The Queen of the Dead

by Peter Meredith

  Next, she applied the smallest amount of makeup, fearing that too much would make her look like one of the slave girls the Santas kept hanging around. Finally, she, brushed her auburn hair, letting it fall naturally.

  Then she too left her apartment, heading out to find Mike, which she did standing at the foot of her stairs. Seeing her, Mike forgot his boat. It could’ve been sinking at that very moment and he wouldn’t have cared. He gaped up at Jenn and the look on his face was indescribable to her other than to say it was perfect. No one had ever looked at her that way and she couldn’t keep from smiling. Just then she didn’t think anything could stop her from smiling, ever.

  Then she saw Orlando Otis and five of his brutish friends heading towards them. The smile vanished.

  “What is it?” she asked as they pushed past Mike and came up the stairs. She knew the answer even before Orlando spoke.

  “One Shot’s dead and now it’s time for your bitchy, know-it-all friend to pay for her crime.”

  Chapter 11

  Mike felt quite undone. As Orlando and his thuggish friends had approached the stair, Mike had been pushed aside as though he were little more than a child. Then when Jillybean was dragged out of Jenn’s apartment, wild-haired and wild-eyed, he had done nothing about her arm being canted high behind her back, the nails digging into her wrist, the spitting or the insults.

  He had stood meekly by, staring like a tourist. He was still standing there watching the men haul Jillybean away when Jenn grabbed his hand. “Come on. We have to do something.”

  The two followed after the gang and behind them came everyone else. It was a parade of sorts that wound its way to the clubhouse. The gang went in but Jenn and Mike were stopped outside by Orlando who looked down at Mike, saying, “Coven business only. They’ll call you if they need you, which I doubt they will.”

  Mike began to bristle, a useless, self-serving gesture. He probably couldn’t win in a fight against the much bigger Orlando and even if he could there were the other goons, and if by some prodigious luck he got past them, what could he say that would change anyone’s minds?

  Stu came up and managed to embarrass Mike even further. “Get out of the way,” he growled at Orlando.

  This brought on a smirk. “Coven. Business. Only,” Orlando said, over-pronouncing each word.

  “Get out of the way, or else.” Stu’s dark eyes smoldered into Orlando’s and now there was just the smallest amount of doubt in them. Still, he didn’t give up his ground. Without another word Stu drove a fist into Orlando’s solar plexus dropping him to his knees. As he gasped for air, Stu limped around him with Mike and Jenn following.

  Stu paused looking to his right at the clinic door which was wide open. The room was dark and silent, empty save for the body. A soft curse escaped Stu’s clenched teeth as he turned away, heading to the conference room which was even messier than it had been—Jillybean’s contraption had been smashed to pieces.

  A few feet away from it was a scrum as five men tried to control Jillybean who kicked, punched, scratched and bit. When they finally wrestled her down, she panted like a demon and sent glaring, murderous expressions about the room.

  Donna, her face lined and tired, shook her head at the spectacle. “Jillybean, we find you guilty of…”

  “Stop!” bellowed Stu. “You haven’t found her guilty of anything.”

  “…Guilty of the murder of One Shot Saul,” Donna went on, putting just enough effort into the speech to be heard by the Coven. Stu caught little snatches and knew enough to roar again, uselessly as it turned out as Donna went on, “You shall have the death of your choosing. And that will be?”

  “Old age, bitch,” Jillybean spat out, cackling madly, her eyes bright and hideously yellow.

  Donna sighed and was about to pick Jillybean’s death for her: a bullet to the back of the head, when Stu said, “If she dies, I will leave.”

  “And if we banish her? Wouldn’t you leave then as well?” Lois asked. “I think you would. Your feelings for her are obvious. We lose you either way so your threat is useless. I’m sorry but Jillybean has put us in a terrible position. We can’t have murderers walk free and we don’t have the resources to jail them. This is our only choice.”

  “I have something to say,” Jenn practically cried. “She is not, uh rational. That means…”

  Jillybean had grown sullen and quiet. Now, she said in a confused little voice, “That’s what means she’s not right in the head.”

  Everyone stared at her, not knowing exactly what to think. It had sounded as though the voice had come from another being entirely. Jenn was the first to gather herself and with a sidelong look at Jillybean, she said, “She’s not right in the head and they used to say you couldn’t find a crazy person guilty. Kind of like you can’t find a baby or a child guilty. They don’t know better or they don’t understand what’s happening to them. It wouldn’t be right to, ahem, K-I-L her when she’s like this.”

  As if Jenn’s point had made them both physically and mentally uncomfortable, the seven women sitting somberly behind their wide table shifted around in their seats.

  This would be the hilltop’s first execution and Donna wanted it as above board as possible. There couldn’t be any questions or doubts. She whispered as much to Lois who whispered to Miss Shay and so on until each had heard the whisper and agreed.

  Another sigh from Donna. “Have her take her pills and get her mind proper by sunrise. We were going to do it then one way or the other. I am truly sorry, Stu. We did not come to this decision lightly.” She went on longer than that with her excuses but few people attended her. Jenn certainly wasn’t listening. Her ears were filled with cotton for all she heard, and her mind was as well or so it seemed as she tried and failed to come up with a way to save the girl.

  She was still straining her wits when the five men cuffed Jillybean’s hands behind her back and led her away. Jenn started after them only to be yanked around by Miss Shay, whose long face was puckered unpleasantly like a stork sucking on a lemon.

  “We’re going to need you to turn in your crossbows. Just until after, you know. And we can’t have you leaving the complex either. There’ll be no more foolishness. No more running around after dark. There’ll be a guard, an armed guard, parked right out in front of the shed so please, no heroics, any of you.”

  Stu shouldered past her almost knocking her down. He stormed towards the door, but stopped as he came abreast of the machine Jillybean had built. “Who broke this?” he demanded.

  Miss Shay made only a humph noise and it was up to Donna to answer, “It was like that when we came back from lunch. Poor One Shot was as well. He seemed fine when I checked on him this morning and then, well, I guess he died somewhere in there. It happens and I’m sure Jillybean tried her best, but now we have to do what’s right for the community. We can’t have people going around killing each other without actual real-life consequences or it’ll be total mayhem.”

  Stu began to bristle again; Jenn stopped him by asking, “What about putting it up for a vote? Maybe more people want her alive than dead. She did save Aaron, William and Stu.”

  Donna warped a smile onto her face. A vote of the people was the last thing she wanted. If they voted once, they’d get a taste for it and then they’d want to vote on everything. The Coven would be useless if this happened. She couldn’t exactly say this.

  “Even if you won a vote,” she paused, looked around and leaned closer, “she would still die. I can’t name names but there are those who made it clear to us that if we lost One Shot, Jillybean was going to die one way or another. Yes, it would be wrong, it would be murder and all that. We know this, but we aren’t going to chance a civil war. That’s not something we can allow.”

  Stu was stunned by this. It was bad enough that there were vigilantes on the hilltop, but what was worse was the moral cowardice displayed by the Coven. Their weakness was appalling—and couldn’t they see that it, more than anything Jillybean could do, wo
uld eventually undermine them?

  He couldn’t hide his disappointment or the harshness of his contempt. It sent the Coven scurrying away with mumbled excuses. He stood, staring after them and it was up to Mike to get him moving, whispering, “We can’t just stand here. If you want to save Jillybean we’re going to have to think of something.”

  The young man took Stu by the elbow and began heading towards the front door however Stu stopped just shy of it. “Wait. I have to check something out.” With Mike and Jenn reluctantly trailing behind, he turned to the clinic.

  One Shot was still in his bed, a sheet drawn over his face. Stu went to him and slowly pulled it back, not knowing what he was going to see; a look of fright, maybe? His face contorted in misery? His eyes open and staring?

  All three of them were relieved that One Shot appeared only as if asleep and looked much like himself, except without his usual sneer and with a little more pallor to his cheeks than usual. Stu drew the sheet even further down, discovering that the corpse was naked.

  Going pink, Jenn turned away; seeing a man’s parts was bad enough, but seeing a dead man’s parts was even more unseemly, going beyond indecent and bordering on sinful, she was sure. It was also a complete certainty on her part they were positively coating themselves in ill-luck just being in the same room with a corpse.

  And then there was One Shot’s spirit. Had it left? Or was it hanging around looking for someone to haunt? She didn’t know if ghosts and spirits were a real thing, but they were such a frightening possibility that she didn’t think it warranted taking the risk poking at a body. One Shot had been such an abomination in life that if there were such a thing as ghosts, his would definitely persevere and was probably being teased out of some dark cranny even then.

  “We should get out of here,” she said with a shiver.

  “You can wait outside,” Stu answered, inspecting the eight-inch long wound. The stitches seemed as sound as if they had been put in with a sewing machine. There wasn’t any swelling and the smell of the wound wasn’t like that of a ham having been left out in the sun for a week.

  Unfortunately, there was no way to tell just by looking at the outside of him why he had died.

  Under any other circumstances, Stu would have thought complications from surgery had punched One Shot’s ticket. It was the smashed generator that had him worried he was looking at a murder victim. Yet there were no marks or bruising, not even on the man’s throat, and there were no lumps upon his greasy head.

  He knew there were poisons that could kill a man, but he’d heard they turned their victim’s faces black, unless they were black to begin with then they turned a deep shade of blue.

  While Stu stood over One Shot, uselessly courting a haunting or a possible possession, Jenn gathered up Jillybean’s supplies, taking everything and shoving it back into the duffle-bag that had come down from Bainbridge with them.

  Mike only stood between them, pulled and pushed by unseen forces. He too worried over being so close to a dead body and not just because of ghosts. There was also the specter of disease. As brave as he was, he couldn’t help the slick oily feeling in his stomach watching Stu probe One Shot’s belly. And when the probing caused an acidic burp to rumble out of One Shot’s mouth, Mike felt the catfish he’d had for dinner threaten to come up.

  “Jenn’s right, we should get going,” he said. To his great relief Stu agreed. They went back to Jenn’s apartment and were shocked to find Orlando and two of his friends there, pawing through Jillybean’s belongings. Both men were armed with M4’s.

  “What the hell?” Stu demanded. Undeterred by the rifles, he walked right up and snatched a night scope out of Orlando’s hands. They stared hard into each other’s eyes before Orlando shrugged.

  “We got every right to be here,” he said. “We’re here for your crossbow, little Jenn. Oh, and yours, too, little Mike.” This had the other two laughing and elbowing each other.

  Jenn picked hers up—it was still loaded. Her finger slipped into the trigger guard and the point strayed across all three men as she casually said, “It’s been sitting here the entire time.” The deadly bolt, ready to fly, stopped the laughter. “Who wants it?” she asked and again the point drifted across the three men.

  “She ain’t gonna shoot,” Orlando said and then jumped in fright as Jenn fired the bow at the wall four feet to the right of him. “What the crap!” he cried.

  Without saying a word, she walked out her front door and flung the bow down the stairs. Gesturing at it, she said, “There you go. You came for the bow. It’s all yours.”

  There was a good deal of cursing and mumbled threats, but Jenn didn’t listen to a word of it. She stood at her dining room table for a full five minutes in silence before she could finally commit herself to what she knew had to be done—she and Jillybean would have to run away.

  “We have to help her escape,” she said to Mike and Stu. “And I’m going with her. I’m done with this place, though I really don’t know where to go. Alcatraz will be out of the question now, and I know you are set on giving up the Saber, but maybe you can give us a ride first?”

  “Us? I’m coming as well,” Mike said, trying to come across boldly though he felt a little sick.

  Stu, face grimmer than usual, said, “I’m in, too. Let’s see Jillybean and see if she has a plan.”

  The complex, lit by the setting sun was more quiet than usual; eerily quiet to Jenn. They passed a few people who stared at them, especially at Jenn and it was not until they came across Colleen White before she remembered how she had made herself into someone completely different.

  As they passed, Colleen gave her a quick inspection before saying, “I’m sorry about your friend. But maybe it will be for the best.”

  Stu stumbled, his weak leg kicking a rock. He fell into Mike and they both nearly went down. Jenn didn’t even notice. She had rounded on Colleen, her blue eyes like ice. “How on earth can killing her be for the best?”

  “She told me things,” Colleen said. “Eve, the other girl inside of her, told me how wicked they both are. And you know bad things have happened since she came here and more bad things will happen if she stays. But now we can get back to normal. Wouldn’t you like that?”

  Colleen was somewhat desperate to get back normal. In her “normal” world, she was the prettiest and Jenn was somewhat of a scullery maid. Stu was the quiet hunter who could be depended upon in all things and Mike the handsome mariner who was clearly in a need of a wife.

  “Have you eaten?” she asked all three of them, though her eyes hung on Mike the longest. “I have some venison braising. It would be a little tight with four…” She left off clearly hoping that only one of them would accept the invitation to dinner.

  They all declined which was a great relief to Jenn and a shock to Colleen whose eyes narrowed at the done-up scullery maid.

  Jenn only shrugged as Stu limped on. She was happy to be away from Colleen while at the same time she began to worry what she would feed Mike and Stu. After all they couldn’t enact any sort of rescue until deep into the night and they certainly shouldn’t attempt it on an empty stomach.

  Before she could figure out a proper dinner, the three of them arrived at the shed and there was indeed a guard seated just outside of it on a folding chair, an M4 set across his lap. The man’s name was Dan “Dango” Ferem and he had been one of One Shot’s sly drinking buddies. He had fully expected the visit.

  “Turn out your pockets,” he told them. With an eye out for shenanigans, he watched them put their belongings in a small pile. Next he frisked them one after another, going so far as to inspect the pill bottles. “If you give her all of those at once, it would save everyone a lot of grief.”

  They accepted this bit of unpleasantness without comment and then headed into the dark shed. It wasn’t so dark they could miss Eve’s flashing eyes. “Pills? I was hoping for a file in a cake or at least something to drink. These pukes,” she jerked her chin toward Dango who had fo
llowed them in and was watching things closely, “won’t give me even a swallow of water.”

  Mike rounded on Dango and glared. Uneasy under the hard eye, Dango explained he wasn’t supposed to leave his post, but if one of them wanted to bring something for her to eat and drink, “There wasn’t a law against it.”

  As Stu was still somewhat lame and Jenn in heels that were beginning to make her limp as much as Stu, Mike ran back to the apartment he shared with Stu and fetched something for her to eat and drink. In the meantime, Stu squatted down next to the cuffed girl. She sneered and said something disgusting about his mother and her ardent desire for farm animals, but if she thought she was going to get a rise out of him, she was mistaken.

  He even smiled at her. “Seven times nine,” he said. She shook her head and refused to answer. “Seven times nine is sixty-three. Seven times ten?”

  “Seventy,” she snapped. “It won’t work. I know my times tables.”

  “Is that right? Where did you learn them?”

  Her face froze, her slack jaw open and her eyes out of focus. She began to shake her head and he asked, “Seven times eleven?”

  “It’s seventy-seven, okay? You can stop now.”

  “Seven times thirteen? Well? Come on, seven times thirteen? It’s eighty-four.”

  She froze again and he repeated this and now a line appeared at her forehead and she said, “No it isn’t. It’s ninety-one, of course. What’s happened? Did I do something wrong? Is someone hurt?” Jillybean had no notion what day it was. The last thing she remembered was lying down for what she had hoped was a short nap, but that felt like a very long time ago and all the time spent in darkness.

  “One Shot died sometime this afternoon,” Jenn told her. “They say it was ‘complications’ that got him.” For Jenn it was a blanket term that could cover anything, including his guts exploding out of his body.

  “Did he have a fever?” Jillybean asked. “Bleeding? A racing pulse? What? What killed him?”