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Undead Much

Page 26

by Stacey Jay


  I hadn’t had any suc­cess di­sab­ling li­ving zom­bi­es on my own up un­til this po­int, but then, I’d ne­ver da­red cast this way be­fo­re. As I sent my po­wer swe­eping out to­ward the man che­wing my leg, I held not­hing back. I hit Wil­lie with everyt­hing in me. I used every oun­ce of my Set­tler po­wer as well as that cur­led, sle­eping thre­ad of dark energy I’d ne­ver da­red use be­fo­re.

  I’d al­ways be­en af­ra­id to call upon that black for­ce, what I now sus­pec­ted was a le­gacy of my witch blo­od, but at the mo­ment, I didn’t ca­re. I didn’t ca­re who got hurt; I didn’t ca­re what kar­mic pri­ce I pa­id; I just wan­ted to dest­roy the thing that thre­ate­ned me, to ma­ke Aaron and this man on top of me di­sap­pe­ar. Fo­re­ver.

  No so­oner had I re­co­ve­red from the re­co­il of the re­ve­to spell when the man’s mo­uth went slack and a shud­der ran thro­ugh his body. The smell of bur­ning skin and ha­ir fil­led the air, ming­ling with the odor of fresh blo­od waf­ting from Aaron and Cliff’s si­de of the ro­of. Then, slowly, Wil­lie sto­od and tur­ned back to­ward the one who had ra­ised him, the one who­se blo­od he had to tas­te to re­turn to his rest.

  Cliff-who had Aaron pin­ned to the gro­und-sto­od up and bac­ked away, swi­ping at his blo­ods­ta­ined hands as he went.

  “Thank God, I-no. No!” Aaron ba­rely had ti­me to get to his fe­et be­fo­re Wil­lie fell on him, his open mo­uth latc­hing aro­und the te­ar Cliff had ma­de in Aaron’s arm.

  Bra­id Du­de’s jaw musc­les clenc­hed and blo­od gus­hed down his chin, but it didn’t se­em to qu­i­et him in the le­ast. In fact, he only grew mo­re fren­zi­ed, his fin­gers cla­wing at Aaron, knoc­king him back­wards, the pa­ir of them loc­ked in a de­adly emb­ra­ce that en­ded a few short fe­et away when Aaron’s kne­es hit the wall sur­ro­un­ding the ro­of and they be­gan to fall.

  “No!” As so­on as I re­ali­zed what was hap­pe­ning, I sho­ved my back in­to the wall, pus­hed myself in­to a stan­ding po­si­ti­on, and ran, but it was too la­te. By the ti­me I re­ac­hed the ed­ge, they’d had al­re­ady smas­hed on­to the pa­ve­ment be­low.

  “Oh my God.” Cliff jo­ined me, le­aning over to pe­er at the bro­ken bo­di­es. Ne­it­her of them was mo­ving, and it didn’t lo­ok li­ke they ever wo­uld aga­in. “It hap­pe­ned so fast.”

  I didn’t say anyt­hing, just sta­red down the se­ven sto­ri­es to the gro­und, trying to co­me to terms with the fact that I was a mur­de­rer.

  “This isn’t yo­ur fa­ult,” Cliff sa­id, so­un­ding re­mar­kably calm for a guy who had just rip­ped anot­her per­son open right in front of me. But at le­ast he pul­led back be­fo­re an­yo­ne was se­ri­o­usly hurt, let alo­ne kil­led.

  “No, it is. When I cast, I-I knew what I was do­ing.” I bit my lip and bac­ked away from the ed­ge. “I wan­ted to ma­ke them both di­sap­pe­ar and-”

  “You we­re only de­fen­ding yo­ur­self.”

  I tur­ned to fa­ce Cliff, won­de­ring why the tra­ce of blo­od on his right che­ek didn’t tro­ub­le me the way it usu­al­ly wo­uld. May­be I was tur­ning in­to a mons­ter, fi­nal­ly lo­sing to­uch with wha­te­ver it was that ma­de me a nor­mal, fre­aked-out-by-blo­ods­hed-and-de­ath girl. “That man was in­no­cent, and Aaron was-I co­uld ha­ve fi­gu­red so­met­hing out… I didn’t ha­ve to kill them.”

  “You didn’t kill them. Don’t do this to yo­ur­self. Aaron was trying to kill you. And that po­or man lo­oked li­ke he’d be­en in a co­ma for a long ti­me. De­ath was pro­bably a bles­sing.”

  “I don’t ca­re! I still didn’t want to-”

  “I know, I know.” Cliff brus­hed my ha­ir out of my fa­ce, then tur­ned me aro­und to work on the knots bin­ding my wrists be­hind my back, his to­uch as soft and gent­le as al­ways.

  He’d just go­ne ra­bid zom­bie on a guy fi­ve mi­nu­tes ago, and now he was back to pla­ying the swe­et, sup­por­ti­ve fri­end. It was eno­ugh to fre­ak me out. As so­on as my hands we­re free, I was­ted no ti­me pul­ling away from him and spin­ning aro­und.

  “Don’t lo­ok at me li­ke that,” he sa­id.

  “Li­ke what? Li­ke you’re a kil­ler too?”

  “I’ve ne­ver kil­led an­yo­ne and ne­it­her ha­ve you.” He sig­hed and swi­ped at his hands, wi­ping away the last of Aaron’s blo­od with a calm that only ma­de my fre­ak out wor­se.

  “But you told me you’ve be­en fe­eding on me. How do I know you ha­ven’t be­en cho­wing down on hu­man flesh when I’m not aro­und?”

  “I’ve be­en fe­eding on yo­ur energy, yo­ur ma­gic. Be­li­eve me, you’ve got plenty to spa­re.”

  “I do not. I get dizzy when I’m aro­und you.”

  “I’m sorry, I’ll try not to ta­ke so much,” he sa­id, his lo­ok gro­wing har­der. “But I’m not go­ing to stop ta­king what I ne­ed to sur­vi­ve, and I’m not go­ing back to my gra­ve. We’re at the be­gin­ning of so­met­hing bad, Me­gan. So­met­hing re­al­ly bad.”

  “We are, aren’t we?” I didn’t know exactly what Cliff was tal­king abo­ut, but I’d felt the sa­me way for we­eks. The­re was so­met­hing bad co­ming, and my gut told me it was so­met­hing mo­re than Jess and her plans to kill me or ra­ise a zom­bie army.

  “We are. And you ne­ed me. That’s why I ca­me back af­ter I di­ed, to help you. The­re are lots of pe­op­le li­ke me,” he sa­id, then qu­ickly ad­ded, “Well, not a lot, but mo­re than you’d think.”

  “How do you know?” I as­ked. “I tho­ught you didn’t know what-”

  “I didn’t, at first.” He glan­ced down at his fe­et, ha­ving the gra­ce to lo­ok em­bar­ras­sed for with­hol­ding in­for­ma­ti­on for on­ce. “You know my vi­si­on the ot­her night? A wo­man li­ke me ca­me to me in-”

  “Li­ke you?”

  “De­ad but… not,” he sa­id, no­ti­ce­ably re­fu­sing to use the word zom­bie. “She exp­la­ined what I am. She told me that when the ba­lan­ce of the world is thre­ate­ned, se­ers don’t die. We co­me back to help the li­ving, es­pe­ci­al­ly pe­op­le li­ke you who ha­ve the po­wer to help mo­re pe­op­le than we ever co­uld alo­ne. I be­li­eved her, and I ne­ed you to be­li­eve me.”

  “I do.” And, we­irdly eno­ugh, I did. Just li­ke my gut told me tro­ub­le was co­ming, it told me Cliff was an ally I ne­eded on my si­de. Be­si­des, hadn’t I mo­re than le­ar­ned my les­son abo­ut ig­no­ring what this boy had to say? “I don’t re­al­ly un­ders­tand it all, but-”

  “It’s okay. You don’t ha­ve to un­ders­tand. You just ha­ve to trust me.”

  “I do, and I sho­uld ha­ve lis­te­ned.” I fo­ught the shi­vers that thre­ate­ned to over­ta­ke me as the hor­ror of the past ho­ur and a half set in. “Thank you for co­ming. If you hadn’t-”

  “You sa­ved yo­ur­self-all I did was pro­vi­de a dist­rac­ti­on. Be­si­des, if I hadn’t mes­sed up, you wo­uldn’t ha­ve be­en he­re in the first pla­ce. It’s my fa­ult,” he sa­id, pul­ling me in for a hug I ap­pre­ci­ated, even if I had ex­pe­ri­en­ced a bre­akth­ro­ugh abo­ut my true fe­elings for him and Et­han. Just fri­ends or not, Cliff ga­ve go­od hug. “I sho­uld ha­ve ma­de you co­me to the ri­ver with me to­day.”

  “You’re too ni­ce, that’s yo­ur prob­lem.” I pul­led away and smi­led.

  “Pro­bably my fa­tal flaw.” He re­tur­ned my smi­le, but his grin only las­ted a se­cond. “May­be ever­yo­ne’s fa­tal flaw if we don’t get down to the wa­ter. I saw the pla­ce in my vi­si­on-it’s not far from the brid­ge, right next to down­town, and the­re are a lot of de­ad bo­di­es res­ting the­re. It’s so­me sort of mass gra­ve from the Ci­vil War.”

  “Aaron sa­id he and Jess tric­ked the che­er­le­aders in­to for­ming a co­ven so they co­uld ra­ise an army of zom­bi­es. Gu­ess they me­ant it li­te­ral­ly,”
I sa­id. “I’m gu­es­sing they’re go­ing to at­tack down­town, ma­ke the Set­tlers ex­po­se what they re­al­ly are and-”

  “Start a zom­bie apo­calyp­se. I know, I saw it,” he sa­id, he­ading to­ward the sta­irs. I fol­lo­wed, be­ing ca­re­ful not to step in the circ­le of blo­od Aaron had drawn. “I al­so saw that you’re the only one who can stop it. You’re go­ing to ha­ve to use yo­ur po­wer. All yo­ur po­wer. Li­ke you did up he­re.”

  Gre­at. Well, at le­ast he wasn’t tal­king abo­ut the he­art thing any­mo­re.

  “And be re­ady to use the spell if we ab­so­lu­tely ha­ve to. The ha­beo are tran­sit spell will help you get the… thing you’ll ne­ed.”

  Scratch that, spo­ke too so­on. Or tho­ught too so­on, any­way.

  I didn’t say anyt­hing, but the­re was no way in heck I plan­ned to work spells I didn’t know, es­pe­ci­al­ly ones in­vol­ving hu­man or­gans. I didn’t even want to dip my baby toe back in­to the dark pla­ce in­si­de me. Not if the­re was any ot­her way. That sha­dowy pla­ce was dan­ge­ro­us, to me and ever­yo­ne el­se.

  The sharp, pun­gent smell of rot and ro­dent drop­pings as­sa­ul­ted my no­se as Cliff and I star­ted down the sta­irs. It was crazy dark in the sta­ir­well-the only light co­ming from a skylight-but I co­uld still see well eno­ugh to pick my way aro­und the deb­ris. Thank God. The last thing I ne­eded was to step on a used ne­ed­le in my sock fe­et and cont­ract so­me sort of hu­man co­oti­es. I had eno­ugh to hand­le with my su­per­na­tu­ral vi­rus.

  Spe­aking of my su­per­na­tu­ral vi­rus…

  “Aaron knew abo­ut my vi­rus, and my dad,” I sa­id as we circ­led aro­und the fifth-flo­or lan­ding and kept mo­ving to­ward the gro­und. “But I didn’t get a na­me or anyt­hing.”

  “Why do you ne­ed a na­me?” Cliff as­ked in this overly ca­su­al vo­ice. “You don’t want to get to know the guy, do you?”

  I sig­hed, not even wan­ting to ask what Cliff wasn’t tel­ling me. “May­be.”

  “Re­al­ly?”

  “I don’t know.” Did I want to get to know my bio dad? I me­an, if he was as rot­ten as my mom had ma­de him out to be, it wo­uld pro­bably only ma­ke me fe­el re­al­ly bad to re­ali­ze I was re­la­ted to such a pi­ece of scat. Ma­ke me won­der if I had in­he­ri­ted his evil along with his witch blo­od. But then, the­re was a part of me that sa­id it was so­met­hing I had to do. “I sort of fe­el li­ke I sho­uld, even if I don’t want to.”

  “So­unds pretty hard.”

  “Ye­ah,” I ag­re­ed. “May­be we’ll all die to­night and I won’t ha­ve to worry abo­ut it.”

  “Very funny.”

  “I try.” We pus­hed the do­or open at the bot­tom of the sta­irs and pic­ked our way ac­ross the lobby, which was lit­te­red with signs of re­cent hu­man ha­bi­ta­ti­on. Gu­ess if you’re a ho­me­less per­son, you don’t ca­re abo­ut mo­use drop­pings or se­ri­o­usly cre­epy at­mosp­he­re.

  We stop­ped at the cha­in-link fen­ce and Cliff pul­led asi­de a bro­ken sec­ti­on so I co­uld duck thro­ugh, whi­le I bri­efly fil­led him in on the who­le Aaron and Jess con­nec­ti­on. “Aaron sa­id he and Jess ne­eded a co­ven of thir­te­en. With Aaron… go­ne, they’re not go­ing to ha­ve eno­ugh pe­op­le.”

  “I don’t know.” Cliff slip­ped thro­ugh the fen­ce af­ter me, and we shuf­fled slowly thro­ugh the pitch-black­ness ne­ar the ent­ran­ce to the bu­il­ding. “I’m thin­king we sho­uld still-”

  A sha­dow de­tac­hed it­self from the si­de of the bu­il­ding and tack­led Cliff be­fo­re I co­uld mo­ve a musc­le to help him. Cliff cri­ed out in surp­ri­se as he fell to the gro­und, but he ral­li­ed with a swift­ness that was scary, go­ing from ze­ro to zom­bie in less than a se­cond.

  With a fe­ral growl he buc­ked the black-clad fi­gu­re off his back and flip­ped her over, pin­ning the fla­iling girl be­ne­ath him to the gro­und wit­ho­ut any mo­re ef­fort than it to­ok to pin a bug to a bo­ard

  The girl scre­amed in­to Cliff’s fa­ce-which se­emed to ha­ve no ef­fect ex­cept to an­noy the heck out of him, which wasn’t a go­od idea when he was in zom­bie mo­de-and let forth a stre­am of obs­ce­ni­ti­es be­fo­re fi­nal­ly strin­ging words to­get­her in sen­ten­ce form. “What the hell are you?”

  “Wa­it!” I grab­bed Cliff’s arm and tug­ged, re­cog­ni­zing the “you are un­worthy of lic­king my shoe” to­ne im­me­di­ately. “It’s Mo­ni­ca. She’s a Set­tler, and a fri­end.”

  Cliff ma­de a surp­ri­sed so­und in the back of his thro­at. He still didn’t mo­ve, but at le­ast he qu­it with the grow­ling.

  “Berry, call this thing off. Now!”

  “Let her up, Cliff.”

  Cliff slowly re­le­ased Mo­ni­ca’s wrists and sto­od up. “Hey, you at­tac­ked me. I was just de­fen­ding myself.”

  “It talks. Li­ke, re­al­ly talks.” Mo­ni­ca scramb­led to her fe­et and mo­ved out of the sha­dows, dar­ting fre­aked lo­oks bet­we­en me and Cliff. “What ha­ve you do­ne, Me­gan? Did you ra­ise-”

  “I didn’t ra­ise Cliff. He’s a nor­mal Un­set­tled.” Mo­ni­ca’s arc­hed eyeb­rows ma­de it cle­ar what she tho­ught of that exp­la­na­ti­on. “Okay, so he’s not nor­mal. I’ve tri­ed to Set­tle him, but he won’t-” God, I re­al­ly didn’t want to get in­to the zom­bie-psychic-who-is-fe­eding-off-my-energy-and-bad-things-are-go­ing-to-hap­pen-he-saw-it-in-his- vi­si­on stuff, so I cho­se the simp­lest exp­la­na­ti­on. “He’s a se­er. He saw what was go­ing to hap­pen to­night and he’s trying to help me.”

  “Right.” She la­ug­hed, a frust­ra­ted bark of a so­und that re­ve­aled the le­vel of her pis­sed-offed­ness.

  “No, re­al­ly. He is. He’s be­en hel­ping me all we­ek. We can trust him.”

  Mo­ni­ca shot a slightly less sus­pi­ci­o­us lo­ok bet­we­en me and Cliff be­fo­re sig­hing in de­fe­at. “Okay, fi­ne. Wha­te­ver. We’ll talk abo­ut how much you suck for ke­eping sec­rets la­ter.” She still didn’t lo­ok ap­pe­ased, but evi­dently fi­gu­red we didn’t ha­ve ti­me to ar­gue. “Whe­re’s Aaron? He’s the one res­pon­sib­le for-”

  “Ye­ah, I know. He just tri­ed to kill me.”

  “Shit! Well, whe­re is he? I used a trac­king spell to find you, but I didn’t-”

  “He’s… go­ne. He fell off the ro­of.”

  “Go­od,” Mo­ni­ca sa­id, tho­ugh that didn’t ma­ke me fe­el any bet­ter that I’d ac­ci­den­tal­ly kil­led pe­op­le. Even so­me­one crazy and evil with an ino­pe­rab­le bra­in tu­mor or so­me­one who’d be­en in a co­ma for ye­ars. “He was the one who ra­ised all tho­se RCs at the pond. His fin­gerp­rints we­re all over the gra­ves­to­nes.”

  “SA ac­tu­al­ly ran fin­gerp­rints?”

  “No, Et­han did. Luc­kily, Aaron’s we­re on fi­le from so­me FBI mis­sing-child­ren-pre­ven­ti­on pac­ket or so­met­hing,” Mo­ni­ca sa­id, still inc­hing furt­her away from Cliff, as tho­ugh he ga­ve her the cre­eps. “Ethan fi­gu­red out that Jess had to ha­ve an ac­comp­li­ce on the out­si­de and-”

  “He knew it was Jess? Why didn’t he tell me?” I as­ked, my vo­ice ri­sing to a pitch that ma­de Cliff win­ce. “Talk abo­ut ke­eping sec­rets. I can’t-”

  “Ethan only fi­gu­red it out to­night, fre­ak. He no­ti­ced that Jess en­ded up at the SA cli­nic right af­ter both the we­ird zom­bie at­tacks. He con­vin­ced SA to run ad­di­ti­onal tests on her blo­od, and they just fo­und out she’s AB ne­ga­ti­ve and po­si­ti­ve for the sa­me we­ird blo­od thing you’ve got.”

  “It’s a vi­rus, a blo­od vi­rus.”

  “So what? Who ca­res?” She shrug­ged, so­me­how ma­king me fe­el bet­ter with her ut­ter lack of com­pas­si­on. “The go­od news is that you’re cle­ared. They can’t run DNA tests to pro­ve who t
he blo­od be­lon­ged to, but an­yo­ne with a bra­in will know it was Jess. Et­han is at the hos­pi­tal and is go­ing to try to get her to con­fess. She star­ted ha­ving se­izu­res aga­in af­ter-”

  “Go­od. Call Et­han and tell him to ke­ep her the­re. Don’t let her out.”

  “Of co­ur­se she’s not get­ting out. Even with prac­ti­cal­ly every Set­tler in the area up in Ca­rol, they didn’t le­ave her un­gu­ar­ded,” Mo­ni­ca sa­id. “Which re­minds me, we’ve got to get back up the­re and help En­for­ce­ment get this con­ta­ined. Tons of pe­op­le saw us, and ever­yo­ne’s al­re­ady lo­sing po­wer. It’s crazy! We’ve got to get me­mo­ri­es wi­ped or-”

  “No, we’ve got to get down to the ri­ver now,” Cliff sa­id, his jaw musc­le jum­ping. “We’ve got ten, may­be fif­te­en mi­nu­tes tops. They’re ra­ising them at ten o’clock.”

  “What the heck is he tal­king abo­ut?” Mo­ni­ca snap­ped.

  “The stuff in Ca­rol was just a di­ver­si­on,” I sa­id, fol­lo­wing Cliff as he star­ted ac­ross the par­king lot. “A dist­rac­ti­on whi­le Jess’s co­ven ra­ises an army of zom­bi­es to at­tack down­town. They wan­ted to ma­ke su­re Set­tlers co­uldn’t con­ta­in it be­fo­re tons of pe­op­le saw the zom­bi­es.”

  “Oh my God,” Mo­ni­ca sa­id, her fa­ce gro­wing even pa­ler than nor­mal. “So that me­ans-”

  “If we don’t get mo­ving, the­re won’t be any func­ti­oning Set­tlers left in Ar­kan­sas, and we’re go­ing to ha­ve a pla­gue on our hands.” Cliff po­in­ted to the gro­und as we circ­led aro­und the bu­il­ding. “They’re go­ing to ha­ve the­ir thir­te­en af­ter all.”

  I tur­ned to lo­ok at the spot whe­re Aaron and the ot­her man had fal­len to the­ir de­aths less than fif­te­en mi­nu­tes ago. Only one form was still on the gro­und. Des­pi­te the mas­si­ve amo­unts of blo­od co­ating the crac­ked pa­ve­ment, Aaron was go­ne.

 

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