Death 07 - For the Love of Death (9 page)

Pax

“So we're not gonna get our asses kicked?”

Jade sighs. “Language, language,
language
, Paxton.”

“Mom,” I say.

Gramps says, “Don't get smart. I've given you as much leeway as I feel magnanimous about.”

“We would have been tarred and feathered for that mouth back when I was alive,” Mitch comments from the peanut gallery.

“It's not prize behavior now either,” Dad offers.

I roll my eyes. Everyone stresses over shit that's nothing. The F-word is a medieval acronym for shit's sake.
Anyway.
“Dad,” I look at him, “did you, I mean, did you run into the suit dudes over by Grampsʼ?”

He nods. “I did, had to put a lid on that mess.”

“Who are they?”

“Random A-holes.” Gramps cuts the cursing so close it could slice air.

Mitch eyebrows drop above his eyes.

He’ll have to catch on or drown.

I look at them, willing them to understand. The Hart family frowns on blinking. “I had to get out of there. It didn’t seem like those Randoms wanted to deal with my indifference anymore.”

Dad, getting charged up, folds his arms. “Why weren’t your mother and I aware there’d been some prior exchange?”

I shrug. “I thought they were like college recruiters. I get all kinds of weird crap in the pulsebox about that stuff.” I mime what I think they’d sound like if it didn’t go into the spam pulse folder locked in my head: “Paxton Hart, you’re the type of ‘thinking-out-of-the-box’ young adult needed to be a part of the Random Movement.”

I return my voice to the normal tones of boredom. “So, I file thirteened it. Don’t care.”

Mom approaches me, concern all over her face.

Great.
“No touchy, Mom.”

She laughs. “I think I’ve got that, Pax.”

I have just enough Empath for things to get awkward. It makes me jump outta my skin sometimes.

I scope out the zombies. Mine are nicely blank. But that guy Mitch.

That guy.

He puts the
animated
in
reanimated
.

“Then they started putting flags and jumps on it. I knew I had to block their dumb butts.” I smile and Mom nods at my effort in less Foulness of the Mouth.

“Way too aggressive for just one kid that ignores spam,” Gramps says thoughtfully.

I check out Gramps
ʼ shotgun. I laugh.

“Well, our avoidance gear didn't engage. I busted my arm trying to stop the roof from caving.”

Mom gasps. “Are ya okay?”

“Yes. I just, it was a case of The Dumbs that wouldn’t quit. I was in this other Earth. Dee was gone, my arm was ten kinds of messed up, and there were these effing creeper bots…”

“What?”

“Artificial Life Bots,” Dee supplies.

I whip my hand toward her. “Yeah, what she said, they were enthusiastic…”

“Buggers,” Gramps fills in, and I laugh.

“Yeah they were.”

“What were the bots doing?” Dad asks.

I give a rough exhale. “They were trying to kill us.”

Dad’s brows pull together. “Why?”

“I guess there’s only certain types of paranormals allowed in that Earth. We weren’t part of ‘the chosen’.” I chuckle. So lame.

“Who is?” Gramps sets the shotgun in a corner of the living room.

I think about it. “AFTDs are a no. Organics are okay. They knew who was reanimated, and that sucked big time.”

“How strong are they?” Dad asks.

“My strength,” I say.

We look at Mitch. “Less strong than me, but not by much,” he adds.

Gramps whistles. “Zombie strong. Not good news.”

“I don’t know what it matters,” Dee says. “We don’t have to go back there.”

Mom frowns.
Uh-oh, I know that look.

“Of course you do. These”—she swallows—“people need to be put back.”

“I’m not going back,” Mitch announces.

The silence is a tomb. I open my mouth, decide better, and close it. Then I open it again. “No, bud, my sister doesn’t need a pet zombie. Hell, she raised you by
accident.
She was probably so scared she was practically peeing her pants, right, Dee?”

“Wow, thanks Pax. For the… words.”

Dee’s face is bright red. I didn’t mean to embarrass her in front of, what? The zombies. Whatever.

Mitch steps forward, and Dad and Gramps are en pointe.

“Where were you when your sister was vulnerable?”

Don’t have a good answer for that.

“I think I was blacked out. Y’know, from the broken arm and shit.”

Mom glowers. I ignore her.

Mitch steps into my space, our chests almost touching.

“Listen, I’m effing sorry about
your
sister, Mitch. I am. But this is not the same. I’d never let anything happen to Dee.”

I realized my fuck-up too late.

“I didn’t think I would, either. Shit happens, if you’ve noticed.”

A small hand appears on Mitch’s forearm.

“Mitchell,” Dee says in low voice.

I feel her AFTD. It’s like perfume; everyone wears a different fragrance, and hers smells like Dee—summer, kindness, floral, just Dee.

Mitch backs off.

He stares at me, and I stare back.

Fine,
we don’t dig each other even a little.
Got it loud and clear.

Dee breaks in, “Pax was out cold. I was woozy. Then Brad Thompson shows up and takes me.”

Shit.
“Brad Thompson. That pudwhacker whose dad is Sanction king?”

Dee nods.

“That's
so
bad. That whore, what was he thinking?”

“Pax,” Dad warns.

“Sorry, Dad—it's just, he is such a douche nozzle.”

Dad sighs and Mitch smirks.

“He took me.” Dee holds out her hands. Her wrists have deep abrasions.

“Come ’ere!” I say loudly and Mitch flinches, lurching forward.

“Oh honey, go to brother,” Mom tells her.

Dee approaches. “He had me zip-tied, Pax. He said he killed me there once already.”

Prick.
Makes me want to go back there and kick his ass about a hundred times. My gaze shifts to Mitch. And when I get tired, Mitchie-boy can take over.

Sounds like a plan.

I grip her hands, pulling her against me.

I let my power go. It’s a bathtub filled with warm water, lapping at the sides of our energy, and runs over the rolled porcelain rim, sliding over Dee.

She gasps. I open my eyes.

Small wounds and scratches close as I watch. Her marred wrists puff to pink and meld into her dusky skin.

At the last minute, she touches Mitch and I can’t rein it back fast enough.

He brightens. Every abrasion and wound against his person vanishes.

His eyes roll back and he falls into the wall.

“What. Is.
That
?” he asks, eyes a little buggy.

“I'm an Organic.”

He frowns in confusion.

“What year did you die?” I ask.

“2010.”

“Ah—that’s why. Grandpa Kyle found the markers five years later, and everybody got dosed.”

“Is there a book or something?”

A zombie wanting to read up on history. “I think we just get you back to
your
Earth. Then you don’t have to worry about all the junk that’s happened since.”

Mitch straightens. “You’d like that.”

I don’t lie. Can’t. “Yeah, I would.”

I glare at him, daring him to break the eye contact.

He doesn’t.

The doorbell does.

Gramps walks to the window, pulling the curtain aside then flicking it closed.

“I think we got bigger fish to fry. Sanction Police are calling.”

Dad looks at Gramps.

I look at the zombies. I tell them where to go, thinking,
attic.

They move fast.

I wave my hand in front of my nose. Still smells vaguely like
eau de rot.

“What is it?” Mitch asks.

“Can ya act like a living guy for the next half hour?”

Some of my desperation must leak out, because he says, “Will they hurt Deegan?”

There's a heartbeat of understanding where I think he might be on board.

“Not on our watch.”

He nods.

It's settled between us for now.

Gramps gives each one of us a look. It says everything so eloquently.

Mainly,
let me handle it.

Gramps opens the entry way door and the Sanction Police stand at the front stoop.

We have so much more to worry about than my sister's zombie crush.

Club Rot in the attic.

Or the fact that we're keeping Dee's little black hole secret to ourselves.

For some reason, Clyde stands between them.

In cuffs.

Dad's gonna lose it.

Then he does.

Deegan

Daddy shoulders past everyone and takes hold of Uncle Clyde.

My power leaves me, Pax’s sliding to mine like a river whose forks meet.

Our power hits Dad’s, and it swims into Uncle Clyde.

The SP Null tries to nullify Dad. And that might have worked, except with a family of AFTDs, it’s hard to get a handle on power that is as automatic as ours is.

Familial.

It sweeps Uncle Clyde, and he shoves the SPs aside.

One is telekinetic and leverages himself back onto his feet and the broad concrete porch as soon as he falls. He retreats, swinging a palm at Uncle Clyde, who sails into one of the brick pillars.

It holds, but Uncle Clyde lands in a pile at the base.

I scream.

My energy is sentient, thinking of where best to serve the need at the moment. Zeroing is painful to contain.

Using it is the deepest inhibition I possess.

Mitchell is suddenly there as Telekinetic jerks a baton out of his sheathing.

“Caleb!” Mom calls.

I turn and feel my power.

Dad moves to me.

Mitchell folds himself around my body.

“Ah!” I yell against Mitchell and a little bit leaks out. Like a fire I can't put out I aim it at something that doesn't matter.

The baton.

Pax is close to the SP. Sweat runs in rivulets into his eyes, and he shakes his head. Telekinetic holds him against the porch post. Uncle Clyde’s rear is on the ground.

The Null meets my eyes.

“No, Deegan,” Mom says.

I zap the baton. I don’t have anywhere for the power to go. I have to let it out.

We’re all scared of what might happen if I try to reabsorb it.

There’s a sucking noise like a reverse pop, and the baton disappears.

Well… not all.

A stub sits in the SP's hand. I let out a shaky breath. If I'd gone lower I could have black holed his thumb or something.

Telekinetic freaks, dropping the decapitated weapon.

Gramps holds his card up, sticking it in their faces.

“Grandfathered, chumps! Don't be using force if ya don't want the business end.”

He spins the shotgun like a twirler in a jamboree.

The Telekinetic pales.

Dad holds his hands up. “Settle down everyone.”

Oh, that’s great, coming from him.

The Null moves his gaze to w
hat’s left of his partner’s baton, and he frowns.

“It would have been fine if you hadn’t attacked us, Sir.”

Probably.

Dad asks, “Why do you have a grandfathered zombie in cuffs?” He glances at Uncle Clyde then glares.

Null folds his arms. The insignia on his breast is as awful as what the sanctions stand for.

A crude, B pulsemovie human form shuffles inside a circle with a scarlet line through it. Zombie hate, the last form of racism.

“Reports of numerous violations have come in. Ten unique witness signatures pulsed footage to our central station.”

The Null's turns to Mitchell, and I stand in front of him.

“ID.” The Null holds out his hand.

The Telekinetic checks out Gramps’ card. “It’s legitimate.”

The Null flicks his eyes to the laminated holographic card Gramps probably wears in his sleep. “Haven’t seen one of these in a while.”

Gramps grunts.

“Why is Clyde in cuffs?” Dad repeats.

The Null sighs. “Again—he is out against regulations, unaccompanied.”

Uncle Clyde strides over, lips parted. I know he’s syphoning from the three of us. It’s a bath of goodness for a zombie. “I felt death energy. It was off, and I came to check.” Uncle Clyde gives the two jerk SPs a speculative look.

“Next time, go with your
wife
.” The Null laughs. He’s being deliberately mean.

Gramps clubs him in the jaw with the butt end of the shotgun.

He crumples to the ground.

Telekinetic clenches his fists. “Just because you have A Card doesn’t mean you can do anything.”

His face takes on the blankness of pulse to mind. He’s alerting others.

“Try me.” Gramps says, “You are the one who came here with a grandfathered zombie cuffed, ready to interrogate a family based on what? Pulse-witness.” Gramps makes a disgusted noise.

“So easily doctored.” Pax rolls his eyes.

“We can’t be the ears and eyes of the world. When illegal zombie activity is reported, it is our duty as Sanctions to investigate.” He gives Gramps a sour look, trying not to escalate the violence. I can tell he wishes he had his baton.

“So you just arrested a wandering zombie as you came here?” I ask from Mitchell’s hold.

He turns his gaze to me. “Yes. It is what we do.” He shifts  to Mitchell, who stiffens against me.

If we were in the other Earth, they’d know who we were right away. They would know Mitchell is a zombie.

Telekinetic can’t tell.

“I asked for your ID.”

“Forgot it. I don’t live here.” Mitchell thinks he’s helping.

I close my eyes. Of course ID is behind the ear. It wasn't anything but a card like Grampsʼ free pass back in 2010. It's an immediate tell he's not current in his time line, but from one years ago.

There's only one answer.

A cuff sails out from Telekinetic's waistband and latches onto Mitchell's wrist. “I know where you'll be going.” Telekinetic leers.

I shake my head, panicking. “Daddy! Don't let him take Mitchell.”

Dad tried to tell me about the AFTD-zombie bond. I just didn't get it. Have to experience it, I guess.

Mitchell holds up his wrist as though he's never seen it before. “Why do I have a handcuff on me?”

Telekinetic's brows cinch in concentration.

Mitchell grunts in resistance, sweat shining on his face.

The other cuff goes on.

I latch onto Telekinetic, my hand a vise on his arm.

“Don’t,” he manages to squeeze out, his eyes round.

My eyes burn with my emotion. “Sorry,” I whisper.

“Dee, no!” Pax screams.

The center of the cuff disappears, and Telekinetic falls back. He moves his gaze to me then to the cuffs.

“Where the hell does my shit keep going?” he bellows.

“I don’t know,” I say. Because I don’t.

Telekinetic’s eyes close.

“He’s pulsing someone!” Gramps says. “Get in the house!”

Clyde ushers us in and I cringe, knowing I’ve done a bad thing. I’ve made a weapon, and cuffs of the Sanction Police’s  disappear via a black hole of my making.

It is one guy's word against mine.

But that's all they need.

Dad and Mom look at each other, then at me.

I shake, crying. “I'm sorry! They were going to take Mitchell.”

Mitchell’s chain and cuffs rattle. “Why is this a big deal? Deegan, what did you do?” He takes my face in his hands and looks deeply into my eyes. Cold metal slides against my skin.

“I… do you know what a black hole is?”

He smirks. “I passed science.”

Pax laughs, and we turn as a group to give him a dirty look.

“Chill guys, a little levity.”

Mitchell doesn’t look away as Pax’s zombie family mills down the stairs again.

“I can make them,” I blurt.

Mitchell smiles, running a thumb down my jaw.

My parents are watching, and I kinda want to die a little.

“Nobody can do that, Deegan.”

“Deedie can,” Gramps says.

Mitchell’s eyes flick to his then away. “I’m trying here, everyone. I’ve been told I’m dead, that there are people in this Earth of the future who can raise dead people. Control them.” He looks at me. “I acknowledge that. I feel it.” His gaze takes in the room. “Then we had the guys on the porch.”

“Sanction Police,” Pax says as though bored.

“Yes. And he made my hand move to the cuff without touching me.”

“Telekinetic,” Dad supplies.

“So there are a huge number of different abilities, and they just keep showing themselves. Now I’m supposed to believe that this girl…”

I don’t want to be young to him.

“…is somehow able to manufacture black holes out of thin air?”

“I know it's a lot to take in,” Mom says and he gives a disbelieving chuckle, folding his arms and stepping away from me.

I feel our separation like a small death.

Get it together, Deegan.

“May I?” she asks.

Dad sighs. “Go ahead, it’ll save time. But I’d love to know why
they
don’t seem to need answers to the Spanish Inquisition.” Indicating the zombie family.

I look at the family Pax raised. I don’t know, either.

Mom moves toward Mitchell, and he stands his ground. I take her hand.

“She can give you some answers. It’s quicker than talking about it.”

Mitchell looks from me to Mom and finally nods.

Mom touches Mitchell.

They stay like that for ten minutes.

When she lifts her hand, he looks at us all silently for a time.

“This world is worse than the one I just came from.”

Gramps nods. “Some of it, probably. But we don’t have slayer robots here.”

Dad looks thoughtfully outside as the SPs wait patiently at the porch for whoever will come to meet them.

His gaze finds us.

“Yet.”