The Death Series, Books 1-3

by Blodgett, Tamara Rose

“I've already contacted him and he'll meet with us at,” Dad looked at the pulse-clock, “six.”

  I was starving. Even with Jade as a constant distraction, I needed to fill the hole. I looked at Mom.

  “Those pancakes all gone?” she guessed.

  “Mine are!” Jonesy said, sensing food was close.

  “You didn't have pancakes,” I said, suspicious.

  Jonesy discounted my comment with a wave of his hand. “Doesn't matter, I haven't eaten in hours,” he moaned dramatically, clutching his stomach.

  Brother.

  Mom grinned, she loved Jonesy's theatrics. “I have some leftover pizza?”

  John asked, “Is there enough?”

  “Always.”

  As we engulfed the pizza, Jade watched in a sort of numb horror as Jonesy ate four slices in ten minutes; we discussed who would visit Anderson. We decided that all of us going would give more credit to the story.

  “The point is,” Dad said, in between bites of cheesy pizza, “their presence may lend a degree of validity that would otherwise not be there. We'd go there and look like hysterical parents bent on some anti-government zealotry.”

  “But you're not hysterical,” I said.

  “I know that son, but Anderson doesn't,” Dad said.

  “Yeah, Caleb,” Jonesy began, all his pizza crammed to one side of his mouth, hand on a glass filled with pop. “There's a ton of nut jobs out there, waiting to crack.”

  “You're on it today, Jonesy,” John said.

  “Every day, pal,” Jonesy said.

  Jade rolled her eyes and we all laughed.

  ****

  Kent Station was in the valley and that's where the Seattle Post-Intelligencer's satellite office was located. Dad drove up, easily finding a parking spot, completely unheard of in our city of two hundred thousand. We tumbled out, the Js and Jade hanging around on the sidewalk while Dad put his thumb on the pulse-meter.

  The Js tried to sprint ahead to the door. “Hang on, kids,” Dad said, without looking up. Mom was still fumbling with her stuff, piling a hoodie, purse and her dedicated pulse-reader together.

  “Mom, seriously? The DR?”

  “It makes me frantic not having the option to read.”

  Like she was going to read when we were about to rat on the big, bad super-secret government dudes. Right.

  We walked toward the building, all height and glass. It looked like a giant, sea-green jewel, spearing the sky above us. The huge sign on top read: Seattle Post-Intelligencer, and was illuminated with glowing, electric-blue letters.

  We walked through the door, getting in line for the pulse-body scan. Terrorist threats were such a damn drag. All points of entry: police, fire, media were all protected by Pulse-scan.

  The lady with the Pulse-wand stood at the ready, her bored face primed to do the next wand pass. “Come forward please, arms up, turn-around.... next.”

  I knew Jonesy was going to have trouble with the urge-to-laugh-at-inappropriate-times when he started to cover his mouth. This problem of his was terribly contagious. Thankfully, Jade and I were already through the line.

  But John wasn't.

  Out of the three of us, John being the most serious personality, had the worst trouble calming down once Jonesy began laughing.

  John tried, he really did, but when Jonesy burst out laughing the instant the dour TSA worker said, “Next,” John doubled over and couldn't stand up again, he laughed so hard his head turned tomato-red.

  The TSA gal made it worse by saying, “young man, young man...” she sputtered. “Stand up!”

  To which Jonesy interjected, “Anal-probe! Right here!” pointing over the top of John's back. Which caused John to roar with laughter, falling down on his bony ass.

  The TSA agent pursed her lips in a thin line.

  Dad stepped in and said, “I'm quite sorry about their behavior, it's been a trying day, they're a bit... giddy.” He was trying to calm the storm.

  The TSA gal looked down at John who was on the floor, tears streaming out of his eyes and made an exaggerated grunt, “Get off my floor, young man!”

  Mom and Jade had mouths hanging agape, even my laid-back parents were somewhat embarrassed.

  John got onto all fours and stood up, still making the funny mouth, trying not to burst out again, Mom was talking sternly to Jonesy, his back to us.

  John finally stood up and said, “I'm really sorry about that, I don't know what my problem was.”

  “Arms up,” humorless said. “Turn-around... next!” she nearly yelled.

  John, suitably chagrined, walked over to our small group. Dad in the center of us said, “Come close fellas.”

  We all leaned in, Dad spoke to our group but his eyes were all for Jonesy, “I better not have any more of this behavior. Jonesy: control your bullshit.”

  Jonesy blanched, I don't think any of us had ever heard Dad swear. Truly, I hadn't thought he knew the words. A silence fell over our loose circle.

  Dad straightened. “Come on, follow me.” He strode off, Jonesy and John followed with their tails between their legs.

  ****

  Tim Anderson just flat-out didn't believe us.

  Dad tried to reason with him, but Anderson interrupted with a, “Dazzle me guys. Can something die and you raise it?” he asked me, eyes boring into mine.

  A what? Did he mean, murder someone to bring back, here? In the tower-o-glass? I looked at Jade and she just shook her head, she didn't know either.

  “Listen, Dr. Hart... I know you're the principal scientist with regard to the genome map, terrific. But, you expect me to put my, excuse me ladies, nut-sack on the line for some wild stories about a six-point AFTD, running amok with his friends, and some shadowy government co-op dispatched to 'acquire' him.” He pointed at me, air-quoting, like it was alleged, not actual.

  He was starting to piss me off.

  Dad too, who began drumming his fingers on Anderson's desk.

  “What do we gain from trumping up false stories?” Mom asked in a huff.

  Good point.

  “Who knows? I get whack-jobs all the time that come in here and spray their lies all over. I'm not inclined to believe things on hearsay. I'm a journalist guys.”

  Dad slapped his hand on the desk, rattling the glass pen holder, Anderson's eyes widened but he didn't comment (not easily intimidated). “We are not crazy or making things up.”

  Anderson leaned back in his chair.

  “Jade, show Mr. Anderson what's going on.”

  I looked at Dad, what was this about?

  Jade stood and came over to Anderson, a predatory smile played on her face that I didn't know she had.

  “Dad...” I didn't know where this was going.

  “It's okay, Caleb.”

  “What are you doing, girlie?” Anderson asked her.

  Uh-oh, I knew her dad called her that.

  Jade just smiled wider and touched his shoulder, he jumped like it'd hurt but I knew it hadn't.

  “Seeing,” she answered.

  Emotions flew across her face as we watched her start to know Anderson.

  He didn't let it continue though, picking her hand off his shirt like lint. “That's enough of that,” he said, shaken.

  “What's going on?” Dad asked.

  “He wants an exclusive if he can have proof,” she said and he nodded. “Otherwise, it's just a wild goose chase.”

  “Are you quoting him?” Mom asked.

  “Yes... no. I mean, people think in images and I saw geese in his head and him chasing them...so, I know it was that,” Jade said.

  “It's an old expression,” Anderson said quietly.

  “He wants to go to the ghost cemetery,” Jade said.

  He glared at her.

  “Well, you didn't believe us,” I said.

  “Let's do it. We go to the... honey, what's the name of that old place?”

  “Kyle, I don't remember,” Mom said.

  “Anyway, we go there and Caleb raises a
zombie, you see some of the evidence, and then you write something. Seems clear-cut.”

  “He will,” Jade said.

  “Must be a nice skill, young lady,” Anderson said.

  “It's Jade,” adding, “not 'girlie'.”

  “Right. Okay... so, let's get going. The young la-Jade, has convinced me this may be authentic.”

  CHAPTER 36

  The cemetery was exactly as I remembered it except instead of being silvered by moonlight, it had a hazy white quality. The evening sun laying low in the sky, slanting through trees and open slashes where the forest surrounding it broke.

  Tim Anderson strode forward, squashing the tall blades of grass as he went, moving between the tombstones toward the caretaker's cottage. He arrived at the front steps, turning around to face us.

  “Where-oh-where is the stealth chopper? The gun casings? The knives? The remnants of battle?”

  Definitely this guy missed his calling and should have been on stage, not writing for the biggest paper in the state.

  We all started scouring the graveyard and apart from a few tromped down places of flat pasture between the graves, there wasn't a mark anywhere.

  No way they could have cleaned this place.

  Jonesy opened his mouth and Dad held up a finger in warning. I guess Dad was up to here with Jonesy. “What about the tombstone that got whacked by the chopper blade? What about the chopper blade embedding itself into the ground?”

  Right! We sprinted to the spot where we thought the chopper had landed and disintegrated the grave marker.

  We stood in a circle around where the marker should have been but there was nothing. Well, not true, there was a hole that was deep, maybe almost a foot, long and rectangular, where a marker had been.

  “They took the whole damn thing!” Jonesy yelled.

  Dad and Mom were too shocked to get mad at Jonesy for being him again.

  Anderson bent down, letting his fingers trail over dirt that hadn't been exposed to the outside for one hundred years. “You might have something here.”

  He walked the whole graveyard and every so often he would look at something closely until John yelled, “Look at this!”

  We ran over there, the parents coming last.

  A huge gouge had been punched into the dirt. On either side there was a a swathe, crescent moon shaped, like a smile, with the center being a deep well.

  Without looking up I said, “Jonesy, get a stick.”

  He came back with a long branch from an alder or something and I stuck it into the hole made by the helicopter blade. It went down until there was only six inches sticking out. Drawing it out, I put it beside my body.

  Dad said, “Looks like about four feet.”

  “Looking like you guys might have been telling the truth,” Anderson conceded.

  *

  Back at Anderson's office, where we passed through security unscathed by hysterics, we sat for a solid hour, telling our story. His voice-activated pulse-recorder loaded directly to his pulse-top.

  On a couple of parts Anderson remarked or asked a question to clarify something. Finally, we were finished.

  “Well, that's one helluva story there. A real humdinger.”

  “I can understand you coming to me, or someone like me. I will do my best, tonight,” Anderson said.

  “Tonight?” Dad asked.

  “Yeah, my boss is going to be thrilled. But better than that, it offers a little protection for your kid there.” Anderson became thoughtful. “I'm not a real introspective guy, but I'd say you've been given something special,” he looked out at us all. “It's how you use it that will make the difference.”

  Standing up, he stuck his hand out. “Sorry I was so tough on you in the beginning. It's been a pleasure. You've got a good kid here, Dr. Hart.”

  “Kyle,” Dad corrected. “I know we do.” he smiled at me with what may have been pride.

  “Those other two though...” he waggled his finger at the Js. “They may be trouble.” He laughed, taking the sting out of it.

  CHAPTER 37

  The article came out and sensationalized the paranormal community. People believe what they want to believe; there were sides. Some thought that it was a greatly exaggerated story about a bunch of teens that got together to be wild in cemeteries. Others thought that the government was putting its nose where it didn't belong, endangering this new generation of kids.

  Still others thought that the drug cocktail that gave human beings a key to power came with a price. Having survived the last few months I'd have to agree.

  Summer rolled out like a great sea of time before us: an awesome girlfriend, Onyx (teen's best friend), the Js, ready to try anything.

  Life was good.

  But in the quiet dark of my room, questions pressed at me before sleep took hold. Where was Parker? What had they been planning for me? What had caused the electrical problem that ultimately saved us from possible capture and certain pain? Were we finished? That little (loud) voice in my head didn't think so.

  A few days later, Jonesy asked me if we could go rouse some zombies. I told him no. For now, I was zombied out.

  But maybe sometime, that would change... sooner rather than later.

  The End

  Death Speaks

  Book Two of the Death Series

  by Tamara Rose Blodgett

  Death Speaks

  Book Two of the Death Series

  by Tamara Rose Blodgett

  Copyright © 2011 Tamara Rose Blodgett

  http://tamararoseblodgett.blogspot.com

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  All rights reserved. Except as permitted under the U.S. Copyright Act of 1976, no part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, or stored in a database or retrieval system without the prior written permission of the publisher.

  This book is a work of fiction. The names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the writer's imagination or have been used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, actual events, locales or organizations is entirely coincidental.

  All rights are reserved.

  Edited by Stephanie T. Lott

  For Danny:

  “You're hired...”

  Prologue

  I'm Caleb Hart, still the son of the famous scientist who mapped the human genome back in 2010... but I'm down with that now.

  In 2025 my paranormal ticket was punched and I began raising zombies... accidentally. After narrowly escaping the Graysheets, (a super-secret bunch of government creepers bent on making us robots for their Evil Plan). I managed to get a great girlfriend, Jade, all-that-is-girl, survive Brett and Carson's full attention, and was ready for freshmen year at Kent Paranormal High (KPH).

  I have a cop that might be trustworthy named Garcia. He and his new partner, Bobbi Gale (she's got the undead vibe too), really want some help finding the person responsible for the deaths of all those kids we ran into as ghosts last year at the caretakers shack...

  Journalist Tim Anderson wrote the cool article spotlighting the Graysheets so they'd get off my back. But some nights I lie awake, thinking about my counterpart, Jeffrey Parker, and what he spends his time doing for them.

  Jade's dad was in prison for a month for resisting arrest and assaulting a minor. Too bad he can't be put away forever, cuz I know he'll pop out of his drunken toaster to make us miserable again.

  My thoughts frequently stray to Clyde, my main corpse...he could be a really righteous commando for an undead team. You never know when you'll need one.

  Onyx is a teen's be
st friend and (except for Jade) the best addition of last year.

  I'm feeling a little stressed out about my freshman year in high school and how my Affinity for the Dead class will flesh out (hardy-har-har), but if I can survive last year, I can do anything.

  But right now it's late summer and the school year threatens to descend and shatter the fun of it all. How will I get through one day in school without the Js as my tag team? It won't be the same without Jonesy, but it'll be great to have Brett going to derelict KM where his ass belongs. I guess I'll just have to wade through it all like everyone else, me and the gang... minus a J.

  CHAPTER 1

  “Go in, Caleb” Jonesy said, arms crossed across his chest, standing gooseflesh riding his forearms like chicken skin.

  “I will. I'm working up to it.”

  John Terran, Mark “Jonesy” Jones and I were all standing on the dock looking out over the murky waters of Lake Tapps. Mom had given us a ride out to Gramps' who had lived on the lake (since the dawn of time) in a small house with the biggest (illegal as hell) lawn in the entire universe. Jade and the girls were the smart ones, beach towels thrown beneath them, sunning themselves on the lawn.

  Jade looked up, her eyes shadowed by her hand. “Go ahead Caleb, you've been diving in all summer. You can't let Jonesy be the only one.”

  Easy for her to say. None of the girls wanted to be lakesicles.

  Jonesy gave me his best Devious Look and smiled. John's eyebrows shot up to his hairline, I knew that look, he meant business.

  Jade had made her comment and flopped her head back down on the towel, looking every inch the hottie lounging in a patch of sun. Sophie and Tiff lay on either side of her. But my eyes were only for Jade. She wore a bikini that was about the size of the floss I hated using, in a mouthwatering tangerine that shimmered in the afternoon light. Sophie was wearing a turquoise suit that set off her dark skin and light sea-colored eyes while Tiff had exchanged her trademark hoodie for a bikini top and shorts. Huh.