Dead (A Lot)

by Howard Odentz

  Nothing.

  “How important is this Diana lady to make you want to beat on a teenage girl and kidnap her?”

  “I didn’t beat on no one,” Luke muttered. Cal growled beneath all that duct tape, but he couldn’t tell his pal to shut up. I was banking on that.

  “No. No you didn’t. Bully for you—you got a leg up on the dirt bag lying next to you.”

  Up ahead, a poxer dressed all in blue was dragging himself across the road. I slowed the van down and stopped. Trina pulled up next to me, and I lowered the window.

  “I was thinking,” I said. “I bet that dead thing up ahead is pretty hungry, and we don’t really need both of these guys.”

  “Please don’t,” whispered Luke. “Cal’s my friend.”

  “Who said I was talking about Cal?”

  “Is he talking?” bellowed Trina. “Who said he could talk? I should have taped his damn mouth shut when I had the chance.”

  I winked at my sister and silently mouthed ‘one of them will crack.’ She nodded.

  “Do whatever the hell you want,” she said, loud enough for both men to hear. “Leave one of them for all I care. Hell, leave both of them. If they can’t tell us anything, they’re useless.”

  Again, another shining Oscar moment for my sister. She took off ahead of us in the jeep, taking a wide berth around the poxer.

  “She’s right,” I said. “If you can’t tell us anything, you’re probably going to end up zombie chow.”

  “I . . . I can’t tell you where your parents are,” rasped Luke.

  “Why not?”

  “Because I don’t wanna die,” he said. Cryptic much?

  “Why will you die if you tell me where my parents are?”

  Luke was silent for a long, long time. I watched as the poxer, a mailman, slowly realized we were there and turned toward us. There was something wrong with him. I couldn’t tell for sure, but maybe one of his legs was broken or mangled or something.

  “She’ll kill me,” he said.

  Cal’s muffled cries came in waves.

  “If you don’t tell me where my parents are, I might just let that zombie up ahead kill you.” Talk about working the dead letter room. This guy was perfect for the job.

  “Better than her,” he cried. “Damn. You don’t know. You just don’t know.”

  As the poxer got closer I realized the reason he looked so funny was that he was missing a major part of his leg. A jagged edge of bone stuck out of his thigh.

  “You’re going to tell me,” I said. “Eventually, you both are going to talk, or we’ll feed you to the dead ones without batting an eye. You get me?”

  Nothing—again.

  I pressed my foot on the gas and swerved around the pitiful thing in the road. Mr. Postman made a vague attempt to grab at the minivan.

  Would I really do it? If they didn’t tell me where my parents were, would I really feed them to the poxers?

  I waited a whole ten seconds while I thought long and hard about exactly what I was capable of doing—just ten seconds. That’s about as long as I needed to ponder the thought.

  Yeah, I’d let the poxers have them.

  I’d let the poxers have them in a heartbeat.

  64

  JIMMY WAS LEANING on the porch steps with Newfie. He was out of his chair with his shirt off and his head back, soaking up the last of the late afternoon sun. I swear if the guy got any more rays his freckles would have freckles.

  Newfie didn’t bark when we pulled into the driveway. He just stood and watched as I stopped in front of the barn and Trina slid the jeep in next to me. He did lower his head a little and push his ears back when he saw what she was driving.

  I knew he was a good judge of character.

  “Cool ride,” said Jimmy as Trina hopped out of the Army-mobile. “I like girls in jeeps.”

  “I like boys who like girls in jeeps,” she said and kissed him hello just long enough to make Bullseye groan and roll his eyes.

  “You’ve missed some excitement while you were gone,” said Jimmy nonchalantly as he pulled himself back into his chair.

  “What do you mean?” I asked. “I’m sure what went on here can’t be any more exciting than our little road trip.”

  “Yeah?” said Jimmy. “Wanna bet?” He pointed his thumb behind him to the front door. There was a large, red star painted over the white wood—obviously still wet. A few crimson lines dribbled slowly toward the floor. A crude circle was painted around the star.

  I scratched my head.

  “Um . . . are we Jewish now?”

  Trina snickered. “That’s six points, you idiot. This one’s only five.”

  “Five meaning what?”

  “Patriotic if you’re a flag,” said Jimmy.

  I stared at the crude handiwork. Something about the blood red paintjob stuck me as familiar. Then I remembered why. The star was on the front cover of one of Aunt Ella’s books that Sanjay had been reading. It was called a penta something.

  “Pentragram.” The word came to me out of the part of my brain that stores all my creepy movie imagery.

  “Who’s the artist?” asked Trina. “If Aunt Ella ever comes back home she’s going to kill whoever did that.”

  As for me, I already knew who the culprit was. The knowledge sat in the pit of my stomach, in that hollow spot reserved specifically for realizing particularly unpleasant things. You know—the place that releases queasy little butterflies into your gut that flutter around like bats gone mad?

  “Oh no,” I muttered. “You can’t be serious?”

  “You ain’t seen nothing yet,” said Jimmy. He spun around in his chair and reached for the door knob. “By the way—the jeep—that’s not Army, is it?”

  “One story at a time,” I said and pushed past him into the house.

  I wasn’t prepared. I think that whatever came out of my mouth was along the lines of something my parents were definitely not cool with me saying out loud.

  Someone had redecorated the walls everywhere in bloody, red symbols and diagrams. The floors were covered, too. Everywhere I looked were pentagrams, squiggles, and lines that looked like they might have meant something to someone who rides a broom.

  “No way,” gasped Bullseye.

  “Way,” said Trina.

  I whirled around with clenched fists and shot eye-daggers at Jimmy.

  “You know, you’re supposed to be the adult here.”

  “Tell that to your girlfriend’s brother,” he said. “He’s a whole new level of something, man—a whole new level.”

  “Girlfriend,” giggled Bullseye, like a twelve-year-old. Oh, yeah. He was a twelve-year-old. I punched him in the arm anyway.

  I found Prianka in the library surrounded by all the books that Sanjay had been reading. She looked up at me. I could tell she had been crying. I wanted to say something but didn’t know what to say. Instead, I sat down next to her. She had her finger in the middle of one of the hard covers called ‘Spells of the Old Ones.’ She held the volume out to me. The chapter she was on was called ‘Protecting the Home.’

  “None of this mumbo jumbo is real,” I whispered to her. “It’s just junk people make up to sell to gullible people who believe in this crap.”

  She nodded like she understood, but she still looked overwhelmed. I guess in her world, she was used to Sanjay’s eccentricities. This, however? This was something new.

  “When did he start?”

  “Right after you left,” she said. “He found the paint in the basement. I couldn’t get him to stop. It’s like he’s vomiting up everything he’s read right on to the walls.”

  I tentatively put my arm around her. I wasn’t sure if we were at that stage yet, but it seemed like it’s what she would have wanted me to do. S
he leaned her head against my shoulder and just sat there. Finally, she sniffed and wiped her eyes.

  “I guess if any of these spells are for real, we’re really, really protected,” she chuckled halfheartedly.

  “Or he’s going to open up a gate to some other dimension that doesn’t have poxers.”

  “Nah,” she said. “Everyone would probably have three eyes or look like Chuck Peterson or something.” She squeezed me tightly before pulling away. It was only for a moment, but it felt nice. I really wanted to have more of those moments sometime when we didn’t have a child from Slytherin wandering the house and two Army guys held hostage in the back of Stella’s minivan.

  “Where’s Sanjay now?” I asked her as I stood up, extending my hand to help her to her feet.

  “I just left him upstairs a little while ago. Andrew’s watching him.”

  I looked at her and laughed.

  “You’re autistic brother’s babysitter is a crow. You do know how nuts that sounds, right?”

  “What was I supposed to do? Jimmy gave up and went outside, and I really wanted to understand what Sanjay was painting. I came back here and found these books. I suppose I should be comforted knowing that he’s trying to protect the house instead of summoning a demon from Hell.”

  “Hell is high school.”

  “Not for me,” she sighed and dropped the book in the pile with the rest of them. “So how was your little adventure off the ranch?”

  “Adventuresome,” I said as I held my hand out for hers. “Really, really adventuresome.”

  65

  WHEN WE GOT Luke and Cal on the porch, I unwound the ace bandages we had wrapped around their heads and pulled the tape free from Cal’s mouth.

  Luke’s eyes grew wide when he saw the pentagram on the front door.

  “What’s this?” he whimpered.

  “Shut up,” barked Trina. “Did I say you could talk? I don’t remember me saying you could talk.”

  Cal’s eyes burned a hole in her head right where he’d probably shoot her if he could. All I could imagine was him picturing smoke coming out of that hole.

  “You got something to say?” she snapped at Cal.

  He sneered at her through a fog of hate.

  “Private Calvin Pooler, North Carolina Unit 118, 9719021.”

  She lunged at him with her fist raised, but Jimmy caught her wrist.

  “Chill,” he said. “Private Calvin Pooler is going to tell us where your parents are, and my guess is he’s going to tell us sooner rather than later.”

  Cal said nothing. I really, really was starting to seriously hate this guy.

  Luke’s face, on the other hand, was starting to turn an unhealthy shade of white. He couldn’t take his eyes off the pentagram on the door. I caught that. So did Jimmy and Trina, and we all shared a knowing glance.

  I patted the tacky paint.

  “Look familiar?” I asked Luke.

  “That’s the Devil’s sign, ain’t it?” His voice began to warble. I knew that sound—the sound of fear.

  “Look who gets a gold, five-pointed star.”

  “What . . . what . . . are you guys Satan worshippers?”

  I didn’t say anything. None of us did. We all just plastered smug, superior looks on our faces, but all the while I could tell each of us was thinking the same thing. If Luke was freaking out at one silly, little star on a door, what would he do when he got inside?

  I think I was dying to find out.

  “Enough with the questions,” Trina snapped.

  “Yeah,” I said. “You’re in the Master’s house now.” Trina and Jimmy looked at me like I had three heads. Hey, I was improvising. So sue me.

  Luke, however, bought it all—hook, line and sinker.

  “The . . . the . . . Master?”

  The door opened, and Luke almost jumped out of his skin. Prianka and Bullseye stepped out on to the porch. Bullseye was holding Newfie by the collar. Maybe our big, black monster sensed what was going on or that none of us were pleased with Luke and Cal. Newfie didn’t seem to need more reason than that to join the game. A long, low snarl came out of his mouth. He curled his lips and showed teeth for added effect.

  “Lucifer—DOWN,” I snapped.

  Was that too much?

  “You gotta dog named Lucifer?” muttered Cal, almost to himself. Those were the first words he said, other than his name, rank, and serial number. I could feel that little thing called his will beginning to crumble.

  Good.

  “Don’t say his name,” screeched Trina. “Don’t you dare say his name.”

  “He . . . he . . . he’s sorry,” stammered Luke.

  Jimmy wheeled forward. The muscles on his arms bulged as he slowly pushed on the wheels of his chair. Cal’s icy gaze, now with the slightest hint of worry, shifted to him. Luke pushed himself back in his chair, trying to somehow hide.

  “This is our world now,” said Jimmy in a silky, smooth voice. “In our world you play by our rules.” Newfie growled again, but Bullseye held him tight. “How about we go inside for a real chat? Maybe, if you’re lucky, and you tell us what we want to know, things might go good for you. If not, well, Lucifer sometimes demands fresh meat. Who’s to say?”

  Luke began to whimper.

  “Lucifer the dog . . . or . . . or . . . Lucifer . . . uh . . .”

  Not such a stretch, really. We were living in a world of poxers now. Who’s to say other things didn’t exist? Demons, ghosts, any freaky thing you could imagine.

  The only thing I knew for sure was that all of us needed to be on the same page if we were going to pull off this bluff and scare them into telling us where Mom and Dad were being held. Besides, I didn’t like what I saw in Trina’s eyes. Our sham needed to work because I didn’t like where she was headed if it didn’t.

  Prianka caught on in record time—she didn’t miss a beat. She stepped forward, taking over where Jimmy left off. When she was just a foot away from Cal she lunged out with her arm and grabbed his face in her hand. She squeezed tightly, turning his head first one way then the other as if searching for something in his ugly puss. He said nothing and neither did Prianka.

  Finally, she let go and moved over to Luke.

  “Don’t,” he whimpered.

  “Don’t. Stop. No,” she mocked. “Is that what the doctor and his wife said when you took them?”

  “Orders,” stammered Luke. “We was just following orders.”

  “We follow orders, too,” she hissed. “The orders we follow demand blood.”

  Prianka whirled around with dramatic flair and raised her arms above her head with her palms up.

  “Take them both,” she ordered the rest of us. “Take them both inside.”

  That’s exactly what we did—dragging them in through the front door of Aunt Ella’s house, the legs of the chairs they were taped to scratching against the floor and straining under their weight.

  66

  WELCOME TO THE Light and Dark house of horrors. We’ve spared no expense. Bloody, red demonic imagery everywhere and, to boot, a llama haltered and tethered to the coffee table in the living room.

  We picked a black, watery-eyed one that liked to give kisses. She lay on a big mound of hay bedding, munching away. Newfie padded up to her and sat down—the lion with the lamb. For all I knew, since Aunt Ella used Newfie as a guard dog in the llama pen, they were probably friends.

  After our parade down the hallway with pentagrams and strange symbols assaulting their eyeballs, Luke was fairly close to a mental breakdown. He was as white as a ghost. Whatever bible-thumping background he came from probably included juggling rattle snakes and speaking in tongues. If we were really lucky, he watched horror movies like I did, too.

  Lucky? Hell, I was banking on it.

&n
bsp; “What is that thing?” gasped Cal, staring wide-eyed at the llama. Wow! Not the brightest bulb on the porch. Ever hear of a zoo? In any event, his strong, no-nonsense name-rank-and-serial-number broken record was starting to crumble.

  “A sacrifice,” said Bullseye in a deadly serious voice. The words were prefect coming out of his mouth. There’s nothing scarier than a creepy kid. Nothing.

  “I’m telling them,” yelped Luke to Cal.

  “Soldier, shut your pie hole.”

  Trina threatened to backhand Cal again, and he flinched. “Scared yet?” she purred. “Good. The Master feeds on fear.”

  I think that was the icing on the cake. I’m not sure where Trina pulled that line from, but it was priceless. Luke started to cry—big, raspy, man-sized wails. What a wimp.

  “I ain’t going out in no demon ritual. Not like this. Not like this.”

  “Then tell me where my parents are,” Trina bellowed.

  Cal’s voice cracked. “Don’t you tell, Luke. Don’t you dare.”

  Trina ripped off a length of duct tape and plastered it over Cal’s mouth.

  “I’m sick to death of hearing you talk,” she said. “So don’t.”

  “Speaking of death,” Prianka began in a lilting, eerie voice, “I think it’s time we get to the good part, don’t you? Wait here.” She glided out of the living room toward the kitchen. I followed her, leaving Jimmy, Trina, and Bullseye behind.

  “What are you doing?” I whispered when we were out of earshot.

  “I don’t know. Making it up as I go along.”

  “You’re doing a good job.”

  In the kitchen, Prianka pulled open one of the drawers and fished around inside. She opened two more before she found what she was looking for. She reached in, grasped the dark, wooden handle of a steak knife, and slid the blade free.

  “What are you going to do with that?”

  “I’m not sure.”

  “Don’t let Trina near that thing.”