The Undertakers

by Ty Drago

  “You’ll get over it,” a new voice said.

  Kyle wordlessly stepped aside as Tom entered the room. Tall as Kyle was, Tom dwarfed him. The Chief had his hands on his hips as he surveyed us like a drill sergeant. His dark eyes found mine. “You ready?”

  I nodded glumly and stood up.

  “I want to watch Will fight,” the Burgermeister said.

  “Me too,” Ethan added.

  “Maybe next time,” Tom told them. “This one’s private.”

  “So he gets to have fun while I lay here and stare at the ceiling?” Dave asked sourly.

  Tom smiled. “He won’t be having fun. Trust me.” Then he led me out the door.

  “It might’ve been smarter not to tell Dave about tonight’s special session,” Tom whispered once we were alone in the hallway. “He ended up spilling it to everybody else.”

  “I know,” I replied. “Sorry.”

  He shrugged. “Nothing for it now.”

  The short corridor led past the kitchen and out into the shop’s back room—the training room. Tom started off in that direction, but I caught his arm. “Can I talk to you for a second—before we go out there, I mean?”

  Tom studied me curiously. “Sure thing. Let’s hit the kitchen.”

  First Stop’s kitchen was really nothing more than several old plastic chairs, a sink, a beat-up microwave, and a noisy old refrigerator. Not even a table. A pile of threadbare rags did triple duty as napkins, paper towels, and place mats. A single bulb hung from the ceiling.

  “Sit,” Tom said.

  I sat.

  “So what’s up, bro?” the Chief asked, taking the chair beside mine.

  As I struggled for the right words, there came a loud mechanical click from deeper in the building. The lights went out, leaving us in almost perfect darkness.

  I jumped. “Jeez!”

  “Just Kyle killing the power,” Tom explained. “You know the deal. From now until morning, we’re on battery lamps—and only when absolutely necessary. Don’t sweat it. Give your eyes a few seconds, and they’ll adjust.”

  The thing was, I kind of welcomed the sudden darkness. Somehow not having to look the Chief in the eyes made saying what I had to say easier. “Tom, I don’t think we can beat the Corpses.”

  There was a long silence. I swallowed.

  “How do you figure that?” His tone was patient. At least he didn’t sound pissed.

  “Well—we’re just kids!”

  I could barely make out Tom nodding. My eyes were adjusting to the dark, just as promised. “Are we?”

  “Yeah!” I replied. “I mean—aren’t we? This afternoon at Haven, Steve was giving us his Corpse talk when Dave and Sharyn started messing with him, cracking jokes, and—you know, it just suddenly hit me, Tom! I’m twelve years old! You’re only seventeen! No offense.”

  “None taken.”

  “The Corpses are all over the place! Some of them are even cops! What chance have we got?”

  Another pause, longer than the first.

  “Will, I’m impressed.”

  “Huh?”

  “It takes maturity to spot the immaturity in others.”

  I frowned. “I don’t—”

  He silenced me with a gesture that I could barely see. “There are children in the Undertakers, Will—but not a lot of childhood. We all have to grow up much faster than is really fair. What you saw today was a crew of recruits who ain’t yet learned that lesson. They’re confused, and they’re scared. This afternoon, back in Haven, y’all found yourselves in a classroom situation—something you’re familiar with—and so familiar behaviors kicked in. You messed around. You got to be kids again.”

  “But Sharyn—”

  Tom chuckled. “Sharyn’s Sharyn, Will. The rules go out the window where my sister’s concerned. Ain’t nobody on Earth I’d rather have with me in a fight, but she’s always been a big kid.”

  “Oh,” I said.

  He could tell I was unconvinced.

  “Look—just between us, I ain’t saying we can beat the Corpses. After all, we’re outnumbered and outgunned. But I do know that I’d put our crew up against any underground resistance that’s ever existed. We got Schoolers in twenty middle schools across the city, all on the lookout for Seers. And do you know how we get ’em into those schools, bro?”

  I nodded. “The Hackers—they rig them up with fake identities.”

  “Right. The Schoolers all report direct to me. I pick ’em, give ’em their assignments, and send ’em off. Then each Schooler in the field gets hooked up with a Chatter at Haven who monitors their situation daily. Those dudes report to the Chatter Boss, who reports to me. You understand what I’m telling you?”

  “That—we’re organized?” I asked uncertainly.

  Tom nodded. “Straight up. Three years back it was just your dad, Sharyn, and me. But slowly we been getting bigger. This month, six more kids’ll roll in, including yourself—and that’s pretty typical. We’re up past 120 Undertakers, with about a quarter of them in the field at any given time. We’re good at this, Will. Seriously good.”

  I considered this. “Tom, it sounds great. It really does.”

  “Do I hear a but?” he remarked, smiling.

  “I get what you’re saying,” I said with a sigh. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to—”

  I started to stand up.

  Tom’s strong hand fell on my shoulder. “Don’t wimp out on me. Nothing you said has pissed me off. Like I told you, I’m impressed you even came up with this concern. Now level with me. Tell me what’s on your mind.”

  “Well, the Undertakers have been around for about three years—almost since the Corpses first appeared, right?”

  “Right.”

  “And in all that time, other than getting bigger and better organized—what have you really done?”

  Even in the darkness, I saw his expression falter. Instantly I backpedaled. “I’m sorry.”

  “It’s cool,” he said quietly, thoughtfully. “You sound like Sharyn is all.”

  “I do?”

  “She’s always nagging me that we need to stop playing defense and start taking the fight to the Corpses.”

  “Are you sure she’s wrong?”

  “No,” the Chief admitted. “Will, do you know who Harriet Tubman was?”

  “Who?”

  “Harriet Tubman. She was this slave who lived down south about 150 years ago. Ever heard of her?”

  I thought that maybe I had, that she sounded familiar due to some half-remembered history class. But I shook my head anyway.

  Tom said, “She escaped slavery and came north. Then she turned right around and went back to help free others. Became this major conductor on the Underground Railroad. Know what that was?”

  This time I nodded. “It was this bunch of safe houses where runaway slaves could hide after they escaped.”

  “Right. The thing that most people don’t get is that the fight against slavery started up long before the Civil War. And it wasn’t fought by armies on battlefields but by ordinary folks doing what they could to help themselves and each other.”

  I nodded, frowned, and looked uncomfortably down at my shoes.

  Tom laughed a little. “Good speech, huh?”

  I shrugged. “Not bad.”

  “But the thing is: I believe it,” he insisted. “Look, bro. Nobody’d like to really nail the Corpses more than I would. But staying alive in this situation ain’t about heroism. It’s about practicality. If we attack now, we lose. Straight up. As things stand, the Corpses know we exist, and they’re looking for us. But since we don’t do nothing to really threaten them, they don’t look too hard. Yeah, they’ve raided a couple of our First Stops, but they still ain’t found Haven. And I intend to keep it that way.”

  “I get it,” I said.

  “Do you?” Tom asked, and there was something like need in the Chief’s expression.

  He wants me to get what he’s saying.

  “We can’t
be Harriet Tubman forever, Tom,” I said.

  “That’s what Sharyn tells me.”

  “Maybe she’s right.”

  He nodded. “No maybes about it. But before the time comes to really start fighting, we first got to find a weapon—a genuine lethal weapon—that we can use against the Corpses. And we’ve got to pick up numbers. We need to finally become the army that you and my sister think we ought to be—the army that your dad dreamed about.”

  “My dad dreamed that?” I asked.

  “Will, your dad dreamed all of this. Ain’t I made that plain?”

  “I guess so.” It just kept surprising me. My dad was everything to me. But as it turned out, he was even more than I’d thought he was.

  “Will,” Tom said, his manner suddenly grave. “I need you to understand something.”

  “Yeah?”

  “I don’t know when the Undertakers’ll be ready to start really fighting back. But this much I do know: when it happens, it’ll be my call. I’m Chief, Will—have been ever since your dad died—and that chain of command is what helps to keep us alive. I need your word that you’ll respect that no matter what you feel inside. Can you give me that?”

  I met Tom’s eyes in the dark.

  “Yeah,” I said. “I mean…yes, sir. I can.”

  It was a promise that I meant to keep.

  At least I thought I did.

  CHAPTER 20

  The Cooler Partner

  Moving confidently in the darkness, Tom led me out of the kitchen and through the nearby door into the training room. Here at least there was light—provided by a single, battery-powered lamp that sat at the edge of the practice area. Kyle was checking the boarded-up windows for cracks and sealing them up with duct tape when he found them.

  A sucky job. I made a mental note never to volunteer for Kyle’s gig.

  Sharyn stood on the mat, her hands on her hips. She grinned her trademark grin. “Well, about time you two showed up. I was about to send out a search party!”

  Feeling embarrassed, I didn’t reply.

  Tom shrugged. “Sorry, sis. We had some stuff to talk about.”

  “That right? Well, it’s late, and we’ve got to get this dance started. Come on up here, Red.” Then more seriously, “You look nervous.”

  “I am,” I admitted, stepping onto the mat. “A little.”

  “Don’t be. We just want to see how you do against a trained opponent. You nailed Ethan easy enough—and even Hot Dog, big as he is. But—”

  “Yeah, I get it,” I said. “They weren’t trained.”

  “Straight up. Kick off your shoes, and show me your stance.” She studied my form. “Good. Now, the thing to remember is that when you’re fighting, every move your opponent makes is predictable if you watch ’em close enough. Hand-to-hand’s all about reading your enemy, figuring out what they plan to do next, and then getting around it. Got it?”

  “Got it,” I replied a little skeptically.

  She grinned again. “Well, knowing it and doing it are two different things. Anyhow, you just consider this a talent test. Don’t plan on winning this fight. Believe me, you won’t. We’re setting you up with one of our best. Just focus on doing your best. I ain’t looking for technique here—just instinct. So don’t play the game the way you figure I want you to play it. Make the moves that feel right, okay?”

  “Okay.”

  “Any questions?”

  “I don’t think so.”

  “Cool! Then let’s dance! Will—say hey to your partner.”

  Helene Boettcher emerged from the nearby shadows.

  She was dressed in shorts and a tank top. Her arms and legs were tanned and muscular. Her long hair had been tightly braided. She crossed the floor and stepped lithely onto the mat, her eyes on mine and her expression unreadable.

  “Hi,” I said, the memory of our last encounter—the terrible things we’d said to each other—suddenly fresh in my mind.

  “Hi,” she replied flatly.

  “Get some helmets on, and wrap your hands, you two,” Sharyn directed.

  As we did so, I muttered, “I’m—sorry about what happened the other day.”

  She wouldn’t even look at me. “That’s nice.”

  I swallowed. Then I pulled the boxer’s helmet over my head. It felt hot and tight.

  Sharyn inspected us both. “Cool. Helene, don’t get too fancy, but don’t hold back too much either. I know you dudes are tight, but I want both of you to kind of put that down for a while.”

  Helene’s face was stone. “No problem.”

  “Um…yeah,” I added.

  Sharyn left the mat to stand at her brother’s side.

  “Begin,” said Tom.

  Wordlessly and without warning, Helene attacked.

  I barely had time to get into my stance before she lashed out with a front kick to my stomach that doubled me over. Then, spinning on her heel, she delivered a lightning-quick wheel kick that caught my temple and sent me crashing to the mat.

  I lay there dazed and wheezing.

  From the sidelines Sharyn said, “Rule One, Red: don’t assume your opponent’ll wait for you to get ready. Got it?”

  “Got it,” I grunted.

  Helene stood over me, and there was no mistaking the hard anger in her eyes.

  “Nice hit,” I muttered.

  “Yeah,” she replied.

  I staggered to my feet.

  Helene stepped suddenly forward, hooked one foot behind my knees, and shoved with both her wrapped hands.

  I crashed down onto my back again.

  Sharyn sighed. “Ease up, Helene. For now let’s give him time to find his stance.”

  The girl nodded and retreated. With an effort I pushed myself to my feet a second time. My side ached, and I could feel my face reddening. It wasn’t getting beaten by a girl that was bothering me. It really wasn’t. I’d seen enough of what Sharyn could do to Dave to be past all that.

  But to lose this completely was a real blow to my pride.

  “Take your time,” Helene suggested, a little mockery in her tone. “Catch your breath.”

  Steadying myself, I set my feet as I’d been taught and raised both my fists.

  “Ready?” she asked me sweetly.

  I studied her. We were about the same height, although I was probably a little heavier than she was. She, however, had tons of training behind her. I remembered how agile she’d been during our escape from Manayunk. Sharyn hadn’t been kidding about this girl being “one of our best.”

  But she had been wrong about one thing. This was no talent test. It wasn’t even a sparring match.

  It was payback.

  There was no way I was going to win this fight.

  But that didn’t mean I had to lose it badly.

  “Ready,” I said.

  And she came at me—fast.

  I fought my instinct to cover up. Instead I remained motionless, my muscles loose but ready, watching her come. Left foot. Right foot. Her braids bounced in her wake. Helene’s right arm was cocked, the way Dave’s had been earlier in the day. But her left—yes! That was where the blow was coming from. The right arm was a trick!

  At the last instant, I pivoted, barely sidestepping her left-fisted gut punch. At the same moment, I hooked my right arm into hers, locked our elbows, and yanked backward. Gasping, Helene overbalanced.

  I jabbed my foot into the crook of her knee.

  And down she went.

  “Sweet!” Sharyn remarked from the sidelines.

  As Helene got to her feet, I stepped back and resumed my stance. I supposed that I should feel some sense of victory. I didn’t. I’d just knocked a friend to the floor—a girl who’d saved my life.

  A girl I liked.

  “Sorry,” I said.

  Helene’s hazel eyes narrowed. Wordlessly she advanced again, this time more slowly.

  “Fighting ain’t just about defense, Will!” Sharyn called.

  I nodded, suddenly a little sick to my s
tomach.

  I hated this.

  Helene drew closer.

  I feigned a right hook and then crouched low, intending to sweep her legs out from under her. But Helene saw right through the trick. Ignoring the fake punch, she jumped over my low-swinging leg and treated me to a single sharp kick to my shoulder. The blow sent me rolling across the mat. I kept rolling, waiting until I was nearly at the edge before regaining my footing.

  Helene was already charging forward, her expression hard and determined. From the angle of her body, I guessed that she meant to jump-kick me into next Tuesday.

  I didn’t think. I just reacted. Instead of trying to block or sidestep, I leapt into a kick of my own. I did it pretty badly, but I timed it right because I caught Helene in the stomach a split-second before she launched herself off the mat.

  She went down very hard, tumbling head over heels.

  I landed clumsily, spun around, and prepared for a fresh assault.

  But Helene lay facedown, unmoving.

  “Oh, crap!” I looked up for Tom or Sharyn but couldn’t spot them in the deep shadows. “She’s hurt!” I yelled. They didn’t answer.

  I dropped to my knees beside Helene and called her name. No response. Could I have broken one of her ribs or something? Did she need an ambulance? Where the hell were Tom and Sharyn?

  “Kyle!” I called, trying to remember if the First Stop Boss had stayed in the training room for my sparring match. Again there was no answer.

  Finally, hesitantly, I shoved both my hands under the girl’s limp body and rolled her over onto her back.

  Her eyes opened.

  And she punched me dead in the nose.

  CHAPTER 21

  The Way Cooler Partner

  I recoiled, clutching at my face. Blood started oozing out from both my nostrils. Tears flooded my eyes. Through them I saw Helene climb to her feet wearing a triumphant expression.

  “Never trust a wounded enemy,” she said smugly.

  I sat back on the mat, tasting blood and staring up at her through a haze of shock and pain. “I didn’t!” I cried. “I thought I was helping a friend!”

  Helene’s victorious smile disappeared.

  “She ain’t your friend right now, bro,” Tom remarked from the shadows. “She’s your opponent.”