Secret of the Corpse Eater

by Ty Drago

  “Let me call Haven,” I told her. “You get started with that, okay?”

  “Sounds good.”

  I picked up the desk phone and spent a half minute figuring out its buttons. Finally, I got an outside line and tapped one of Haven’s encrypted phone numbers. Couldn’t risk the deaders tracing the call later. It rang a half-dozen times before anyone picked up.

  “Johnson Plumbing Supply.”

  “Hi. I’m looking for a three-quarter-inch elbow joint?”

  “Easy enough. Copper, plastic, or composite?”

  “Copper’s the only way to go.” Then, with the code safely completed, I said, “Hey, Dan.”

  “Will! Jeez … you guys okay down there? You fell off the grid!”

  “I know. Things got … complicated. Can you patch me through to Tom?”

  “Yeah. Sure. He’s not in Haven, but he told me to forward you if you called. Hang on …” The line went dead for several seconds. Then another familiar voice answered. “Bro?”

  “It’s me, Chief.”

  He sighed with relief. “You okay? Sharyn?”

  “We’re both fine,” I said. “But I got a lot to tell you and not a lot of time.”

  “Same here.” Then, to someone else, he said, “Sure. Hold up.” He came back on, sounding slightly impatient. “Got a minute to tell your mom you’re still alive?”

  I swallowed. Memories of a dingy corridor and some hard words rattled around between my ears. But I said, “Sure."

  There was crackle as the satellite phone changed hands. “Will?”

  “It’s me, Mom. I’m okay.”

  “You’re not hurt?”

  “No. And Sharyn’s fine, too, by the way.”

  “Sharyn can take care of herself.”

  I almost yelled, “So can I!” But I held back. Then I remembered what Dan had just said about Tom being outside of Haven. “Where are you guys?”

  “Oh. Well, Lilith Cavanaugh called Tom to a meeting that turned out to be a trap. But don’t worry … everything’s fine now.”

  “What?” I snapped. Suddenly there was this rushing sound behind my ears. I wondered if it was possible to have a stroke at fourteen. Then I wondered if maybe I’d heard wrong. So first I repeated my second question. “What?” Then, second, I repeated my first question. “Where are you guys?”

  “We just left City Hall.”

  “Where’s Emily?”

  “Emily? She’s back in Haven, of course. You didn’t think I’d bring your sister into such a potentially dangerous situation, did you?”

  I didn’t think you’d bring you into such a potentially dangerous situation! I thought but didn’t say. “Lemme talk to Tom.”

  “Will, it’s fine,” she said, using her oh-so-reasonable voice. “Tom had the whole thing handled. It did get a little scary when Cavanaugh’s people tried to murder us so that she could wear my body, but then—”

  “Mom! Put the chief on!”

  “Sweetheart, there’s no reason to be upset.”

  “I’m not upset!” I yelled—screamed almost, pressing the phone so hard against my face that my ear went numb. Then I took a breath and added through gritted teeth, “I just … need to talk to Tom for a second.”

  “All right, but you really do sound upset.” She passed the phone to Tom, who at least had the decency to sound sheepish. “Hey, bro.”

  “You took my mother into combat?” I exclaimed.

  “Yeah.” No excuses. No waffling. Just the truth. That was Tom.

  But I wasn’t in a “give credit where credit’s due” mood just then. “Are you crazy?”

  “Will,” he replied, and something in his tone, mad as I was, shut me right down. That was also Tom. “I get you’re pissed. If I was in your place, I’d be pissed, too. But this ain’t the time or place to yell it out. You got stuff to tell me and I got stuff to tell you. Once you and my sister are back home, you can kick my butt all you want.”

  And I wanted to. God, how I wanted to kick his butt—literally.

  Right. As if I could!

  But I couldn’t afford to play the angry son, not right now. True, I was madder at Tom than I’d ever been, and believe me that’s saying something, but he was also infuriatingly right: there was no time.

  “We’re with Micha,” I said. “The real Micha. But she’s not herself. She’s—”

  “I know. It’s called a gravveg … and it’s seriously dangerous.”

  “She saved my life.”

  “Maybe she did. But she ain’t ‘right.’ The Queen gave us the straight dope. She eats Corpses, consuming their life energies to survive. But, if she gets hungry enough, she might decide to taste your energies. You need to get away from her.”

  I glanced over at Lindsay, who’d settled herself on a leather sofa and was sifting through the contents of the trash can. If she was paying any attention to my conversation, it didn’t show.

  She didn’t look dangerous, but then I knew all too well what hid inside that small woman.

  Gravveg. A new Malum word.

  “Tom,” I said. I didn’t know how to react to what he’d told me, so I changed the subject. It was a habit that always drove my mother nuts. “Micha … Corpse Micha … is planning something. Some kind of big announcement.”

  “I know that, too. But, right now, my biggest worry is getting you both away from there, away from her. Will, even the Corpses are terrified of what she is! Cavanaugh said—”

  But whatever the Queen said was drowned out when something slammed into the office door—hard.

  Sharyn!

  I dropped the phone. As it clattered onto the desktop, I heard Tom calling from across the miles: “Bro? What was that? What’s happening?” But there wasn’t time for explanations.

  Lindsay jumped to her feet, her eyes wide with alarm, the trashcan tumbling to the floor. For a terrifying moment I thought she might transform. But she didn’t.

  “Sharyn!” I called. The sounds of battle, muffled but unmistakable, leeched through the thin walls. Grunts. Crashes. A Corpse’s inhuman hiss.

  And then a very human scream.

  I ran to the door and yanked it open.

  A Corpse filled the threshold. Dressed in a suit and power tie, he was a late Type Two, his tissues dissolving, but his bones and muscles still strong. And fast.

  He struck like a cobra, slamming me in the chest hard enough to send me flying the width of Micha’s office and crashing against the wall beside a shelf full of lawyer books. For the second time in twenty-four hours, I saw stars and hit the floor, the world seeming to tilt dangerously.

  Meanwhile, Sharyn was out there!

  I expected Lindsay to change as she had in the Capitol train station. But instead she just stood there as the deader appraised her. In human form, she looked much less imposing—just a little old lady wearing overalls way too big for her. But, like most Corpses, this one wasn’t stupid. He knew who she was.

  “Abomination!” he roared. But he didn’t advance. He didn’t retreat either.

  “Hello,” Lindsay said, using her politician’s voice.

  The Corpse wanted to attack her; that much was obvious. But he didn’t. I got the feeling that his inner killer was warring with his inner coward.

  Beyond the open doorway, combat raged in the outer office. Precious seconds leaked away.

  “Well?” she asked him.

  The deader didn’t reply. He didn’t move. His purple, bloated face somehow managed to look both furious and terrified. That’s a lot of emotion for an animated cadaver, believe me.

  So Lindsay moved, stepping forward.

  He eyed her, but didn’t back away.

  She’s gonna change any second and eat you!

  But she didn’t.

  “I’m a monster,” she said in an almost casual voice. “I’m the monster that your … supervisor … made of me. Yet as I stand here and look at you, I realize that I’m not half the monster you are. Until now, I’ve both feared you and craved you. Your
kind is quite delicious, did you know that?”

  At that the deader did back away a step.

  Any second…

  But still she didn’t change.

  Instead, she said, “I’m going to eat the creature pretending to be me. I want you to know that. I’m going to consume her and take back what she stole. After that … I hope … I won’t be a monster anymore.” Then she offered up a smile that was both radiant and frighteningly pitiless. “But you … I’m just going to kill.”

  The Corpse lunged for her then, maybe out of desperate terror as much as rage. But he wasn’t even a tenth fast enough.

  Lindsay’s arm came up, lightning-quick. Except it wasn’t an arm anymore. It was one of the Corpse Eater’s legs—complete with razor-sharp pincer at the end.

  That pincer snipped the deader’s head clean off, like scissors.

  His features went slack and he slumped to the floor.

  For a long moment, the woman with the monster arm regarded him, her expression thoughtful. Then, as she walked over to me, I found myself cringing. But the hand she offered, the same limb that had “de-headed” Mr. Power Tie, was human again.

  “Let me help you,” she said, pulling me to my feet. “You see? I can control it … to a point.”

  “Yeah,” I said, rubbing the back of my head. My vision had cleared and aside from a lump, I seemed to be okay. “Good for you.”

  It sounded lame, but she smiled.

  Then we both ran for the door.

  The outer office looked like a charnel house. Corpses lay everywhere—in pieces. Heads here. Arms there. Legs over there. In fact, with all the carnage, it was hard to figure out just how many deaders there had been. I finally managed it by counting the heads.

  Five. Six, including the dude Lindsay had trashed.

  None were permanently dead, of course; Sharyn hadn’t had a Ritter. In fact, the only weapon she had had was my pocketknife. This she held out to me, her face flushed from the combat. Nobody dug a good fight like Sharyn Jefferson.

  “Thanks, Red,” she said, a little breathlessly. “I totally gotta get me one o’ those!”

  As I took the knife, I noticed its five-inch blade was open. I looked at it. Then I looked around at the decapitated and dismembered Corpses. Then I looked back down at the tiny knife.

  How on earth…?

  “It’s all right, Moira,” Lindsay was saying. “No need for all this fuss.”

  “B-b-b-but these men came in and just attacked the page!” the receptionist stammered. “They didn’t even say anything. They just saw her, growled, and then sort of pounced! It was awful!”

  “But she’s fine.” Lindsay insisted, motioned toward Sharyn, who smiled and waved. “There! You can see she’s fine.”

  Moira, her eyes as wide as twin moons, looked around the room. She didn’t have the Sight, so all of these bodies would all appear intact to her—part of the Corpses’ illusion. I wondered for a second what would happen if I picked up one of the heads, took it out into the hallway, and dropped it over the railing and down five flights to the Hart Building lobby. What would Moira see then? What would the people milling around downstairs see?

  But this wasn’t the time for experiments. Too bad, really. Steve would have loved it!

  “She moved … so fast!” the receptionist exclaimed. “I’ve never seen anybody move that fast! No matter how many times they came at her, she knocked them back, until—” She looked around again. “B-b-but they’re not dead, are they?”

  “Nope,” Sharyn replied, which was true—sort of.

  “You had a knife! I saw it in your hand.”

  Sharyn displayed her empty palms. At the same time, I turned my back, closed my blade, and pocketed it. “No knife,” the Angel Boss said. “Besides, you don’t see no … any … blood, do you?”

  “No,” the young woman admitted. “You knocked them out?”

  “I knocked ’em out.”

  “All of them?”

  “Straight up. I mean, yes.”

  “Moira,” Lindsay suggested, “why don’t you go to the ladies room and freshen up a little.”

  “But … we have to call the police!”

  “I’ll take care of that. You just focus on composing yourself. Then you can rest on the couch in my office until the authorities arrive. How does that sound?”

  “Yes, Senator. Thank you.”

  Lindsay nodded, her smile completely genuine. “Go along now, dear.”

  The receptionist did as she was told, stepping gingerly amidst the fallen deaders who lay between her and the hallway door. Along the way, she unknowingly kicked one of their heads across the room and stepped in puddles of maggot-riddled Corpse juice, which, thankfully, she couldn’t See either.

  As soon as she closed the hallway door, Sharyn said, “Got a closet?”

  Lindsay replied, “In my office.”

  Sharyn and I cleaned the place up, stacking the Corpses, along with all their assorted parts, in a deep closet in the inner office. Meanwhile Lindsay, having pulled a blue pantsuit out of the same closet, stood across the room, carefully dressing—as ever, totally unconcerned by her nakedness.

  I’m going to need a shrink when this is over.

  Moira returned, pale but dry-eyed. While Sharyn and I waited, Lindsay led the receptionist into her office and settled her on the leather couch, giving her strict instructions to rest.

  “What happened to the men?” Moira asked.

  “Don’t worry about them, dear. Just close your eyes. I promise you’ll feel better in a little while.”

  Moira’s gonna need a shrink, too.

  Returning, Lindsay shut the inner office.

  “You should get the trash can,” I told her. “We can keep sifting through it out here.”

  “No need,” the senator replied. “I found what I was looking for just before that whole terrible fight started.”

  Sharyn and I did matching double takes. “You know what she’s after?” I asked. “Your imposter?”

  “Oh, yes,” the woman replied with a satisfied smile. “She’s preparing to stand before the US Senate this afternoon and announce her candidacy for president of the United States.”

  Helene

  “Bro?” Tom called into the phone, and the edge of fear in his voice sent fresh shocks of cold panic up Helene’s spine. “What is it? What’s happening?” He listened, his face going ashen.

  “What?” Mrs. Ritter demanded. “What is it?”

  “I dunno,” the chief replied. “Some kind of fight.”

  “They’ve been attacked!” Jillian exclaimed.

  “By Corpses?” asked Will’s mother.

  Helene replied, “Or something else …”

  The five of them, including Dave, huddled together on the corner of 16th and Arch Streets, right across from Love Park, where just two months ago, Will had taken an assassin’s bullet.

  And now he was in danger again.

  “Will?” Tom called into the phone, so loud that some passersby glanced at him.

  None of them See, Helene thought bitterly. None of them get what’s going on … what’s at stake!

  A minute passed. Then two. Finally Tom lowered the phone, looking defeated. “Sounds of a fight, then some voices, but too far away to make out who it was or what they said. Then … nothin’.”

  “Will’s in trouble,” Helene told him.

  “When ain’t he?” the Burgermeister muttered.

  Mrs. Ritter exclaimed, “We have to do something!”

  “Yeah, we do,” the chief agreed. “Okay, listen up. I’m headin’ to 30th Street Station. I’m gonna buy three train tickets to DC … earliest I can get.”

  “I’m going with you,” Will’s mother said.

  Tom’s expression had a lot behind it. “No, you ain’t. Neither am I. Helene, Dave, and Jillian are goin’. Helene and Dave ’cause they’re Will’s best friends and know how to handle themselves … and Jill ’cause she’s knows DC and the Capitol better’n any o
f us.”

  Helene watched Mrs. Ritter’s face redden. For a second, she thought the woman was about to spout some more crap about it being her son in trouble and how no teenage boy was going to tell her—blah, blah, blah.

  But she didn’t.

  Instead, she drew in a deep breath and offered up a steady nod. “You can’t go because you’re chief, and your place is in Haven, especially with Sharyn in the field. And I can’t go because Emily needs me.”

  “Yeah,” Tom said. “And Haven needs its medic.”

  Trembling, Susan Ritter nodded again.

  “Then … why are you buying the tickets?” Jillian asked.

  Tom said, “’Cause I got a phony I.D. says I’m over eighteen and you gotta be an adult to buy train tickets. And Susan here, all she’s got is her Pennsylvania driver’s license, and I guarantee the Corpses are on the lookout for that.”

  The five of them swapped looks.

  The chief said, “Y’all head back to Haven. Take the west entrance. Drop off Susan, then grab your gear and head for 30th Street. I’ll meet you there.”

  “I can’t just sit around waiting to find out if he’s alive!” Mrs. Ritter said desperately. “Not again!”

  Helene regarded them both. There was so much strength and courage there. Tom’s, of course, had always been obvious. But Susan Ritter’s—well, that was a new thing, at least in Helene’s eyes.

  But then again, she is Will’s mom.

  In that moment, she made a decision, one she’d been wrestling with most of the day. “How about if I take Mrs. Ritter back to Haven through the north entrance instead. Just the two of us.”

  She knew it was a strange request, and it surprised everyone—except Tom, who regarded her thoughtfully and said, “Good idea. Do that. I’ll see you all in an hour.”

  He rested his hands on Mrs. Ritter’s trembling shoulders. “We’ll find him,” he told her. “I know this feels like a familiar nightmare … but I swear to you: we’ll find him.”

  After that, he turned and headed west along Arch Street.

  “Come on, Dave,” Jillian said. Then she and the mountainous boy crossed 16th in the direction of the underground parking garage that concealed Haven’s west entrance.