Something Strange and Deadly

by Susan Dennard

  She snickered. “I think it actually is ancient.... Like, Roman, yeah? It was just lying there with a bunch of other swords, so I took it.”

  I choked. “You took a sword from the Ancient Rome exhibit? That’s … Well, somehow that fits.”

  “It’s an international exhibition.” She shrugged one shoulder. “So a Chinese girl with a Roman sword in an American city. It’s perfect, yeah? A little old, but I sharpened it up some, and now it works fine. Don’t need a clean cut to stop the Hungry.” She popped her knuckles. “As long as you’re the closest life around, the corpse’ll follow you. When it’s more than one chasing you—that’s when it gets tricky, yeah?”

  I blinked. “Wait.” Something about those last words triggered an idea in my mind. I fidgeted with the ribbon around my waist. “So if the Hungry follow the nearest living person, then … well, if all the Dead turn Hungry, then all the Dead will chase you.”

  “Yep.” Daniel scratched his jaw. “That’s why Philadelphia stands no chance if the fence falls. The Dead will head straight for the city.”

  “How many pulse bombs are left?” I asked.

  “Ten.” He cocked his head. “It ain’t enough to blow up the whole cemetery. The Dead don’t stand in one place—your brother’s got ’em shuffling around everywhere.”

  “Do they go to the river?”

  “Some,” Jie answered. She wiped her sword with a cloth. “But they don’t go all the way to the water because of the steep hill, yeah?”

  “And the Hungry?” I looked between the three Spirit-Hunters. “Do they ever go to the shore?”

  Joseph cleared his throat and shook his head. “There are no people on the river to attract them. When they breach the fence, they head straight to us.”

  I cocked my head. “But the water—you could use the water to magnify your power, couldn’t you?”

  “Wi. That much water would enhance my range and power significantly. But without the influence machine to produce a strong electric spark, I would not be able to shock the Dead.”

  Daniel frowned. “And the influence machine can’t go in the water, Empress.”

  I flashed my eyebrows and bared a wicked grin. “I have a plan. We need a boat.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

  With barely a splash, the oar slid from the Schuylkill’s water. Each of Daniel’s sure strokes in the stolen rowboat brought the Spirit-Hunters and me through the morning fog and closer to the cemetery’s steep, rocky hillside.

  Jie and Daniel had commandeered the boat downstream—south near the Girard Avenue Bridge—where simple boats such as this were rented out for pleasure-fishing. We needed the water to magnify Joseph’s powers, and we needed the boat to carry the influence machine. If all went according to my plan, we’d end this war today, in this river.

  None of us spoke. I sat at the front and imagined the plan over and over. The influence machine was behind me at the boat’s center. Its hulking form was as high as my knees, and it was covered with Daniel’s coat to protect it from the water. Next to it was a bag of the remaining pulse bombs.

  Jie held her sword, and her head swiveled all about. Joseph held his head in hands. His lips moved, and I thought he might be praying.

  Behind him were two sturdy tree branches, stripped of leaves and bark—one for Joseph, one for Daniel. Weak defense against savage corpses, yet the best we could do.

  When we reached the riverbank, Daniel hopped out and dragged us onto the narrow strip of silty shore. I clambered out and glanced around. My palms were slick with nervous sweat, and I wiped them over and over again on my trousers.

  The orange glow of morning hung low on the horizon, and the new light made new shadows. I was scared of those shadows.

  “I cannot sense the Dead,” Joseph whispered. “But soon the Hungry will sense us.”

  These were the only words spoken before we toiled up the hill. It wasn’t a long slope—fifty feet at most—but it was steep and treacherous, with jagged boulders and loose pebbles.

  We crested the ridge and reached the forest edge that marked the beginning of the cemetery grounds. A corpse burst from the trees. Its clothes and skin had rotted away long ago, and all that remained was bone and gristle. In moments it was on me—not even giving me time to panic—with its teeth chomping at me faster than I could flee. I staggered back, lifting my hands instinctively to cover my face.

  With a crack, the chomping stopped. I lowered my hands to find the skull snapped to the side and detached from the spine. Another crack, and the skeleton’s knees crunched. The monster toppled to the ground. Daniel stood behind it, the branch in his hand and his chest heaving.

  I stared in sick fascination. The headless skeleton dug its fingers into the earth and dragged its crippled frame toward me. How could it still move? Truly, the only way to stop these corpses was by stopping the energy that animated them or by annihilating the bodies.

  Two more Dead crashed from the brush. Jie and Joseph tackled them head on.

  “Run!” Daniel yelled at me. “You have to go now—I’ll follow!” He whirled around, and with a loping gate, he dashed to meet the nearest corpse.

  Yes. I had to go now. That was my job: to reach Elijah before the Dead reached me.

  I bolted from the battle and into the tiny strip of forest. Briars and brambles clawed at me, but I barreled through. The Dead could be anywhere, and speed was a safer option than silence.

  In seconds I reached the last tree in the forest fringe and stumbled onto a cemetery plot. A tombstone loomed beside a gaping hole. What had once been a grassy mound was now a pile of disrupted soil and casket splinters.

  I scanned the view before me. I had visited Laurel Hill many times over the last six years, and I knew its winding paths well. Yet, for a panicky moment, nothing looked familiar. All the trees, monuments, and open graves looked the same.

  Then there, to my right, I saw the carriageway I needed. Relief flashed through me, and with a long, steeling breath, I clenched my fists and set off toward the path—toward where I knew Elijah would be: our father’s grave.

  The sun was coming up faster now, and its beams pierced the sky and layered the cemetery in thick shadows. I spun my head side to side, constantly searching for movement. Every grave I passed was open. As Clarence had said all those days ago, I hear all the corpses in Laurel Hill have come to life.

  Then I heard a distant pounding. Unnaturally quick feet. I spun about until I spotted to my left and down another path the rapid, rolling stride of a Hungry. Still distant, but vicious and bounding toward me.

  Panic exploded in my chest. I had no choice now but to run.

  I pushed my feet as hard as the terrain and my body would let me—down dirt paths, across grassy plots, over empty graves, and around tombstones. Faster, Eleanor, faster. I had to get to Elijah. I had to get away!

  The corpse was gaining ground.

  I leaped over red zinnias and raced onto a crowded expanse of tombstones. The corpse was so close now I could hear its bones scraping and its teeth gnashing.

  God, I wasn’t ready to die. In a flash of awareness, I understood Clarence’s wild determination to live. It’s one thing to fear death, but it’s another to fear the Dead.

  I reached a marble tombstone topped with an angel. Straight beyond it would lead me to Elijah. I had to get around the damn thing, and that meant I would have to slow.

  I hope there’s an open grave on the other side.

  I aimed my stride for the right edge of the tombstone’s marble base. When I reached its corner, I skidded around. Once on the other side, I bolted left. I was directly in front of the tombstone now, and the hole I’d hoped for gaped before me.

  I sprang up and sailed through the air. Beneath me, the grave whizzed past. A jagged wooden plank jutted straight up from the overturned soil. My boots barely missed it.

  I hit the ground on the other side so hard that my knees popped, but I didn’t stop. I staggered upright and ran.

  Then came th
e sounds of slicing flesh and snapping bones. I risked a glance back.

  The corpse had impaled itself on the exposed coffin wood. It wore an old Union uniform—I had seen this Hungry once before. But rather than claw at me through iron bars, it now struggled furiously to gain purchase on the loose soil. Eventually its unnatural strength and desperation would pay off, and it would fight itself free.

  I wouldn’t be around when that happened.

  I wove around empty graves and towering stones. My breath burned in my chest, but I was so close to Elijah now.

  Even if I hadn’t known where in the cemetery he would be, I could have sorted it out by the Dead. The closer I got to Elijah, the more they were lolling about. Some noticed me and adjusted their course to follow, but none were near enough to be a problem.

  Yet.

  I jumped over more zinnias and hit the gravel running. I was only a hundred feet or so from my destination now.

  But it didn’t matter. I’d reached the first of Elijah’s personal guard.

  I skittered to a stop, whipping my head about in search of a way through. But hundreds of Dead stood before me—a wall of gray, rotting flesh. It was like the rows of Dead at the Exhibition, except these were so densely packed, I could never hope to pass.

  The nearest ones sensed me. They twisted around, their arms rose up, and they lunged. Behind me I knew more Dead closed in. And somewhere, not far behind, a skeletal Union soldier galloped after me.

  I was out of options, and with that realization, trembling overtook me.

  “Elijah!” I screamed. “Elijah! Help!” My vocal cords ripped with each frantic shriek, and sobs started, deep in my chest. Each moment, the Dead tumbled closer.

  “Elijah! It’s me, Eleanor! It’s me!” I screamed as loud as I could. Over and over I shouted my brother’s name. Still, the Dead closed in.

  Then they were on me. Cold, stiff fingers dug into my flesh, and all I wanted to do was squeeze my eyes shut and let them have me. I didn’t want to watch their decrepit mouths rip me apart. But I made my eyes stay open. I made myself fight back through my sobs.

  Their fingers dug off my blistered skin, and, oh God—it hurt! Their lidless eyes were so close I could see the milky haze where their pupils had once been. Carrion breath, numbing and noxious, rolled over me.

  I kept screaming. I pawed at the hands—everywhere! The Dead were everywhere! This was not how I wanted to die! They pressed in on me and clawed at my face, at my chest.

  I crumpled to the earth beneath their bone fingers.

  “Eleanor!”

  After what seemed an eternity, I heard my name.

  “Eleanor!”

  In a great, convulsing wave, the bodies surrounding me tottered back, and footsteps—sure, living footsteps—approached. “Eleanor, let me help you.”

  I whimpered and lifted my head. My scabs were open and bleeding; the bandages were long gone.

  “Elijah,” I rasped. Relief shuddered through me. “Y-you heard me?”

  He slid a hand beneath my left arm and tugged me into a sitting position. “Yes … And I’m sorry my army hurt you.” He reached out and stroked the side of my face. “You’re bleeding everywhere.”

  All my resolve, the clarity of my mission, my carefully laid plans—they all vanished when I gazed into Elijah’s sea-blue eyes. They were the same eyes they’d always been, with or without his spectacles. I didn’t see a monster before me; only my brother. Tender and true.

  Tears stung in my eyes. “I missed you.”

  “I missed you too.” He whipped his head around and then back to me. “Come. One of the Hungry draws near. We will be safer at the grave.”

  He scooped me up with no effort and carried me through the lines of now-still corpses.

  We reached our father’s grave. The marble cross that marked it towered high and heavy above me. It was a testament to Father’s good character, to the Fitt name, to our eternal lives in heaven—or so I’d always thought.

  Now it seemed sinister. Wrong. There was no heaven here. Eternal life meant waking up as a putrid corpse.

  The grass that had once adorned the plot was long gone, replaced by mud and exposed roots. A shovel lay nearby.

  I avoided looking at the lip of the burial hole. I knew the mahogany coffin lay within, and I didn’t think I could stomach the sight of my father—or whatever remained of him.

  Elijah set me gently on the dirt and knelt beside me. “Do you need anything? Water, perhaps?”

  I swallowed. My mouth tasted like blood and tears. “No. I’m all right.”

  He eyed me for several long moments. Then he rubbed the bridge of his nose as if his spectacles were still there and misbehaving. “Why are you here, El?”

  “I-I wanted to see you. I’m worried. About you. About this.”

  He stiffened. “I’m fine. You don’t have to look after me anymore.”

  “I didn’t mean it like that.” Yet as I spoke the words, I realized they weren’t true. I did want to look after him. I wanted him to need me as much as I needed him.

  He rose and dusted off his hands. “I … well, I’m sorry, El.”

  I gulped. “For what?”

  “I’m failing at my task. If you’re here to see Father then you’ll be disappointed.”

  I clambered to my feet. “You can’t bring him back?”

  “No.”

  “Then don’t. It’s …” I reached for his sleeve. “It’s all right to stop.”

  “No, it’s not.” He hunched over and pressed his palms to his eyes. “Over and over again I’ve tried, but Father’s spirit won’t answer my call. It’s as if … as if there’s something in my way. Something in the spirit realm that blocks him.”

  “So leave it and come home. Please. Mama and I need you.” I tilted his chin to look at me. “We’re out of money, Elijah. Almost all of it is gone, and we need you.”

  He jerked away from me. “Money won’t be a problem. I’ll go back to Egypt. I’ll resurrect the Black Pullet, and we’ll live in wealth for the rest of our days. Everything will be all right. But first, El, I need to bring Father back.”

  “Please don’t!” I cried. “Please come home. I need you! If you stop now, we can go home and pretend none of this ever happened. We can climb the tree, read Shakespeare, and—”

  “Listen to yourself.” His face scrunched up. “We can’t go back. Things will never be—can never be like they were. I’m not the weakling who left town, and you’re not the little girl I left behind.”

  My breathing turned shallow and fast. I clenched his filthy sleeve in my fist. “Then we’ll leave. We’ll go abroad and see the world.”

  He nodded slowly. “Yes, but first Father must see what I have done. What I’ve accomplished. Nothing stands in his way now! He can run for city council and do all the things he dreamed of.” Elijah took my hand in his. “He always said, ‘We must show them.’ Well, I have. None of those Gas Ring devils will ever trouble him or me again.”

  And that was when it hit me. The full weight of the situation careened back into my mind and my heart. My brother was insane. An army of decayed corpses surrounded me, and the wasted body of my father lay only a few feet away. Elijah had killed men—killed Clarence!—with no remorse, and I knew he would do it again. He was the devil here, not the Gas Ring.

  And I was here to stop him, not to save him.

  I licked my cracked lips. “You have to stop,” I said with all the authority I could muster. “Now.”

  He scowled and stomped to the edge of the open grave. “I’m so close, El, I won’t turn back. It’s that damn spirit,” he growled. “It keeps releasing my army from my control. Whatever it is, it knows necromancy, and it knows it better than I do.” His eyes fixed on mine, their blue depths murky. “One by one, it releases them from my control, so they turn into those …” He waved in the direction from which I’d come. “Into those crazy, desperate Hungry Dead.”

  “Then why keep trying?” I stalked toward him. “Giv
e up! Lay the Dead to rest and—”

  At that moment thunder boomed. It rattled the earth, and my knees shook. It was one of the pulse bombs.

  Elijah lunged at me. “What was that?” He gripped my shirt and heaved me toward his face. “The Spirit-Hunters are here, aren’t they? You betrayed me.” The edge of his lips twisted up. “Well, there’s no escape for them. Not today.” He shoved hard, and I tumbled to the earth.

  Elijah twirled around to his army. With his arms thrust high, he chanted words I didn’t understand or recognize.

  The rows of Dead lurched to a start. Ancient feet scuffed and bones creaked, and in seconds the army was shambling away. Toward the river. Toward the Spirit-Hunters.

  I heaved myself to my feet but didn’t speak. What could I say? Reason would not work, nor would begging. My best option was to stick to my plan.

  Elijah snatched me by the shoulder and dragged me to Father’s grave. “You’re going to help me raise Father.”

  “No.”

  He scoffed. “You have very little choice in the matter. I carry the power to raise the Dead, which means you do too. And it’s about time you shared.”

  “Wh-what do you mean I hold the power?” I demanded.

  He didn’t answer. He just clamped his hands on my shoulders and pivoted me toward the grave.

  I balked at the sight before me. The lid to Father’s dark mahogany coffin had been shoved partly off, leaving the top half of his body exposed. Other than the tattered black suit, I could see nothing in this skeleton that resembled the man I had loved.

  “The power to reach the Dead—it’s a special skill that only a select few have.” Elijah dug his nails into my arms. “And oftentimes it runs in a family. It runs in a person’s blood. Can’t you feel it?”

  An electric tingle whipped through my body, and as before at the library, I found my muscles locked in place. Behind me Elijah chanted. The current was not strong—it merely tickled and made me want to scratch my insides—yet I could not move or resist it.

  A minute of Elijah’s murmurs passed. Then he let go, and I stumbled and fell next to the grave. He jostled me aside.