KEEPING UP WITH THE DEADLANDERS
J.R. Rodriguez
Keeping Up With the Deadlanders
By J.R. Rodriguez
Copyright © 2015 All Rights Reserved
Edited by Felicia A. Tiller
Cover art by Dan Galli
Interior Formatting by Kody Boye
Without limiting the rights under copyright reserved above, no part of this publication may be reproduced, stored, or introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form, or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying or otherwise) without the prior written permission of both the copyright owner and “Library of the Living Dead Press,” except in the case of brief quotations embodied within critical articles and reviews.
This book is a work of fiction. People, places, events, and situations are the product of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living, dead or undead, or historical events, is purely coincidental.
Aknowledgements
This book is dedicated to the two people who’ve made the biggest difference in my life:
Ryan:
You’ve done more for me than you’ll ever know. I am eternally grateful that I have you by my side. I couldn’t imagine life without you or the love you continue to give.
My Mother:
Although you’ve been taken by the unending spirals of Eternity, you continue to keep me bettering myself.
Very Special Thanks
To Barb and Steve, thank you for taking me in as your own and giving me the support you have for the last ten years. I feel as if I can now really call you “mom” and “dad”.
To my family in the bayou state, thank you for always being there and showing me what family means.
To Fantastic Horror (now closed )for getting me started and believing in me enough to publish the first two “Ankou” episodes on your website. All of you guys helped me become a stronger writer in the time I worked with you. A special thanks to Ms. Anna Haney for being my first fan.
To everyone at The Twisted Library (now closed) forum and the Library itself. My very first book publication came from that press. Grateful for the Library for getting me started and for helping me get this book refined and published. Special thanks to Dr. Pus for his belief in my neophyte work enough to want to publish it.
To the people that have kept my creative processes alive: Sharon Needles/Aaron Coady. Your beautiful spookiness kept my characters alive in their world of death.
To my author friends who inspire and support me: Kody Boye, Daniel Fabiani, Victorya Chase, A.J. Hakari, and Marcelo Saez.
To everyone that’s read “Uncle Ankou”.
EPISODE ONE:
UNCLE ANKOU
Famine walked into the living room of the family mausoleum. No one actually did any living in it so the name was an oxymoron. The place was the largest of the slowly crumbling stone buildings in the cemetery, and the only one adorned with gargoyles, stained glass windows, and burning torches. He hated the place because it was a little too gothic for his taste. He also hated his name, but it had been given to him because it held some great significance to his father.
It seemed as if his maker, The Grim Reaper, had been close to and had worked with a being having the same moniker. The original Famine must have been one hell of a guy to have made such an impression on his father. It was going to be hard, he knew, to live up to such expectations. Still, it was just another thing that made being part of the family so frustrating.
Today he wore black leathery trousers, a long sleeved equally black dress shirt, and dark knee –length boots with a series of silver hooks and chains serving as laces. Everyone thought that the attire was too “human” and hated when he wore it. He made sure that he had it on often enough to draw ire, but it was, in his mind, all in fun. There had been a time when he had been human so it wasn’t really that far-fetched to wear such things.
The Weeping Woman Llorona, one of his “guardians”, was folding shrouds on a large marble slab in the middle of the room. She was dressed in a glowing white gown and her long raven black hair flowed undulating serpentine down her back. She didn’t even turn when he entered.
“Where have you been?” she asked.
“Just hanging around,” answered Famine, nonchalantly.
“Doing what?”
“Nothing.”
“Oh, really? You’ve been gone a long time to be doing nothing.”
“Yeah, that’s how it is,” sighed the teenager, rolling his pale yellow eyes.
“Why do you have that attitude?”
He threw up his hands in frustration. It was hard to give up the way he used to act. That’s what happens when you’re changed at such a young age, he thought to himself. How the hell did she know he had rolled his eyes anyway?
“I don’t have an attitude. I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Yes, you do.”
“If you stopped asking so many questions and left me alone…”
“Left you alone?”
Llorona turned from her folding to look down at Famine. Her luminescent face remained stoic and her dark almond-shaped eyes stayed transfixed on him. Famine never liked it when she got that look. It always meant she was going to lecture him.
“We left you alone before and you know what happened.”
“And you guys won’t let me forget it.”
“Actions have consequences, young man. The Reaper took a chance on you and look where it got him. You’re still very young and have a lot to learn. Just be patient, seventeen’s not an easy age.”
Famine turned from her waving his hands. He hated it whenever someone called him a teenager.
“I’m two hundred and fifty! Anyway, it’s not fair. No one trusts me. All I do is stay in this place. I never get to get out of the cemetery.”
“Trust takes a long time to earn back. I know from first hand experience. It’s difficult.”
“But what happened was a long time ago.”
Llorona floated to him and put her hands on his shoulders. Her luminescence ebbed. She softened her tone as she talked. “You’ve shown great restraint and discipline since then, too. I know the Reaper’s seen it. We all just need to sit down and talk this over together. Maybe you can go out and help him in the field.”
Famine turned back to Llorona. A lot of her solid facial features were visible now. She had been quite a lovely woman when she died. Her skin was smooth, her lips full, and her cheekbones high. There was definitely some exotic blood in her; he often saw it whenever she was passionate about something. If Famine had to venture an age, he would have guessed she was in her early thirties. He had also toned down his attitude.
“That would be nice. Just don’t see that happening again any time soon, though. I just miss being like others.”
“You’re not like others. That’s what makes you unique. It also gives you all the more reason to take time to adapt.”
He knew she was right and fell silent. Him trying to be like everyone else was a hopeless task and the best thing was to just do what he was told. Only once he got to know more about the world could set himself apart from the “family”. Besides, this surrogate group of guardians accepted him for whom he was. They didn’t care about his “Other Nature” as he called it. Not a lot of people are tolerant of boys who preferred the company of other boys. He gave up on arguing with Llorona and sat on one of the other slabs in the otherwise vacant room.
“Why are you folding the good shrouds?”
“We’re having company. Ankou is coming.”
Famine gave a disgruntled moan. The man was about as boring and dry as hundred year old new
spapers.
Llorona went back to the shrouds and looked down at them with contempt. Just because everything in this world is dead doesn't give clothing distributors license to make them so drab, she thought to herself. Aloud, she said “He gets enough of that from everyone else out there. Be nice to him.”
“But he always brings everyone down. He’s not fun. Plus he smells like an old crypt. We always have to air the place out after he leaves.”
“He can’t help it. It’s the way his job’s made him. And that’s the way really old things smell. It could be worse. He could smell like roses and flowers!” she said shuddering and grimacing,
“The Reaper isn’t like that.”
“He’s cut from different flesh. Not that he has any of it now.”
Finished with the shrouds, Llorona picked them up and carried them through an arched doorway and into an adjoining room. Her head narrowly missed the great swath of cobwebs that hung across it like a net. Famine flicked a flowing lock of his shoulder length straw-colored hair from his narrow, but femininely featured chalk-white face and followed her. She was placing the shrouds on the backs of tall dark chairs arranged around a weathered dining table. An open coffin sat in the middle. The rest of the furnishings in the room were sparse; only a couple of candelabras and an even more beaten up buffet occupied the space. Famine pulled out one of the chairs sat down, producing a cloud of dust as he did so.
“Why is he coming?”
The Weeping Woman bent to rummage through the buffet. Her voice echoed a bit as she stuck her head inside. “Just to visit, although I can’t imagine him being that casual. The last thing that man has in him is spontaneity.”
“You said to be nice to him.”
She came out of the buffet with four long stemmed wine glasses. She set them around the table and bit her lower lip in thought. “I am being nice. Truthful, but nice.”
Famine’s face contorted in confusion. He talked slowly as if trying to figure out some ancient Earth riddle. “So, you can say whatever you want, no matter how rude it might sound…and still be nice?”
“That’s the thing. You can say whatever you want as long as you put it in the right words.”
The ancient teenager still sounded perplexed as he spoke. He looked down at his shiny black boots as if they were going to reveal the answers to him. “So, it’s not really rude. It’s truthful while being nice?”
His guardian smiled. Now that she thought of it, none of it made sense either. Sometimes she amused herself with the things she said. No one ever said it would be easy to shake off human qualities. “Something like that.” Famine stared blankly at her for a second, slightly tilting his head. “I see…and you think I’m confusing.”
In the lower levels of the mausoleum The Reaper was stirring. A series of loud crashes and the sound of glass breaking broke the momentary silence. Muffled curses and maniacal laughter soon followed.
“He’s at it again,” Famine said in exacerbation.
“It keeps him busy.”
“He can’t fix things worth a damn. He’s blind to it. Even a zombie could better.”
“I know, but as long as he thinks he’s doing something good, everything is better.”
“And all we have to show for it are broken steps, holes in the walls, and things that look like they were built by a two-year old. Nice.” Llorona laughed. She looked at an open space on the wall opposite the buffet. Her face suddenly grew brighter. She snapped her fingers. “That space needs filling and I have just the thing for it!”
With that, she flew out of the room. Famine got up and strolled to the adjoining room. An open doorway led downstairs. The ancient cracked stone steps were in need of repair, no doubt another task on The Reaper’s list. He could hear the old man down there now, still toiling at what he believed to be work. He would be up soon enough.
Famine turned his attention to the shelves on the walls of the room that served as a human kitchen. They were filled with large jars of colorful gaseous blobs. Unlike his namesake, he did need nourishment and these jars were full of the stuff. He chose a jar of swirling dark blue substance, opened the lid, and breathed in some of the gas. This batch was particularly thick and sweet…his favorite sort. Some of the other stuff was foul tasting, thin, and unfilling. Those were the good souls, he had been told. Evil ones seemed to breed delicious, saccharine nectar that was unlike any other. Famine was wise enough to just take enough to slake his thirst without spoiling his appetite. The last thing he needed was a lecture from The Reaper about ruining the taste of a great gourmet dinner. He had just returned the jar to the shelf when he heard Llorona call from the other room.
“Famine!” her voice boomed.
“Yeah!”
“Tell The Reaper to get in gear. Ankou will be here soon! I love the man but I don’t want to listen to any of his stories alone.”
“Yeah I’ll tell him!”
He was about to shout down when he heard footsteps upon the staircase. A flickering light grew steadily brighter as the steps got closer. Soon, a tall skeletal figure in a tattered hooded shroud appeared at the doorway with a torch in hand. In the other he carried a bottle of dark colored wine.
“You heard?” asked Famine.
“The living could hear.”
Famine smiled and walked with The Reaper into the dining room. All the candles had been lit. Llorona was standing in front of a large painting of a gray and black landscape of dead trees. She tilted her head as an artist examining her work. “What do you think? Too cheery for dinner?”
The Reaper sat the wine on the table and looked up at the artwork. He shook his head in approval. “One of your better pieces, Llorona. It fits perfectly.”
“Thanks. I was going through a rather happy mood at the time. I was afraid it would show it too much.”
Llorona rested her arms on the back of a chair and turned to look at her housemates. “I’m starved. Have anyone good planned for dinner?”
The Reaper pointed a bony finger at her. “I think you’ll like what I prepared. Got inspired at work last night.”
“Sounds intriguing. Can’t wait.”
Famine eyed the bottle The Reaper sat down. He then looked at the painting and spoke inquisitively. “Think I could have some of that Chardonnay?”
“Let me think about it.”
“And how long is that going to take? Fifty years?”
The Reaper turned towards him. A spider crawled out of one of his eye sockets and up his dull gray skull. He picked it off and threw it to the side.
“Considering how long you’ve been around, fifty years is nothing. ”
Famine gave up. It was never any good arguing with Death itself. You never won. He folded his arms and spoke in an exasperating tone. “I guess.”
“It’ll be here before you know it,” The Reaper said trying to appease him.
Famine said nothing. He contorted his pencil-thin lips in deep thought. There was silence for a few more seconds. That was always the worst.
“I need to pick up that junk I left in the parlor,” said Llorona suddenly.
She left the room, and The Reaper and Famine followed a few seconds later. The light coming from under the mausoleum door was very faint. If that doesn't signal Ankou’s arrival, nothing else does, thought Famine.
When it came to dinner visits, Ankou broke “the rules” and always came out just before it got dark. Sometimes it paid off and he could catch an unsuspecting soul or two. Famine thought that that was pretty spontaneous for Ankou, even if no one else did.
Llorona took a seat on a moldy, overstuffed sofa in the main family room. She started picking up half-empty paint tubes that were scattered on a small coffee table and put them into a large red velvet bag.
The Reaper went over to the fireplace and examined an Edwardian sailing ship in a bottle that sat on the mantle. What he saw in those silly things Famine didn’t know. Would people really be scared if
they knew Death played with toys? There was a glowing blue orb of light in the hearth. It didn’t give off any heat. It was strictly for show. Sometimes he wondered why they bothered with such things. If they hated human behavior so much, why the pretense?
“I’m going out to wait for him,” he told them as he opened the heavy door and stepped into the twilight.
The graveyard was still. A low patch of fog swirled around the ancient tombstones and statuaries like little fingers. A couple of bats flitted from dead tree to dead tree. Famine was just out for a few seconds when he heard the familiar sound of a wagon’s wheels upon the earth. That had to be Ankou’s carriage. Famine peered down the road towards the setting sun. A man riding a horse drawn cart was approaching. This was his famous uncle…the harbinger of death that struck stark fear into those he encountered. The very sound of his rickety cart was enough to drive mortals indoors hiding in the dark in hopes it would not stop at their houses.
The wagon stopped directly in front of him. From under the wide brim of his dark hat, Ankou’s eyes glowed as they peered down at Famine. His long brown hair stuck out sporadically in wild tangles. He was wearing a neat black velvet and lace suit with a matching tie and cape. A bit dandyish for an omen of death, Famine thought. Ankou’s voice was raspy and rough when he spoke. How old was he anyway? He sounded like he must be at least a thousand.
“Nephew.”
“Uncle Ankou. How are you?”
“Like usual, you know how it is.”
Actually, Famine didn’t know how it was. That was just how the man talked. “Yeah.”
The family business had made them all the same. Being civil was just a formality among them. The door of the mausoleum opened and Llorona stepped out. She nodded towards the seated man and spoke cheerfully.
“Ankou. So nice to see you.”
Ankou nodded back, tipping his hat. “Llorona, it’s always a pleasure, my dear. I brought something for you, Famine. Look in the back.”
What could this possibly be, he thought? Ankou brought over an occasional corpse every now and then, but never anything especially for him. He hurried over to the cart and peered in the back. Sitting there was a large shaggy gray dog. It looked up at him with its cloudy, dead eyes and wagged its dead tail stiffly. The canine pulled back cracked lips from its massive muzzle and licked Famine’s hand with a dry tongue. Famine could hardly believe what he was seeing.
“No!”
“Yes,” said Ankou turning towards his nephew and the animal, “he’s all yours.”
He suddenly remembered Llorona. She was smiling and walking over to greet the dog. “Oh, please. Can I keep him?”
“I don’t see why not. I had a dog a very long time ago. It would be nice to have one around the house again.”
“You think the Reaper’s OK with it?”
“Oh please, he’s a big softie. I think he would’ve gotten one by now but he’s just never home to take care of it.”
Famine scooped the dog from the cart as Ankou got down. The carrion driver turned to pet the shining skeletal faces of his horses and offer them a word of reassurance. They huffed and snorted in response. The three of them then entered the mausoleum. Besides the sofa and coffee table, there were three ornately carved wooden chairs and a large black rug with a pattern of skulls and gravestones in the family room. A couple of Llorona’s grim and desolate landscape paintings hung on the wall opposite the front doorway. The Reaper was standing in the door of the dining room to meet his guest. Famine rushed towards him with the dog in his arms.
“Look what Uncle Ankou gave me!”
If the Reaper could’ve looked surprised he would’ve. Instead he just opened his mouth as if to smile. He reached out and gave the dog a pat on the head. “I’ve always wanted a dog. I’m just never home.”
“This might be the new thing you’re looking for,” Llorona said.
“I’m so glad you approve, brother. I was worried I’d have to take him back to the graveyard. That would’ve been too bad.”
“Yes, it would have.”
“Don’t want people to start thinking I give things back. That would look weird.” The Reaper nodded and motioned towards the dining area. “We should probably start.” They moved into the room and sat at the table. The coffin now held a body wrapped in a nondescript shroud. The Reaper took his place at the head while Ankou and Famine sat across from one another.
“Looks like you have the makings of a fine meal here,” said Ankou, motioning towards the coffin.
“Hopefully you will like it. A few days ago, I picked up this corpse that had drowned in a vat of wine. When I rendered it, the flavor was divine. I decided to soak this one in one of my Pinots to give it extra taste,” The Reaper replied.
“I never met a soul that wasn’t tasty. Except maybe for some of those saintly people. They’re a little bland for me. But I’m sure you’ve done an excellent job.”
One by one, the family put a hand upon the corpse. A glowing red light arced from the body to each hand. A warm glow pulsated like an aura around each of them. The siphoning generally took a few minutes to work. It would give them the energy they needed to go about business in The Deadlands, their home. After they had finished, The Reaper poured wine into the glasses. Famine stared at the thick green liquid in his and wondered what it was. He didn’t want to find out. Ankou took a long draught of wine and smacked his thin black lips.
“Oh, you picked a good one, brother. You’ve outdone yourself again. A fine chef I say.”
The dog sat patiently at Famine’s feet during the feast. It now sat up and placed its paws on the boy’s lap.
“How is it going, Ankou,” asked The Reaper.
“I had a rush a few days ago. There was a fire at the hospital. I mean a lot of them were headed my way anyhow, but that fire helped me. Didn’t have to make so many trips.”
“Nothing quite that exciting, I’m afraid. Haven’t had any mass pick-ups in a long time. I don’t get that sort of thing in my line.”
“Oh, come off it, man. You talk about your job as if it were boring,” scoffed Ankou.
“Yes, it can be. But at my age, I don’t need a lot of excitement.”
Llorona sipped from her glass before speaking. “I don’t see you out there deathing it up, old man. A little excitement might do you some good. You can’t go through death without experiencing some fun times…even if you’re a harbinger of terror and fear. I find excitement in some of the more mundane things. It helps me through. It’ll do you a world of good, too.”
Famine felt that he needed to talk to his uncle. The man had brought him a dog after all. “You get that cart, though, Uncle. That’s exciting. The rest of us have to float everywhere we need to go.”
“I’d imagine floating would be easier than driving. You get there quicker.”
“Yeah, but it doesn’t scare people the way your cart does.”
Famine thought he saw the taut and mottled green-gray flesh on Ankou’s triangular face form a slight smile. Ankou took some more soul from the body, leaned back, and stroked his chin. He laughed raspily. “I never thought about that. I mean, it’s just an everyday thing in my mind. I guess I never really stop to think about what’s going on.”
“I bet you have some stories,” he went on.
“Don’t get him started. Once he gets going, it’s hard to get him to shut up,” The Reaper said motioning towards him.
“Look who’s talking, Mr. I’m Single-Handedly Responsible for the Plague. You can go on, too.”
Famine knew the legendary boringness that the family possessed. He tried to break the cycle by getting the old soul collector to tell an exciting tale for a change. “Tell us a story, Uncle.”
Ankou was silent for a few seconds, gathering his thoughts. He then suddenly sat upright and looked towards Famine. “There was one time I chased someone for the entire night. I usually catch between ten
and twenty people a night, but this one time I wanted to take my time and really enjoy the catch. I saw this man walking home from the market. Damned fool had started back too late. He was just shuffling along without a care in the world. I loosened up the wheels on the cart a bit to make them louder and started after him. He heard me and started walking faster, so I rode after him faster.”
“The thrill is in the pursuit,” Famine said.
“Yes! You should have seen him run! I didn’t know those humans could move so fast.”
“What happened then?”
“Well, I chased him for a little while longer. We both kept going and going. At one point I was right on top of him. Then I thought ‘Old man, it’s going to be over now. Getting him now will spoil the fun.’ So I stopped chasing him and let him get a little further down the road. He thought he had gotten away. What a fool. That’s a human for you.”
Famine scooped the dog from the floor and put him in his lap. It eyed Ankou with fascination.
“Anyway, he was still a good two hours from home when I crept up on him again. The chase began anew! This time, I rode after him even faster. He ran unlike anyone else I had seen run before. I chased him into a cave and he tried hiding from me but I waited. Finally, just before sunrise, when he thought he was safe, he sneaked out of his hiding place. You should’ve seen how surprised he was when he saw me! He begged to be taken so I put him on my cart and rode away. That was a night.”
Famine was genuinely captivated by his uncle’s story. He had only heard about The Reaper’s floating about, grabbing people, and then floating off again. Not a lot of excitement. Even when Llorona was in the business, she didn’t seem to have much to say. Of course that was before his time so she could’ve done the same thing Ankou had. She seldom spoke of her good old days.
“So, people are really that scared of you?” He asked.
“You should see them scatter and hide when the sun goes down. All I have to do is just move the cart a few feet and let them hear it coming. They howl like mad. Hell, I don’t even have to ride up to scare them. If they as much as see a hat like mine after dark, they react the same way.”
Famine thought about something Llorona had said earlier. She had mentioned something about going into the field. What his uncle was talking about sounded like just this. It was a long shot, but he had to ask. He cleared his throat and boldly spoke. “You think I could ride with you sometime, Uncle Ankou?”
No one said a word at first; they only looked at Famine. The boy swore he could hear the beating of bats’ wings in the uncomfortable silence. He was sure they all thought he was just being an impetuous child. Thinking that made him regret even asking the question. Then the Reaper suddenly picked up his wine glass and swished around the liquid. “I don’t think your uncle wants a tag along.”
“This could be the new thing I’ve been looking for. If you want to trust me again, what better way is there than getting out again? Besides, I’d have some supervision.” The pleading suddenly seemed pathetically desperate. Perhaps begging was a bad an idea as asking and now regretted both.
“That’s not a bad idea. I’m afraid I put that idea out there, though.” Llorona said putting a napkin on the table. She looked over at the Reaper.
He put the glass down and nodded towards her. “It was something I had been thinking about, too. I’m not against it if Ankou’s not.”
Famine out the dog back on the ground and stared anxiously at his uncle. “What do you think?”
Ankou was taken back by the whole situation. He had never had to deal with anything like this. Ancient cogs and wheels slowly spun in his decaying head. Although this was the first time in years they had done that, his response was quick. The old man pursed his lips and bobbed his head in agreement. “Yes, I think it might do you some good to get out and learn. You’d be enriched by the experiences. You’d get a better understanding of what we do. No other being your age is out there doing things like this. Just imagine what it could do to your stature. Plus I’d love a companion.”
Famine smiled and jumped up. “You can trust me, Uncle Ankou. I’ll do whatever you tell me. This is going to be wonderful!”
The old cart driver had taken off his hat and was smoothing out his wild hair. He fixed the crooked collar of his cape and looked quite proud of himself. “Indeed it is. It’s a hell of a place out there. I think you’re going to like it.”
The Reaper got up and slung the empty corpse over his shoulder as Llorona picked up the glasses. “Just be careful,” he said. “If you’re going to prove something to us please prove it safely. I can always use my link if I have to. I know how you hate that.”
The link he was referring to was one The Reaper had set upon him since he had come to The Deadlands. Famine wanted quickly to reassure him that using it wasn’t necessary. The last thing he needed was to be mentally spied upon.
Llorona gave The Reaper a look of surprise. She didn’t think he’d play that card. “I don’t think you’ll have to do that. He’s a smart kid,” she remarked.
“Still, though, you know I’m here if worse comes to worse.”
“I know, I know. I’ll keep out of trouble.”
Ankou put his hat on again and got up from the table. Llorona had disappeared into the kitchen. The Reaper was pointed in the same direction.
“I need to put the rest of this away. It’ll make a good midnight snack,” he said indicating the corpse. He was gone a second later. Famine looked over at Ankou.
“When can we start?”
“I’d thought we could ride around tonight so you’d see what it was like.”
“Sounds great. Can I bring the dog?”
Ankou began walking towards the family room. He neatened the ruffles of his shirt sleeves and whisked away some stray dust. “I think he needs to stay here tonight, child. He needs to get used to his new home.”
The man was right. If the beast was going to be here from now on, it needed to know the layout and feel of the place. Perhaps later it could go with them. Right now, all he wanted to do was get out of the mausoleum. Llorona came back with a large canvas under her arm. Famine wondered where she’d gotten it since she usually kept her supplies in a visible location. The woman was full of surprises. She stopped and looked proudly at Famine. She spoke with an air of confidence. “You’re going to do fine out there. You have a great teacher. I hope he is able to give you what you want.”
“I’m sure he will.”
“I’ll see you later. Be careful,” she said patting his shoulder.
Famine nodded and Llorona left the room humming to herself. The Reaper appeared a second later. He had a dish towel flung over his shoulder. “You two heading out?” he asked.
“Indeed we are, no time like the present as the mortals say,” Ankou replied.
The three of them exited the mausoleum and went to the waiting cart and horses. Ankou took the reins as Famine took a seat beside him. The Reaper stood beside the wagon and gave one of the horses a pat. “Try not to get into too much trouble,” he said.
The Reaper’s sense of humor was as dry as his bones. He tried, and that counted for something. Famine sighed and said nothing. Ankou peered over his nephew’s shoulder and spoke. “It’s going to be a good night, brother. He’ll be fine.”
“I know. He’s in good hands.”
“I’ll make you proud,” said Famine.
“I believe you will.”
The Reaper stepped back and began moving towards the door. He gave the duo a quick wave and went back into the mausoleum. Famine turned to his uncle. The man was adjusting the rearview mirror on his side. He finished, looked up, and spoke quickly. “Let’s be off. We don’t people to think we’re not coming.”
“We wait for no man.”
“You’re learning already, child.” Ankou clicked his tongue and the rickety cart started off down the road. Tonight, there were hearts to strike fear into and souls to be captu
red.
Keeping Up with the Deadlanders Page 1
