Queen of the Dead

by Ty Drago

  Alex Bobson and two of his Monkeys were just pushing through the curtain, carrying tools. After a moment, Steve came out too, followed by Tom. And all the while, I could hear Agent Ramirez, still hoarse from shouting but shouting anyway. “Answer me! Who’s that old woman? What are you doing with her? Jefferson!”

  Tom sighed and said to Alex, “How tough is that door?”

  “Tough enough,” the Monkey Boss replied. “Ain’t a Corpse alive…you know what I mean…gonna get through without a week’s worth of pounding.”

  “I don’t need a week,” Tom remarked. “Just ten minutes. But they’re gonna be ten hard minutes.”

  “It’ll hold,” Alex said. “I guarantee it.” Then he noticed Dave, Helene, and me coming up the corridor, and his smile vanished. Without a word, he and his guys shuffled away with their tools in hand, heading in the opposite direction.

  “There you go,” Dave grunted with obvious satisfaction. “Dude can be taught!”

  Tom and Steve approached us. “You got a female cadaver?”

  “Yeah,” I said.

  “Any problems?”

  “Nope,” said the Burgermeister.

  “We ran into some Corpses,” I replied. “But we took care of it.”

  Tom’s brow knitted. “You were supposed to back off if you hit trouble.”

  “I know,” I said, meeting his eyes. “But Steve gave me an idea, and it seemed like a good time to try it out. I held up my pocketknife, displaying its Taser.

  Tom glanced at the Brain Boss, whose eyes widened. “A group zap?” he asked.

  I nodded.

  “Fantastic! How many?”

  “Three at once,” I said. Then, after some hesitation, I added, “Plus the Queen.”

  Tom’s stiffened. “You ran into Cavanaugh?”

  Helene said, “She was after the same body we were. Needs a new host apparently.”

  “You dudes should have backed off! How’d it go down?”

  Helene told him, though she left out the part where she came up with a solid plan to goad the Queen into dropping her guard only to have the whole thing completely fouled up by me. But in leaving that part out, I saw her jaw tighten.

  She’s really mad at me.

  Tom regarded Dave. “My sister’s been trainin’ you on the side?”

  The Burgermeister’s smile faded. “Yeah.” Then he quickly added, “But Will’s the mastermind.”

  “Is he?” the Chief asked.

  “Heck, yeah! If not for him, we’d probably have turned tail and run when we found out about the Deaders being there.”

  Please, Dave, I thought miserably. Don’t help me.

  “Well, we’ll talk ’bout that later,” said Tom. “For now…why don’t the three of you follow me? The night’s just getting started.”

  With that, Tom headed back through the curtain into his office, with Helene, Steve, Dave, Dave’s dead burden, and me in tow. Inside, I saw that most of the furniture had either been removed or shoved up against the wall. A wooden door had been fitted into the archway to Tom’s bedroom. It looked solid and thick, just as ordered, with an eighteen-inch window built into its upper half. Two iron deadbolts, each almost a foot long, held it closed, and instead of a knob, it had a big steel pull ring.

  Cuffed to this ring by both hands stood Agent Ramirez, looking sweaty and red-faced with anger. Trussed up as he was, he couldn’t reach either of the bolts, but he had a nice clear view through the window.

  Right now, though, he was looking at us—and at the Burgermeister in particular.

  “Jeez, you’re a big one!” he said, his voice gravelly. “What are you, son…sixteen?”

  “He’s fourteen,” said Helene.

  “Fifteen,” I corrected.

  “He is?” Helene asked. It was the first time she’d spoken to me since Chang’s. She scowled, as if I’d somehow tricked her into breaking her silence.

  Dave didn’t reply at all.

  The FBI guy’s eyes flicked from Dave’s girth to the small, limp figure in his arms. His face, if possible, went even paler. “What is this?” he demanded.

  “A demonstration,” Tom replied. He sounded exhausted.

  “Is that girl all right?”

  “She’s dead,” Tom said flatly. “But before you start off again, we had nothing to do with her death. All we did was take her body from the funeral parlor.”

  “All you did…” Ramirez echoed. “Are you even listening to yourself, Jefferson? First you kidnap and imprison an innocent old woman, and then you have these children break into a funeral home and steal a body? And that’s ‘all you did?’”

  Tom sighed. “Agent, I know how all this must look to you. And for what it’s worth, what we have to do to this poor girl’s body sickens me. She’s a human being, one of us, and she deserves respect. This kind of thing is the Corpses’ game, not ours.

  “But I need…absolutely need…to make you understand. I gotta break through that wall of disbelief that you and everybody like you has built up around themselves. That disbelief is the best weapon the Corpses got. You not only don’t believe in ’em…you can’t believe in ’em because doing so would turn your whole worldview upside down.”

  The FBI guy shook his head. “You’re completely insane.”

  “Well, if you still believe that in five minutes,” Tom replied, “then I’ll let you go.” He turned to Dave. “I’m gonna open this door. There’s a Corpse in there, a Type Three female pretending to be an old lady. She’s tied up on the bed with a bag over her head. I want you to carry that girl’s body in and lay it on the blanket that’s set up on the far side of the room. Got it?”

  “Got it,” Dave said.

  Tom shouldered Ramirez aside and slid back the two deadbolts. Then, after he grabbed the steel ring, he pulled the heavy door open, forcing the agent to shuffle uncomfortably along with it.

  All the while, Ramirez kept talking—pleading—begging Tom to think about whatever it was he planned to do. These were people, not monsters—just people. And this delusion of his, into which he’d somehow hooked the rest of us, had to stop before something truly awful happened.

  Then he looked at me and added, “Unless it already has.”

  Tom ignored all of it in patient silence, standing aside as Dave began to move past him and into the bedroom. At the last minute, though, Tom stopped him. “Hold up,” he said. “Dave, I know you been carrying that poor girl for a while now, but you think you can lower her so the agent here can have a look?”

  The Burgermeister nodded and bent his knees until the dead girl’s face was close to Ramirez’s shackled hands.

  “What are you doing?” the agent demanded.

  “Check her pulse,” Tom said.

  “I can see she’s dead,” Ramirez replied with disgust. “I’ve seen my share of bodies.”

  “Take it anyway. In the next few minutes, you might have second thoughts…and I want you to be really sure.”

  The FBI looked down at the bloated purple face, grimaced, and then twisted one hand until two of his fingers touched the lifeless flesh of the girl’s throat. He took his time about it, frowning in concentration. Then, with a sigh, he nodded.

  “She’s dead. No doubt about it. And God help you, Jefferson.”

  “I’ll take all the help I can get,” Tom agreed. “Go on, Dave. Take her in…but be respectful.”

  “I will,” the Burgermeister said. Then he stepped past Tom and entered the bedroom. Half a minute later, the big dude came back out, this time without the dead body in his arms.

  “Thanks, man,” Tom told him, slapping him on the back. “A solid piece of work.”

  Dave actually blushed a little.

  I suddenly realized that Tom, as a rule, didn’t pay much attention to the
Burgermeister. I’d always kind of taken my close friendship with the Chief for granted; it hadn’t really occurred to me before how many Undertakers went through their days without seeing, much less talking to Tom Jefferson.

  “Steve,” the Chief said. “Got the pistol?”

  Steve handed him a green plastic water gun. It was tiny, far smaller than the one I carried. Just what was he planning to do with that puny thing?

  I started to ask, but the Chief looked pointedly at me, and I kept quiet.

  He showed Ramirez the water pistol. The FBI guy studied it suspiciously but, for once, didn’t say anything. Then Tom fired a squirt into his open mouth and made a sour face. “Saltwater. Tastes lousy, but it can’t hurt nobody.”

  “If you say so,” Ramirez muttered.

  Tom shot him on the cheek. The agent flinched and cursed but then settled down. After a moment, his tongue flicked out and tasted a bit of the water nearest his lips.

  “Saltwater,” Tom said again.

  “Saltwater,” Ramirez agreed.

  The Chief nodded. “Now here’s how this is going to work. I’m going to go into that room alone. After that, Will’s gonna bolt the door shut. I’ll take the bag off the old woman’s head and uncuff her. Then I’m going to squirt her in the face the same way I just squirted you.”

  “Why?”

  Tom nodded to Steve, who explained, “Salt interferes with the control the Corpses have over the cadavers they inhabit. The Corpse will go into spasms and fall to the floor. The effect lasts about two minutes.”

  “And they usually recover in a mean mood,” Helene added. “Tom, are you sure…”

  He gave her a sharp look, and she went quiet.

  “It’s a trick,” Ramirez said. “You’ve set something up.”

  Ignoring him, Tom addressed the rest of us. “I’m gonna put Will in charge of this room while I’m in there. I know the rest o’ you probably want to stay, and I appreciate that, but I’m gonna ask that you don’t. The window’s small, and Will and Agent Ramirez are the only people who need to see what’s happening. It’ll be simpler if they’re the only ones tryin’ to.”

  Then he said to me, “Bro…you don’t open this door unless I tell you to. Got it?”

  I nodded.

  He nodded.

  Then, tiny water pistol in hand, the Chief of the Undertakers stepped into what used to be his bedroom—to face the dead.

  Chapter 24

  Dueling with the Dead

  As Ramirez pressed himself up against the glass, I went and stood beside him. Helene, Steve, and the Burgermeister headed reluctantly for the curtain.

  At the last minute, I called, “Dave, can you stick around?”

  He and Helene looked back at me.

  “Sure!” he replied.

  Helene began, “Tom said—”

  “I know what he said,” I told her. “But I’m asking Dave to stay.”

  “Why?”

  “In case of trouble,” I replied with a shrug.

  “No problem,” the Burgermeister said.

  Helene treated me to a hard, searching look. “What’s going on?”

  I didn’t know how to answer that. I felt my mouth open and then close. Finally, I said, “Sorry, but I don’t have time for this.”

  Then I turned away.

  After a few long seconds, I heard Helene’s rapid footfalls in the corridor, moving off. Dave came and stood at my shoulder.

  “You’re in deep trouble, dude,” he whispered.

  “Yeah,” I whispered back.

  Ramirez remarked miserably, “All you kids are in deep trouble.”

  “You got no idea,” I told him.

  Through the small window, we watched as Tom approached the bed, his bed, on which a figure lay firmly tied to the posts. There was a bag over her head, but even so, I knew it was, as Tom had explained, a Type Three. Her stench still filled the office from when the door had stood open.

  Only Threes stink that bad.

  The Chief reached down, and in one quick motion, he yanked the bag off her head. The face beneath it was almost charcoal black, dried up and starting to flake. The eyes were sunken and so milky that they looked almost pupil-less. She wore a long coat over a blue patterned dressed. Her hands were small with sharp-nailed claws.

  She snarled at Tom, baring a mouthful of loose yellow teeth.

  “Dear God, Will…” Ramirez breathed. “You have to let me stop this.”

  I crossed my eyes and saw what he saw.

  The woman on the bed was maybe in her seventies, frail and silver-haired. She looked like she might snap in two in a stiff wind. A helpless, frightened old lady. No wonder Ramirez was so horrified. If I couldn’t See the truth, I’d have been pretty horrified too.

  Except the eyes that were fixed on Tom weren’t fearful. They were angry. And calculating.

  Be careful, Chief.

  “Listen up,” Tom said to the Corpse. “See that window in the door? See them faces? They’re here for a show…so you and me are gonna give ’em one. The rules are simple: you waste me, and you get out of here, easy as you please.”

  The old woman—my eyes started to ache, so I uncrossed them—the rotting cadaver glared at Tom. Then she looked over at us, staring right at Ramirez and me, her expression suddenly thoughtful. Fortunately, with the lights at our back, she shouldn’t be able to discern more than vague silhouettes. The window was a necessity—to let Ramirez watch the goings-on. But it was just as important that this Deader not know specifically who was watching her.

  Thing is, Corpses are cruel and vicious and, yeah, butt ugly, but they’re not stupid. If this one spotted the adult standing beside me, she might just figure out what we were up to—at least enough to convince her to play it “human.” And if the “little old lady” on the bed started crying and begging, looking all small and terrified, that would be real bad for Tom’s demo.

  I waited, holding my breath.

  “Undertaker,” she said in Deadspeak. “Why. I. Trust. You?”

  Tom pretended that he’d heard. This was also part of the plan. Ramirez couldn’t hear Deadspeak. For this to work, the Corpse had to speak English.

  When the Chief didn’t respond, Dead Old Lady frowned, her expression wary.

  “Got nothin’ to say?” Tom asked innocently. “Then maybe I should just leave you here until you rot away to nothing.”

  Half a minute passed.

  She’s figured it out.

  Except, she hadn’t. “Undertaker,” she repeated in English this time. “Why should I trust your word?”

  Tom grinned. “You got another choice?”

  The Corpse pulled at her bonds. “Release me then,” she snarled. “So I can kill you and leave this place.”

  The Chief shook his head. “Nope. That body stays tied up right where it is. But ’cause I’m a good host, I’ve arranged another way for you to get loose.” He pointed to the dead girl who lay on the blanket where Dave had left her. “It’s a lot fresher than the one you got now anyway.”

  The Type Three’s milky eyes flicked over to the body on the blanket. Mine flicked over to Ramirez. He’d stopped squirming and struggling against his cuffs and was now staring through the glass, a strange expression on his face.

  “Here,” Tom said. “Let me give you a little incentive.”

  Then he fired a some saltwater into Dead Old Lady’s face.

  “No!” Ramirez exclaimed, though I had no idea why. He knew what was in the gun.

  The Corpse responded the way they always do. Her body went rigid and then started bucking and thrashing in helpless spasms. The ropes around her wrists held—but only just.

  After a few moments, I heard a cracking sound, and one of her arms snapped free from its shoulder soc
ket. One second, it was thrashing away with the rest of her. And the next, it just hung limp inside the sleeve of her coat.

  FBI Guy’s eyes blinked repeatedly, as if he were trying to focus on something.

  Tom fired another squirt of water. Then another. He kept firing until the pistol was empty. I understood that was the plan, but seeing him do it still scared the crap out of me.

  See, I also knew what was coming next.

  The Corpse bucked furiously. Another loud crunch, and the second arm ripped free. The monster rolled off the bed, the coat coming with her, leaving behind both arms—now bare and still tied to the bedposts. The detached limbs were black and flaky, and bugs skittered in and around them, spilling out onto the mattress.

  “Tell me you didn’t see that!” I demanded.

  Ramirez didn’t answer. He didn’t even look at me. His forehead was pressed right up against the window, his eyes glassy with horror—though what kind of horror, I couldn’t be sure. Corpses were able to extend their Masks so passersby didn’t see things like severed limbs. But how far did the power of that illusion really go?

  We were about to find out.

  Tom stepped back and dropped the now useless gun. His face remained completely calm as he watched the Corpse on the floor thrash and writhe and then finally go still.

  Now, I thought.

  “He killed her…” Ramirez said, but he sounded more confused than accusatory.

  “Did he?” I answered.

  The dead girl on the blanket sat up.

  Beside me, Agent Ramirez let out a sound halfway between a gasp and a moan. I crossed my eyes and had a look at the room the way he was seeing it.

  The old lady had moved. She no longer lay in a heap beside the bed. Instead, she was rising to her feet atop the blanket in the opposite corner of the room, her eyes fixed on Tom.

  Where she had been, there was now a decaying lump of flesh, still wearing the old woman’s wool coat and blue print dress—except that the cadaver’s severed arms hung from ropes fastened to the bedposts.

  The Mask had been dropped from the old body and moved to the new.

  Which meant that the old woman Ramirez and I saw was now totally naked—Masks don’t extend to clothing. The view wasn’t pretty, so I quickly uncrossed my eyes. At least looking at dead bodies didn’t embarrass me.