“Hey, folks,” said Alex, standing in the doorway. Rachael came in a few steps behind him. “I think it's time we all had a little palaver.”
Buck looked up from the fire, then stood and walked closer.
Josh put the guitar aside and sat up. “What's a palaver?” he asked.
“A chat, like,” said Alex.
Sinder opened his eyes and turned his head toward Alex. “Nice”—he smirked as he gestured toward Alex's sword and western gun belt—“getup you've got there.”
“Let me guess,” said Buck, “you two are getting married.”
Rachael rolled her eyes. “Fuck you, Buck,” she said.
“Yeah, me and every other guy in town.”
Alex's eyes flicked from Buck to Rachael, and back to Buck again. He filed it away. “Okay, everybody gather 'round. We got some things to discuss.” His cowboy hat rode low over his eyes, the candlelight casting his face into deepest shadow, his mouth and chin still visible in the flickering orange light.
Billings sat up, yawned, and put his glasses on.
“Is something on your mind, Mr. Rains?” Sinder said, still sitting and leaning against the wall.
Rachael sat down nearby on the bleachers, watching. Josh turned his head to look at Alex, and next to him, so did Emily. Harbaugh stood up. He was pale and sallow. “What's this all about?” he said, in a low, gravelly voice.
“As a matter of fact,” Alex said, “I got a couple things on my mind. I thought it might be time to get this all straightened out.”
Sinder smiled. “I'm sure this will be most entertaining.”
“Alex,” Harbaugh rasped, “this isn't the best time. Maybe it can wait until morning.”
Buck said, “I want to hear what he has to say.”
“So do I,” added Billings. “This sounds important.”
“Me, too,” said Tom.
Alex nodded. “Well then, I guess we better get started. First things first. I went and snooped around a bit.” He sauntered a few paces while he spoke. “Earlier, Rachael and me was talkin'. We realized that most of the first wave of zombies came from the Prosperity Retirement Home. Thing is, none of them folks seemed to have been bit. That made us all sorts of curious. So, I went and checked out the rest home, and I guess I found somethin' kind of funny.” He briefly left through the double doors and entered again, carrying the empty tank with one hand. He plunked it down in front of the crowd. “I found this. Anybody know anything about it?”
“It's a tank,” said Buck, “like, the kind of thing you'd get welding gas in, maybe? But what does that prove?”
“Nothin, by itself. But I found it right there in the activity room of the old folks' home, with the valve stuck wide open. Weird, right? Also, there's some bloody handprints on the tank. Right like you'd see if somebody was carryin' it.”
“Okay,” said Tom, “and . . .”
“Thing is, them handprints only got nine fingers.”
“Buddy,” said Tom.
“Bingo. Looks like—hours after he was already dead, mind you—Buddy carried this tank into the rest home, set it down, and cranked this valve right open. My theory is, this was some kind of . . . I don't know. Zombie gas.”
“Oh, zombie gas.” Sinder snorted laughter. “If I were a lawyer, I think I'd call that wild speculation.”
Tom said, “Dan's right. It's a great theory, but there's nothing to back it up.”
“But if it's true,” said Billings, “it would mean that this was, without a doubt, done deliberately.”
“Exactly,” said Alex. “See, the other thing that keeps buggin' me is that these zombies seem to know what we're doin' before we do it. Like they're thinking. They're pack hunting, tryin' to separate us, pick off the weak ones.”
“That's absurd,” said Sinder. “They're reanimated corpses. This is your imagination.”
Alex shook his head. “Bullshit. When we went out that door to head for the sheriff's station, that was a coordinated ambush.”
Billings added, “And they unlock doors.”
Alex nodded. “I'm bettin' dollars to donuts that either them dead folk are smarter'n they look, or someone is controlling 'em.”
“But who would do this,” asked Emily, “and why?”
“Good question. Honestly, I got no shortage of suspects. Matter of fact I've heard at least four of you say flat out that you wished everyone in this town was dead. Rachael, I think you mentioned wanting the place to burn to the ground.”
“I stand by my statement,” said Rachael.
“And Josh, I do believe you expressed a similar sentiment. Not to mention that the ex-boyfriend of the lady you fancy died a horrible death.”
Josh blushed beet red. “But I wouldn't . . . I mean, I don't . . .”
Emily covered a smile with her hand and blushed a little herself.
“Buck, you also mentioned hating this town and everyone in it.”
He nodded. “I can't deny it.”
“And at least three of you had direct contact with that book. Truth is, everybody I've talked to is a suspect. Even Dan Sinder, there. I mean, when we was out there, people getting' ate left and right, the only one I saw who didn't look scared for their gol-danged life was you. In fact, about half the time, you was smilin' like a rat eatin' raw onions.”
Sinder smiled thinly. “That's because I put my faith in the Lord, and He protects me. I have no reason to fear.”
“Huh. Well, I guess that's mighty nice for you. See, one other thing, though. When we was in the library, seemed like we was doing okay, right up until we got attacked by flaming zombies. I mean, who the hell ever heard of flaming zombies? Kid, they got flaming zombies in any of them movies?”
Josh shook his head. “Nope.”
“So I gotta ask, what in the heck was that all about? Again, almost seemed like a coordinated attack, tryin' to drive us outta the building. And you know when that happened? The very minute that John here mentioned he had all the old librarian's records. The moment I was about to take a look at 'em. So I figured maybe, whoever is doin' all this, maybe there was something in those letters that they didn't want us to see.”
“That's a fascinating theory, isn't it?” said Sinder. “Unfortunately, it's a little hard to prove, the library having burned down.”
“Funny thing,” said Alex. “You remember how the whole place was a mess, on account of a burst pipe? Turns out, waterlogged papers don't burn so awful well. So, I went back and poked around a little bit. Found some real interesting letters.” Alex picked up a candle and held it near a stack of warped papers. He cleared his throat and read.
Janice,
I don't know what the hell to tell you. I know you mentioned that there are some more . . . odd books in the collection. I think you need to pull them off the shelf ASAP. The fact of the matter is, there's something to them. They aren't fiction. I don't know how to explain it, but the Peterson kid used the instructions in this book to make some kind of a supernatural creature.
We've been giving it a lot of discussion here. None of us want to believe it. Hell, none of us even want to know that this book exists. The consensus here is that we should take all these books out to the desert and burn them. But that seems irresponsible, and possibly dangerous. The fact is, we have no idea what we're dealing with.
So, like any good bureaucrats, we've decided to do nothing. Please hide the rest of those damned books in some far corner of the library and keep them out of circulation. The book the Peterson kid checked out, the Book of Summoning, will be returned shortly.
I consulted our chemistry teacher, Dan Sinder, and he asked to borrow the book for a while to see if he can discover anything about it, either its provenance, via ink or paper samples, or if it has any special properties. In any case, he said he should be done with it in a few weeks and he'll return it to the library. Please don't charge him late fees.
“How about that, Dan? That ring any bells?”
All eyes fell on the chemistry teach
er. He laughed softly. “I never said I hadn't seen the book.”
Alex cocked his head. “I'm . . . pretty sure you implied it. But anyhow, now that we jogged your memory, you got anything to add?”
Sinder stood up and stretched. He paced slowly down the gymnasium floor. All eyes followed him. “Very well. Yes, I did examine the book. Samples of the ink were consistent with formulations used in the Middle Ages. The binding and vellum were consistent with the same time period. Though it's hardly my area of expertise, the book appeared to be an entirely legitimate antique. The pages carbon dated to the mid-1500s. As far as my research could discover, the author, Nicholas Holt, was a monk in the 1520s. According to what little I could find out, he translated the book from an earlier work, written in Sanskrit. He was later burned at the stake for heresy, along with all other known copies of his book. The book itself had no remarkable properties, chemical, electromagnetic, or otherwise.”
“And you just plumb forgot to mention all of this?”
Sinder smiled reasonably and looked around the room. “Now that you know, you're all apparently getting ready to burn me at the stake. Can you blame me for withholding this information?”
Alex put his hand on his pistol. “Let's just cut the bullshit, hoss. What was in the gas tank?”
Sinder laughed out loud. “What are you, fucking Hercule Poirot? That's all you've got? That's your big revelation?”
Alex faltered. “Well . . .”
Sinder glared around the room. “Apparently that's all it takes to blind yourself to the other suspects. What about Tom? He's been itching for the end of the world for twenty years! What about Rachael? Not hard to see her dabbling in the occult for laughs, is it? Perhaps John, who had more access to the library than I ever did. Or what about poor, mistreated Joshua Easton over there? Who knows what he'd do to get his revenge on his tormentors, to win over the woman who never wanted him.”
Josh glared coldly back at Sinder.
“Still,” said Alex, not taking his eyes off Sinder, “don't explain why you never mentioned how you had the book for a couple weeks, does it?”
“He's right, Alex,” said Harbaugh. “It's not evidence enough to be sure.”
“Or, perhaps it was you,” declared Sinder. “Rather strange, don't you think, this all happening the very day you roll into town? The fact is, any one of us could have done it.” He turned to face the rest of the survivors. “If you all think I'm guilty, due to this lunatic's opinion, one soggy letter, and a scuba tank, why then, why don't you all just string me—”
“Wait a sec,” said Alex. “I never mentioned it was a scuba tank. Pretty weird you picking that out from over there, just by candlelight.”
“Well . . . of course it's a scuba tank,” said Sinder. “It's perfectly obvious.”
“I didn't notice,” said Buck. “I thought it was a welding cylinder or a propane tank. We're in the middle of the desert. A scuba tank is the last thing that would have crossed my mind.”
“Wait,” said Emily. She stood up. The color drained from her face. “Scuba?” Tentatively, she approached the gas cylinder. She crouched down and looked at it. She read the sticker. “West Coast Dive World,” she said. “I've seen that name. Oh, no . . .”
“Oh, yeah?” said Alex.
“It was . . . it was on Mr. Sinder's phone.” She glanced nervously toward the chemistry teacher. “He was tutoring me. We were working on SAT prep. He got up and went to the kitchen and he left his phone on the table. He got a text. I didn't mean to pry, but it just popped up on the screen. It was an automated text from the bank. It said his Visa card had been used by West Coast Dive World for . . . for fifteen thousand dollars. I thought it must be some kind of mistake, but it wasn't my business, so I didn't say anything. But Mr. Sinder, he just looked at the text, nodded, and put the phone in his pocket.”
Alex turned back to Sinder. “What about that, hoss? I guess you got excellent credit. Fifteen grand, that's a lot of scuba tanks, ain't it? You takin' up a new hobby?”
Everybody turned to face Sinder. “Well, Dan,” said Buck, “what about that?”
Sinder considered for a moment as he stared into the candles. He sighed, then nodded once. “Very well. Scuba tanks fit my needs most closely. Expensive, yes, but manufactured to stringent standards, lightweight, and capable of holding high-pressure gas. In addition, there are many scuba tank pressurizers available on the consumer market, which made the task of filling them much easier. I simply created a variant of sarin gas, a nerve poison, and filled the tanks with it. You see, in vodun magic, a powder is typically administered to a victim before he dies and is raised as a zombi. Despite common beliefs, it is the will of the bokor, the sorcerer, that creates the zombi. The powder is nothing more than a poison, an expedient way to kill the subject so that he may be raised again. I simply . . . updated the recipe.”
Nobody spoke. The room was still and dark. Candlelight turned Sinder's glasses into flickering mirrors.
Rachael said, “Jesus, are you kidding?”
Sinder laughed. “Why would I kid? It's my greatest accomplishment! Surprise! It was me. You caught me. I did it. I raised the dead. I used the information in the book, and I raised the dead.”
There was another moment of shocked silence.
“You son of a bitch,” said Tom. “I say we get a rope.”
“Now let's not do anything crazy,” said Harbaugh.
“Crazy?” yelled Buck. “You want to talk about crazy?” He pointed a shaking finger. “That bastard murdered the whole town!”
Josh said, “See, I told you he was evil!”
“Evil?” said Sinder. “You think I'm evil? Look at the world out there. This world is choked with evil. I'm doing God's work. I am a purifier. I'm wiping the slate clean.”
“But, God, why, Dan?” said Billings, “Do you really hate us all that much?”
Sinder laughed. “Only God can hate. I'm just enacting His will.” He stood near the doorway, and the rest of the survivors faced him in a loose semi-circle. “You know, when I received that book, when I recreated young what's-his-name's experiment and succeeded in creating my own homunculus, I prayed for guidance for many months. What did it mean, I asked myself. Surely this was the tool of evil, of Satan, dark magics and spells. But then . . . then I had my revelation. It was revealed to me that there was a reason. A reason that God marooned me in this blighted cesspool of a town. So that my path could cross with that book. So I would have the knowledge, the tools, to carry out His will.”
Buck picked up his shotgun. He racked the slide, shick-shack, and the sound echoed in the still gymnasium. Alex held up his left hand for calm, his eyes still on Sinder. “So Janice Bueller was, what, an inconvenient loose end?”
Sinder smirked. “More or less. She knew too much. She was in a position to put all the pieces together. And, since she needed to go anyway, she made a convenient test subject. I'll admit, I had a little trouble there at first before I understood how to control them.”
Alex made a face. “So . . . God's will is that the whole town gets ate up by zombies?”
“You're thinking too small. This is only the beginning. The first time, God sent a flood to punish the wicked. This time, he sent me.”
“Funny, I don't remember anything about that in the Bible.”
Sinder grinned smugly. “And I will cause them to eat the flesh of their sons and the flesh of their daughters, and they shall eat every one the flesh of his friend in the siege and straitness, wherewith their enemies, and they that seek their lives, shall straiten them.”
“Well, that settles it,” said Alex. “I reckon you're about nuttier'n squirrel shit.”
“So why spare us?” said Tom. “If you're going to wipe humanity off the map, why are we still alive? God knows you had chances. You could have dropped another gas tank off on Main Street, and we'd all be out there with the rest of the zombies.”
For a moment, Sinder said nothing. He took a deep breath and let it out a
gain. “There's only one reason you were all spared.” He stood in front of the rest of them, and for the first time he actually looked nervous. He turned slightly and said, “Emily, I have not been entirely honest with you.”
She stared back at him in outrage. “Oh, you think?”
“You . . .” Sinder stammered. “You are special. You are . . . pure. You were chosen. It has been revealed to me. Your destiny is far greater than that of this rabble.” He held his hand out, his voice shaking in his fervor. “Come with me, Emily. Come away from these peasants. These sinners. These damned. You were meant for better.”
“Mr. Sinder . . . Dan . . . no . . .” Emily shook her head slowly, her face twisted in disgust.
“I know this is all very sudden,” Sinder continued. “I'd meant to reveal this to you more gradually. It wasn't supposed to be like this. You were never in any danger. I'll explain more fully, and you'll understand. Just come with me. Give it time. All will be revealed to you.”
Her face showed only horror and contempt. Angry tears flowed down her cheeks. “You . . . you murdered them all! Chet! Rudy! Everyone!”
“Chet,” Sinder spat. “That worm? That dog? He was beneath you. He was always beneath you. How it burned me to see you wasting your gifts upon that cur, that waste of breath. Do you know what it did to me, picturing his filthy hands upon you? Every moment I saw you with him, it was agony. He was unworthy of you. You were born to be a queen, Emily.” Sinder's eyes widened, and his voice shook. “My queen. Together, we will start the world anew. From the ashes of this sick world, our line will—”
“You're crazy!” Emily screamed. “You're disgusting! You're a monster!”
Sinder's face hardened. “Very well. If that's how it must be. You'll see, in time.” He looked around the room at the crowd of survivors. “You'll all see. For what it's worth, Emily, I'm the reason your parents won that cruise. I put them far from harm's way. For you. I spared them this, for you.”
Alex Rains, Vampire Hunter (Book 2): Hell Night Page 16
