I snatched the bag of cheese curls from the nightstand and ripped it open. Snack machines weren’t great nutrition, but they were cheap and easy. I popped a fluorescent orange curl into my mouth and chewed it. Stale, with the consistency of Styrofoam packing peanuts, but edible.
“Hungry?” I asked, taking slow, deliberate steps toward my captive. Was there anyone out there missing this guy? Wondering where he was? Calling the police because he never came home last night?
Irises like dandelions popped wide open as Garfield dove forward. Chains squeezed tight on his arms, holding him still, keeping him from making a meal of my face. I stopped in place and pulled back the offered snack. His teeth chomped at the air between us, sharpened gray fangs searching for more than cheesy Styrofoam. Or at least it seemed. I took a few more out for myself and slid the open bag toward his feet, careful not to spill its contents. Unsurprisingly, Garfield didn’t seem to care.
He snarled, seething between long, sharp fangs. Okay, I was ready to admit it. Zombie seemed apt. And if someone was looking for this guy, it had been longer than one night. He’d been ripening for a while based on the stink. He reeked. And no way was he walking home to a family like this. Unless his intent was to eat them.
“Well,” I said. “I guess I’ll be heading out for a bit. Promise not to eat anyone while I’m gone.”
“Glllrrrrrkkksss.”
“I’ll take that as a yes.” I pulled on a pair of mostly clean jeans and headed for the door, passing Garfield with a wide berth. And just for good measure, I put up the Do Not Disturb sign on the knob as I left. Better not to come back to a half-eaten cleaning lady. Or anyone getting a good look at the guy I had chained to the radiator. All I needed was questions from the cops. There was no good explanation for any of this. Plus, if he was a zombie, he could spread the infection. If it worked that way.
With more questions than answers, I walked down the cheap metal stairs, and considered my options. The first of which was the obvious—do what Raven had said. But I wasn’t ready to kill the guy. Her story seemed true enough, but I didn’t have it in me. Not after what had happened back home. No, murder was off the table.
That left finding out more. Raven was exactly who I needed. She’d clearly dealt with Garfield’s kind before. She had to know more than I did. But I had no way to find her.
I needed another lead. There was of course the cops, but there was no way I was strolling into the police station to ask how many maulings had occurred in recent weeks.
There was only one person to ask. I knew exactly where I needed to start. I scanned the empty parking lot, finding only two beat-up junk cars. No bike. Fuck. I’d left my Harley at the bar the night before. It had been that, or ride with Garfield pressed up against me on the seat. That was not an option.
I’d have to go back for my bike at some point. I hated to leave her unattended, and me without a ride. But the general store across the street would be swarming with cops and questions, so for now I was stuck on foot.
The daylight heat was stifling, though the huge oaks, Spanish moss, and flourishing grass didn’t seem to mind. Everything was so green, so alive. It was the opposite of the man I was keeping chained to my radiator. It was the opposite of the place I sought—the morgue.
Chapter Four
Axel
Bold, black lettering declared the building the Corbeau Clinic. The one-story, lunchbox size of the place suggested one doctor at most. But because there’d been no sign of any other medical facility in this tiny town, I twisted the wobbly handle and opened the door.
The air inside was as hot as it was outside, but instead of the gentle scents of grass and flowers, there was only disinfectant and stale, artificial lemon. Metal and faded fabric chairs lined the windowless walls of the small waiting room, empty but for one middle-aged, bald man who appeared to have melted from the heat. I walked past, to the front desk.
A heavy-set, thirty-something brunette sat behind sliding glass, watching me through red and white polka-dot glasses. Dark circles shown through her thick makeup, and red lipstick lined her tight lips.
I stopped in front of the tall desk and waited for the receptionist to open the glass. Moments passed before she slid open her window.
“How can I help you?” Her voice was soft, with a heavy southern accent.
“Hi,” I said, offering a smile. “I was wondering if the town’s medical examiner works in this building.”
“The coroner is downstairs,” she said. “May I inquire as to what this is regarding?”
Good question. I couldn’t tell her the truth. “I was hoping to speak with him or her about the town’s statistics.” Not a complete lie.
Polkadots raised an eyebrow. “Reporter, huh?” She lifted the phone to her ear and shut the glass before I had a chance to respond. The window did nothing to dull the sound of her voice, though there was no way she could know that. To human ears it likely worked.
“I apologize for the interruption, Mr. Trench. There’s a reporter here to ask you some questions.” I’d assumed he was a doctor; though in a small town, a coroner didn’t have to be.
“Did he say what about?” The voice on the other end was deep, definitely male.
“No, but he’s got a weird accent, and is definitely not from the Herald,” Polkadots said. Her head was tilted away, but her eyes remained on me. What about me said ‘reporter,’ I had no idea. But if that got me into the basement, then that was fine by me.
“Hmm,” the man said. “I guess this could be interesting. Slow day and all. Send him down.”
“On it,” Polkadots replied. She hung up the receiver and slid open the glass. “The coroner can spare a few moments for you. Go ahead right on down the steps,” she said, and pointed to her left.
“Thanks,” I said, and headed that way. Just past the desk was a small hall, with one door that led to Polkadots, and two more that were unmarked. The first was a tiny bathroom. The second led to a flight of cellar stairs. A bit like a horror movie, the old concrete steps crunched beneath my feet. As I stepped down, I half-expected to find a room full of bodies and some kind of crazy scientist cackling maniacally. Neither was true.
Just like the floor above, the basement had no windows, thought the fluorescent lights running the ceiling made the space much brighter. The stink of chemicals and disinfectant burned my nostrils. Everything was painted white, including the brick walls and concrete floor. It was as if a coat of paint was meant to make the place look more sterile, and less like death. My eyes lingered on the drain beneath the table in the center of the room. The drain, which was beneath the body covered with a white sheet. I didn’t want to guess what ended up down there. So I turned, and met the only living person in the room.
The coroner was tall, though the hunched shoulders made him seem less so. His eyes were sunken in, his skin albino-white. But his black hair was dark as night.
“Mr.?” I stuck out my hand in greeting. “Sorry, I didn’t catch your name,” I lied. They didn’t need to know I’d heard the receptionist on the phone.
“Trench. The name’s Vincent Trench,” he said, keeping his distance. The cock of his brow and his exaggerated stance told me he knew the way that sounded. And the way it sounded was both practiced and Bond-esque. “And you are?”
Hand still hanging, I returned it to my side. “Axel Barnes.”
“Axel?” he asked. “And what publication did you say you work for?” His accent was unfamiliar to me, and I was left wondering where he was from.
“I didn’t,” I said. “I only mentioned to your receptionist that I was hoping to ask you a few questions.”
“Oh, that Ruby,” he said. “Sure, yes.” He leaned back on the metal table in the center of the room, between the body’s tagged toes. A shiver carried through me. Death was not a comfort zone. At least not for me. “She’s not usually at reception, but we needed a fill-in. Overqualified, but sweet. Anyway, ask. Ask.”
“Okay,” I said, unsure exactly
what to think of this guy. “What’s the mortality rate like in this town?”
“Forensics Weekly. I’ve got you pegged, don’t I?” he asked. A twisted grin crossed his face, and again I found myself uneasy. “Anyway,” he continued, “it’s low. Just like in any small town, my job is quiet. There’s the occasional crkkk.” He slid his finger across his throat and stuck out his tongue. “Death. It’s pretty much always old age. Nothing exciting. You’d think every once in a while…”
I waited for the rest of his thought.
“Well, we’re nice and boring here in Corbeau,” Trench said.
“Anything… weird ever happen?” I asked, unsure how specific I could be before he decided I was crazy.
“That’s a negative. Boring, boring, and dull,” he said, then laced his fingers.
“No violence? No unusual circumstances or diseases?” I asked.
“I wish,” he replied. “Might make my work a little more interesting. Then again, I’m usually night shift. Could just be that all the violent offenses come in while I sleep, and for whatever reason the whole town hides it from me. Does that seem more plausible to you, Mr. Barnes?” His words were mocking, but his tone remained the same—bland, even.
“No,” I replied. “Thanks for your time.”
“Mind and Body magazine.”
“I’m not a reporter,” I said.
“Okay,” he said. “If you say so. There’s no story to tell anyway. Take care, Mr. Barnes.” Was it sarcasm? Truth? I couldn’t tell. His pupils never changed. His tone never faltered. His slow pulse remained even.
“You too,” I said, then turned for the stairs.
I’d gained nothing from my visit to the clinic, except a feeling. There was no sign of zombies, no rotting, no beakers marked ‘flesh-eating virus.’ Still, I couldn’t imagine townspeople going missing without anyone knowing. And why did a tiny town with few deaths need two coroners? The usual daytime guy should have had it covered.
It was nothing to go on. So I left the way I came, past the glass-caged receptionist, past the melted man, and out into the blinding sunlight and sweltering heat.
Chapter Five
Penny
Only a wooden counter separated me from the rest of the store. There were a few tables with chairs beside shelves of bread, beer, and ammunition. It was a little bit of everything. And even though the rotating hotdogs and microwave pizza were nothing special, people came in every day to buy them.
I never minded my shifts. It was the family business, after all. And it was something to do, a legitimate reason to be in town instead of hiding from the world back at the manor with everyone else. Plus, the days wasted away faster when there was something to do. And I was always looking for night to return.
Mr. Wheeler waited on the other side of the counter for the sandwiches I assembled. Ham, cheese, and lettuce—everything was pre-portioned in the fridge. While I put them together, I listened to the elevator music that droned on over and over in the scratchy speaker. There were three tracks, and I knew every note of each.
“No one does it quite like you.” I didn’t have to see the interaction to know that Austin was doing his damnedest to keep my sister’s attention.
“What’s that?” Kaylee asked, with a soft and flirty tone.
“Everything,” he said, in a voice I assumed was meant to be suave. “But I was referring to the float.”
“So you come in here every night I work just for the ice cream?” Kaylee asked.
“That’s one reason,” Austin said. I could just picture him leaning forward on his elbows, smiling at my sister with his googly eyes. She ate up every bite of his sickening sweetness.
Really, I was happy for her. Kaylee was content doing what everyone else in the constable did—find a mate, settle down, never deviate from tradition. She had two years left before her first shift. But for Kaylee, it had always been Austin. She lit up in his presence, something she needed and deserved. And lucky for her, Austin had always felt the same. Simple. Easy. Nothing like my life.
Eight sandwiches down; five to go. Mr. Wheeler whistled to the tune that played—song two. He knew them as well as I did. He was there every day, buying food for himself, and for his seven cats. I’d never met them, but I imagined his life to be like that painting of the animals playing poker. I knew they watched movies together, and ate ham sandwiches. So why not poker, too?
Knock. The sound was quiet enough to be an accident, someone passing by outside, nothing important. But I knew better. Corey was at the back door.
I cut bread and wrapped faster, piling everything in a paper bag.
Her footsteps were quick, a skip in her step. I knew what my sister was thinking before she reached me.
“Hey,” Kaylee said.
“Hey,” I said, and turned to face her. Kaylee glowed, a smile beaming bright as the sun, excitement flickering in her green eyes.
“I was thinking, that maybe…” She laced her fingers together and held her hands up by her cheek, pleading before she spoke the words.
“You can go,” I said.
“What?” she asked. “I didn’t even—”
“I know,” I said. “Just go.” It was an easy decision. Even if Corey hadn’t been waiting out back for me I would have said yes. Kaylee deserved to be happy. And if I could help, I always would.
“Really?”
“Really,” I said. “I’ll be fine. You two go have fun.”
“Thanks.” Kaylee squeezed me hard.
I held my arm out, keeping the knife as far from her as I could, while she knocked all the breath from my lungs. With my free hand, I gave her a gentle pat.
“You’re welcome.”
“I’ll make it up to you,” she said.
“I’m holding you to it,” I replied. “And don’t worry, I’ll make it good. Scrubbing toilets, picking up my early shift—I’ll think of something.”
“Worth it,” she said, then bounced her way back to Austin.
Kaylee’s smile was contagious; it left me feeling a little happier even after she had left. I finished the order, and sent Mr. Wheeler on his way. It was nearly time to close shop, and I had information waiting. Or so I hoped.
But when I opened the back for Corey, the jovial feeling was gone as quickly as it had come.
“Good evening, Penny.” His gaze slid over me, making me shiver.
“Got something for me?” I asked.
He leaned his shoulder against the bricks and slid his hands into his front pockets. “Nothing much,” he said, though the slight upturn of his lips told me he was lying.
“Spill it,” I said, and crossed my arms.
“There may have been a sighting,” he said, taking his sweet time. I waited. “You know who I’m talking about. Broken nose, messy blond hair…” He stepped closer, as if to walk inside. I barred the open door with my arm.
“A guy like that might have been seen on the outskirts of town,” he said. “By the shelter.”
“That’s it?” I asked, and let my arms drop.
His grin faded, lips tightened, and skepticism took over his squinted eyes. “I can’t tell if you’re really disappointed or not,” Corey said. “Why do you have to be so hard to read?”
“Just built that way, I guess,” I said.
“What are you doing after work?” His smile returned.
“You know what I’m doing,” I said. It was the same thing I did every night—hunting for my brother’s murderer.
“It would be safer if you let—”
“I’m fine, thanks,” I said.
Corey shrugged. “Sure, if you say so.”
I nodded. No argument, good. “Thanks for the intel.”
“You know how to reach me if you change your mind,” he said. “Just call, okay?”
“I get it, thanks,” I said.
“You’re welcome,” Corey said, then turned and walked away.
The thing was, he didn’t get it. No one did. I appreciated the offer, but th
e last thing I needed was a liability in a fight, or to lead him on. It was better like this—safer if he went back to the constable and left me to do what needed to be done.
I went back inside and finished my shift. There was a whole lot of nothing happening, which was common after eight. I made myself a sandwich and grabbed some chips and a drink to take with me. When ten o'clock eventually crept around, I clicked the locks and headed out the back.
Heat clung to the still, humid air, unrelenting even after the sun had long fallen. Crickets chirped, and the town was quiet except for the sounds of distant country music and drunks at the bar. The cement step was hot, rough, and hard, even through the seat of my jeans, while the metal door was cool on my back. I looked over the lot where I’d taken on zombies the night before—the lot where the wolf had been.
As if thinking of him was a summons, I caught the scent of snow-topped mountains and pine on the air. His silent approach did nothing to hide his presence, neither did the dark.
“Can’t say I’m surprised to see you here.” His voice was deep, and filled my head with images of him the night before—dreams of rough hands on my bare skin, the taste of his lips. He stepped out of the shadows, leaving enough space for me to bolt if I needed to. Something told me that I wouldn’t.
“Yeah,” I said. “I work here.”
“I see,” he said.
“And you’re here again, why?” I asked.
“I have questions,” he said.
“And you think I have the answers.”
“Maybe,” he said. “But I didn’t know you’d be here.”
“Oh?” I asked. “So you aren’t stalking me?”
“I came to see the lot, actually,” he said.
“It’s an exciting place,” I replied. “There’s brick buildings and blacktop. Can’t find that anywhere else?”
“I’ve never seen bodies disappear from a public place,” he said. “No police tape. No scent or sign of blood left behind.” His stance was casual, at ease.
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