Secret of the Corpse Eater

by Ty Drago

  Of course. They were grown-ups, and grown-ups almost never understood anything that didn’t fit into their happy, little worldview.

  For some reason, I thought about my mom. Is she still mad at me? Then I pushed that away. I was an Undertaker on a mission.

  “We should check this out,” I said.

  “You’re half right, little bro,” Sharyn remarked pointedly.

  “What?”

  “Tell him about the big wormbag,” she said.

  “Big wormbag?” Ramirez asked.

  When I didn’t answer right away, Sharyn answered for me. “One of the Capitol cops … well, we’ve run into him before.”

  Ramirez looked alarmed. “He recognized you?”

  I shook my head. “No. But I recognized him. Saw him just a couple of weeks ago on South Street. He’s a giant, gotta be pushing seven feet … at least those are the bodies he likes to occupy. Don’t know where he finds them, but the Queen’s gotta be involved, right? I mean, we did some serious damage to him last time … and now he shows up with another super-sized host!”

  Ramirez asked, “You think Cavanaugh got him a fresh cadaver to wear and then sent him down here?”

  “Maybe. But he didn’t see me. I don’t even think he was even looking for me, or for anyone like me.”

  He frowned. “I’m not following.”

  “We were eating lunch in Dirksen when this huge deader just poked his head in and kinda scanned the room. But he didn’t notice me. Sure, I was wearing this blue suit and sitting with a bunch of other kids also wearing blue suits, but that shouldn’t have stopped him pegging me—”

  “Not with that hair,” Sharyn added, a little unnecessarily, I thought.

  Ramirez remarked, “But he didn’t.”

  “He was doing recon,” I said. “But not for Seers. He was looking for something else.”

  “And it wouldn’t be lunch,” said Sharyn. “Since deaders don’t eat.”

  “What then?” he asked.

  “I’ve been wondering that all week,” I replied. “And now, I think he was counting the other Corpses.”

  “Were there others in the cafeteria?”

  I nodded. “A couple of the cops were deaders. One or two of the suits, too, probably members of Micha’s staff. None of them were eating, of course. Just kinda chatting it up with their human coworkers.”

  “Recon,” Ramirez echoed. “You think Cavanaugh sent the giant down there to scope out Micha’s forces?”

  “It fits with what Jillian told us she overheard while hiding in Micha’s closet,” I told him.

  Sharyn said, “Seems there’s trouble between Micha and the Queen. Bad feelings.”

  He considered this. “You two need to get out of there.”

  “Not me,” replied Sharyn. “Just Will.”

  I gaped at her. “What?”

  Sharyn said, “Red, maybe this big dude was sent down from Philly to spy for Cavanaugh. But just ’cause he ain’t made you yet don’t mean he won’t!”

  “I’ve stayed out of his way!” I insisted. “For a whole week now!”

  “Sure. But, sooner or later, you’re gonna turn the wrong corner or open the wrong door and there he’ll be.”

  “If that happens,” Ramirez added. “He won’t just I.D. you. He’ll I.D. you both.”

  “Look,” I said, maybe a little desperately, “it’s a risk. But what choice have we got?”

  “You can go back to Philadelphia,” he replied.

  “Sharyn can’t do this alone.”

  “Sure, I can,” said Sharyn.

  I ignored her. “And we can’t bring someone else into the page program. That Mitchum guy would never go for it, no matter how many times you’ve saved his life.”

  For a second, Ramirez wore an odd look. Then he just seemed to shrug it off. “It’s too dangerous to keep you here. And not just to you, but to the mission. I think—”

  I cut him off. “I have to stay. The woman in the white room said so.”

  He stared at me. “What woman? What white room?”

  “No, she didn’t, little bro,” Sharyn interjected. “She said that I had to come to DC and that you had to come with me. You didn’t mention her sayin’ a thing ’bout how long you had to stay.”

  “What woman?” Ramirez asked. “What white room?”

  “That’s a cheat!” I told Sharyn. “She sure didn’t mean for me to come all this way just to bail at the first sign of trouble! You stay on mission ’til the mission’s done!”

  She pointed an angry finger at me. “Don’t be quoting me to me, Red!”

  Ramirez yelled, “What woman! What white room!”

  So, reluctantly, I told him. Most people, even Undertakers, tended to react—skeptically—to the idea of a mysterious angel who appeared in my dreams, healed my injuries, and showed me glimpses of other places. Ramirez listened, trying not to show what he was thinking.

  “Now you’re gonna call me crazy,” I said.

  “I sure did,” remarked Sharyn. “But now Tom’s a believer, and so am I.”

  Ramirez stared at me. “Will, if you were anybody else, I’d knock you cold and drag your ass back to Philly myself.”

  I sighed. “It’s amazing how much I hear that kind of thing.”

  He said, “You won’t be doing anybody any good if you get recognized and killed. Now, I’m not telling you kids what to do. … God knows I’m past all that. But Sharyn, my advice is to send him back to Haven on the next train. You might even want to go with him.”

  “Will’s goin’,” the girl replied. “But I still gotta job to do.”

  “I understand that,” Ramirez said. “But the situation’s changed. Not only do you have this Corpse giant in town who seems to be spying for Cavanaugh, but now you’ve got something running around the Capitol, eating the dead.”

  “If that’s all it does, then I’m cool with it,” Sharyn remarked.

  But I wasn’t so sure. Ten legs. My instincts were buzzing. I needed to find out more about this … Corpse Eater. I needed to! And the idea of getting dumped at Union Station, all because of something that might happen, stuck in my throat like a chicken bone.

  Ramirez rubbed his face. “Sharyn … I know you’re capable. But this situation isn’t stable anymore. There are just too many variables. It’s dangerous!”

  Sharyn kissed his cheek affectionately. “Yeah, I dig that. But dangerous … well, that’s kinda our thing.”

  Ramirez didn’t buy it. “Tell that to Ian.”

  Sharyn’s expression fell. She pulled back to her side of the bench, not saying a word.

  “Who told you?” I asked him.

  “Your mother called me,” he replied. “He and Steve were playing with that crystal you brought back from Eastern State.”

  “No,” I said.

  He gave me a very adult, very judgmental look; it pissed me off. “What do you mean, no? Is he dead or isn’t he?”

  “Yeah, he’s dead,” I replied. “But nobody was ‘playing’ with anything. The Anchor Shard—that’s what the Corpses call it—is important. It may give us intel that’ll seriously help. This isn’t about ‘playing.’” Then, scowling, I added, “And since when are you and my mom talking on the phone?”

  His face ran through a half-dozen emotions.

  “Steve’s all messed up ’bout it,” Sharyn interjected quickly. “I ain’t never seen him like this. His brother told me he ain’t left the Brain Factory all week. Don’t sleep. Barely eats. He’s all focused on figuring out that freakin’ crystal … proving that Ian didn’t die for nothing.” Then, patting Ramirez’s hand, she added, “What happened to Ian sucks. It sucks big time. But he ain’t the first Undertaker we’ve lost, and he probably won’t be the last. Meanwhile, the Corpses just keep coming.”

  Ramirez looked about to say something lecture-y. But then he just kind of deflated. “I know. I just wish … I wish I could do more.”

  “That’s sweet of you,” Sharyn said, her smile returning. “Ai
n’t it, Will?”

  “Sure,” I replied. But I wasn’t smiling. I didn’t much care how sweet Special Agent Hugo Ramirez was being. What I did care about was the fact that I wasn’t ready to return to Haven. Nowhere near.

  But even that wasn’t my biggest gripe.

  No, my biggest gripe was my mom. My mom and this dude. Talking on the phone. Maybe a lot.

  I didn’t like it.

  Not one bit.

  The next day, at Sharyn’s insistence, I called in sick to work. Lex disapproved of it, and made darned sure I knew he disapproved. Seriously, I thought my mom had the whole judgmental thing down. But this dude was a pro!

  “A week’s a bit soon to be playing the fake fever card, isn’t it?” he asked me. Page school was done for the morning—hadn’t minded missing that—and Sharyn had come by my bedroom to “check on me” before leaving for her day at the Capitol. Translation: make sure I intended to stay put until this evening, when she planned to escort me to Union Station.

  “Ease off, Lex,” she told the proctor. “Andy ain’t … isn’t … faking. You can see he’s on death’s door!” Then, with Lex treating me to yet another skeptical inspection, she tossed a sly wink my way.

  I scowled at her. She shouldn’t have been here at all, not given our efforts to play the “acquaintances” card. But after meeting with Ramirez yesterday, Sharyn’s priorities had shifted. Since I’d be gone by nightfall, who cared how the other pages read our relationship?

  “One day,” Lex declared. “Then either you go back to work or to the doctor. I won’t brook this kind of nonsense on my watch.”

  “Yeah,” Sharyn told him dryly. “You’re a fearless leader.”

  Then, as Fearless Leader stalked out of the room, grumbling, the Angel Boss fixed me with a skeptical look all her own. “Don’t start griping again. We had us enough of that last night.”

  Sharyn and I had spent most of yesterday and last night engaged in what I guess I’ll call a spirited debate. I wanted to stay in DC to make some sense of this Corpse Eater. But Sharyn hadn’t bought it. “Look, little bro. I ain’t saying I won’t miss having you around. I will. Straight up. But the stakes are high. We don’t know what Micha’s up to and we got no clue how this monster-thingy, if it’s real, fits into this mess. One of us has gotta be here and it can’t be you … and that’s that.”

  By the end of it, she’d pulled rank. I was Philly-bound.

  “I still think this is stupid,” I said in the here and now.

  “Not as stupid as lettin’ that giant wormbag get a bead on your skinny butt,” Sharyn replied. Then she tousled my hair and smiled. “Look at the bright side. Helene’ll be so jazzed to see you that you might get your second kiss!”

  I kept right on scowling. My stomach absolutely did not do a flip-flop!

  “What about Dave?” I asked, the snarky remark out before I could catch it.

  Sharyn’s shoulders stiffened. “Hot Dog? What about him?”

  I shouldn’t have said anything. But I was angry. “Everybody knows, Sharyn.”

  That wasn’t quite true. Ian knew—or, I thought with a sudden twist in my gut, had known. Helene knew, too. In fact, she’d picked up on it way before I did. But if the rest of Haven was whispering about the Burgermeister and the Angel Boss “sittin’ in a tree,” I hadn’t heard about it.

  “Even Tom?” she asked. And her expression instantly turned my snark into shame.

  “I dunno,” I replied. “But what if he does? Who says you and the Burgermeister can’t … ya know? I mean, for all we know, he and Jillian—”

  “Shut your mouth!” Sharyn yelped.

  I shut my mouth.

  “Promise me you’ll sit tight ’til I get back from the Hill.”

  I promised.

  She left, shutting my bedroom door.

  I waited until all of the pages were gone and the house grew quiet. Then I pulled out my Haven-issued satellite phone and dialed the Senate Sergeant at Arms’ office in the Capitol.

  Stanz answered on the third ring.

  “Can I speak to Mr. O’Mally?” I asked.

  “And who should I say is calling?”

  “Andy.”

  “Who?”

  I sighed. “Just tell him it’s Ginger.”

  “That Andy. Hold on. I’ll see if he’s available.”

  I held on, sweating a little. I wasn’t scared of getting caught. I mean, sure Sharyn might speak with the Sergeant at Arms. And O’Mally might tell her what I was about to ask him, after which she’d come back here to kick my butt.

  But it wasn’t worry that was making me sweat.

  It was guilt.

  “Andy, what’s up?”

  As he had all week, he sounded both busy and happy to hear from me. Two gingers sticking together. “The Redheaded League,” he called us.

  I think it’s a book reference.

  I sweated a little more.

  Either you go through with this, or you go home with nothing. Pick one.

  I picked one.

  “Um … Mr. O’Mally, I’m kind of taking a sick day.”

  “I’m aware. The program director called me. Apparently, one of the proctors called her. Don’t remember which one.”

  I could guess.

  “Nothing serious, I hope?”

  “No. I’ll be fine tomorrow. Just stuck around here today. But …”

  “But?”

  I took a deep steadying breath. “Mr. O’Mally, I’ve got this problem in page school. I need to deliver a report on that mural at the top of the Capitol Rotunda.”

  “The Apotheosis of Washington?”

  “Yeah. I was supposed to have turned it on Friday, but it kind of got away from me. The teacher’s giving me until tomorrow.”

  He laughed in that way grown-ups have when you’re doing something they think reminds them of themselves at your age. My dad used to do it—and my mom’s a consummate professional at it. We’re talking Olympic-level condescension here. It always drives me nuts.

  But, right now, I was counting on it.

  “Then I suggest you spend the day working on it, Ging.”

  “I will. I mean … I am. But it’s late … so I need to do something special.”

  “What kind of special?”

  “I … um … need to take video of it. The painting I mean.”

  “The Apotheosis of Washington is a fresco, Andy. Not a painting. No wonder you’re behind on this assignment.”

  Inwardly, I cursed myself. “Yeah. Right. A fresco. Thing is, to really make this report stand out, I kinda have to ‘host’ my own mini documentary about it.”

  “A mini documentary? I don’t understand.”

  “To grab a top grade, I need to show I was, you know, engaged in the learning process. It’s all about being committed to the effort. That’s what my teacher says.”

  There was a pause on the line. Suspicious or just confused? I threw all of my weight behind confused and hoped for the best.

  O’Mally said, “While I admire your commitment, Andy … I’m not sure what you’re asking of me. If you need to make this shoot so badly, then just come on into the Capitol this afternoon and shoot it. Sick or no sick. What’s the big deal?”

  So, with another deep breath I blurted, “Can I come by the Capitol after visiting hours, when it’s quiet, and do the video then?”

  “After hours? Why?”

  “Um … you know how crowded that place gets during the tourist day. I think what I need for this to really work is … well … quiet. Privacy.”

  I waited. This time his pause was longer. “That’s against policy.”

  “I know,” I said. “Except it won’t take long. Mr. O’Mally, I’m really sorry. I know this whole thing’s my own fault. But, if you could … I dunno … maybe leave word at the Visitor Center? I’ll get there around seven, go in, take my vid, and head right back out. Ten minutes, tops. Afterward, I’ll have to spend half the night editing it … but that’s my problem.”

/>   A lot of words for one breath.

  Now the pause seemed to last forever. The suspense was killing me. I’d faced down mobs of walking dead—but there’s nothing more nail biting than asking an authority figure for something you know you’re not supposed to have.

  “Honestly, Andy … I don’t think I can do that.”

  Crap. Maybe I’d end up on that train tonight after all.

  “Mr. O’Mally …” I began, ready to play the Hail Mary Pleeeeeessseeee card. Then I stopped myself and went another way entirely. “I get it. I messed up. It’s cool. Then I guess I better say thanks.”

  “Thanks?”

  I let several seconds roll by before I answered. “I’m kind of a lousy page.”

  “I don’t understand.”

  “Lex—he’s one of the proctors—told me that my grades aren’t good and that the director’s gonna send me home.”

  “So you’re telling me that if I don’t let you into the Rotunda after hours, you’re going to flunk out of page school?”

  I didn’t reply. I know a rhetorical question when I hear one.

  “Ging? Is that what you’re telling me?”

  Okay, so maybe I don’t.

  I kept my tone even; I was walking the edge of a knife. “If it was just the report thing, then no. But there’s been … other…stuff.”

  He laughed. Then he said, “Yeah, that ‘other stuff’ will get you every time. Okay, Ging. I’ll have the Visitor Center keep an eye out for you. Be there on the dot of seven. No earlier and no later.”

  I finally exhaled. “Thanks.”

  “No problem. I’ll meet you in the Rotunda.”

  I started sweating again. “What?”

  “Well, if you’re shooting a mini-documentary, you’re going to need someone to hold the camera, right? Besides, I can’t have you running around the Capitol after hours. So, once you’re inside, head straight upstairs and I’ll meet you in the Rotunda. Then, after we’re done, I’ll see you out myself.”

  “But, Mr. O’Mally,” I said quickly, “I don’t want to you have to stay after work for my sake.”

  Another laugh. “Ging. I ain’t a nine-to-five accountant. I practically live here. It’s fine. See you at seven-oh-five … or seven-oh-six, if you’re a slow walker. Any later than that and I call Homeland Security.”