by Peter Clines
“There are dog and cat ghosts?” asked Andy.
“Of course there are,” said the ex. “You think dog heaven’s something people just made up?”
St. George glanced over at the window. “What about you?” he asked Zzzap. “Can you tell who they were?”
The gleaming wraith hung just outside, shedding his excess heat to the open air. He shook his head. I can see little wisps and glimpses of them, he said, like I’m seeing something out of the corner of my eye, but Max is the only one I’ve ever seen clearly.
The ex tensed in the restraints for a moment. Its fingers stretched wide and then relaxed. “Damn,” it said, flinching again. “That stings.”
Worse than you thought?
“Not much.”
“What is the problem?”
“No problem,” the ex told Stealth. It flinched again and gritted its teeth. “Like I said, this body’s coming back to life. The nerves are starting to fire again. It’s a bit painful.”
“Could they all come back the way you did?” asked Andy.
“The ghosts?”
“Probably not.” The ex dipped its chin as best it could at its body. The head restraints made it look like a spasm. “I’m a pretty practiced sorcerer and this took me six months of prep work. And a fair amount of luck.”
Andy nodded. “But they could, hypothetically, come back? You could bring them back.”
“The mechanics are a little different, doing it to someone else instead of yourself, but the principle’s the same.”
“Anyone?” said Stealth.
“If their spirit was still hanging out, yeah.”
“Hang on another moment, please,” said Andy. “This begs the next question—should we bring anyone back?”
“Why wouldn’t we?” asked St. George.
“Because it violates God’s plan,” said Andy, “or the natural order, if you prefer.”
I don’t know if you noticed, said Zzzap from the window, but the natural order’s been violated from pretty much every angle you can imagine.
“He’s got a point,” said St. George. “With all those things walking around out there, it’s hard to make a case for God’s plan.”
“This is exactly when we need to make a case for God’s plan,” said Andy. He glanced at Stealth. “If you’re an atheist, just look at it from a moral point of view. If we agree those things outside are abominations, that they’re wrong, then what does it mean if we’re doing the same thing in here?”
“Well, it’s not quite the same,” said Jarvis’s corpse. Its fingers stiffened and relaxed as a spasm swept over its body. “Out there you can argue a few million corpses are getting desecrated by a virus. This is more like resuscitating someone. This body’s restoring itself. It’s going to come back to life. Real life, with a pulse and breathing and everything.”
“Except you died,” said Andy, “and it’s not your body. You had your time and now you’re trying to get more.”
The dead man’s head twitched again. “So you’re saying it was God’s plan I got bitten by a zombie and my soul was trapped in a demon’s walking corpse for fourteen months? Doesn’t that mean the abominations are part of the plan?”
“We are not here to debate ethics or theology,” said Stealth.
“Then why am I here?” asked Andy. “I’m supposed to be a moral and spiritual counselor, yes?”
“Nothing personal, father,” said the ex, “but I’m no longer a spirit and I don’t need counseling.”
St. George felt himself smile. Zzzap let out a hiss of static that passed as a laugh.
“I’m not trying to be a pain in the ass,” Andy said. “I just want you all to stop and think what this is going to mean to people. There’s about a thousand people out there in the After Death sect who think exes still have souls buried in them somewhere. There’s already this girl you found getting them worked up. What’s going to happen when they find out it’s possible to bring people back from the dead?”
“We shall explain these were special circumstances which cannot be repeated,” Stealth said.
“How?” The priest looked at her. “How are you going to explain to someone that ‘special circumstances’ let one of you come back but not their child or wife or husband?”
“One of you?” echoed Danielle.
“I’m sorry,” said Andy, “but it’s how people are going to see it. Superhumans getting something regular folks don’t. Not to mention the backlash over every single ex we’ve ever put down that might’ve had someone’s soul inside it.”
“I hadn’t thought of that,” said St. George.
“I have,” said Stealth. “I believe the results will be minimal.”
“Well, then how about this? Something else I’ve been wondering about,” said Andy. He gestured at the ex strapped to the bed. “How do you know it’s him?”
“We have established this is not a trick,” said Stealth. “He has shown awareness of certain facts no one else at the Mount could know.”
“But would Max know them?”
Stealth’s face shifted under her mask.
“If we buy his story,” the priest said, “that he’s a wandering spirit who once trapped a demon, then we’re back in my territory. And the church has a lot to say about spirits taking control of bodies. This could be anyone—or anything—posing as Max. It’s classic exorcism material.”
“Are you saying you want to exorcise me?” asked the dead man.
Andy shook his head. “I’m just saying, how are we supposed to know it’s really you?”
Jarvis’s body gave another shudder and the ex clenched its teeth. The shackled hands flailed at its chest. “I could say the Lord’s Prayer for you, if it makes you feel any better. If I can say it forward, it at least proves I’m not a demon.”
Andy managed a faint smile. “I appreciate the gesture, but how do we know that’s a real test?”
“It’s real,” the ex grunted. “It’s … it’s one of the only things the film got … right.” The dead man convulsed, its arms and legs thrashing as well as they could with their chains. Its head fought against the foam restraints. The ex fell limp against the bed and then another spasm racked its body.
St. George stepped forward to hold Jarvis—the dead man—still, but Stealth gestured him back. “What is happening?” asked the cloaked woman.
“We’re close,” grunted the ex. “My heart’s trying to start back up.”
“That hurts?” Danielle asked.
“You think a heart attack hurts less when it’s happening in reverse?”
St. George glanced at the hall. “Do we need to get one of the doctors in here?”
“Jesus, no,” said the ex. It looked at the priest. “No offense, father, again. They’ll try to save my life and they’ll just end up killing me. This has to happen at its owwnnNNNAAHHHHH!”
The corpse convulsed again, and its face twisted up in pain. Its back arched, pushing its hips up in the air, and then it slammed back down onto the bed. It sucked in a rasping breath.
St. George looked at the body. “Are you sure this is working?”
“Not really,” said the ex. “I’ve never done it before.” Its chalk eyes turned to the window. “Barry,” it called out, “I think it’s time.”
You sure?
“Time for what?” asked St. George.
“The next one should do it,” said the ex. It sucked in another breath. “All four cardinal points, just outside the Big Wall and the walls of the Mount. Make sure—” The handcuffs rang against the rails three times as the corpse flailed at its chest. “Make sure they’re pointed the right way.”
On it.
“Zzzap, what are you—” But the gleaming wraith was gone before Stealth could finish her sentence.
Another spasm shook the ex. “Oh, yeah,” it said. “This is it.”
St. George’s earbud crackled. “Boss,” said a voice, “it’s Ilya. I’m up at the North Gate. Barry just flew by and torched a s
ection of Bronson just outside.”
He tapped his mic. “What do you mean, torched?”
“It looks like he drew a bunch of lines in the ground with his hand. Melted it right into the pavement. Still too smoky to see what it is.”
“St. George,” a new voice cut in, “Makana at West Gate. What’s Zzzap up to? He just burned something into the street here.”
“Dave at South Gate for St. George—”
“This is Katie at North Gower—”
“Lemon Grove gate to St. George—”
“—just scared the piss out of all of us—”
“—like some kind of big circle with squiggles in it.”
“—the hell is Zzzap doing?”
St. George stepped forward and set his hand on the ex’s chest, pinning it to the bed. “What’s going on?”
“Just a second,” the dead man said through gritted teeth. “Time to do the Jesus thing.” His eyes clenched shut and tears leaked out of the corners.
One of Stealth’s pistols appeared in her hand and settled by the ex’s head. “What is happening?” she demanded.
The corpse roared in pain. It tried to thrash but St. George’s hand kept it pressed against the mattress. The handcuffs chimed as it strained to grab at its chest. The body went tense, rock solid, and then went limp again.
Light flooded the room. Did I make it? called Zzzap from the window.
“What the hell were you doing?” snapped St. George.
It’s part of the process, said the wraith. He’s had me practicing all the symbols for months.
St. George looked down at the corpse and his eyes went wide.
“Holy shit,” said Danielle. Father Andy crossed himself and whispered something.
The pale skin was taking on the soft colors of life. The veins faded behind the flesh tones. The ex—the man—let out a slow sigh. Sweat glistened across his forehead. “Jesus, that hurt,” he said. “I had no idea it was going to hurt so much.”
St. George’s hand flinched away from the man’s chest for a moment. He set it down again, spreading his fingers. “Your heart’s beating,” he said. “You’ve got a pulse.”
“Yeah. And a very itchy beard. How did Jarvis live with this thing?”
St. George and Andy both frowned.
The man opened his eyes and looked at each of them. Color was leaking back into the irises, like an old Polaroid photo where an image formed out of haze. “Sorry. That was tasteless. After years without a body, I’m a bit overwhelmed right now.”
Welcome back, Max, said Zzzap.
“Thanks, Barry. I’m guessing you got all the symbols done or we wouldn’t be here right now.”
Stealth pressed her Glock against the bound man’s eye. “What do you mean?”
“Hey,” said Max, “take it easy.”
“You have never mentioned these symbols before as part of your resurrection. You have now just implied disaster if they had not been arranged around the Mount. What is their true purpose?”
“I was going to tell you.”
“You will tell us now.”
He sighed. “I can show you, if you like. It might be easier.”
The North Gate was a few blocks from the hospital. Like all the entrances through the Big Wall, there were a few hundred exes and the air crackled with the sound of chattering teeth. Half of them pressed against the gate. The rest staggered through the street.
In the middle of Bronson was a smoking set of lines, a scar in the pavement stretching from one side of the road to the other. The superheated material had turned a fresh, deep black that stood out from the faded charcoal of the street. Three exes had been slashed in half by Zzzap’s burning touch, too slow to get out of the way and too mindless to realize their danger. Steam still trailed from their severed bodies. A spray of gore marked where one had boiled and exploded.
Two parallel lines marked out a ring fifteen feet across. Inside the double circle was what looked like two triangles—or maybe an hourglass—surrounded by squiggles.
“Nice job, Barry,” said the resurrected man. His handcuffs jingled as he gestured at the symbols. He swayed as he did, and St. George kept one hand on the man’s shoulder.
Thanks.
“So what is it?” asked St. George.
“It’s the Hexagram of Water,” explained Max, “modified with six of the names of God and a thaumaturgic circle.”
“A what?”
“Magic,” said Stealth. “He is claiming this is a magical ward of some sort.”
“Very good,” said Max. “There’s an appropriate one protecting us at each gate, and some stronger ones around the Mount proper.” He waved his hands to the east and south. It was a clumsy motion with the cuffs.
Protection? said Zzzap. The gleaming wraith turned to the man with the salt-and-pepper beard and tried to ignore the glare from Stealth. You said they were part of the resurrection spell.
“Yeah, sorry,” said Max. “It was easier to tell you that.”
“Okay,” said St. George, “so what are you protecting us from?”
“Hang on,” said Max. He was scanning the crowd of walking dead. “Wait for it.”
An ex a few yards away stopped in mid-stagger as its feet brushed the edge of the steaming circle. It had been a petite woman, a redhead with a mane of wild hair clotted with gore and dirt. It wore a tight green henley splattered with blood and filth. It turned, searching, and glared at the people on the Wall.
“There he is,” said Max.
The dead thing raised a hand to point at them. It howled. It was the roar of a mammoth or dinosaur or some other huge, primordial beast. It echoed between the buildings. Half a dozen windows shattered.
St. George winced. Ilya and the other gate guards covered their ears. Even Zzzap flinched back.
The ex filled out, its desiccated flesh swelling with new life. The trembling limbs stretched and its jaw swung open to reveal a bear trap of ivory fangs and tusks. Blue flames burst out of the ex’s eyes and set fire to its hair. Its fingers stretched out into talons. In just a few moments it was over seven feet tall, then eight.
Then the dead woman exploded in a spray of gore and blue fire.
What the hell was that? shouted Zzzap.
“Remember what I said about how being dead was my safe house? Nothing could touch me?”
St. George nodded. “Yeah?”
“Well, I’m not dead anymore.” He pointed at the bright circle of gore that had been the undead woman. “That was Cairax Murrain. He’s pissed I’ve gotten away and he’s coming after me. And anyone he thinks might’ve helped me.”
What?! shouted Zzzap. His head turned from the steaming remains of the ex to his friends. Stealth was statue stiff. Smoke leaked out from between St. George’s lips.
“Yeah,” said Max. “I probably should’ve mentioned this would happen a bit sooner.”
“YOU HAVE PUT everyone in the Mount at risk,” said Stealth. Her sharp voice echoed in the hospital room. She stood wrapped in her cloak, so it was impossible to tell where her hands were. St. George was pretty sure they were near her holsters. He didn’t blame her.
“Don’t be melodramatic,” said Max from the bathroom. “We’re not at risk as long as we stay inside the walls.”
St. George stood by the window. Smoke was pouring out of his nostrils in a steady stream, and he hadn’t been able to get the tickle in his throat under control. Part of him wanted to grab Max and shake him, but he didn’t want to set off the fire alarms.
Freedom stood across from them, his arms crossed against his broad chest. He’d joined them after the radios filled with people talking about the creature outside the Big Wall. He wore his displeasure plain on his face.
The resurrected man tapped the razor on the sink and rinsed away another inch of salt-and-pepper beard. St. George always suspected Jarvis would look a good ten years younger without the beard. He still knew the face beneath it, but it seemed more like a mask now. Jarvis never had that
confident, almost smug look in his eyes and tone in his voice. He didn’t have a barely hidden swagger when he moved.
But he did now.
They locked eyes for a moment in the mirror while Max brushed the razor under his nose. For just a moment the confidence and swagger vanished and St. George saw two looks flash across the other man’s face. Relief that he’d escaped a horrible fate. Worry that somehow he hadn’t.
St. George also noticed Max’s eyes were brown. Jarvis’s eyes had been blue.
Then the moment passed and Max winked at him.
“And if someone did not stay within the walls?” asked Stealth.
“Well, if someone goes out there, one of two things will happen,” Max said. He reached up with the razor and scraped away a little more of Jarvis. “More than likely Cairax will just kill them.”
“But you’re Cairax,” said Freedom.
“No,” said Max. “We’re two separate beings. Always have been. I just borrowed his body now and then. And maybe a little of his mind-set.”
“Which was your excuse for molesting a dead actress,” said Stealth.
“Hey!” snapped Max. He turned from the mirror. “That’s not what happened at all. The whole thing just got blown out of proportion. And none of you did anything to stop it, I might add.”
Stealth didn’t flinch under his glare.
“I slipped a dead woman the tongue and she bit it off. That’s it. Considering what my perceptions were being filtered through, it’s an amazing example of self-control.”
“Well,” Freedom said dryly, “at least now we know you didn’t do anything disgusting.”
Max turned back to the mirror. A moment passed. No one spoke while the resurrected man scraped at the bit of Jarvis on his chin.
St. George took a slow breath and managed to get the flames in his throat under control. The trailer of smoke from his nose turned to a thread. “So it’ll kill anyone who goes past your marks,” he said.
“Yeah. Probably.”
“How?”
“Well, you’ve seen the exes. He’s got a good four or five seconds before those bodies explode.” He stopped shaving and glanced over his shoulder. “You’ve fought Cairax, George. How much damage do you think he can fit into five seconds?”
