Mistress of the Undead

by Isabelle Drake

  A flicker of light danced in the distance. He moved ahead, the ground declining sharply, the air getting warmer and the earthy scent thicker. At the bottom of the decline, he saw them. Rows of bodies stacked in neat piles against the walls and more laid one by one across the racks that lined the hall. The bodies on the racks had numbers written on their bare feet. All the bodies were wrapped snuggly in burlap, faces covered.

  37, 48, 49…

  The hallway was lit by torches. Belmont must be there. At least he hoped it was Belmont who’d lit the way for him.

  He continued walking, 61, 66, 69…

  At number 75, there was a split in the walkway. He paused at the intersection, took one of the torches from a holder. More racks lined the walls farther down. He leaned forward, his breath hitching in his throat. The rows went as far as he could see.

  Say no to drugs. Be careful what you wish for. Don’t talk to strangers.

  All that childhood advice, yet there he was, surrounded by dozens of undead, holding the defiled body of his former girlfriend and hoping like hell he was going to figure out a way to get home. After he found the crazy zombie-cult member he’d come with. That ring, still in the box but on his bedside table, made him a zombie-cult member too. But he’d think about, deal with, that later. For now, he had to find the old man.

  Lifting the torch higher, he moved along the rows. Belmont tried to warn him, but he hadn’t really listened. After the shock of McKinon’s playroom, he’d been thinking there couldn’t be anything worse. This was worse.

  Chapter Ten

  “Be careful what you wish for.”

  There were rows and rows of humans who’d agreed to be fucked and strangled and then put on tap for whenever those creatures decided to dust them off, bring them back to life, so they could use them again and again. No doubt being one of the undead sounded more exciting and sexier before seeing this, these rows of the bodies, unalive. Where should he put Rachelle? Simply cram her in somewhere? He continued, moving past row after row. No doubt the potential victims weren’t brought down here, shown this storehouse of death, and asked, “want to be one of these pieces of nothing?”

  He held the light above the final body in the row. Was it a man? A woman? Shit. It could’ve been a teenager. Or someone’s mom. Someone’s wife. He felt his face crumble as he staggered backward, nearly dropping the torch.

  What the hell had he been expecting? A gleaming science lab? A funhouse style set-up like McKinon’s? A single ice chest with one body—Mattie’s? Shit. There was no end to this tribe, this disgusting insanity he’d become part of.

  No end to his own stupidity.

  He swept his arm in a half circle, the flames dancing through the cool dank air. More rows stretched to the left, dark shelves stacked with numbered bodies. To the right was a curved hallway that narrowed as it bent, the way dotted with more torches. He went to the right, his steps silent and slow. More torches, but not more silence. Moans and scratching. He continued forward, stepping softly and listening. Belmont? That moody asshole. Had the old man lost his mind again?

  The moans grew louder, more clear.

  He followed a tight bend, then another and came out into the fully lit opening. The room had cheap wood paneling, overloaded cabinets on the walls. Several, tall candelabras filled the center of a square, wooden table in the middle of the opening.

  Belmont was welding a knife and trying to pry open a wooden crate. The man was jamming the blade into any opening he could find, twisting, getting nowhere, then inserting the blade somewhere else. Over and over again, he stabbed at the box. Hayden tossed Rachelle onto the table, then went to him and put his hand on the old man’s shoulder. Shaking him, trying to snap the guy out of the trance he appeared to be in, he said, “Hey. Belmont.” Shaking him harder, he yelled, “Dude. Stop. You’re going to slice your hand open.”

  Belmont continued jabbing at the crate, still getting nowhere.

  Hayden grabbed both his shoulders and held. The man fought him for a minute, then stopped stabbing at the box. “Hayden. This has to be her. Has to be.”

  He let go of the old man then sat in one of the chairs. He gestured to the bundle on the table. “That’s Rachelle. She’s turned.”

  The knife hit to the floor. “They made you help?”

  He’d gotten past being disturbed by the way Belmont always guessed right about these things.

  “What the fuck, Guy. Seriously.” Hayden stretched his arms, flicked his wrists to indicate the room, pointed to the cabinets stacked with sinister looking bottles and draw-string bags. “Why do you give a shit about any of this? Let’s get the hell out of here.”

  Belmont sniffed.

  Hayden eyed the crate.

  She could be in there.

  The old man closed his eyes and started rocking side to side again, his mouth quivering, shoulders slumped. Hayden didn’t have the time, patience or interest to be sympathetic, but damn. He got up, circled the room, taking in the cabinets. The shelves were stacked with jars of loose tea and piles of mesh bags. There were also rows of small brown vials and some ominous black pint bottles. One cabinet held rows of clear bottles that looked like olive oil, but he knew what it really was. Or, to be more accurate, what it was for—and it wasn’t cooking. No telling what nasty magic they had poured in to those. Rolls of burlap leaned into one corner. The other corner had spare torches. “You’re an old man, Belmont. Stop fighting Bob. And Matthew. Go home. Live what’s left of your life doing… something… other than this.”

  Belmont stopped rocking and started stabbing at the box. “Help me, Hayden. I think she’s in there.”

  Mattie could be in there. Probably was.

  “I want my wife back.” He jabbed at the box, the blade sinking into the wood but doing no real damage.

  No fucking way. “Mattie was not your wife,” he said, holding in a scoff.

  “Not Mattie.” Guy got up, threw the knife and started kicking the box. “Juliana.” His leg vibrated from the impact, and the box slid. “I want my wife back.”

  Hayden worked through the maze in his mind, what the man meant, then how and why that’d happened. She must’ve been young, turned back when they both were young. The scenario was heinous, filled with terrible possibilities. Finally coming up with a guess, Hayden tried, “One of those dormants? The ones you had in your hotel?”

  “Yes. My special ones.” He looked up, his old eyes watery and weak. “The ones you stole from me.” He sighed, ran his palm across the top of his head then kicked the box again. “They brought her friend Lila back, turned her, but not my Juliana.”

  The ritual at The Southie.

  The other one, under his bed.

  “God damn.” Hayden paused his pacing and braced one hand against the rough wall. “Shit.”

  “At least they let me help. Now I’ll know what to do when I get my Juliana back.”

  He ignored the pang of guilt as he kept the truth to himself. “You think they’re going to give her to you? You think it’ll be that simple if you do get her back? Just like that?”

  “It worked with Lila.” He glanced over and stared at Hayden. “You would’ve seen it yourself if you hadn’t run out of The Southie like a little pussy coward.”

  Fucking asshole. Hayden dropped his hand and shrugged, started pacing again. That set-up upstairs must’ve been a lesson for the newly turned creature. He thought of Mattie’s aggressive approach. Matthew’s blatantly sexual one. That thing—what used to be Lila—had a lot to learn if she was going to make it as one of them.

  Belmont watched Hayden’s expression change from confused to understanding and his own lightened. “You’ve seen her? Since the ritual?”

  He’d done more than seen her, but what difference did that make? None. No point in filling the man in on all that. Hayden didn’t want to be around when Belmont started to understand what his precious wife was going to be like when—if—he ever got her back and turned her a second time. One way or the other it
was going to ruin him even more than he was. “Yeah. I saw Lila. In Matthew’s cabin.”

  “She okay?”

  Hayden sat down again. “She’s… was active.” Until he’d dosed her anyway.

  “Alive?”

  “I guess. If you want to call it that,” he said, leaning back. No telling what was going to become of her—and Matthew—now.

  He should tell him, about the one under his bed, of course he should. Had to tell him.

  “That’s good. Hopeful.” Belmont reached for one of the candelabras, slid it closer, tapped the base with his fingers.

  Hayden didn’t think it was hopeful. Not at all. “Do you know where Juliana is now?”

  “No.” Belmont’s fingers stopped moving and he kicked the box. “That’s probably your bitch Mattie. In that fancy box.” He kicked it again. “I doubt they’d put my Juliana in a special box like that.”

  No, they wouldn’t. They’d give her away as a fake thank you gift. But even though he should, after what the man had done for him, Hayden wasn’t ready to admit to the burlap beast tucked under his bed. Not until he’d figured out how to use it—her—to his best advantage. “Did you look through the stacks?”

  He nodded.

  “Did you see anything else down there? Anything informative?”

  Belmont grabbed the base of the candle stick as he shook his head. “Just bodies. The wrong bodies.” Then, suddenly, the old man let go of the candle and pivoted, his eyes taking on that shrewd sharpness he’d seen before. “They don’t know she’s my wife. Don’t tell them.”

  “I’m not telling them shit. Why would I do that? If you want her back so bad, what are you doing sitting here,” he spread his arms, gesturing toward the cabinets, two hallways, and the bundle on the table. “Doing nothing?”

  Belmont got up, started looking in the cabinets. “There has to be a way to get this crate open. I want to see. I want to know if that’s my wife or not.”

  “Jesus man. Get your shit together.” Hayden started looking for a bigger knife or anything else they could use to pry the box open. “How’d you get down here anyway?”

  “I heard some of the others talking about me, about Bob.” He laughed, mostly to himself. “They think he’s in charge.” He laughed again. “If they only knew.” Still looking in the cabinets, he added, “They all think I’m just a useless idiot, so they just left me in one of the cabins. Told me to stay put until Matthew sent for me. I waited until they were gone, came down here.” He grabbed a roll of burlap, threw it. A pick ax slid out, hit the floor with a thump.

  Hayden swept over, picked it up, went to the box and jabbed the point between the top and the edge.

  Belmont went back to the crate, watching Hayden work. “I don’t care what they think. I wanted to look for Juliana.” He straightened, took a deep breath, seeming to steady himself as the wood started to creak from the pressure of the ax blade.

  Hayden didn’t believe all of that. The man was always up to something. Moods swings, power plays, the guy couldn’t be trusted. But for once, Hayden had something on him. And not just something, but the thing.

  The one thing.

  Hayden put a hand on the top of the crate, the other on the pick. The wood squeaked as the metal rubbed against it. The nails also made noises as they started to give way. The gap he’d started grew. He repositioned the pick, then pressed again. The gap widened, and he could see the dark, burlap-wrapped body inside. The scent assailed him. Belmont grabbed the edge and yanked on the lid. Hayden went to the other end, began prying. The top was coming loose. With a final thrust down on the pick, the top popped open to reveal the thing inside.

  Belmont leapt forward, pulled the fabric off its face.

  Mattie.

  Not Juliana.

  He collapsed against the wall, buried his face in his liver-spotted hands. “Where is she? She isn’t here. Not here.” He waved to the hall. “I looked at all of them. She isn’t here.”

  But Hayden wasn’t listening. He’d lifted Mattie out, was holding her in his arms, staring into her unfocused, glazed eyes. He shouldn’t have opened it. If he’d left her inside the box, not looked into her unseeing eyes, maybe he would have been able to leave her. To walk away. But now… Now he needed to take back whet he’d done, reverse his part in what had happened to her.

  “I’ll make you a deal.” Still holding Mattie, he went to Belmont. “You help me turn Mattie, I’ll give you your wife.”

  Belmont eyed him, his eyelids tight and slited.

  “I will.” Hayden lay Mattie on the table, pulled the burlap away from her torso to expose her breasts. He tugged on the bindings, his fingers brushing the cold skin.

  “You know where my wife is?” Belmont asked, his tone skeptical.

  Without looking up, he replied. “I do. I didn’t know I knew because I didn’t know you even had a wife.” He tugged on the burlap, pulling it down over Mattie’s mini-skirt. She looked smaller, less dangerous. Like a scary but cute action figure.

  Belmont grabbed Hayden’s arm. Tugged to get his attention. “That doesn’t make sense.”

  It was Hayden’s turn to laugh. “This is the first thing that does make sense, Belmont. It explains why you’ve been hanging around, acting like a pathetic idiot.”

  The other man was still glowering.

  “I know where your wife is. The minute Mattie is turned, I’ll take you to her.”

  “She’s not here at the camp?” he said, letting go of Hayden’s arm.

  “No, she isn’t.”

  Belmont tapped the base of his right pinky with his left index finger. “You understand, you can’t lie to me.”

  “I understand, and I’m not lying.” Hayden tugged the burlap out from beneath Mattie. “Take that cover off Rachelle. I have an idea for getting out of here.”

  Belmont, still eyeing Hayden doubtfully, went after Rachelle. “So nasty,” he muttered staring down at her naked body.

  “Like you have any concept of what’s nasty.” Hayden picked Rachelle up, dumped her into the crate. “Get the other end of the top.”

  Together the two of them sealed her in, did what they could to get the lid secured.

  Hayden wrapped Mattie in the bed cover. “Grab two of those bottles of oil, some ink, and follow me.”

  * * *

  Hours later, wet and chilled, Hayden climbed the three flights of stairs to his apartment, the bundle that was Mattie draped over his shoulder. Belmont trailed behind, complaining about his knees and asking what kind of shitty apartment building didn’t have an elevator. Once inside, Hayden went to the picture window, waved at the guard who’d taken the bribe to bring the two of them back. The guard nodded, turned his pony and then, trailing the two ponies they’d ridden, left. The first rays of dawn were reaching across the tops of the buildings, making the bottom layer of the night sky tinged with orange and pink.

  “Does it matter where we do it?” Hayden went over to kick the door closed.

  “Not really.” Belmont dropped himself into the chair. “You can set up the camera anywhere?”

  “Yes.”

  “Bedroom will look best, don’t you think?” Belmont curled his lips, then added, “Assuming you don’t have any of your dirty clothes scattered about.”

  “I’m going to take you to your wife.” His back ached, his ass was sore, and he was not in the mood to deal with pathetic Belmont. “I’ve given you my word.”

  “Why don’t you take me to her now?” he asked, rubbing his legs and grumbling.

  “We made a deal, that’s why.” Hayden lay Mattie on the couch then started unlacing his boots.

  “No wonder Bob likes you.”

  “Fuck you.” He kicked the boots off. “I’m not like him.” He peeled the wet socks down, tossed them to the floor.

  “Not yet, I suppose. But you have time and now, opportunity.” He used the armrest to get himself up on his feet then eyed the socks. “We were lucky to get out of there. And with our own clothes, oh, bo
y.”

  Hayden rubbed the soles of his feet across the rug. A pins and needles sensations ignited his nerves, already simmering just from the thought of doing the ritual on Mattie. “Think I should write McKinon a thank you note for the 23UT?”

  Belmont snorted, hobbling his way to the kitchen. “That loser. If he wasn’t so… interesting… Bob wouldn’t keep him around.” That was followed by the slam of the kitchen cabinets. “Fuck. There’s no coffee.” He came back out from behind the wall that separated the kitchen. “I’m going for coffee.” He pulled the door open. “How do you want yours? With or without cream?”

  The guy was unbelievable, going for coffee now?

  “You’re getting it like you’re getting it,” he grumbled, stepped out and shut the door.

  Hayden picked Mattie up, took her to the bedroom, lay her out across the bed diagonally. Still was wrapped in the bedcover from Matthew’s bed. He bent down, pressed his nose to the fabric and pulled in a long, deep breath. Her scent, Matthew’s, the oil, other things, the smells flowed inside him, made his entire body come alive. Fear. Lust. Hunger. Despair. Those and others, nameless and compelling because without names to identify them he was lost to their power. There was no denying his need to resolve whatever power she had over him.

  He took one more long breath and then forced himself to let go of the cover and get to work.

  After moving the pile of books from the dresser to the nightstand, he set up his laptop on the dresser’s corner, then worked to get the camera angle right. He wanted Mattie’s body centered on the screen. Next, he checked the background. The ring box had to go. He pushed it off the nightstand, let it fall to the floor. The stack of books on the stand added a sophisticated air, so he kept them. A while back, his mom had given him a candle. He dug that out from one of his dresser drawers, got some matches from the kitchen and lit it. Then he stepped back to examine the scene as the live stream viewers would see it.