by Won, Mark
That just about settled everything. We came to a ruin waiting to happen, and left it a community on the path to (relative) prosperity. The guys and I were packing and getting ready to head out. Chief Martin couldn’t shake my hand enough. He even gave me his bottle. That’s when things got a little weird.
Chapter 6: The Big Uneasy, Lessons Learned, and Crossing the River
“Behold your doom! The end is upon us! Behold your doom! Bow down before the Loa! Behold your doom!” That got my attention. I had been just about to step into the bus when some fruitcake began babbling all that nonsense. I tried to ignore him.
Chief Martin told him, “News flash, crackpot, the end already happened. Go find a soapbox.”
Then a couple of my guys began firing through the windows of the bus. Some civilians started screaming and I turned about as quickly as I was able, just in time to see a fresh zombie get dropped by a head shot.
After taking a close look around for more threats, I called into the bus and told everybody to keep on the lookout. Then I turned back to the chief.
“What the hell, man, I thought the best thing about this city was the lack of zombies.” Actually that was pretty much the only good thing about New Orleans.
The chief said, “I know for a fact people can’t turn into zombies right where we’re standing. The safe zone extends into the river a bit on this side, and goes half way to Lake Maurepas. To the east it stretches as far as the gulf.”
Just then Sam poked his head out of the door and said, “Paul, that shouting dude did it!”
I asked Sam, “What? Did what? Who did what?”
Sam said, “That weirdo who was yelling stuff. He just pointed at some chick and she went zombie!”
I almost asked for a clearer explanation, but what good would it do? Everything in life either is or isn’t a problem, and a possible zombie maker qualifies as a problem. I figured I’d get the whole story eventually.
I looked around but the crazy man had vanished. I could tell the chief had lost sight of him as well, so I went over to the zombie body. The chief joined me along with a couple of his officers.
I told the chief, “I don’t envy you your job.”
He said, “Me neither.”
The zombie used to be a woman in her mid twenties with no obvious signs of injury, except for three large shotgun wounds to the head and one to the neck. I was sure they were all from my guys. There were probably other head wounds from various .30-06’s and .308’s but those were concealed by the more devastating damage done by the 12-gauges. She was dressed in some simple white dress (now stained red forever), white sandals, and had a white necklace made out of small bleached bones around her neck (also covered in blood). Off to the side a bit I noticed a (formerly) white head scarf. The violence of the shooting had blasted it off the corpse. No pockets and no identification. She was a black woman but had some kind of grey paint on her upper chest. It looked like it used to cover her neck and maybe her face, although it was hard to tell (she basically had no face remaining). She had streaks of multi-hued grey paint on her arms and legs as well, forming an organic looking patchwork. I lifted up the dress and saw that the paint stopped at her hemline. It looked all for the world like she had painted on some kind of Halloween costume to make her look like a zombie. I had never heard of anyone ever doing such a thing (I doubt any normal person outside of New Orleans had even heard of zombies until the Change happened).
An officer standing behind me said, “I guess she didn’t get the memo: Halloween’s been canceled for the duration.”
Behind the corpse, about ten feet away, was a large floor length thin white overcoat, complete with an oversized hood. She must have shucked it before getting shot. It had a bunch of incomprehensible white symbols stitched on it, inside and out.
Another officer said, “That’s voodoo, man. Don’t touch it.” A couple more backed off. You’ve gotta be kidding me!
I said, “Relax guys. There’s two reasons not to be afraid of any zombifying Voodoo magic. Firstly, that woman was covered in makeup to make her look like a zombie. If she had really been a zombie she wouldn’t have needed the makeup, now would she? It doesn’t make any sense.”
They all seemed to think that was reasonable. One of them asked me, “What’s the other reason?”
I was a bit surprised to even have to answer, “Voodoo magic is horseshit.” Of course.
I asked the chief, “What I want to know is, why? This seems like an awfully convoluted way to commit suicide. And why was that lunatic pointing her out? Was he trying to get her killed?”
He replied, “You see the way some of my officers are reacting?” Chief Martin raised his voice for the benefit of his officers, “That man was some kind of pretend Voodoo practitioner. He may call himself by some fancy name, houngan, priest, bokor, but it’s all a lie. His plan was to con us into thinking he has the magic to make zombies, then charge extortion to the gullible. It’s still our job to keep that from happening.”
I tried to play along, “Yeah, the thing to remember here is that the man is a murderer. Not the kind of person you want for a neighbor.”
More privately, to the chief, “I think you got some superstition problems on the force. Not that I care all that much, but if you want me to hunt down the Voodoo loon I will. The very last thing I need to happen here while I’m gone is for some nutty Voodoo cult to take over and ruin our deal. No offense.”
“No, I totally understand your point of view. I’m going to put some officers on this but you’re welcome to look into it if you like. Let me know what I can do to help.”
“I’d appreciate it if you’d let you’re officers know that I’m on the job. I don’t want to ruffle any feathers while I’m poking about. Don’t worry, though, I know how to keep things low key.”
With that I let him get back to it. He really did have his work cut out for him. Zombies on the outside and superstition on the inside. And let’s not forget the occasional band of bandits or pirates just to keep things busy. What a world.
The first thing I did was get in the bus and ask my guys exactly what they saw and when they saw it. I hoped to maybe get a direction to ask around in. The guy couldn’t be that hard to follow. He’d been dressed like Joseph in his coat of many colors.
Pete said, “I took a pic of him on my phone. See? Right here,” he showed me the picture. The man looked like a fool, with a big top hat covered in spangles, and wearing some ludicrously bright multi-hued tunic. What an eyesore. “I saw that dude, and I thought, ‘Linda just has to see this, its so New Orleans.’” Linda was his girlfriend.
I said, “That’s real sweet. Can I borrow this? We’re going to do a little looking around. I want to talk to this guy.”
“What for?” Jake asked.
“That crazy man wasn’t actually crazy. He set that woman up to get shot so he could look like some kind of magic man. Like he has the power to make zombies by pointing at people. If he’s working alone it’s probably no big deal, except for, you know, the murder. But if he’s part of something bigger than I want to shut it down before anything gets out of hand.”
Jake asked, “Can’t the police handle it. Without all that inconvenient jurisprudence, laws, rights and stuff it should take them about five minutes.”
Adam interrupted, “Wait a minute. That zombie was just a woman?” He seemed stricken.
I told him, “I’m sorry Adam, yes. She was just a young woman in a bunch of makeup. Probably duped by the doomsday speaker into playing the role. At least that’s my working theory.” That news had the guys looking shamefaced to each other. I nudged Jake and motioned with my elbow to the crowd.
He took my point and spoke up, “Hey! Cut it out! None of you are in any way responsible. The evil fucker who dressed her up and sent her out to die is the one responsible. And when we catch him we’re going to...” he looked over at me curiously, “hand him over to justice?”
I said, “That’s right. The folks in charge here ca
n handle the rest.” Then to Jake, “And if the cops catch him without our help, that’s okay too. In that case we can leave that much sooner.”
My main reason for looking into the whole matter was for the sake of morale. My guys had just gunned down a woman in hot blood and that was bound to make them feel like crap. I knew exactly how they felt. One remedy would be to get out of there and just try to forget it. The other method would be to take the bull by the horns and do something. You can tell which I preferred.
With picture in hand I got out of the bus with Adam and Max by my side. I told Jake to keep the rest of the guys handy in case things got tough. I started off in the direction which Max remembered seeing Mr. ‘Bow down before the Loa’ slithered off to, and began showing the picture around. There were a couple of cops further on who looked like they had the same idea except without the video support.
People gave me some pretty intense looks every time I gave them the old ‘which way did he go?’ routine. Not that they weren’t helpful. I just got the sense there was more going on inside their heads. I had to guess the man we were trying to follow was some kind of major player, at least in their eyes. Eventually, after about the fifth concentrated stare, I got tired of it.
I said, “Hey buddy, what’s up? What are you staring at? Do I got something on me?” I turned to Max, “Hey Max, do I got something on me?”
Max ignored me, but the fellow I was trying to get answers from piped up, “You’re that guy, ain’t you?”
So all the unwarranted attention wasn’t about who I was after, it was about me. That was disappointing. I already knew who I was. Still, maybe I could turn it to my advantage.
“Which guy is that, my good man?”
“The guy from outside. The guy who killed a whole gang.” He gazed lovingly at the picture on Pete’s phone, “The guy with a phone that still works.” The way he said that last bit made it sound like I was some kind of wizard.
I said, “I am indeed ‘the guy’. Let me introduce two of my ‘other guys’, Max and Adam. Max, Adam, say hello.” They both continued to ignore me, paying close attention to our new friend.
I continued, “I understand most folks around here eat a lot of fish. How would you like some dried corn. It boils up real rice, if you’re into that sort of thing. What I would like is to know where this screw head,” I pointed at the picture, “hangs his hat. What do you say? You up for a little quid pro quo?”
“Yeah, sure.” He seemed suddenly distracted and called out to a companion (who, until that point, had been giving us plenty of space), “Hey, this is the guy! You know, the guy!”
We had acquired a small crowd, including a number of the people we had already questioned. One random face asked, “The guy who fixed the boats?” He motioned vaguely in the direction of the lake, “The guy who killed all the zombies? The GUY who wiped out the River Blood?” He was in a mild state of awe induced shock. Apparently, I had a fan. Apparently I had a lot of fans. It didn’t seem fair somehow. We hadn’t actually killed all the zombies, just the ogres and ghouls, and lead the rest away. And the boats were all on Lou. It’s not like the rest of us could have done any of that mechanical stuff. About all I did was hand him the occasional wrench.
Max said to me, “You know, if you’re going to be a superhero you’ll need a better name. ‘The Guy’ is terrible. Something snappy like ‘The Crimson Quietus’ or ‘Zombie Reaper’.”
Adam helped out, “I think those have been taken. Maybe he should just cut to the chase and go with, ‘Jesus Christ, Messiah’. That would save time.”
A number of people around me had taken on some very accepting expressions when Max had come up with new names for me. When Adam gave his input, however, their expressions turned to awe and veneration. Looking back, its about what I should have expected from a people with a reputation for believing in Voodoo magic. Still, I couldn’t let myself be worshiped, it’s against my religion.
“Shut up you morons! Would Jesus say that?” Then to the crowd, “I need some help here. I’m looking for this loser,” again I showed the picture around. The people gave out little cries of wonder at a working piece of technology.
The way they were handing that phone around I had to wonder if I’d ever get it back. I said, “Hey, that phone’s got GPS. If anyone steals it I’m coming for you.” I was hoping that none of the crowd would know any better. They were so enraptured by the device it was as if they couldn’t hear me.
A tall middle aged lady took a look at the picture and said, “Is he the one the cops are looking for? What’s he done?”
I told her, “He pretended to turn a woman into a zombie. The woman died as a result. I don’t know what he thinks he’s trying to accomplish, but I figure its got to be something bad. I plan on bringing him to justice. Or at least the police. Do you know anything?”
“He’s a bokor?” A short man in the back asked.
“He is if that will help me find him. Have you seen him?”
Another man said, “You don’t want to mess with a Houngan, man. They have real power.”
I replied, “As real as a bullet? Tell me where he is and I can find out for myself.”
“I know ‘im,” another woman called out, “he come from across d’ river.” She gestured enthusiastically but vaguely. She was in her early twenties with a pretty face. She had on a beige dress, shell necklace, a cross necklace, and earrings.
I pushed through to her, “How do you know that? Who told you?”
She said, “Nobody told me nothin’, I seed him come cross myself. You want, I could show you.”
“I would like that very much, thank you.” Finally someone with some sense.
She led us away from the crowd and toward the river. On the way I tried pumping her for more information about our quarry, “Do you know who he is?”
“He a Bokor I see round. You find him you take care. Dangerous man. He a killer. Name’s Delacroix.”
I asked her, “Do you believe he has magical power?”
“Maybe. I dunno. Dunno if I believe in all that Voodoo. If it be true den dare still plenty of room for liars, like anywhere. Magic or not he a killer, though.”
“Have you seen him kill anyone?” I asked.
“Me? No. But I hear tings. People talk. He take what he want and nobody say no. Day say he curse folks but dere’s more ‘n one way to skin a cat.”
I heard Adam mutter under his breath, “I bet she’d know.”
I said to her, “What do you mean?”
“Well,” she began, “I dunno for sure, but I hear the bokor know how to make poisons. And dey clever gettin’ it in ya. I hear tell of a family lose a mudder ‘cause a daughter say no, and a boy dropped dead from not handing over a can of soup or some such.”
Adam said, “Aren’t you afraid he’ll come for you? I mean, because you’re helping us?” I could tell Adam was skeptical about all the assistance we were getting.
She smiled, “Maybe I get killed if I help just you and ‘im,” she motioned to Adam and Max, “but I take one look in his face,” she indicated me, “and I know Delacroix not gonna make it through the day. Yo’ boss is the Reaper. Yo’ friend said so himself, not believin’ it. But it true. That why I help. One less Delacroix in de world.”
We had to cross through a bunch of trees in order to get to the riverside. Once we reached the bank she said, “Dats where I seed him come over.”
Max looked to me, “The other side of the river is full of zombies. There’s no way he’s over there. She’s just looking for a handout.”
The woman looked upon Max with scorn, “You callin’ me a liar? I ain’t no liar. You a liar!” She seemed about ready to stalk off in a huff. I tried to calm her down.
“No one’s calling you a liar, Miss. What’s your name, anyway?”
She said, “Abella. And he come over right dare, I swear!”
“I believe you Abella.” And I did. I have a fair sense for those kinds of things. One look and I had her pegged fo
r dirt poor even before the Change. Poor in money but rich in integrity. Sometimes when a person has noting but his (or her) honor that honor becomes as good as gold.
“You’ve been most helpful, Abella. I was hoping that you would take these off my hands.” I opened my pack and made to hand her a ten pack of spam, a few cans of green beans, and a half empty box of .22 rounds.
She took a step back and I realized I just committed a faux pas. She said, “I ain’t takin’ nothin from ya’ for doin’ dis. Dis da right thing to do. Besides, y’all kill ‘em den it’s blood money.”
“You misunderstand, Abella,” in my most conciliatory tone. “This isn’t payment, though that would be fair. This is a gift from one friend to another. Friends look out for one another. Sensible people such as ourselves need to stick together.”
She still seemed reluctant, but I managed to convince her in the end before sending her on her way.
Once she was gone Max was curious about my methodology.
“What was that all about? If she don’t want our stuff, why waste it?”
“Yeah,” Adam agreed, “We don’t even know if she was telling the truth.”
I replied, “Guys, guys, where’s the trust? For starters, we want the reputation of being good payers. That’s the kind of thing that brings out the usefulness in people. I’m pretty sure she was telling the truth, but even if she was lying all we’re out is a few cans of food.”
“It’s not like her information did us any good. We’re still at a dead end.” That from Adam.
I replied, “Wow, you guys are really a couple of downers. Take a look around, would ya’.”
Max said, “What are we looking for?”
At the same time Adam said, “What do you mean?”
“You two aren’t the most observant bunch, are you? If you open your eyes and look right where Abella was pointing you’ll notice a fresh scrape along the bank. Upon closer inspection you’ll note that it’s just the right size for a rowboat. Also, if you’d been paying the least attention you would have noticed that we walked over a single set of footprints leading back to the scrape. If you look right there,” I pointed to the prints in question, “you’ll see that there are also two sets of footprints leading away from the scrape. One is the same as the prints leading toward the scrape, a man’s footprints. The other is a woman’s footprints, in sandals. As far as I can tell they match the dead woman’s size, though I wish I’d taken a measurement.” I hoped they were paying attention. Sometimes there’s more to being a good scout than driving around shooting zombies.
