Death 07 - For the Love of Death (8 page)

Caleb

I do know.

Death energy moves through me like still waters, swift and deep.

I’d know the hand of my children anywhere.

“What?” Arrogant asks, flipping over to his hands and knees. “What is it?”

I have to work on my face. It tells everybody everything.

“Stay put, putzmiester,” Gramps says, stiffening his gun arm.

Arrogant looks up.

“I got the undead king here, pal. Don’t get cute.”

“Let’s go, Gramps.”

“On it.”

“Wait!” Arrogant shouts, checking out the Skopamish.

We turn. “Nah. My warriors will go to ground in…”

Twenty minutes
, I command them mentally.

“Momentarily.”

“Pfft.” Arrogant says. “We are the
good
guys here.”

I nod. “That's what the Helix Complex claimed.”

Arrogant scowls. “We're not remotely comparable.”

“Whatever.”

I glance over my shoulder at the Skopamish.

The chief raises his tomahawk in goodbye.

The suit to his left flinches.

I turn with a smirk.

Gramps winks. “You love to put the screws to those guys.”

I jog to the car and he follows. “And you don't?”

“I got my own methods. Stick to them. Effective.”

I think of the socket wrench incident with Zondorae back in the day. Toes were crushed. Zondorae sang like a bird.

Yeah, Gramps is an effective guy.

Gramps takes a deep breath and slides into the hover car. He's not real keen on something he's not controlling. We float into air traffic. Gramps' head rocks back against the seat at the instantaneous acceleration. A slow breath of relief escapes him when he finds himself still alive.

I grin

It’s as if I’m an old-fashioned submarine. The kids beep on my radar, my radar for the dead.

And it isn’t just them. They have their own dead.

I shut my eyes. One, two—four total.

There’s an alien feel to this group of zombies.

I don’t like it.

The autopilot function in the car beeps.

<
Destination obtained
>

<
Landing
>

The car lowers alongside a green space that slopes down to a mandatory belt of non-buildable.

I glance at Gramps, and he clenches his eyes shut, hands biting into the synthetic leather upholstery.

“Gramps.”

“Yup!”

“You can open your eyes.”

“Has the rust bucket landed?”

I smile. “Yeah, it's okay.”

He cracks a lid as the passenger door sweeps open.

“Hate, Caleb. I got nothin
ʼ but a boatload of hate for these.”

“Hmm, couldn’t tell.”

“Can the sarcasm, pal.”

We step out, and the car lifts.

Zombies turn and stare at me.

A man, woman, and child. A family.

Pax’s work. He usually raises one hard, using a deliberate energy on it. The dad looks perfect. My gaze traces his wardrobe. Late twentieth century, mid-thirties.

The mom and little girl are rough around the edges, gray and peeling, with that smell of rot about three quarters to neat. Like a glass of whiskey that isn’t full.

Gramps asks, “Well—what do we have here?”

I hear a scream and whip my head in the direction it comes from.

I track the sound down a slope of grass on a small embankment beside which we parked. My son and a huge zombie are beating the shit out of each other.

Pax doesn’t have a chance.

On the heels of that thought is the next:
Why isn’t he bringing him to heel?

Screw this.

I nail the zombie between the eyes.
Freeze.

It staggers.

Pax delivers a punch, and the zombie slaps him. Seems like a slap from a zombie wouldn’t matter.

It occurs to me then he’s trying not to hurt Pax.

Doesn’t matter. Pax flies ten feet, landing on his back.

“What are ya doin’? Askin’?” Gramps cocks his brow at me.

“No. He should be a Walt Disney down there.”

“He’s kicking Pax’s ass…
what
? Do I have to take care of it?”

“Gramps—God. No. Stay put.”

I shoot a speculative glance at Fam Zombie on the sidelines and jog to the crest of the hill.

Deegan sees me and screams, “Daddy!” Terror like ice covers her voice.

Nothing moves a man into action faster than their baby girl calling their name like that.

Nothing
.

I sprint down the hill, struggling to maintain my balance. My bad knee swears a blue streak as I move beyond the barriers of what it can stand.

I push through, grabbing Deegan, the same size as Jade, and yank her behind me.

“What the hell is going on?”

“I raised him by accident.”

Cripes
. A Deegan zombie.

My temper and irritation rise like an oil slick on water. I calm myself.

“Okay, baby—just… put him to rest.”

“I can’t, Dad.”

Can’t.

“Tell him to stop, Deegan. He’s got zombie strength.”

Gramps walks up. “He’s gonna put a hurt on brother, Deedie.”

“I
know
, Gramps… but I don’t think I can.”

The zombie reaches for Pax.

I make a decision, but it’s not easy.

“Deegan,” I scream, shaking her. “I'm going to give you a spanking!”

It's not
the
dumbest thing I've ever said but it's up there. I hope it does what I'm going for.

The zombie drops Pax and comes for me.

Hissing.

I hit it again. I’m low on death juice, and it glances off him.

He’s a locomotive.

Deegan has more self-preservation instincts than Jade, but the apple doesn’t fall far from the tree.

She steps in front of the undead cyclone.

“Mitchell!” she screams, and I see red when he lays hands on Deegan.

“Okeydokey,” Gramps says with resignation.

He whips the butt of the shotgun into the side of Demon Zombie’s head, and it staggers him.

“No, Gramps!”

She clings to the zombie and he lifts her in his arms, tucking her behind him.

This is so bad.

We circle good old Mitchell, and I know the flavor of corpse he is.

Determined.

You think they’re all alike. Not true. A little of what they were remains present in death.

This guy's protective.

Of Deegan.

“Don’t make me hurt you guys,” he says.

I stop, holding my arm out to Gramps.

Randomly I notice a dent in his head where Gramps beaned him.

“Don't make me take you apart,” I say, as honest as I've ever been.

Mitchell smiles. “No chance, bud. I'm here for the girl. Because of the girl. No one touches her.”

“You're touching her,” Gramps points out.

Mitchell hisses.

Mouth looks good,
I think, having a proud papa moment.

“Mitchell, it's okay. This is my dad, Gramps, and you've met Pax.”

“He's an asshole, Deegan.”

She gives a shaky laugh. “Kinda, but he's still my bro.”

“He hurt you,” Mitchell says, pointing at me.

Deegan shakes her head, pulling on him until he lets her go. She moves to stand in front of him.

I swallow at their size difference. He could kill her with a hit.

She raised him. She’s safe.

Still about twelve different alarm bells are going off simultaneously. Gramps, shotgun pointed to the ground, must feel the same way.

He inches forward.

Mitchell's eyes flick to Gramps.

He's awfully sharp for a corpse. Reminds me of Clyde. Those type never dull down.

Some people are just meant to be alive.

Through any means.

Caleb

“God
damn
!” Pax jumps to his feet and hightails it to Gramps and me.

I toss a hard look his way. “Pax, cool it.”

The zombie’s cold gaze follows him, and Pax flips him the bird. “Dick.”

Deegan rolls her eyes. “Pax please… can ya just
not
for once?”

“Chump,” The zombie replies.

Gramps snorts. “He’s an oldie but goody!”

Great.
“Deegan, explain what’s happened.” I fold my arms, one eye on Mitchell.

Gramps’ eyes narrow. “Not a good time, son.”

I scan the vicinity. Cars are pausing in the sky, hovering over the street in my neighborhood.

Someone is filming Fam Dead at the top of the hill. An eyepiece sweeps over their face for live feed upload to PulseTube.

Wonderful.

I punch out some death juice. It’s the wrong season for bees, but they’re dead and won’t mind.

The swarm moves to the cars with the rubber-neckers and blocks their bird's eye line of sight.

“Nice.” Gramps rocks back on his heels, laughing. “That’ll shut those nosey-Parkers right down.”

“Deegan?”

“I know, Dad. I got it, but Pax had to escape the dudes back by Gramps’, and we didn’t have any time.”

I turn to Pax, who shrugs. “I did what I had to.”

“You blinked?” I ask, though I’m pretty sure of the response.

He nods.

“It’s okay. You protected your sister.”

Mitchell gives a grunt of assent.

Gramps hides his smile behind a fake cough.

Perfect.

“How about me?” Pax asks with a smirk.

I lift my chin. “I know you can take care of stuff, Pax.”

“And things,” Gramps mumbles.

A true day from hell.

I plow forward. “Let’s take,” I check out the posse of undead, “the zombies back to the house and figure it out in a more private setting.”

Pax blanches. “Fine, you deal with Mom. She’s not going to dig the Motley Crew of Death showing up.”

“Pax is right,” Deegan agrees.

I palm my chin. “Right—but you guys raised these in some parallel earth?”

They nod.

Kids.

“I don’t think they’ll go to rest here.”

“Why not?” Gramps asks. “You keep telling me the dead are dead are
dead
.” He lifts his shoulders.

“They are. But I think because the kids raised them in another earth, there is no resting place for them. On
this
earth.”

Silence.

Pax gives a horrified glance to the dead family at the top of the hill. “Great. It's not really—I didn't want dead I can't put to rest. They're not goldfish, Dad.”

“It's a dilemma,” I say.

Gramps laughs.

“Not funny, Gramps,” Pax says, sullen.

“It’s a barrel of monkeys. You two having to drag around a few corpses for a little while might put the kibosh on doing it for no reason.”

Pax has a history of raising without much thought.

Deegan raises by accident. All we do is teach her how to control it.

It is the least of her abilities, the frightening one we handled like potty training.

Sometimes she does it in her sleep, like talking.

It’s been a stressful few years.

“If we’re just going to hang around here chewing our cud, I’m going to light up.”

Mitchell raises his eyebrow, smiling despite the circumstances.

I sigh as the agitated bees buzz in the background. “I think we need some ground rules with… Mitchell.”

“Mitch,” he corrects, and my patience thins like an old sheet of paper.

“Caleb,” I say.

“Nice to meetcha.”

Gramps looks at Mitch. “Mac.”

“Hey.”

Pax flips him off again.

Mitch hisses.

“Paxton.”

Pax looks at me.

I say, “Stop the bullshit. It's been a day.”

“Right.” He flings a hand behind him as he walks up to the top of the hill.

Deegan follows, and Mitch brings up the rear.

Gramps trains his eyes on his back. “Big fella.”

I measure him as I do all men, carefully. “Yeah. If Pax hadn’t been a Body
and
an Organic, he’d be broken.”

“Yup,” Gramps agrees easily, the smoke from his cigarette lighting off a Christmas tree of memory triggers.

I reach the top and with a thought, I send the car home without us.

I pulse Jade, and images flow between us. Her anxiety is crippling.

Her anger is worse.

It gets better and better.

The bees make a privacy cocoon around us.

The dead family walks behind Pax, who's in the lead and we follow.

Deegan walks beside the monster of a guy she raised.

Gramps keeps his eye on the threat.

The people who might witness four corpses and walkers.
We’re not out during the exercise cycle and can be called in for violation.

Gramps is smoking while carrying a firearm. Though he wears his card around his neck, not everyone thinks that's good enough.

There's always a flock of do-gooders. And like birds, they want to shit on everyone's heads.

Jade waits at the front porch. Seeing Deegan, she rushes down the broad concrete steps and I race forward.

There's no way I want The Hulk near Jade.

I shouldn't have worried.

“Mom!” Deegan squeals.

They collide, crying and hugging.

Mitch the zombie stands around awkwardly like the rest of us.

Jade pulls away. “Come inside. I have disturbing news.” Her gaze meets mine.

Sounds about right.

*

Our place isn't very big. Built in the beginning of the twentieth, it's all wood, plaster, beamed ceilings and cozy rooms.

Translation: small.

It's been a terrific home. It has the antiquated vibe I dig. The bungalow was always meant to be a starter. Then it became the home we didn't want to leave. Even when we converted the attic to a space for Pax while he went to Paranormal Tech School. I guess it's a finisher.

But with Gramps and four zombies, the size doesn't feel cozy.

It's oppressive.

“Pax... gall, can ya do them a little better, honey?” Jade covers her nose, eyeing the family.

Pax turns to me and we shrug.

He asks Gramps, “You smell anything, Gramps?”

“Just rotting meat.” Gramps winks.

Pax sighs. “Fine.”

He turns to the dead family (
the dad looks great
, I think critically), and the breath of his energy floats past me. It touches Mitch and he stiffens, recognizing it, though he can’t respond.

The girl goes first, her face morphing from gray to yellow. The gaps around her eyeballs close, the whites getting brighter, the irises taking on a fresh green color. Her hair, a bright orange in life, turns back to carrot-colored in seconds.

It reminds me of John, though his has faded as he has gotten older.

The mom goes through the same metamorphosis, but her hair is a blonde turning golden.

The dad gets some peripheral leakage and perks up, hair thickening, eyes brightening, his skin taking on a ruddy cast.

“Mouths,” I say.

Pax grumps, turning back to the small horde. “Open your mouths.”

The girl’s looks a little
dark.

Pax gives her another round of juice, and it pinks up.

I can’t help my grin. “Nice.”

Pax gives a small smile at my praise.

Then he frowns. “Dee always gets the mouths.”

“Don't compare,” Jade says.

We look at Mitch.

He smiles but it looks like a shark.

Deegan giggles. “I don't think I can get excited about perfect zombies when it's accidental, and they're all criminals.”

That gets me thinking. I narrow my gaze on Mitch.

“What did you do?”

“He”—she glances at him for permission, and Mitch nods.

“No sis, that's not how it works. You own his ass. You tell him what you want. There's no deference for his undead opinions.”

Mitch frowns at Pax then turns his attention to me. “You’re the dad?”

I nod.

“Went easy on him, then?”

Gramps laughs.

“You try raising a kid with these kinds of fun abilities, and we’ll see how you do.”

Jade approaches, and I tense.

Mitch looks down at her. “Ma’am.”

Jade smiles and from his expression, he understands why I love her. “We did the best we could. He’s got a sharp tongue and a soft soul.”

She moves in for the kill.

“Jade, no,” I say.

Mitch snaps his head my direction.

Deegan takes Jade’s hand as her other touches Mitchell’s forearm.

He sucks in a sharp breath as she closes her small hand around his arm. Sweat beads pop on Mitch’s upper lip, as Jade’s body becomes a tense plank. She moans when she reaches something awful, and I step forward.

She sends me a look full of pain and temperance, and I freeze.

Mitch finds her eyes. His are wide and surprised.

Hers are filling with tears.

She steps away, and he asks, “How did you do that?”

“I still have a touch of it.”

She turns to me.

“A touch of what?” he asks.

Jade doesn’t answer.

I wait.

When she’s done telling us what she sees, we all look at Mitch.

Sometimes murderers kill for bad reasons.

I cover my face with my hands. I’ve heard horrible things. Survived shit.

Gramps is quiet.

Pax’s face is red with what appears to be remorse.

I shake it off, walk to Mitch, and clap him on the back. “I’m glad it was you.”

Mitch, cupping the back of Deegan’s head, looks down at her. He’s so big he palms her entire skull.

“Me too.”

Jade's expression mirrors my own concern.

Mitch is bad news. But not for the reason we thought.