Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter One
Bas,
I’m dying. I know you'll be angry with me for
writing you a letter instead of going to the hospital, but I couldn’t. You’re
probably freaking out right now, but I need you to keep it together. You have work to do.
You always wondered why I spent so much time writing up
case notes, attributing it to me being a control freak, which is true. But they
were also my way of keeping track of all the crazy shit we dealt with until I
could make sense of it all. I don’t know why I never told you—it was such a
mundane thing, but I ended up recording so much more than case information. It
was difficult to share. That doesn’t matter now.
I’ve gathered up a selection of the files; the ones
pertinent to the current situation. Find them—they’re hidden, but that
shouldn’t present any problem to you. Once you read them, you’ll know what to
do.
I’m sorry. You’re furious with me—wondering why I went
without telling you, aware that I couldn’t make it out alive—but you’ll
understand.
-Caro
***
There isn’t anything
special about our town. It’s not built on a Hellmouth or a Native American
burial ground. But it is plagued by the supernatural. You’d think, what with
all the monster shenanigans happening in Pine Grove, South Carolina, we’d make
national news, but most people were content to ignore what was going on. I
wasn’t most people. When your 8th grade slumber party is overrun
with vampires, it becomes pretty hard to buy into the whole “animal attack”
excuse.
My Dad believed, too. He saw something at work. He never
spoke about it, not even to my mom. He just came home one night covered in
blood and shaking—a changed man. He paid for me to take lessons in every form
of martial art, archery, fencing, and marksmanship.
I opened my business the day after my high school
graduation. My Dad and Penny assured me that I wouldn’t hurt for clients.
On
the third day, when no one had so much as walked through the door and I was
ready to call it quits, I got my first visitor.
Her
appearance was so sudden—so unexpected—that I didn’t notice her for several
seconds. Not until she coughed and half-whispered, “Caro?”
She
was silhouetted against the door, her hands twisting together. We may have a
problem with the supernatural running wild, but she is honestly the last person
I expected to see here—the mousy bookkeeper of the only department store in
town, a real Melanie Wilkes without the hidden strength.
“Mrs.
Speedman? Are you lost?” I couldn’t help myself; it seemed too good to be true.
“I
heard you could help me?” her eyes were trained to the floor, feet shuffling
against the floorboards.
“I—Yes—maybe,” I shook my head, “Let’s go into
my office and you can tell me what’s going on.”
The
17th century diary chronicling an outbreak of werewolf attacks fell
from my hands, the fragile binding cracking on impact with the floor as I
jumped from the sofa.
I
hadn’t used my actual office yet. I spent most of my clientless days idling in
the reception room. A wall of heat burst out when I opened the door, sunlight
streaming through the open blinds. Though I hadn’t used it yet, I loved this
room. Vintage monster movie posters lined the walls around the full bookshelves,
my desk was a massive lump of mahogany, and the light blue wingback chairs
matched the rug.
“Can
I get you a soda or water, or anything?” I asked, after I got Mrs. Speedman
seated.
“No,”
she shook her head, hands still latched together.
I
crossed to the other side of the desk, sitting and opening my laptop.
“What
brings you hear today?” I asked, resting my forearms on the edge of my desk in
what I imagined was a thoughtful, attentive pose.
“I
don’t really know where to start,” she brushed her short hair from her face, revealing her flushed cheeks.
“Tell
me about the first time you noticed something strange.”
She
pursed her thin lips, nostrils dilating as she gathered her thoughts.
“It
started two nights ago with my kids. They woke up in the middle of the night
screaming, claiming they saw people moving around in the woods behind our
house.” She swallowed, throat convulsing. “My husband—he doesn’t believe in any
of this—he told them they were imagining things.”
“But
you believed them? Why?”
She
dropped her head, watching her hands. If Mr. Speedman dismissed the claims of
the children, it would take a true shock to make his wife go behind his back. Even
then, she wouldn’t come to me unless she was terrified. I didn’t have the best
reputation around town. Before all the monster madness, I was a sweet girl from
an established family. Now, people either thought I was crazy, or they were
afraid of me. I was a last resort.
“I
saw them,” she said, tears leaking from her eyes in slow rivulets. “When I went
to check on the children. I thought I saw something moving in the woods, but
told myself it was the wind. On my way back to bed I saw it again and stopped.”
She
was crying harder now. I pushed the box of tissues on the edge of the desk
closer to her.
“There
were people in the woods, Caro. They were mostly hidden by the trees, but I’d
see a flash of clothes or shoes as they walked.”
“Mrs. Speedman, if it was people in your
woods, I can’t do anything for you. You should call the police.”
She
blotted at her tears, fighting to get herself back under control. “They weren’t
right. It was hard to see in the dark, but I think” she paused as her voice
quivered and broke. “I think they were dead.”
Dead
people in her backyard? That’s all I needed to hear. When I got her to calm
down, I promised to stop by that night and check it out. Then I sent her on her
way with a shot of whiskey. Hey, I’m nothing if not helpful.
As
soon as the door was shut behind her, I grabbed my phone and called Penny.
“It’s
not a good time, Spencer,” he snapped.
“I
see we’ve given up on ‘hello’” I said. “It is a good time, darling, because I
need you.”
His
grumbling laugh rippled through the mystical cell phone ether and I shivered.
“You know how long I’ve been waiting for you to say that?”
“I
don’t need you for that,” I said.
“Liar,”
he replied.
“Keep
telling yourself that.”
“What
do you want, Caro?” he asked, playfulness gone.
“I’ve
got a case. Mrs. Janice Speedman has a zombie infestation.”
“Mrs.
Speedman? How’d she get away from the hubs?”
“No
clue, but she’s more terrified of them than she is of him. That’s something, I
guess. Anyway, I’m going to check it out tonight. You in?”
“Do
you know what day it is?” he asked.
“You
still have a week to go. You’re coming.”
He
made a clucking noise with his tongue against his teeth. “I’m not. I have little control over my
emotions as it is. I’m not adding you and zombies into the mix.”
“For
God’s sake, Penny, I’m going to pay you.”
The
line was silent as he considered. “Fine,” he said and I knew he was fluffing
his hand through his dark hair out of frustration.
“Good.
Be here at nine.”
I
hit the “end” button before he could say anything.
I
spent the remainder of the afternoon brushing up on my zombie lore. And by that, I mean watching The Walking Dead.
Chapter Two
Penny
banged through the door at fifteen ‘til sporting two days of beard growth.
“Did
your razor run away?” I asked, climbing off the couch.
“I
told you I didn’t feel like going out,” he said.
“And
I said I was paying you, so shut-up.”
He collapsed into the space I vacated, throwing his long
legs over the couch arm and crossing his ankles.
“Don’t get too comfortable,” I said, whacking him on the
back of the head with a rolled up magazine.
He cringed, rubbing the spot where the magazine connected.
“Can’t you leave me alone while you get your shit together?”
“It’s
in the car,” I said, drawing out each word.
“That’s what you’re wearing?” he asked, slumping back
down.
“Yeah, no, that’s not going to work. Get up.”
I grabbed my keys off the reception desk
crowded with discarded magazines and supernatural encyclopedias. Penny’s booted
feet thunked as he swung them to the floor.
“Why
can’t you be a normal girl and freak out about how you look?” he grumbled.
“Because
we’re going out to hunt zombies, and for that I look fine,” I gestured to my
long-sleeved black t-shirt, jeans, red leather jacket, and boots.
He
clicked off the office lights as we trooped through the doors. “If this were a
video game, that shirt would be three sizes too small,” he said.
“It
would basically be nipple pasties with leather pants and stilettos.”
“Your
hair would be to your waist. No ponytail. If you can’t keep your hair under
control and fight off the undead, you don’t deserve to be called a woman,” he
tugged at the short strands of hair at the nape of my neck.
I
shoved him away with a laugh and we climbed into the car.
It
was a fifteen minute drive from the center of town, where my office was, to the
woods that ran behind the Speedman’s home. We listened to screamy rock music
the entire drive—Penny’s choice.
I
turned off the highway onto a gravel road that ran through the woods, pulling
off into a small clearing between the trees. We exited the car in tandem, crossing
to the popped trunk, where I lifted the carpet square to reveal an arsenal of
guns and knives.
“Pick
your poison,” I said, grabbing a 9mm pistol and a machete.
He
flexed his right arm, muscle bulging. “I already brought my guns,” he said.
“Ugh,
seriously?” I asked. “I’m putting a douche bag jar in the office.”
“It
wasn’t that bad,” he said, grabbing an axe.
I
snorted. “C’mon. The dead are waiting.”
“And
I’m the one that needs a jar,” he said, taking a few steps before stopping,
arching his neck, and pointing his face towards the sky. The lids dropped over
his blue eyes and his chest began expanding and contracting in slow and even
bursts.
After
a minute his eyes popped open, glowing with the light from the flashlight app
on my phone. He took a few strides forward, bending to examine bent twigs on a
tree.
“Something
passed this way,” he said. “Not sure if it was a zombie or a deer.”
“It’s
funny how those two things are often confused.”
“What
exactly are we walking into here?” he asked, wrapping his hand around my arm to
stop me from going further into the woods. “I don’t plan on getting eaten any
time soon.”
“Don’t
you think it’s interesting that these zombies haven’t attacked anyone? According
to Mrs. Speedman, they’re just hanging out in the woods.”
“You
have a theory?”
“Of
course,” I said. His hand dropped from
my bicep.
I
led the way into the woods, the phone illuminating the few feet ahead of us.
Once upon a time, heading into a dark forest to hunt for zombies would have
terrified me. Now, the wisp of
wind-shaken branches, the crunch of dry foliage underfoot, the shifting of
shadows, was nothing but a typical night of my life.
We
walked in silence; my eyes trained to the forest floor, searching for
footprints and an excess of broken branches.
“Stop,”
Penny said, but before I could question him, he put his finger to his lips. I
wasn’t sure what he heard, but the ground in front of us was a churned mess of
mud and tree debris.
“Do
you smell that?” he whispered, grip on his axe tightening.
I
inhaled, but all I got was the sweet scent of rotting leaves and crisp night
air. Even though I didn’t smell anything, I trusted Penny’s instincts. I
grabbed the gun, clicking a bullet into the chamber.
We
inched forward, the gun and I a little bit ahead. A breeze kicked up, making
the branches around us toss and pitch, carrying with it the heavy scent of
decaying flesh.
Our
next steps were slow and deliberate, feet placed in strange, uncomfortable
positions between tree roots and forest plants to avoid drawing unwanted
attention.
We
inched around the trees until we could see the roof of the Speedman house in
the distance—and a seething mass of the undead.
They
grumbled and growled in a knotted horde straight ahead of us. I stopped,
startled by the abrupt transition between no zombies and ohshitzombies.
I
forgot that Penny was right behind me.
His
torso slammed into my back, his legs wrapping around mine as he lost his
footing. The gun and phone toppled from my fingers, skidding along the forest
floor, as Penny and I crashed to the ground. Branches snapped underneath us, mingling with
the oof sounds bursting from both of
our mouths.
My
face smashed into the cold dirt, the crackled edges of dead leaves poking into
my skin. Penny’s face was against my neck for a few seconds, but then he rolled
away. I scrambled to my feet, hands scrabbling to find the gun.
We
no longer had stealth on our side.
A
burst of light—Penny picking my phone up from the ground—made the shining metal
of the gun gleam.
. My fingers wrapped around the lukewarm
metal, and I stood, ready to fire.
Chapter Three
There
was no reason for alarm.
The mass of zombies didn’t even turn in our tumultuous
direction.
“What in the actual fuck?” I asked, letting the gun drop
to my side.
“No idea.” Penny snapped his fingers, a loud insistent click,
but was not acknowledged by the zombies.
There was no question they were undead. If the smell of rotting
flesh wasn’t enough, their skin was grey, sloughing from the bones in gruesome folds;
a few had empty sockets where their eyes should’ve been, or gaping holes in
their cheeks where tongues and teeth showed through. The clothes they were
buried in were modern, but dirty and tattered.
Penny watched the undead with wary alertness, knees bent,
shoulders hunched forward, ready to attack if needed.
“Penny,” I said, “what do you know about zombies?” The
answer was easy: nothing. At least, nothing besides what he’d learned from Rick
Grimes and Daryl Dixon.
“They’re mindless, flesh-eating assholes. They’ll attack
anything alive in seconds—like piranhas.”
“And unlike what we have in front of us.”
“So?” he asked.
“These are voodoo zombies,” I replied.
The blue of Penny’s eyes rolled. “And?”
“Zombies, like the kind currently shambling all over pop
culture, are created by a virus—or whatever—to make those infected come back to
life and hunger for brains.” I pointed to a reanimated man shuffling in front
of us, “These were created by magic, brought back from the grave to do the bidding
of the one who called them.”
“If
they don’t want to eat us, what do they want?”
I
shrugged. “That’s up to the person controlling them.”
“This
was your theory?” he asked, pointing at the corralled undead.
“I
thought it was a possibility,” I shrugged, “since no one had been attacked.”
Chance
of danger gone, Penny lost interest, pulling out his phone and madly clicking.
With him distracted, I circled the zombies.
There
were at least thirty of them, male and female, ranging in age from late teens
to early forties. Whoever called them up, while not a novice at magic (they wouldn’t
have been able to call them up at all), hadn’t mastered the art of the zombie.
The link between master and subject was weak, which had forced the failed
conjurer to magic up an extra barrier to contain them.
I
unsheathed the machete, the freshly sharpened blade glinting bright silver in
the moonlight
“Ready
for some slaying?” I asked the phone engrossed Penny.
“Heh?”
he said, looking from the screen with unfocused eyes.
“Undead
need killing,” I waved the machete at the zombies. “We need to chop off the
heads.”
“What
happened to destroying the brain?” he asked.
“Won’t
work with them. We’ll severe the heads and then burn the bodies.”
“I better get paid extra for this,” he said, giving his
axe a practice swing.
“Shut-up.”
I stepped over the invisible boundary, a pulse of magic
tickling my skin. The machete arced through the air and bit into the neck of a
twenty-something zombie. Her head separated from her neck easier than I
expected, the extra force sending it spiraling through the air to splat at the
roots of a nearby tree.
The zombies were slightly alarmed at our presence,
pushing against one another to get away from us, but they didn’t attack. Did
their master abandon them as a failed experiment—or were they biding their
time? But for what?
An hour later, Penny and I were surrounded by corpses and
heads, splattered in blood, associated gore, and sweat.
“I don’t think there’s enough money to re-pay me for
this,” he said, swiping his axe blade in the grass to clean it.
Instead of bothering with a reply, I pulled a Bic lighter
from my pocket, touching it to the shirt of the zombie at my feet. It went up
like dry kindling, spreading from body to body until the entire clearing was
ablaze.
I walked over to Penny and we watched the flames do their
work. There had to be nothing left of the bodies to break the magic.
We watched the fire in silence, me stealing glances at
Penny as his gaze remained transfixed on the burning undead. In the flickering
light, I noticed the dark circles under Penny’s eyes and the deeper cut of his
cheeks. He was exhausted; unwell. Maybe he hadn’t been exaggerating.
The flames
sputtered and died in record time; the fire feeding off the magic until
nothing—not bones, not metal fillings, nothing—remained.
“There’s no trace of any living person,” I said, once the
fire had sputtered out.
“No,” Penny answered, even though I hadn’t asked a
question.
“We won’t find anything,” I said. “Whoever very
inexpertly conjured them, did it all from a distance. But we’ll look.”
And we did, traipsing through the woods in the dark; the
light from my phone failing to illuminate evidence of others.
“What now?” Penny asked, as we stowed our weapons in the
trunk.
“We find where they originated from. Check the news for
any stories about recent grave robberies or cemetery vandalism. See if there’s
any sign of the culprit.”
“That’s a lot of missing people from one cemetery,” he
said.
“I’m banking on the inexperience of the practitioner,” I
said. “They didn’t take into account how a mass exodus of cemetery dwellers
would look.”
“I wonder what bullshit story they came up with to
explain it away?”
“Buzzard attack?”
He snorted. “That’s pretty tame compared to what we’ve
heard lately.”
“I think they’re running out of chemical spills to
blame.”
“Yeah, but nothing really compares to the good ol’
standby of ‘animal attack’,” he said.
“You would think someone from the town council would look
into our bear and wolf problems. Those animals aren’t particularly prevalent to
this part of the U.S.”
We went on in this vein until we pulled up to the office.
“That was some good zombie killing,” I said.
“You should put that on your business card,” he winked.
“Psh, it’s already there.”
He shook his head in mock disdain. “Okay, Great Zombie Killer,
it’s time for sleep,” he said, climbing out of the car.
“Ha,” I replied, “you mean time for video games.”
He shrugged and smiled before jogging to his car and
disappearing into the driver’s seat.
I had every intention of heading up to the office and starting
to look into the grave robberies, but after stifling a yawn that lasted for
about five minutes, I put the car into gear and headed home. I’d have plenty of
time for research in the morning.
Chapter Four
Back at work bright and early the next morning, even
though it was Saturday and my hours were by appointment only on the weekends.
Anticipating a cozy day, I wore fuzzy black sweatpants, and a light V-neck tee.
My morning was completed with an enormous mug of coffee. Homemade, of course;
the idea of Pine Grove having a Starbucks was laughable.
I went into my office, flipping on the overhead light,
and staring directly at Lon Chaney Jr.’s hairy, bestial face in The Wolfman poster on the wall behind my
desk. I’d only been open four days, but this place was already like home.
Just as my graduation-present MacBook blinked to life,
the outer office door opened with a creak and a swoosh.
I
wasn’t expecting anyone.
Adrenaline
pounded through my body with each frantic pump of my heart, and I reached for
the small caliber gun hidden in my desk. Before my fingers were even close to
the drawer handle, a familiar voice rang out.
“Spencer?”
I rolled my eyes. “In here,” I shouted.
Penny strolled through the door, white bakery bag
clenched in his fist and a smirk on his clean-shaven face.
“Are those doughnuts?” I asked, already standing up to
move closer to the bag of pastries.
His smile widened as he opened the bag and pulled out a white
box, presenting it to me as though it contained an engagement ring.
“Doughnut holes!” I squealed, pulling them from his hand,
and popping a bite-sized doughnut between my teeth.
Penny
made a sound like a laugh, but it came out as a snort.
“Shut-up,” I said, words garbled by the mound of
half-chewed pastry in my mouth.
“Found anything yet?” he asked, collapsing in one of the
chairs across from my desk and ripping into a chocolate-covered, sprinkled
doughnut.
“Haven’t even started,” I said. “Some doofus came into my
office and interrupted me.”
Penny made a tsk-tsk
sound with his tongue against his teeth.
“A wonderful, amazing guy brought you breakfast and
joy.”
“Potato, potatoh,” I replied with a wink.
“Coffee?” he asked, head swiveling as he searched the
room for a carafe.
I gestured to the reception area, “Hand-me down Keurig.”
He unfolded his long legs, traipsing into the other room.
“I
see you found your razor,” I called after him. He gave me the finger.
As the aroma of brewing coffee filled the
office, I got down to work.
Pine Grove was the biggest town in one of the least
populated counties in South Carolina.
We’re about an hour from Augusta and Columbia, yet somehow still in the
middle of nowhere. Pine Grove and the
towns in its immediate vicinity (none having a population over 500), were
serviced by one newspaper, The Pine Grove
Gazette. The other well-sized towns in our county, Riverview and
Wilkesville, also had their own papers. I didn’t imagine it would take much
time to skim through the archives of each for any mention of graveyard
vandalism.
By the time Penny returned to the chair, a steaming mug
of coffee warming his hands, I was reading through the latest issue of the Gazette. Seeing that I was otherwise
occupied, he pulled out his phone. Soon, the only sound in the office was the click-click of his phone and the tapping
of my index finger on the down-arrow key.
I thought that the limited number of towns and newspapers
would make my search that much easier, but I was sorely mistaken. I slogged
through months of archived issues of the Gazette,
eyes itching and burning from focusing on the small, inconsequential type. I went back three months, but found no
significant mention of cemeteries.
Once I finished the March archives, I allowed my eyes to
drift close. I wasn’t interested in sleep. Instead I cleared my mind of the
thoughts crowding to the forefront, letting it drift along on its own currents.
It began filtering through local news reports from the last few months,
searching for mention on anything of note.
…Girl Missing from
Riverview Area; Two Drown in Lake Bartlett boating accident; Wild Spring
Weather Causes Flooding in Pine Grove; Wilkesville High School Baseball Breaks
Strikeout Record; 10 Animal Attacks Reported in the Last Two Months—Wildlife
Experts Called In…
None
of those were helpful. As the news stories dissipated, I noticed the distinct
lack of smartphone key click from Penny. I shot a look over to his chair, and found him
asleep—long legs sprawled out in front of him, arms limp at his side, head
cocked at an uncomfortable angle, dark hair flopping against his forehead with
each deep inhalation.
In the daylight, freshly shaved, it was clear why he
thought the beard was necessary. His face was gaunt; dark hallows indenting his
cheeks, bone and sinew starkly illuminated. Judging by the puffy, almost black
circles under his eyes, this was the first time he’d slept in days. This thin
unhealthiness didn’t carry over to his body; he was lean and muscular, as
always. Just the same, he looked ill; he was
ill.
An
image of his face as it used to be superimposed itself on the one in front of
me. This face had small, sun-pinked pouches of fat over the cheek bones, which
allowed dimples to appear whenever he smiled. His skin was golden and shining,
and the violet highlights in his blue eyes were bright with the joy and
invincibility of youth. The Penny with this face played baseball, but that
hadn’t happened in over a year. Guilt prickled at the base of my skull, but was
quickly smothered.
I
would’ve gone on staring at him and reminiscing for hours, but his head slipped
backwards and a trumpeting, gurgling snore erupted from his throat. I jumped,
fingers going to the keyboard and typing in the URL for the Riverview
newspaper.
I
found it after skimming the last four issues of the Riverview Tattler. It wasn’t even a story, just a small blurb in
the Crime Blotter section: “Willow Hill Cemetery Targeted by Teen Vandals;
Damage Repaired by Local Volunteers.” I read the line twice over before it sunk
in that this was the evidence I needed, and then I let out a delighted “Yes!”
forgetting that Penny was in the middle of much needed sleep.
“You
found it?” Penny asked, making me jump for the second time.
His
eyes were completely alert, the exhausted bags underneath them only a little
diminished from his nap.
“Yup,”
I said, “Over in Riverview.”
“We
going?” He asked as he yawned, stood, and lifted his arms in a deep stretch.
The movement allowed his t-shirt to pull up, revealing a two-inch expanse of
pale six-pack. My head snapped away from the view. I chose to ignore the smirk
lifting the right side of Penny’s lips.
“Yes,”
I said, closing my laptop. “Now get out, so I can change.”
“We’re
getting food,” he said.
“Whatever,
just get out,” I said, planting my hand in the small of his back and shoving
him out of my office.
“You’re
paying,” he called, as I shut the door.
There was a small armoire in the corner of my office,
filled with office supplies, but also a few changes of clothes. They were nice
to have around in case things got bloody, which they often did.
I kept my t-shirt, but swapped the sweatpants for jeans
that were so dark a hue of blue they were almost black. I replaced my
flip-flops with calf-length boots, and topped the outfit off with a waist-cut
crimson leather jacket.
Before
walking out to meet Penny, I checked the mirror affixed to the cabinet door,
smoothing my chin length black hair, and ensuring that my clothes fell
appropriately around my curves. Skinniness and I had never been close friends,
and while I was in the same shape as most professional athletes, I still wasn’t
what you’d call small.
When
I stepped out of the office Penny sighed, “Finally. What took you so long?”
I
thumped him on the side of his head. “Let’s go,” I said.
When
we stepped out, the bright sun made me wince, and I had to shield my eyes with
my hand. I’d had such an early morning that I was convinced it was evening, not
sweltering afternoon.
As
promised, we stopped at our only fast food joint on the way out of town. The
rest of the half-hour drive was spent in silence. The radio, tuned to the local
pop station, played a steady rotation of Katy Perry, Britney Spears, Macklemore
and Eminem. With the sun glowing above us and the music softly flowing through
the speakers, it was a perfect late spring day. You know, except for the living
dead, and all.
The
Willow Hill Cemetery, on the banks of the Grove River, had served the
communities of Riverview, Sparks Creek, and Coeur de Coeur since the towns were
nothing but a few clapboard houses patched together in the territories (the
last two still weren’t much more).
I
pulled the car into the gravel parking lot next to the small chapel. From
outside the fence, the graveyard appeared deserted, but through the trees I
could just make out the green canopy of a funeral home’s graveside service
tent.
I
jogged ahead, to see if the service was in progress, but the rickety wooden
chairs were empty. There were no funeral attendants around, so I assumed it
hadn’t started yet.
The
crunch of gravel in the still afternoon air announced that Penny had caught up
with me.
“We
should get this done before the service starts,” I said. I pointed him to the
right side of the road, while I took the left.
I didn’t need to tell him what to search for; when a body is dug up it’s
pretty difficult to hide all of the evidence.
We
went row-by-row, scanning the ground for the smallest hint of disturbance.
It
happened after we’d been searching for over an hour. It was a new grave, only
seven months old. I wouldn’t have noticed anything out of the ordinary, except
that the grass was lighter and there were clumps of dirt marking a clear
outline of where the grave was dug up. I bent down, placing one knee on the
warm ground as I pulled back the sheet of cheap Astroturf. The ground beneath
was a churned mess; when I pressed my hand down into it, the land gave several
inches.
I texted Penny: “Found one. Covered with Astrotuf.
Careful where you walk. Count the graves.”
Seconds later my phone bleeped. “Found 2. New worst cover
up.”
We continued for another hour, by the end of which I’d
totally forgotten about the incoming funeral processional. It was with quite a
bit of astonishment that I registered the grumble of engines and churn of
gravel under wheel. They drove past, spraying chunks of rock and sending clouds
of dust into the air in their wake.
To Penny: “How many?”
“12. U?”
“14. We gotta wrap this up soon.”
I didn’t want us to draw attention to ourselves;
hopefully, we could find the last four in the next few minutes and get the hell
out of here.
That was wishful thinking.
From across the road, there came a surprised yelp,
hastily stifled. My eyes scanned the area, but I didn’t see anyone for several
long beats. And then—Penny lurched around a six-foot tall obelisk, ducking to
avoid a blow from the shovel being swung at his face.
Chapter Five
The
attacker was in his early forties, he wore pressed khakis and a button-down tee,
with carefully coiffed hair. Definitely not the type of person you associate
with random acts of violence perpetrated with a shovel.
“You get outta here now,” the man said,
pointing the shovel’s edge at Penny’s face. “I don’t have to guess what you’re
up to, a teenage boy hanging out in a graveyard. We don’t want any of that.”
Penny raised his hands, not in defense, but supplication.
“Sir, I’m not here to make trouble. We’re just—“ he lunged back as the shovel
jabbed at his face.
“I’m not interested in your excuses. There’s a service going
on, and the family deserves some respect. I’d appreciate it if you saw yourself
back to your car. Don’t want any trouble.”
As he was the one wielding the weapon, I wasn’t so sure
about that.
“Please,” Penny said. “I’m here with a friend. We’re
looking at gravestones. She owns a business; let me show you.” His hand dropped
to his back pocket for the business cards he kept in his wallet.
The shovel swung in a fast, high arc. Penny dodged it,
but the sharp edge almost caught his cheek.
“I don’t wanna hurt you, son, but one more move and I
will,” said the man.
“Okay,”
Penny was nodding, “Okay. Let me get my friend and we’ll get out of here.”
Penny
took a step in my direction, and that’s all the man needed. He lurched at
Penny, swinging the shovel like a baseball bat. Penny jumped back, stumbling on
uneven ground and falling to one knee.
That
was my cue.
I
sprinted across the road sectioning the cemetery, intending to incapacitate the
man long enough for us to get the hell out of dodge. Neither of them saw me
coming. I hit the man hard in the back, wrapping my arms around his middle to
take him to the ground. He dropped the shovel as we fell, and while I was
prepared for the impact, I was not ready for us to land in one of the
inexpertly refilled graves. As we hit the ground, and then sunk several inches,
I lost my grip on him.
I
had the leverage, should have had no trouble regaining my hold; only, when we
hit the ground a smell puffed out of him as though he were a scented pillow—and
it wasn’t the reassuring scent of lavender or vanilla. Instead, it was sulfur
and the bitter smell of burning rubber. It went straight up my nose, scorching
my lungs. I let go of him, stomach heaving, eyes watering, and retched into the
dirt.
He rolled away, reaching for the shovel, but
Penny had tossed it well out of reach. Well, that was one crisis averted.
The man scrambled to his feet. I forced the nausea down,
jumping up after him. I was just able to grab his elbows, managing to pull his
arms back and pin them at the wrists.
The man struggled, twisting this way and that in an
effort to break my grip on his arm.
“Hello, a little help here?” I said, through hard breaths
and elbow dodges, but Penny’s attention was fixed on the ground, fingers
grappling with something lodged in the dirt. My momentary distraction was all
the man needed. With a quick movement, he stepped back, grinding the heel of
his foot onto my toes. Pain radiated up my leg, and my grip on him loosened
enough that he was able to twist one arm away.
I snatched at his now-free hand, but didn’t catch it
before it plunged into his pants pocket and removed a pocketknife.
Everything
happened quickly after that.
Our struggle had attracted members of the funeral party;
a crowd of them sprinted towards us. Upon seeing the knife, Penny grabbed the
shovel, but the man didn’t know or didn’t care. As I attempted to disarm him,
he plunged the blade into my upper arm.
It was my turn to scream, but it came out more as a
hoarse yell. People from the funeral were closing in, shouting. I pushed the
man away from me, sending him plunging to the ground at Penny’s feet.
The man was yelling, screaming for help. “They’ve got
weapons! Hurry!” he shouted.
“Shit,” I yelled. We took off running without looking
back.
Penny was faster than me, but he narrowed his gait so
that we ran in step with one another. Right before we reached the parking lot,
he grabbed the keys from my jacket pocket.
My door wasn’t closed when he whipped the car onto the
road. He floored it, trees flying by in green and brown smudges.
“We have a problem,” I said through gritted teeth.
“What, besides your stab wound?” he asked.
The slash in my arm throbbed with each beat of my heart.
I had to grit my teeth to stop from yelling at the pain. I needed to take a
deep breath to continue speaking. “I’m pretty sure that the man who attacked us
was hexed or cursed.”
“You mean Carl Allen,” Penny said.
“Who?” I asked.
He fished into his pocket, pulling out a small, magnetic
nametag. The Willow Hill tree logo was stamped in the corner, while the middle
read “Carl Allen, Director of Landscape Management.”
I took the nametag, studying both sides because it was
better than feeling the throbbing agony of the stab wound.
When we entered Riverview, Penny pulled into the parking
lot of an abandoned gas station. Before I could ask what was happening, he was
out of the driver’s seat and opening my door. He swiveled me so that my legs
were out of the car, and pulled my jacket from my shoulders.
“Fuuuuck,” I moaned as the bloody lining of my jacket
stuck to the wound.
“Sorry, sorry,” he said, throwing the ruined, wet jacket
into the back seat. “Where’s the first aid kit?”
“Under my seat, “I said, hanging my head back and
groaning.
The backdoor snapped open and his shoulders pressed
against me through the seat fabric as he grappled for the metal box of medical
supplies. This wasn’t your typical Band-Aid Brand classroom first aid kit. Of
course there was gauze and band-aids, Neosporin, and alcohol swabs, but there
were also syringes of morphine, supplies for giving stitches, even a small
defibrillator.
I pulled my t-shirt sleeve away from the wound, prodding
it with my fingers and wincing as pain and blood surged up. Getting stabbed is
getting stabbed, but the blade hadn’t hit anything essential.
The rear door slammed and Penny crossed in front of me,
his eyes zeroing in on the blood that covered my right arm and the right side
of my shirt. He stopped, his lips pulled back from his teeth. His nostrils
dilated as he breathed in the scent of my blood and his eyes went all wrong,
pupils shrinking and irises glowing bright blue.
“Penny!” I said it sharp, like a whip cracking. I wasn’t
afraid, per se, he couldn’t and wouldn’t hurt me, but the quicker I brought him
back to earth, the better.
He shook his head, flush creeping up his neck. “Sorry,”
he chuckled, but wouldn’t meet my gaze. He knelt before me, gently taking my
arm in his hand, holding it up to see the wound.
“Eh,” he said, grabbing some alcohol swabs from the kit, “it’s
just a flesh wound. Make a nice scar, though.”
“Can’t ever have too many of those,” I gritted my teeth
as he brushed the cold swab over the tear in my arm.
“What’s your favorite?” he asked.
“Scar?” I hissed through the sting of the alcohol.
“Mmmhmm,” he said, unrolling a skein of gauze and
wrapping it around my arm.
I barely had to think about this one. “Arrow wound, left
shoulder. The Shaman Librarian.”
He chuckled, “Oh, yeah, I forgot about that. He was a
creepy one.”
“Well, you were otherwise occupied,” I said.
His smile turned sour. “So, I was,” he snapped the
butterfly clips down, fixing the gauze in place. “I don’t think they’ll have to
amputate.”
He fell back on his heels, but leaned forward again,
brushing a callused palm along the right side of my jaw. “You’ve got blood,
just there,” his voice had dropped a few octaves, and I still couldn’t breathe,
but it wasn’t because of pain.
His eyes, back to their normal dark blue, were fixed on
mine, and his hand slid up to caress my face, his thumb drifting over to trace
the contours of my lips. They parted, but I hadn’t meant them to, and why was
thinking so hard? He leaned forward, and I arched up, but—
Instead of leaning into the kiss, I jerked to the side,
slipping between him and the car door, jarring my arm terrifically in the
process. I sprinted to the driver’s side, refusing to check Penny’s reaction,
but when I sat down, he was still crouched in the open door, one arm propped
against the window.
“Let’s get out of here,” I said, memorizing the cracks in
the pavement ahead of us.
“Sure, whatever,” he said, swinging his tall body into
the seat and slamming the door.
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