A hand burst forth through the earth softened by recent rain. Some of the nails were gone, and the finger joints were visible. Oh boy, Mom was gonna see her Gran looking pretty disgusting. I gave Dad the it's too late look and watched the train wreck happen.
Inch by slow inch, the ground revealed Gran climbing up to exit her grave. Her silver hair hung in rope-like strands from a scalp with bare patches shining like eggshells in the dimming light.
She reached for me and rasped, “More.”
I mouthed, More?
Energy. Her voice was like a thread of silk worming its way through my brain.
I shuddered. Her thoughts in my mind, disgusting as hell.
I reached down inside myself, where that sleeping monster lay, scraped up what was left, and hurled it down that connection that tethered the two of us together.
Gram suddenly flew backward, her back bent awkwardly. Her claw-like hands clung to the remnants of her flowered blouse.
She straightened quickly and stood. Her face knitted together before my eyes, skin flowing over and filling holes. The joints in her hands were also covered, and a few nails solidified inside rotted nail beds.
I exhaled in relief until I looked at Mom. She was as white as a sheet, clutching Dad's shirt, and somewhere between barfing and fainting. Dad was fussing with the tri-pulse, trying to get a picture of Gran-the-corpse.
He got my attention and winked at me.
Nothing rattled him. The gesture notched me down some. I felt a little calmer, not so frantic.
Gran turned to me.
“Caleb,” she croaked.
Her voice sounded full of mush. Gravedirt.
I swallowed hard. “Hi, Gran.”
“Am I free of this?” She waved at her grave with skeletal fingers that caressed the air.
“Right now, you are.”
She frowned, then comprehension slowly dawned on her face.
“I am dead. Really and truly dead.”
I nodded a little. “Yes.”
“And you are a… necromancer?”
I had looked up that word after the first corpse called me that.
I was certainly more than that, but I decided to keep it simple. “Yes, Gran.”
“You have questions for me. I feel them.”
That was new. I guess the communication was a two-way street.
She stepped toward me and I fought the urge to step back. That was all in my head. This new thing I could do, this ability, didn't feel sickened or grossed out with Gran. Actually, I felt a sense of ownership over the dead, mine, it intoned, mine.
“I want to know what this is.”
She tilted her head to the side, like I had asked an important question that eluded her grasp.
“Why... this is you, Caleb. You have caused this.”
Her arms, with the sleeves in ribbons loosely swaying in the slight breeze, clung and whipped around her like a cape.
“I mean…” Dad was taking pictures in the background, and his movements were distracting. I gave him a look, and he stopped.
“What did you hear?” I asked her.
“Your summons, dear boy, your summons.”
Oh. “You heard me calling you?”
“Yes, your voice telling me to come to you. You did call me to you. For your bidding.”
Wow, this was definitely big-time-in-my-pants-creeper status. She stared at me raptly, waiting for some command.
No wonder Parker was in trouble. If he had anything close to my power, he would be like a king amongst robots. Not a cool thought. I was starting to understand why Dad had been so fast to get me hooked up with the hide-what-you-can-do pill.
“Ah, I just have some questions. Actually, I'm worried I can't control this, so my dad thought it would be good if we came here and practiced.”
Saying it out loud made the whole thing sound super dumb. Don't worry Gran, just a little corpse-raising and then we'll tuck ya back in your grave-bed and be on our way. Practice makes perfect. Geez.
She looked puzzled. “You're just practicing this gift? With me?”
I gulped, my throat as dry as a desert. “Yeah, that's about it.” I would have killed puppies for a glass of water about now.
She finally took the time to turn around and look at my parents. She stood there, with her hips facing me and her torso almost fully turned to them, reluctant to turn away from me and fully face them. I heard disgusting sounds when she turned and realized it was her spine, wetly cracking.
Mom's face was flaming red. But my dad just stared. Whatever he was thinking, he wasn't swayed by emotion. He knew what Gran was; Mom didn't. That was the difference. Mom still thought of Gran as Gran. But she wasn't anymore. She was Gran, but she was other, too.
“Gran,” I began, “Who are those people behind you?”
She turned back to me. “My granddaughter and her husband,” she replied matter-of-factly.
“Do you want to talk to them?”
“Do you wish for me to?” Her eyeballs, which had not filled in all the way, rolled around in their sockets with a little too much room.
“No. I wish for us to discuss things.”
“I am here to serve you.”
I gave Dad a panicked look.
I needed to get a grip, figure out some stuff and put great-grandma back in the ground.
“Is there anything you need?” I asked.
“Yes, it would give me great peace if you would tell my son, if he lives, that I am sorry.”
“For what?”
“He will know. Will you?”
Mom nodded encouragement.
“Yeah, I will.”
Gran inclined her head. “Thank you.”
“What am I here to do?” I asked. “I mean, what good can I do? How can I help people?”
“Only you know those answers, Caleb. Doing that one errand of mercy for me will be something of worth, to be sure. Some of us can tell you a portent of your future.”
Mom gasped. I looked at Dad, and he just nodded again.
I was thinking fast. Portent... a forewarning.
“Do you wish to know what role you have in this life?” Gran asked.
“Yeah,” I said. “Yes, I do.”
Her eyes rolled up in her head, and she raised her hands, reaching for the sky. Thunder clapped, and I jumped. Fat drops of rain splattered on us, while Gran, her gray skin looking like paper stretched tight like a drum over bones, swayed in place, hearing a rhythm that only she could.
The rain started to come down in earnest. Gran's head snapped down, and she stared at me. A strange light illuminating her eyes.
She pointed a finger at me.
“You will need protection. Surround yourself with your own kind and others who have skills. Do not be deceived by people who would use you for evil. There is a young girl with a name of stone. She will be your greatest ally. You must protect her. She will be your salvation.”
Gran sank to her knees. Hollows had begun to appear in her face. I realized that being alive again took energy. I could feel that power in me, very low, like a spent tank of gas. Would I have enough to put her back? My energy was faltered like a candle flame sputtering.
She lifted her lips in an attempt to smile. There were about three teeth in a mouth that was black with decay and a bit of tongue.
I sort of grimaced back.
“You can put me away. I need to rest now.” She spared a glance for my parents, her eyes resting briefly on my mom. Then, she turned back to me. “Tell Alicia what is different. Only you matter in this time, this world.”
“I understand.” And I did. I wasn't comfortable with it, but it didn't matter. This was my new reality.
My parents came over and stood on either side of me.
I didn't look at them. “I'm really tired.”
“What can I do, Caleb?” Dad asked.
“I gotta put her back.”
Gran stared up at me, her gaze unwavering. No pressure... damn. Out of nowhere, I hea
rd voices behind us.
Dad moved to stand directly in front of Gran. Mom flanked Dad, and I was in the middle, behind them.
I put my finger over my lips to signal Gran to be quiet.
She understood; I could hear it.
Three kids from school appeared over the rise. The middle girl was familiar somehow. My power flared, recognizing hers.
She was like me.
Swell.
Her eyes widened, and she said to her friends, “Let's get out of here.”
I came around Mom's side and said, “No!”
I tried to think of the girl’s name. We had just been talking about other kids who had AFTD. Tiffany!
“Tiffany, no... stop. Help me do this,” I said.
She stiffened, slowly turning. My first thought was, Wow, she could be pretty. She wore a purple hoodie, brown hair peeking out from the hood that half covered her face. She had dark eyes.
I knew I didn't have the energy to put Gran back. But I was pretty sure I didn't need blood or something catastrophic to make it work. I needed energy, death energy.
“What?” she asked, kinda pissed.
“I have AFTD, like you.”
“Ya think?”
Like we had a choice. Not for the first time I wondered if the adults that made the drugs, unlocking our paranormal potentials were really that smart. Right now, it didn't seem like it.
She glanced at her friends, a guy and girl. They were taking turns looking nervously between my parents and me.
The boy said, “I thought you said there wouldn't be any other people?”
She gave him one of the best eye-rolls ever. He pursed his lips and crossed his arms across a barrel chest.
She jerked her head to the left and said, “This is my brother, Bry.”
I nodded. “Listen, I kinda raised my great-grandma.”
“What the hell?” she yelled, her eyes taking in all of us.
Mom harrumphed in the background, unappreciative of the colorful wording.
Her palms went back and forth, warding us off as she retreated. “No... no, I can't help with anything that big.”
In a voice that sounded like gravel crunching under tires, Gran said, “Yes, you can, Seer.”
“What is that?” Tiffany asked.
“That's Gran,” I responded.
Mom and Dad moved away from me, revealing Gran. She looked worse for wear but not bad for a corpse who had accomplished a bit of precognitive forecasting.
“That”—she pointed without an ounce of reverence—“is not your great-grandma. That's an it.”
“Hey,” Mom said, “that's my gran you're dismissing, you brat.” Nice. Mom had regressed to name calling, a first.
“Mom, I got this.”
I told Tiffany, “Yeah, she's not really Gran anymore, but she still has to go back.”
“You're the smart one that raised her. You put her back.” Tiffany crossed her arms.
The sun broke through the clouds. A light drizzle continued to fall, making the whole scene glow with an eerie luminescence. I didn't have enough juice to force her help. In fact, I didn't think I could make her do anything, not with that humongous brother standing there.
Gran came forward in an awkward shuffle.
“You will do as this one says. He is a ruler amongst your kind.”
That partial tongue does odd crap to speech.
Tiffany stared at Gran in the strangest way.
“Make me. I'm not gonna help out. I wanna get out of here. Period. End of discussion.” She snapped a big bubble of chewing gum. It was like machine gun fire in the silence.
Gran didn't even flinch, moving closer until her rotting face was inches from mine. The smell was gag-worthy, but having been in the boys' locker room, I could take it.
“What is your will, boy?” Gran asked solemnly.
“I want you to be put back to rest,” I said.
Zombies were terribly literal.
Gran stepped toward Tiffany, all shuffling determination.
Oh crap.
Mom said, “Kyle? What's happening?”
Dad surged forward. Gran turned—very smoothly for a zombie—put her palm on his chest, and shoved. Dad flew backward.
One of his slip-on shoes came off and smacked Gran's tombstone with an audible thud. Dad landed on his butt in the grass, legs splayed in front of him.
Rushing over, Mom screamed his name then crouched beside him. While Mom was panicking, Gran wrapped her hand in Tiffany's hair then dragged her over to where I was.
Bry leaped on Gran's back. She reached behind with her free hand and plucked him off like a worrisome gnat. She tossed him in the direction she had shoved Dad. He promptly landed on his ass, jaws closing with a snap. Blood spewed from his mouth. Gran continued hauling Tiffany across the lawn.
“Let her go!” I yelled.
Gran complied, instantly dropping the girl. Tiffany landed face-down, and I heard a dull crunch. Bry struggled to his feet, blood spilling out of his mouth like a fountain.
Oh this was so bad.
He said something that sounded like, “I thont are aut oo re.”
Then, he tackled Gran. Both of them tumbled to the ground. Rolling to a stop against another grave marker, Bry put his hands around Gran's neck and began thumping her head into the ground.
Her hand shot out and grabbed him in the crotch as he straddled her. He yelped and released his grip on her neck. She used that opening to buck him off of her.
Dad came to, moaning, his head in Mom's lap. His eyes grew wide when he saw the two kids lying in separate heaps. “Caleb, what's going on?”
Looks like granny's getting her groove on. Hysteria pressed in on the edges of my consciousness.
Gran went back and hovered over Tiffany.
Tiffany sat up and flinched from Gran's outstretched hand. She held her nose and glared up at me.
“You think you can help me now?” I asked with just a tiny bit of sarcasm.
“Yes,” she hissed through clenched teeth. She glanced at her brother, who lay on the ground a few feet away. The other girl had long since run off. Probably straight to the police, I thought dismally.
Awesome—not.
Gran hauled Tiffany to her feet none too gently, using her arm that was holding the nose. Tiffany let out a yelp. I almost felt sorry for her, but that was where her lack of cooperation had brought us. I was ready for a little grave closure myself.
Dad rose shakily to his feet and cautiously made his way toward me with Mom on his heels.
Gran looked speculatively at him.
Bry got to his feet, too, holding his crotch, which was probably throbbing like hell.
Gran and Tiffany eyed each other warily.
I did what I thought would work. I released what I had left. It wasn't much, little more than a drop of water in a glass. But it found its mark and hit Tiffany.
Tiffany threw her head back, her mouth open. She looked like a little kid catching snowflakes on her tongue.
“It feels good, so good. Why didn't you tell me it would feel good?”
“Because I didn't know,” I replied softly.
Tiffany stepped away from Gran, who kept a wary eye on Bry and my parents as they walked toward me. As she got closer, I noticed Tiffany's eyes were a deep hazel, not the brilliant shade of Jade’s but pretty in a mysterious way. Dried blood edged her nostrils.
She held out her hand. I took it and felt an instant injection of juice. Also, the whispering grew in volume. The voices and their distinct signatures became clearer.
Tiffany asked, “Is it always like this? The voices?”
“For me, yeah.”
Her eyes widened. “It's so loud.”
“It's louder with us touching.”
“Oh.”
We turned as one mind, one intent.
Gran had shambled over to her grave, looking rattier by the moment. I could feel Tiffany's energy or power, complementing mine.
I looked into Gra
n's eyes and felt a spark of some kind, slimy and evil. Tiffany reacted as well.
She looked at me, scared.
I asked, “Ready?”
I let my power shift to Tiffany. I squeezed her hand, and it flowed between us.
I thought, Rest. A mental muscle flexed. The strength of my will chased the thread that connected me to Gran.
It was so simple it was criminal. Speaking of which, I could hear sirens in the background. There was no explaining our way out of this mess.
Gran gave one last heave of her chest, seeming to suck in real air for the last time. The breath rattled hollowly as it left her lungs, then she lay down on the grave. The dirt flowed over her, engulfing her body.
When it was done, the grave appeared undisturbed, as if nothing had happened. Tiffany and I released each other's hands, the spark between us fading.
The first police car arrived, and Garcia stepped out with a smile of satisfaction. A second officer got out and opened the back door. I figured Tiffany's snitch friend had blabbed to the police.
Perfect.
***
Garcia sauntered over, that wide smile stretched over his face.
He's loving this.
Tiffany stayed where she was, Bry walking over to stand beside her. I had to assume it had been Tiffany's snitch friend who'd blabbed to the cops. Sure enough, she exited Garcia's squad car.
With the hood covering her face I hadn't really noticed her that much, kinda busy with Gran-the-corpse and Tiffany's rather problematic older brother.
She had weird-colored hair somewhere between dishwater blond and red. Her face was all tight and pinched.
She looked warily from Tiffany to Bry then me and flushed a fine, true red.
Garcia stood facing us, legs wide, considerable arms folded across his chest.
“Well, Caleb, what do we have here?”
Just a tiny bit of corpse-raising.
Dad said, “Sergeant Garcia, good to see you again.”
“Hello, Mr. Hart. No offense, but I was talking to Caleb.” Garcia’s eyes went back to mine like a tuning fork.
“And he's a minor,” Dad added.
Garcia's head swiveled back to Dad, his eyes narrowing. “I don't have to be reminded of that Mr. Hart.”
Their gazes held.
“We were here, conducting some experiments, and these kids”—Dad gestured at Tiffany and her brother—“happened upon us.”
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