TO WAKE THE DEAD

by Richard Laymon

  “The big guy too. You sure you’re okay?”

  “I’ll probably have some dandy bruises.”

  Geoffrey continued to wail as they hurried toward the rear of the museum. The sound carried way across the field.

  “I’ve got a bottle in the car,” Susan said. “That’ll calm him.” She kissed the baby’s wet face. “Yeah, you had a nasty shock, didn’t you? Didn’t know your mom has two left feet.”

  “Hope he didn’t inherit them. It’d make it tough buying shoes.”

  “Yeah, you want your bottle, don’t you? That’ll do you just fine, won’t it?”

  They reached the car. Tag pulled open the door for her. She climbed in. As Tag hurried to the other side, she slipped a plastic bottle out of her diaper bag. She thumbed its cap off, then slipped the bottle into Geoffrey’s wide, pink mouth. The crying stopped. He sucked on the nipple, the bottle hissing as he drew out its creamy contents. Susan watched the drizzle of bubbles running up through the transparent plastic.

  This night journey had made her son hungry.

  “There,” Susan soothed.

  “Fantastic,” Tag whispered. “All praise the magic bottle.”

  She smiled. “He’ll be asleep in no time.”

  Steering out of the parking lot, the convertible’s lights blazing, he put his arm around Susan’s shoulders. “It’s been a rough night.”

  “I wish we could just go home. Go to sleep. Forget everything.”

  “We’ll just drop off the pictures of old mummy gal and let them worry about the rest of it.”

  The long, straight road led through the museum park. It was lined with cherry trees. Beyond the trees, the grounds looked peaceful and deserted in the moonlight.

  “This whole business… I don’t know… My life has always been nice. Basically nice, I guess.” She shrugged, sleepy. “And now all this.” She stroked Geoffrey’s head. “There are horrors all around us. You know? Hell, you’re a cop; you know that better than me.”

  “Life’s like a stroll through the park,” Tag said. “Enjoy, but beware of the dog piles.”

  She laughed wearily.

  Tag grinned.

  Then he shrieked.

  The car swerved wildly. Twisting, Susan saw the head of the mummy behind the seat. The copper hair bloomed around the head, the eyeless face loomed forward, its lips curled back baring the teeth. The jaw clamped onto Tag’s shoulder. It began ripping shirt and flesh.

  Geoffrey started to howl.

  “Hatchet!” Tag cried.

  It had been on the seat between them. Now it was gone.

  CHAPTER SIXTY-FIVE

  A car horn blared. Headlights flooded the scene of the creature grabbing at Tag’s face and hair with its shriveled hands. Its teeth snapped, trying to rip his face.

  Susan jerked the steering wheel. The car swung right. The onrushing car sped past, kept going.

  Careful not to crush Geoffrey, she dropped sideways, her head pressed to Tag’s lap. She clawed the floor, found nothing.

  The hatchet must have slid under the seat when it fell.

  Damn.

  The monster was going to rip Tag to shreds.

  She glanced up to see blood smear his cheek. His eyes blazed as he fought to control the car.

  Blazed as he fought the attacking mummy too.

  Brakes screamed and the car spun out, throwing her against the dash. Head twisted toward Tag, she saw Amara above him, teeth tearing his hair as he tried to bat it away.

  And with no roof on the convertible, the creature could reach freely over him to attack his unprotected head.

  She saw all this. Saw the emaciated cadaver of the mummy now supple and swift, invested with an uncanny life force. Its long hair billowed out behind in the slipstream. Once, twice, three times, it ducked its head snapping at Tag’s face. A gash opened above his left eyebrow where the teeth struck.

  Then she saw the pistol at his waist.

  The car stopped with a rough jolt. Geoffrey slammed against her breast, making the baby squeal. Her back hit the dash again. Tag was flung forward against the steering wheel, bringing Amara halfway over the top of the seat.

  Susan, wedged into the space between the seat and the dashboard, realized she was stuck.

  She struggled to free herself. Above her, the withered arms of the mummy flapped, hands savagely pulling at Tag as its jaws worked, snapping teeth shut like a steel trap. It lunged forward again and again. The withered breasts crinkling against Tag’s head.

  He punched upward trying to keep the lethal jaws at bay.

  Pushing Geoffrey along the seat, she clutched Tag’s belt. Got her hand on the pistol.

  Tugged.

  The pistol was stuck.

  “Hatchet!” Tag yelled.

  Her fingers worked a strap off the pistol’s hammer. She jerked the pistol free. Aimed at the ravaged face with the dark shadowed pits for eyes.

  Christ, it’s right by Tag’s head, biting his shoulder, trying to get at his neck. If I miss…

  She writhed sideways. Knees on the floor, hips to the seat front, she thrust the muzzle toward the mummy’s forehead.

  Fired.

  The gunblast resounded, deafening her. A big, empty hole appeared just below the hairline. A patch of hair blew off the top as the bullet exited. The bullet, still so hot it glowed, sped into the night sky as a spark of silver.

  The mummy, apparently undisturbed, tore off Tag’s collar.

  Tag’s eyes were closed.

  Unconscious?

  Dead?

  Susan lunged forward. Snarling, she rammed the muzzle against Amara’s shut mouth, shattering the front teeth. She shoved hard, forcing the head backward. Her forefinger snapped the trigger. Explosions thundered in the air, one after another, crashing together so fast they sounded like a single roar. Bone and skin sprayed from the exit wounds.

  Strands of hair flew, filling the air with a glittering red.

  Susan fired the last round. The head jerked, wrenching the pistol from Susan’s hand.

  Now it moved for a different target.

  The mummy’s hands reached for Geoffrey.

  “No!” Susan shouted.

  Scooping the baby off the seat, Susan hugged him tightly. She lunged sideways.

  With a free hand she levered the handle. Threw herself against the door.

  It shot open. She tumbled to the road, knocking the breath from her body. Geoffrey whimpered. Not pausing, she scurried to her feet, then looked back at the car. With the roof folded back, she could plainly see Tag in the moonlight. He was motionless, slumped over the steering wheel.

  A shadow within the car moved, rising, falling, then rising again. Something that moved in an uncanny, unnatural way.

  A second later—thump.

  The mummy flopped to the road. Its ruined face appeared under the open door. Susan even heard the rustle of the heavy tresses of hair.

  Geoffrey’s crying was like the scream of a siren in Susan’s ears as she started to run.

  She ran up the middle of the unlit road, Geoffrey clutched to her breasts, her long legs pumping, her sneakers almost silent as her feet flashed. Soon her breathing came in noisy spurts, her heart hammered.

  Looking over her shoulder, she saw Amara in the headlights.

  On its feet. Running.

  Running strangely, arms flinging in the air, long hair fluttering.

  Running like a blind lunatic.

  Running with awful speed.

  Running with dreadful purpose.

  Running.

  Susan felt a scream in her chest. As she ran, she heard it: her own piercing scream mingling with Geoffrey’s howls. The hysteria of the noise added to her fright.

  She clenched her teeth, cutting off the scream.

  With a glance back, she saw the ghastly creature gaining on her.

  “Jesus!” she gasped. “Oh, sweet Jesus…”

  She tried to run faster. Her legs felt like stone. They seemed to be tightening, cutting
the length of her stride.

  Feet now…

  Growing heavier.

  It felt as if the soles of her sneakers were stuck against the asphalt. Each step became a physical effort. Pains ran up her calf and thigh muscles. Her heart clamored. She wanted to scream again, only there was no air left in her lungs.

  From behind, she heard the mummy’s approach. No gasping from it. No breathing at all. The only sounds, the quick, papery scrape of its feet on the pavement and the faint crackle of hair as sparks of static ran through it like witch-fire.

  Pain suddenly seared her shoulder. She heard the rasp of tearing cloth. Felt a tug. Twisting, she whipped her arm across the swatch of fabric torn from her back. The mummy held on right, but the cloth gave.

  Suddenly free, Susan stumbled sideways.

  Amara stood motionless, cloth in hand, as if confused.

  Scrambling to the side of the road, Susan set down Geoffrey on the dirt shoulder. She stepped back, looking down at him briefly; his eyes were bright in the darkness. Then she turned to face Amara.

  The strip of cloth dropped from the mummy’s blackened paw. A breeze caught it, tumbling it against her bony leg before blowing it down the road.

  With her forearm, Susan wiped sweat out of her eyes. She was panting heavily, her heart racing.

  The mummy staggered sideways as if to go around her; its hair swayed.

  Susan sidestepped to block the creature. She backhanded sweat from her upper lip.

  The mummy sidestepped.

  So did Susan.

  Its mouth slowly opened, lips pulling back like a dog snarling, baring bullet-shattered teeth.

  With a snarl of rage, Susan attacked. She threw herself low against the creature, driving into its belly, throwing it backward. Like tackling a mannequin of papier-mâché. It doubled over her. Its nails raked her back.

  Then its head slammed the asphalt.

  Susan clutched its throat, panting in rage. Through the gaping mouth, she saw asphalt where her bullets had taken out the back of the head.

  Her thumbs punched through the brittle windpipe; the same feel as breaking dry spaghetti in your fingers.

  No effect. Why should it? The thing hasn’t even got lungs.

  No lungs, no brains, no heart, no blood.

  Yet she was trying to kill it.

  She had to kill it. It wanted Geoffrey.

  Its flailing hands clawed the side of her face, tore off a front panel of her blouse, scratched gullies in her breasts and down her ribs.

  If she could just keep the head down, just keep the teeth away… but the pain was numbing. Her strength ebbed with the flow of blood.

  And the thing was so strong.

  A crooked hand darted at her face. She turned quickly. The fingers missed her eye, but dug into her cheek. The other hand clubbed the side of her head, stunning her.

  She saw herself falling sideways. Felt the creature move.

  This time it seemed to make no effort, as if the earlier battle had just been a simple exercise in toying with her. One-handed, the creature reached around, gripped the collar of her blouse, and lifted her from the ground as easily she could lift a puppy by the scruff of its neck.

  The road, trees, moon swung crazily.

  Then she was lying winded in the grass at the side of the road.

  The mummy had just thrown her ten feet or more.

  From the facedown sprawl, she lifted her head just enough to see the mummy climb to its feet, then lurch across the road, closing in on Geoffrey, who lay kicking his legs on the curb.

  “No!” she shrieked.

  She scrambled to her feet.

  Swayed.

  Moon and trees whirled around her head as she tried to keep her balance.

  “No!”

  It kept walking, heedless of Susan’s staggering approach.

  The copper hair hung strangely behind the mummy, clumps of it gone, a huge empty hole where the back of the head should have been.

  With both hands, Susan grabbed the hanging hair and yanked. The mummy stumbled backward against her.

  She hooked an arm around its head, another across its chest. The skin felt hard and scratchy. The touch of it made her retch, her own skin felt as if it would crawl from her body, but she didn’t let go.

  She stumbled back, dragging the writhing creature farther away from the roadside where Geoffrey lay sobbing.

  A hand reached backward. Fingernails dug into Susan’s belly.

  In pain and rage, she cried out. Wrenched the head with all her strength. She heard ripping, crackling sounds—a loud snap—before she fell back to the ground.

  Amara stood above her. Slowly turned away. Walked with awkward, staggering steps toward the baby.

  Susan still clutched the mummy’s head to her breasts. Shaking violently, she flung it aside. As it rolled from her, she got to her hands and knees. She fell as she tried to stand.

  Raising her face off the road, she watched the thing.

  Headless.

  A deep cleft revealed where the neck had been torn out. Vertebrae poked out of desiccated skin.

  Susan tried to stand.

  Couldn’t.

  She wanted to weep in frustration.

  Her baby…

  A roar filled her ears.

  She didn’t know what it was, didn’t care.

  Then the headlights burst across the mummy. Tag’s car slammed into it, kicking it high off the road. It cartwheeled over the car, bouncing off the trunk. An arm broke off.

  Susan watched the torso hit the road. The arm fell nearby, hand-first, as if trying to break its fall.

  The brakes squealed. The car swung into a tight U-turn. Blue smoke from the spinning tires filled the air.

  Susan saw Amara stand.

  The car started forward.

  The mummy staggered toward it.

  The car hit more slowly this time, knocking Amara backward onto the road. It turned and its rear tire bumped over the legs.

  The car stopped. Tag looked backward out of its side window.

  Susan gazed at the mummy. Its legs were crushed flat, but it used its remaining arm to raise its torso off the road.

  Tag slowly backed up.

  Susan heard the awful crunch as the tire rolled onto Amara’s chest.

  The car door opened. The hatchet flew out, its head clanking on the pavement. A moment later, Tag hauled himself out. At the end of a bloody arm, he held his pistol. He fed cartridges into its cylinder.

  Susan climbed to her feet and went to him. A wry grin reached the corners of his mouth. She kissed him gently, then hurried to the roadside. She picked up Geoffrey. His small hand clutched a hanging strand of her hair and tugged.

  “Over here,” Tag said.

  She crossed the road.

  “Stand back,” he told her. “Well behind me.”

  She stepped farther back from the car.

  Two quick shots split the stillness. Through the ringing in her ears. Susan heard a heavy, liquid spatter. A dark puddle began to form beneath the car. The stench of gasoline stung her nostrils.

  Amara’s remaining hand reached toward Tag, fingers hooking into claws. Clutching.

  He lit a match.

  Tossed it.

  The burning match rose in an arc, then fell toward the pool of gasoline.

  With a soft whup like a flutter of a bedsheet on a line, flame engulfed the open-top car.

  And Amara’s body.

  Tag stepped back, moving a safe distance from the car. A few moments passed and the gas tank exploded, sending a ball of fire into the night sky.

  In the red light, Tag looked to Susan like a strange, avenging phantom as he picked up the mummy’s severed arm and tossed it into the flames.

  The hungry fire consumed the dry stick of a limb, blue sparks popped from the crackling bone.

  He limped across to her. He smiled at Geoffrey, stroked his cheek, then put his hand across her back. She leaned against him, relishing the strength of his enci
rcling arm.

  “Awful thing to do to your car,” she said in a small voice.

  “After that passenger, it’d have never been the same again anyway,” he told her, then laughed wearily.

  Susan jerked. Gasped with pain. Looking down, she screamed.

  The head of Amara was clamped to her ankle, gnawing, its hair stretching out behind it like the copper body of a snake.

  “Christ!” Tag yelled.

  Susan shook her leg. The teeth worked, biting deeper. Gnawing. Embedding.

  “My God! Get her off! Get her off me!”

  Tag ran for the hatchet.

  “Hurry!” Pain burned her leg like fire. She couldn’t shake free. She couldn’t use her hand to try and pry the head loose—not without putting down Geoffrey. She clung to him tightly. “Tag!”

  He ran to her. The hatchet chopped into Amara’s head. Split it. But the teeth didn’t loose their hold. He chopped again… again. Each blow knocking off clumps of the head, each blow jarring the teeth so they ripped more flesh from Susan’s ankle.

  “Shoot it!”

  “Hit your foot,” he panted.

  With a final blow, he broke one of the jaw hinges. He worked the wedge of the hatchet head between the bones.

  Then pried them apart.

  The teeth spread. Loosened. Susan felt them leave her skin. She limped away.

  Though only one hinge of the jaw was still connected, the teeth clung to Tag’s hatchet. He tried to shake them off.

  Couldn’t.

  Without leaving Susan’s side, he hurled the hatchet and the clutching remains of Amara’s head. They disappeared into his flaming car.

  The long hair caught fire. It crackled fiercely.

  Red sparks swirled high into the night sky where they faded and… at last… died.