Secret of the Corpse Eater

by Ty Drago

  Helene pulled out her water pistol and squirted it in the face.

  The animal yowled and darted past Emily, who whined with disappointment as it vanished around the corner.

  Susan Ritter spun around in surprise.

  “You wanna keep one of these handy,” Helene said. “They hate getting wet.”

  “You hurt the kitty!” Emily told Helene.

  “I just scared it off before it could hurt you.”

  “Kitty wouldn’t have hurt me,” the girl insisted, scowling. “She liked me!”

  Helene looked at Susan and tried a shrug. “You don’t want to get scratched or bit by one of those. Trust me.”

  “Thank you,” the woman said.

  “No sweat.” Helene knelt in front of Emily. “I’m sorry, but the cats that live down here are scared of people, even pretty little girls.”

  Will had once told her that Emily liked being called pretty, that it was a quick, surefire way to get on her good side. And it worked. Helene watched the little girl’s anger fade, the cat forgotten. Then, as little kids often did, she switched topics. “My brother’s out fighting the bad people.”

  “I know,” Helene replied.

  “Do you fight the bad people, too?” Emily asked.

  “I try.” Then she met Mrs. Ritter’s eyes, and immediately saw something there she didn’t like.

  “Good thing you were right here … to help,” Will’s mom remarked.

  “Um … yeah.”

  “Seems you’ve been around a lot lately. I’d almost think you were following me.”

  Helene felt her face flush. She tried to form a denial, but somehow the lie just wouldn’t pass her lips.

  Mrs. Ritter said, “Emily and I were just heading back to our quarters. It’s bedtime.”

  “Oh,” Helene remarked. “Then I guess I’ll—”

  “Would you come with us?”

  Helene blinked. “Me?”

  “It won’t take long. Then maybe you and I can have a … talk.”

  This should have been good news. It was the first time Mrs. Ritter had initiated any conversation between them. Except the hard look in the woman’s eyes seemed to discourage celebration.

  “Sure,” she said with a sigh.

  In the Shrine, they found Tom.

  He sat just inside the tiny room’s entrance, his huge frame stretched across a folding chair. He looked like he might be asleep, but as Will’s mother reached for his shoulder, he whispered, “Hi, Mrs. Ritter.”

  “I was just about to put Emily to bed,” she told him. “But then I need to talk to you and Helene.”

  The chief nodded, as if he’d expected this. Then he rose and stepped out into the corridor. There, he and Helene stood together in silence as Will’s mother settled the little girl down for the night. Emily went surprisingly willingly. She asked only one question, and Helene thought it was good one: “Mommy, are you mad at Tom and Helene?”

  Girl’s no fool.

  Helene glanced at the chief. He met her gaze and, to her astonishment, winked.

  “Don’t you worry about it, sweetheart,” Mrs. Ritter replied gently. “Just go to sleep.”

  “Okay.”

  A couple of long, uncomfortable minutes later, the three of them were once again alone in Tom’s office. The chief, as always, looked relaxed and in charge. For her part, Helene felt as if she had rocks in her stomach.

  Tom spoke first. “Sorry about that, Mrs. Ritter. Being in your room, I mean. I know it’s an intrusion. But …” His words trailed off and he shrugged—a proud man without a valid excuse.

  “You miss my husband’s shrine,” Will’s mother remarked.

  He said nothing.

  “Emily and I can find another room,” she told him.

  “No,” he replied at once. “Of course not. You’re his family, and you belong there. I just … had a weak moment.”

  Mrs. Ritter said, “You loved him, too. It was selfish of me to forget that. Emily and I’ll go someplace else. Honestly, I think part of me will be relieved. Too many memories in there.”

  Helene watched the woman, feeling both surprised and impressed. The Susan Ritter she knew was angry most of the time, complaining about one thing or another. But this one was different. Gentler. Warmer. More like a mom—as Helene remembered her own to be.

  “That’s what Will says,” Tom replied.

  “Then it’s settled?”

  He nodded. “Thanks. But I’m guessin’ that ain’t what you wanted to talk about.”

  She shook her head. “I wanted to ask if it was you who told Helene here to follow me around all the time.”

  The chief looked from Mrs. Ritter to Helene, who wished she could dig a hole in the dirt floor, climb in, and fill it back up. “Sorry,” she mumbled.

  “Don’t be,” he told her. Then he faced Will’s mother. “Yeah, I did that.”

  “Why?”

  Tom met her eyes. “Because you bein’ here ain’t been easy on anyone. Because you disapprove, Mrs. Ritter. Of Haven. Of what we do here. Of how we live. Of me.”

  “I’m not sure ‘disapprove’ is the right word,” she replied.

  Helene said, “Yeah, it is.”

  They both looked at her. Nervously, she cleared her throat and continued. “Mrs. Ritter, I’m sorry … but you walk into every room shaking your head, like you can’t believe how it is here and that you gotta live with it.”

  “Well, can you blame me?” Will’s mother demanded, sounding oddly defensive for a grown-up.

  Helene knew she’d spoken out of turn. So she looked at Tom to answer. But he just stood there, not saying a word. Finally, awkwardly, she replied, “Don’t you think we all feel that way? Don’t you think we all wanna go home?”

  Mrs. Ritter’s mouth opened and closed again.

  So Helene went on, feeling like she was jumping off a cliff. “You’ve come in here … all grown-up and judgmental … without really getting that this isn’t how we choose to live. It’s how we gotta live. It’s either this … or we die.”

  That last word seemed to make the woman pale a little. She looked from Helene to Tom. “I know that,” she said finally.

  “Yeah, you know it,” the chief replied. “But that ain’t the same as gettin’ it.”

  “You kids are just so … alone!”

  “And a little adult guidance wouldn’t hurt, right?” he asked.

  “Right!”

  Tom shook his head. “Wrong. It’s hurts a lot. It hurts us because it makes us wonder if we can keep gettin’ by on our own. And that’s dangerous thinking. It hurts you because it makes us not trust you. You asked me why I hooked Helene up with you. Well, there were a couple o’ reasons for that, but here’s one: ’cause Helene’s as good an Undertaker as you’ll meet, and I wanted you to get to know one, up close and personal.”

  Will’s mother frowned. “Like a liaison?”

  Well, at least I know the thing I suck at has a name, Helene thought sourly.

  Tom nodded.

  “I didn’t ask for that!”

  “I know,” he said.

  “Then why did you do it?”

  “’Cause I’m in charge here. And that means I do what I think needs doin’, whether or not anybody asks for it.”

  Again, Helene watched Will’s mom struggle for a response. It was amazing, really. Tom was half her age, but still it seemed almost like he was the grown-up in the room.

  “I’ve got Will,” Mrs. Ritter said finally. “He’s my liaison.”

  “No,” Tom replied.

  “Why not?”

  “’Cause you ain’t taken the time to know Will … not this Will … not Will Ritter, Undertaker.”

  “That’s ridiculous!” the woman exclaimed. “He’s my son.”

  “Yeah, he is. And he always will be. But he ain’t the kid who ran away from home six months ago. Not even close. That’s why you and him keep bumpin’ heads. You still expect him to be the Will you remember. Fact is: you demand it of him.
And when he can’t be, you get mad. At him. At us. At all of Haven.”

  The woman glared at him. “I don’t have to stand here and be psychoanalyzed by you, Thomas Jefferson.”

  But if her savage stare and “mom” use of his full name had any effect on the chief, apart from a slightly amused smile, it didn’t show. “Am I wrong? How’d you end things with Will, last time you saw him?”

  Mrs. Ritter didn’t answer; she didn’t have to. Haven wasn’t that big a place, and she and Will had been screaming pretty loud that morning. Everybody knew, more or less, what had gone down.

  “I ain’t tryin’ to insult or criticize you,” the chief continued. “Life here ain’t easy, and you got a lot to deal with right now. But, Mrs. Ritter—and I mean with this with all due respect—I need you to adjust. I need you to find your place with us.”

  “And what if I can’t?” she asked in a quiet voice.

  “Then I might have to talk to Agent Ramirez about arranging a safe house for you and Emily. It’d break my heart to do it. Will’s too, I’m sure. But if we’re gonna survive this war, then we need to pull together, stand together, and do it together.”

  It seemed to Helene as if Will’s mother deflated. All of the mom stuff—the anger, the righteous outrage—just bled out of her, and she sank down onto one of the conference table chairs, covering her face with her hands.

  Tom came forward and sat beside her. And Helene, feeling awkward, did the same.

  The woman made no noise, but from the way her shoulders shook, it was easy to tell she was crying.

  “I’m sorry, Mrs. Ritter,” Tom said.

  “Me, too,” Helene added.

  Susan Ritter lowered her hands. Her eyes were wet, but her expression looked determined.

  There’s Will, Helene thought.

  “All right,” she said, more to herself than to them. Then she straightened. “With Ian gone, I’ve been filling in as medic. I’d like to make that official.”

  “You sure?” the chief asked her.

  She nodded.

  “Then we’ll make it official.”

  The next thing Mrs. Ritter said took Helene by surprise.

  “And I’d like to become an Undertaker.”

  For a moment, even Tom seemed taken aback. Then he looked thoughtful. “Straight up?”

  “Straight up,” she replied. “If Emily and I are here, then let us be here. Let us join the fight.”

  “Emily’s too young,” he said.

  “And I’m too old?”

  “I don’t know,” he admitted. “I ain’t even sure it’d do any good. Might smooth things over with some of the kids. Might not. Either way, you gotta know—I mean really know—what you’re saying. You gotta get what being an Undertaker means.”

  Mrs. Ritter said, “I know what it means.”

  Do you? Helene wondered.

  “Yeah?” Tom said. “So tell me.”

  The woman eyed him. “Is this a test?”

  “First of many. So, Susan Ritter, new recruit, consider this your own personal First Stop. What’s it mean to be an Undertaker?”

  “It means fighting the Corpses,” she said.

  He met her eyes. “And?”

  “And … it means putting yourself in harm’s way.” Mrs. Ritter had to fight to get those words out. The woman was thinking of Will. Helene knew that because she was thinking the same thing.

  “What for?” the chief asked.

  Mrs. Ritter blinked. “What?”

  “You say bein’ an Undertaker means putting yourself in harm’s way. That’s solid. But why does it mean that?”

  “I don’t know what you’re asking me.”

  “Sure you do. It’s the first lesson Agent Ramirez had to learn. Now it’s your turn. Why do we risk our lives to fight the Corpses?”

  Susan Ritter swallowed. Then she said, “Because no one else can.”

  He nodded.

  “Is that it?” she asked.

  “It’ll do for a start.”

  “I’m an Undertaker,” Will’s mother said, as if trying the concept on for size.

  Nope, Helene thought.

  “Nope,” Tom replied. “It takes more’n words to call yourself that.”

  Mrs. Ritter asked, “Is it enough for you to at least start calling me Susan?”

  He considered. “Maybe. That one’ll take some getting used to. I think Karl—”

  But whatever he meant to say was lost when his satellite phone buzzed. Tom checked the Caller ID and answered it. “Yeah, sis?”

  Both Helene and Mrs. Ritter tensed. Word had gotten around that Will would be heading back to Haven on a midnight train from DC. Helene didn’t know the particulars, but inwardly she’d been profoundly relieved. And Mrs. Ritter, she knew, was practically doing cartwheels.

  But now, as Tom listened, his darkening expression turned Helene’s insides to ice.

  “Okay,” Tom said into the phone. “You gotta stay clear of this. You’re all we got down there now. If anybody questions you, play dumb. Give us a few hours to put something together.” More listening. Then: “Sis, stop it! We don’t got time for that crap. This ain’t your fault. We all shoulda seen this coming. Gotta go. Stay cool and stay in touch. I’ll call you when we got an angle.”

  He closed the phone.

  “What happened?” Mrs. Ritter asked.

  Tom didn’t hedge. He never hedged, even when you wished he would. “Will’s gone missing. He split Webster Hall sometime after dinner, and Sharyn didn’t know it ’til she went to collect him for the train. When the proctors found out they notified the cops.”

  Helene’s heart sank.

  “But … why?” Will’s mother demanded, visibly horrified. “Why would he leave like that?”

  “He didn’t want to quit the mission,” Tom explained gently. “That’s how Will is. That’s how he always is. Something went down in the Capitol last week. According to Ramirez, a Corpse got offed … eaten … by some kind of creature. Sharyn thinks Will went to check it out.”

  “Oh God …” the woman choked.

  Tom looked about to say something further. But then his satellite phone buzzed a second time.

  “Yeah, Sammy?” he asked, weariness in his voice.

  He listened. He frowned. He listened some more. “Thanks, I got it,” he said. Then he broke the call.

  “Who was that?” Helene asked, her mouth dry.

  “Sammy.” Then, for Mrs. Ritter’s benefit: “Sammy Li. Hacker Boss. He got a hit on the Undertaker Worm.”

  Mrs. Ritter looked up at him, fresh fear etched on her pale face. “Undertaker Worm?” she asked vaguely.

  “It’s a computer program,” the chief explained. “Sammy’s crew runs it against the online news services. When it finds any mention of us, it throws up a flag. It’s how we keep tabs on our rep citywide. Well, it seems something got posted in the Personals Section of the Daily News’ website. It’s from Cavanaugh.”

  Helene gasped. “What?”

  “It reads: ‘queen seeks undertaker for friendly game. knight in trouble. king only.’”

  Helene wondered, Is that supposed to be some kind of code?

  “They must know we watch the papers,” Tom said. “This was her way of leaving us a message.”

  “You think Cavanaugh wants a meeting?” Helene asked.

  Tom nodded.

  “And ‘king only’ means you.”

  He nodded again. They both looked at Susan Ritter, who was still trying to take in Will’s latest stunt. Nevertheless, she managed to steady herself and ask, “But who’s ‘knight’?”

  When Tom replied, the worry in his voice scared them both. “Your husband once told me that Ritter … means ‘knight’ in German.”

  Hungry.

  She’d said she was hungry. And I knew what that meant.

  It also meant I had another chance to run, probably my best so far. Maybe the Corpse Eater would be so busy with her late-night snack that I could slip by unnoticed. Once again, I
could almost hear my mom begging me to do it.

  And, once again, I stayed.

  I know I’ve got this rep for taking crazy chances. And maybe I’ve even earned it—from time to time. But that doesn’t mean I’m stupid. I didn’t know just how long I’d been up here, but I figured it had to be past midnight. Which meant the only “people” in the Capitol at this time were probably “dead” people.

  So getting out of here meant not just getting past Micha. It meant getting past the Corpses as well. Long odds.

  Besides, there was another reason for staying—maybe a better one.

  I liked her.

  Don’t get me wrong. She scared the living crap out of me. But, even so, I couldn’t help thinking of this old saying: The enemy of my enemy is my friend.

  The Corpse Eater ate deaders—and they were even more frightened of her than I was. Now she was hungry again, and I sensed more than knew that she’d decided to leave just now because, if she’d stayed, I might have ended up on the menu. That suggested at least some self-control while she was Hulked out.

  Which could make her one serious, kick-butt ally.

  If I stayed.

  Anyway that’s how I figured it at the time. Looking back—well—maybe all that logic was simply me justifying another crazy risk.

  Whatever.

  Having committed to hanging around, I got as comfortable as I could on the catwalk and settled down to wait. Then, as time passed, I did something that probably strikes you as totally insane: I slept.

  I know what you’re thinking. So far tonight, I’d been ambushed by Corpses, seen a man I liked get brutally murdered, and been kidnapped by a monster. So how the heck could I possibly sleep?

  Well, there’s not a combat soldier in the world who can’t answer that question.

  Undertakers, especially Angels, are taught that sleep isn’t something you should do; it’s something you must do. Without rest, everything slows down: running speed, reflexes, even brain power. Especially brain power. So we’re trained, even in dangerous situations, to grab some zzzs whenever we can.

  Like now.

  I closed my eyes, breathed evenly, and consciously emptied my head. No fear. No worry. No thoughts at all. Just—nothing.

  And out I went. There were no dreams, at least none that I can remember. That’s usually for the best.