skin as I take in his disturbing presence. With it being a cloudy day, the room is dim, making him seem that much more dark.
He turns and contemplates me, studying me with an apathetic expression. I rub my arms even though I wear a thick jacket.
I get right to the point, not thinking. Just blurting. “What the hell have you done to me? The dreams? Siccing zombies on me? I’ve been a fucking nervous wreck.”
If I hadn’t been searching for any signs of his thoughts, I would have missed the tick of his mouth. He narrows his eyes, “I did not sic,” he draws out the word, “the living dead on you, Kansas Moore. You are empathetic to them, yes?”
“Empathetic is a strong word. I would say I’m more tolerant.”
“Where are the congregated dead?” he asks, curious.
“In a warehouse.”
Another tick. “I assumed it was apparent that I’m cognizant of the warehouse,” he grits out, seemingly annoyed. “How far from here?”
“Around ten blocks.”
“It’s curious you’ve decided to do this. Care to tell me why?”
I sit on Mac’s bed, but when I glance up at Mago, he stares down at me, looming. Not liking it, I stand up, crossing my arms. One of the answers I’ve been waiting for comes out of my mouth, “To keep them away from me and everyone else. To have some control over a situation I have no control over. I don’t know what to do with them.”
He drifts down into a chair and steeples his fingers. “Whatever you need them to do. I propose guarding this community. First, are you still keen to assist Mya?”
I blink. “Along with others, yes. Do you know where she is? Is that why you did this to me?”
“I know where she is, we’ll get to that later. You’re the only one I have given this gift to outside of my own family, besides hougans and mambos, you have the power to control them. Although, you cannot perform the invocation to it. I can individualize it, but as you already know it takes immense quantities of energy to do so.” I won’t call it a gift, but I can see the benefits.
“Then how do Finnegan and his lackeys do it?”
“He does not. They do Mya’s will, as they do yours.” He strokes his goatee as I wipe my clammy palms on my jeans.
“Wait, her will? That’s the mind control thing, right?”
“Yes, you do not have to talk to them. They know or rather feel what you want. If you wanted, they could rip the warehouse down where ever you stand.”
This makes a lot of sense. That day I wanted Reece out of my face, the zombie got him out of it. The sickening King of Rock n Roll zombie doing the Twitch. Then after I started putting them in the warehouse, they began gathering there on their own. “How about feeding them?”
He waves his hand in dismissal. “They do not have to eat. From what I’ve gathered from my own experiences and mulling pieces together bit-by-bit, which severely lacks in detail and authenticity, whatever is controlling the brain stem drives the hunger. The group of zealots that released this on society created it for the accelerated profusion. It lives to spread and causes a side effect of insatiable craving, but that’s how it spreads. Even if you feed them, they still decompose at the same rate.”
“Right,” I say. “How do you come into play?”
“I don’t know how much you know about Voodoo, but we worship our ancestry. The Loa. Not all hougans and mambos, priest and priestesses, serve the loa with both hands. Light and dark.” He uses his hands, palms up as a visual. “Most serve with light, only seeking to reach synchronization with oneself and community. They do not condone in the dark arts and most despise the myths that surround Voodoo.
“That said, I am one of a bokor, a Voodoo sorcerer. I practice with both hands, so to speak.” He lets that sink in. I don’t know what he is getting at. “I can communicate with spirits of all sorts and store them in a talisman, a fetish. In our case, their own bodies.”
I open my mouth to say something, but he cuts me off. “You wonder why I do it? If I did not do what I do, there would be no control and humanity would have died.”
I clutch my stomach in its bilious state as I converse with a person that keeps souls in their rotting corpses. “Why haven’t more of us survived?”
“Years of trial and error. I am only light succumbing to dark out of necessity.” Oh.
I can only think of one thing to ask at the moment in my stunned stupor. “Why me?”
“You are going about it anyway, no?” I nod, and he continues, “I need your help in containing the virus and gathering information on it. They give it by injections. That is how they strategically planted them all over the world without notice.” I shudder as a memory crosses my mind. Give her an injection. Give her an injection. Give her an injection. I realize how close I came to becoming the undead. I thought Finnegan had been talking about giving me more drugs to sedate me. All those zombies without injuries. They were injected. I remember thinking there should have been more people at the base. The people slowly trickling in after the outbreak. People would be gathering there from the broadcasts. People like Rudy and Julie. They kept population to a minimum even though they preached something different.
“How does the injection work?” I ask, thinking about how long it would take to become undead.
“I believe it has to do with temperature. The warmer it is, the faster it works and dies.” He takes in my dumbfounded face as his words trigger a memory. I’m sure he doesn’t find it reassuring until he says, “Will you do it?”
I shuffle my boots, trying to keep calm. “I’m not exactly sure what it is you want me to do, or why you want me to do it. Are you punishing me for killing Pappers?”
“I believe this might be win-win for us both, Miss Moore. You stated you want to help those people under Finnegan’s care, correct? Have conviction in me when I say, you are nothing more than an interruption to them, I believe you can pull this off with no major tribulations.”
“Yes, but why the zombie thing? I don’t want to be a bokor or whatever Voodoo mumbo jumbo you placed on me.”
He laughs, a booming sound that comes from within the depths. “You couldn’t even if you tried, even if I taught you. The spirits don’t speak to you, therefore they cannot serve you without help of someone they do serve.” He doesn’t go on.
It makes me suspicious, “What do you mean?”
“It means you cannot dabble in the dark arts. Mya and I are the only ones there, and we cannot return in the light’s favor.”
“You still haven’t answered my question. Not really. Why me?” I pace the small space of floor in front of him.
He plays with his beard like he’s trying to come to a decision. Dark eyes slide from me to the mural and back again and then to the empty air beside me. Mac’s bedside lamp flickers on and off for a moment before shutting off completely again. The room grows silent as ringing starts in my ears. Goose bumps break out all over my body even as it tenses.
“The wall painting i
s a far cry from Bob Ross, Miss Moore.”
The air becomes hot and my mouth fills with spit. Mago becomes two Mago’s and back to one Mago again as my vision doubles.
Throwing my hand to my mouth, I run from the room, banging the door open in a hurry. Once in the hallway, I smack into a body that leans against the wall. Rudy puts his hands on my shoulders with a worried look.
I try to move him out of the way. His mouth moves, but I don’t hear it because my stomach heaves, my throat contracts, and I throw up all over him. Stepping back, his nose scrunches at his vomit-splattered shirt.
Everything that has piled onto me since I left my bunker is too much for my mind. It protects me by shutting down. Rudy’s hands reach out for me as everything goes black.
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
Sitting on the couch, I munch on trail mix. Not all of it, I love picking out the M&M’s and peanuts, leaving the nasty cashews and raisins.
Bob Ross paints a blue sky and waterfall on the TV. Malachi plops down next to me, sending me a grin as he tries to steal an M&M. All I can do is stare at him. It has been so long, I almost forgot what he looks like. He watches me with amusement.
“Are you real?”
Sadness takes over his features and he tucks a dreadlock behind my shoulder. “Only in your heart.” At this he checks out Bob Ross on the TV. “I never lived to see the day when you finally expanded your horizons. I love it, anyway. Guess I can’t call you Bob anymore.” He laughs and the sound of it brings tears to my eyes.
“I’m sorry.” It’s the only thing I can think of to say.
He only grins, “I know.”
Fresh grief slices its way through me, and I can’t control the hiccupping sobs. All I can see is his face, smiling at me. He used to call me Bob Ross. Referring to the step-by-step landscape painter. We would laugh about it, even watch him paint on PBS. I would evaluate his techniques and tell Malachi what I used and what I didn’t. Malachi was the only person to ever refer to me as Bob Ross, even though I painted nothing like him. It was one of our inside jokes.
Finally, the ever-going image of Malachi’s blood and bits splattering the concrete parking lot keeps traveling through my brain in unwavering cruelty.
An arm goes around my shoulder. I can’t feel, but I can see it. This only makes me cry more. “Hey. It’s going to be okay. You can trust him. Do what he says.”
Something annoys the inside of my nostrils. “Ugh. What is that?” I ask, pinching my nose. Malachi frowns.
My eyes fly open and I cough from the strong ammonia in the back of my throat. I’m in Rudy’s room on his bed. Mac stands up from me with abruptness. “Kan? What the fuck happened?”
Rudy stands next to him and at Mac’s tone, pushes him away. “Watch it,” he grumbles, handing me water. The feelings of the dream still linger and tears flow down my face.
I drink it, but it doesn’t really help the taste in my mouth. “What is that?”
“Smelling salts. You fainted.”
I take in Rudy. He’s shirtless and has an anxious expression. “Oh shit. I puked on you,” I croak.
The worry drops as he grins, “Kan, there have been worse things on my clothes besides your puke.”
“Yeah, yeah.” Mac leans down next to me, shooting Rudy a glare before returning to me. “What did he say, Kan?” His tone is better, but the intensity is still there.
“Just that he wants me to gather info on the virus.”
Rudy’s face goes from worried to unbelieving, “That’s all? What about the zombies, Kan?”
“What zombies?” Mac questions with confusion all over his face.
Rudy glances at him and then to me, raising his brow in query. I sigh, “While Reece and I were in New Orleans, Mago cut off a piece of my hair. Now, I can control them.”
Mac’s face turns beet red and steam might come from his orifices any second. He jumps up from his crouch. “What? I’m just now finding out?” This is a yell and it bounces around the room.
Rudy stands toe-to-toe, crossing his arms and looking down at him. Mac only comes to his chin, but he doesn’t back down. The strain in the air becomes palpable.
“Stop it. I didn’t want anyone to know,” I say in attempt at easing tension. “Not until I figured out what to do.”
Mac ignores Rudy, turning to me. “If you were smart, you’d take your ass to Arizona. Mago’s abilities aren’t something to use as a crutch, which I suppose you’ll find out soon enough,” he spits and walks out of the room, slamming the door behind him.
We both flinch. “That went over as well as I thought it would,” I tell Rudy.
He scoots me over and sits next to me. “What’s going on?”
I relay everything Mago said. How he thinks the virus drives the zombies, and he controls them by keeping their souls in their bodies. I tell him that Mago practices black magic and can converse with spirits. I leave out the part about Malachi. Since watching Bob was something I used to do, I’m sure the dream was my subconscious coming up with an explanation for what Mago said to make me run from the conversation.
“I don’t think Mago wants to be doing it, with the zombies, I mean. It was his only choice,” I say more to persuade myself than Rudy. I have more questions, but they turn in my head so fast, I can’t think straight. The reason Mago goes against his Loa and his god has been to save mankind. My opinion of him now goes way higher than I ever thought possible.
Rudy stands, holding out his hand. “Let’s go make partners with a bokor of dark arts.” Efficiently letting me know in one sentence, he’ll stand by with whatever I decide to do.
*
Mago is in the loft, waiting on me and conversing with the rest of the team. Mac sits quietly with his arms crossed and tense shoulders, obviously fuming.
My lips purse. “How’d you know I’d agree?” It comes out demanding and a little accusing.
Mago smiles, showing white teeth that contrast with his dark skin. “If you don’t want to know the answer, don’t demand the question.”
I throw a glare in Mago’s direction—I might be willing to accept this mess we are all in, but he still perturbs me. Especially with the whole Malachi thing, which is something I ignore.
I make a go-on gesture to Mago. “I’ve informed them on what I conversed with you about. I was just revealing where Finnegan might be and what I need from him.”
Glancing around, I wonder if they know about my little problem Mago forced on me.
“I don’t want to torture him,” I state, assuming we’d have to do so in order to get the information. “Just kill him,” I finish. Reece looks like he’d go for either.
“You may get what you want indeed, but we’ll need to get into the electronic component structure. I assume you have the commodity to do so.” We all blink. He says slowly, “Computer system.” His glance goes to the shut down laptop on the table.
I shrug, “Already tried. Their files are written in code.”
The world stands still as Mago stares me down, stroking his pointy goatee. His eyes narrow as he says, “All you have to do is get it and bring it to me.” Mac scoffs but doesn’t say anything.
“Where are we going to have this showdown? It’s best to start getting prepared ASAP,” I smoothly change the subject.
He allows the change. “Leila is waiting for word, but be prepared to drive a long way. The only thing you’ll have to worry about are the living beings. Guards, technicians, their breeders. As you know, they are brain washed.” The off-handed way he says is it creepy, as if he doesn’t care about these people.
Everyone glances to Julie, and she straightens up in her chair. “He’s right. They’d do anything to protect themselves, and their lifestyle.”
“We’ll need to figure out what to do with survivors. A lot of them, if we are traveling a long way,” Reece brings up a good point. A point Rudy originally had.
“Arizona,” Gwen chimes in. It’s a great idea. To show them there is a life outside of zombies, but t
he problem with that is the resources it will take to get them there.
Mac, having to say something to get some anger out, says as much. He scoffs, “How exactly are we going to get them all the way there? Not to mention feed them.”
We all sit in silence. “We’ll do whatever it takes and cross that bridge when we get to it,” Rudy reasons. “No one should get left behind, and maybe we can find resources every step of the way. Or Kan can find outlets of resources in the systems.” If looks could kill, Rudy would be dead on the floor from the look on Mac’s face. I don’t know why Mac is being persistent when it’s already out in the open. I suppose Rudy figured as much also.
Gwen pipes up, “Maybe even going to more than one compound for survivors.”
Ignoring Mac, I nod, “Maybe.” They are starting to count on me more than I want or can give myself credit for. I rub my temples thinking about Gwen’s more than one compound comment. She’s right of course.
Gwen continues, “If we can get word to Sierra Vista, they will help. Resources and all.”
“Kale,” Julie announces. “Kale would be happy to help in some way.” I really don’t even want to bother with the piss-ant. He’s one of the few survivors from the base that stuck around here. I’ve seen him around and have managed to ignore him. Julie is right about this, though. Kale has lived the base experience and can explain in detail what we are doing.
“We could send him on a bike, Kan,” Reece throws in. He’s right, too. It’ll be faster and use less gas. Can Kale even ride? There’s only one way to find out.
“Okay, who wants to enlist him?” I grudgingly chomp out, but find some weight lifting off my shoulders. Everything is coming together.
*
Mac, still angry, immediately volunteers to help Reece search for a bike that needs little work. Might be a problem after almost five years. Most vehicles will work, but if you want it to work for a while, it needs maintenance. Even Rudy does routine check-ups on his truck. He decides to accompany me to talk to Kale, which is fine since Kale might not be happy to see me.