by Ty Drago
“The metal screen blocks the shockwave,” Steve explained. “Most of the light, too. The vest and visor are just precautions.”
He went up and moved the screen again.
The metal table, the battery, and the Anchor Shard were still there, untouched. But the ground around them seemed different—deeper. It was as if someone had taken a shovel and dug out maybe an inch of earth in a circle around the table.
It had been the same way when Ian had died.
“I ain’t gettin’ it,” Tom said.
“Feeding electricity through the Anchor Shard does more than open the tear,” Steve told him. “The crystal somehow stores up its energy. The longer it’s plugged into power, the more power it collects. If you suddenly cut off the electricity … in this case, I just flipped this remote kill switch that I’d rigged up to the battery … the shard instantly closes the tear and releases its stores. The released energy forms a wave that utterly destroys all organic matter within its range.”
“So you figure this could be turned into a weapon to use on deaders?”
“Well, maybe … if you could somehow get a bunch of Corpses together inside the blast radius and then get yourself out before you killed the power. But that wasn’t my point.”
“Then what is your point, Steve?” Tom asked.
“That the tear closes. Don’t you get it? This is how the Corpses are getting here! They’ve got another one of these, hidden somewhere in the city, and they’ve been using it … all along … to enter our world. Somehow, they’ve learned how to cross the Ether!”
Tom absorbed this. “Steve … you sure?”
“Of course he’s not sure!” his brother snapped. “How could he be?”
For a second, Tom thought the older Moscova was going to haul off and punch the younger one. He didn’t, though his face went cherry-red. “It’s a theory!” he was almost spitting the words. “And it fits the facts. We know this thing is Malum. We know it can open holes in spacetime. We know that, once those holes are stable, things can move in and out through them. Doesn’t it make sense that this is how Cavanaugh’s people do it? How they’ve been doing it all along?”
And it did make sense, sort of.
Tom said, “Just so I’m straight on this. You’re sayin’ … if we find this other Anchor Shard and unplug it …”
“Then the door between their world and ours shuts,” Steve finished for him. “You’d have to watch out for the blast radius, which could be huge, depending on where the shard is and how long it’s been attached to its electrical source. But once you managed it, then … no more Corpses.”
Chapter 6
PARKER AND COLE
Lilith
The thing that called itself Lilith Cavanaugh stepped over the bodies of three of her underlings.
Their pieces lay scattered across her spacious parlor—legs here, arms there, heads over there. Moving slowly, taking her time about it, the Queen stepped to each arm and leg in turn, placed one fashionable pump on them, and pressed down, crushing them into pulp. Then, one by one, she did the same thing to the heads, applying pressure until all three skulls crunched like eggshells.
Then she watched as the Self of each Malum—the inner essence, or “soul,” to use the human term—escaped its now destroyed host. Each hung in the air for a few seconds, desperately seeking a fresh body in which to hide. But Lilith had seen to it that none were available.
Finally, exposed and helpless before Earth’s unforgiving environment, each was finally and forever destroyed.
It was delicious.
“There’s a human saying …” she remarked, glancing at the only other two beings who remained standing in the lavishly furnished penthouse apartment.
One was called Parker, the other, Cole, and they were new to this world, having crossed the Void together that very morning.
Their host bodies were Type Ones, the freshest and strongest Lilith had been able to find. Their covers described them as seasoned, experienced, law enforcement officers. Each wore the uniform of the Philadelphia Police Department. Parker was the taller of the two. His cover showed a man nearing fifty with dark hair, dark skin, and a full face partially hidden by a thick beard. Cole’s cover was shorter, but thicker in the shoulders, blond, light-skinned and clean-shaven.
Any human who met them, with their silent, unsmiling demeanors and underlying hint of barely-contained violence, would find them off-putting, even frightening. For this reason, their particular breed was ill-suited for infiltration missions. The Queen had never intended to use them on Earth.
But things had changed.
“What saying is that, Ms. Cavanaugh?” Parker asked. If the destruction of their fellow Malum distressed either of them, it didn’t show. Lilith liked that.
“‘Don’t kill the messenger,’” the Queen replied. “The trouble is, killing messengers can be quite gratifying. Take these three for example. They came here to report the betrayal and escape of my consort, Robert Dillin. Betrayal irritates me. Now, had they been able to capture Dillin and bring him before me, they would have lived. But without him, my irritation … well, it had to go somewhere, didn’t it?”
Parker and Cole nodded in unison, looking as if she’d just told them the square root of nine.
“Yes, Ms. Cavanaugh,” Cole said.
The Queen went to her desk and pressed the intercom button on the phone. “Send someone in to clean up a mess. And bring me this morning’s shipment.” Then she broke the connection before her latest assistant, whose name was Stanley, or Stuart, or Something, could even respond.
She burned through so many assistants, it became hard to keep track.
“Parker, why are you and Cole here?” she asked.
“To serve you, Ms. Cavanaugh.” Parker answered at once.
“Correct. Cole, how will you both serve me?”
“As commanders of your assault force, Ms. Cavanaugh,” Cole answered.
“Correct. Parker, why do I have an assault force rather than an invasion force?”
“Because the Malum invasion of Earth is failing.”
“Correct. Cole, why is the invasion failing?”
“Because of the Undertakers.”
Lilith nodded. “Correct.”
At that moment, the door opened, and two minions dressed as custodians came in. They didn’t speak. They didn’t even make eye contact. They simply went to work, as ordered, cleaning up the remains of the messengers.
The Queen ignored them.
“The Undertakers,” she said to Parker and Cole. “In all the worlds we’ve unmade through all the long centuries that our people have devoted to this art, no one has ever defied us as they do. Children … just children … and yet everything we build, they tear down. Every victory turns out to be defeat in disguise. Everywhere I turn, whatever I do, there they are. It’s maddening!”
“Yes, ma’am,” Parker replied.
She said, “For the past six weeks, I’ve been trapped in this apartment. Parker, do you know why?”
“No, Ms. Cavanaugh.”
“I’m here because Lilith Cavanaugh is dead. I was ‘killed’ …” The Queen punctuated the word with air quotes, an embarrassingly human gesture. “… when Tom Jefferson, the leader of the Undertakers, kicked me out of my office window on the sixth floor of City Hall.”
She’d suffered no physical pain in the fall, of course. But the indignity had been agonizing. The humiliation of that defeat still hurt each time Lilith thought about it.
“Too many humans saw me fall. Too many witnesses. There was no way to preserve my cover. Lilith Cavanaugh had died very publically.”
She paced the room, seized by sudden, nervous energy.
“Now, I must live in secret. I don’t dare go outside these few rooms. As you both know, I’m unable to manufacture a new cover, and I can’t risk any humans seeing the face of this one. So here I stay. Minions tend to my needs, bring me fresh cadaver
s to occupy, and provide me with the information required to continue our efforts. But, in a real sense, I am a prisoner.” The last word passed her rotting lips, laced with outrage.
Cole offered, “I’m sorry, ma’am.”
She glared at him. “I’m not looking for sympathy, fool!”
He didn’t flinch. “No, Ms. Cavanaugh.”
“I’m telling you both this,” she said, “because I want you to understand, truly understand, why you were summoned to Earth. The Undertakers have ruined this unmaking. They have defiled our art and our way of life. And they must be made to suffer for it. That will be your task.”
Both men replied, “Understood.”
“I’ve spent the last month amassing an attack force, fifteen hundred strong. Most wear the covers of Philadelphia policemen. All are warrior caste Malum who will live or die by your command. The two of you will lead this army into Haven, the Undertakers’ hidden headquarters. You will block any and all exits. You will prevent their escape. Then you will slaughter everyone inside.”
“Yes, Ms. Cavanaugh,” Parker said.
“But first, I need one of you to spend part of today on a simple but important errand.”
The two minions regarded her impassively. Neither volunteered. That wasn’t their nature. From a logical standpoint, the two were virtually identical, so she picked at random.
“Parker, you’ll do it.”
“Yes, Ms. Cavanaugh,” Parker replied.
Standing beside him, Cole displayed neither disappointment nor relief. In fact, he displayed nothing at all.
“As I’ve told you, my consort has betrayed us … betrayed me!”
“Yes,” Cole said.
“He has disgraced his noble purpose as my mate and revealed himself to be Oreth Oreg. He has fled his post as principal of some ridiculous school in Allentown. He is believed to have done so in the company of two children: a brunette girl and a redheaded boy.”
“Yes, Ms. Cavanaugh,” Parker said.
“The boy has been identified as Will Ritter. The girl is apparently the younger sister of Helene Boettcher, another Undertaker whelp. The three of them are headed here, to Philadelphia. Parker, you are to find them before they reach Haven, kill all three, and bring me their heads as trophies. Clear?”
“Clear,” Parker said. “But if they are already en route …”
“The Allentown train station and bus terminals are being watched. I don’t know how they plan to get into Philadelphia, but it won’t be by public transit. Dillin has not returned to his home, and his car is still in the school parking lot. Perhaps he’ll steal another. Or buy one. Your cover identity puts the entire Philadelphia Police Department, human and Malum alike, at your disposal. Set up roadblocks. Do whatever you must. But trap them.”
“Yes, ma’am,” said Parker.
“Also, I’ve arranged for you to have extra help.”
Lilith went to the desk and hit the intercom button a second time. “The shipment!” she snapped. “Where it is?”
Stuart or Stanley or Whoever replied nervously, “It’s just arrived, Mistress. I’m sending it in.”
Mistress. That proper Malum term was forbidden on Earth. Whatever her latest assistant’s name was, he’d just sealed his fate.
A moment later, the door opened and two minions came in, each carrying a red metal toolbox. At Lilith’s instruction, they placed their burdens side-by-side on the throw rug at Parker’s feet.
“Do you know what those are?” the Queen asked Parker, motioning with one purple, shriveled hand at the two red toolboxes.
“Yes, ma’am,” he replied. “May I ask a question?”
“You may.”
“How were you able to bring two of them across the Void?”
“With considerable difficulty and cost of Malum life,” Lilith replied. “I had intended them for the assault on Haven, and I’m confident we’ll be making good use of their peculiar talents for that very task … later on. But for now, Parker, you may employ them in your hunt for Dillin and the children. Their Selves, such as they are, will be keyed to your command.”
“Yes, ma’am,” Parker said.
“May I ask a question, Ms. Cavanaugh?” This time it was Cole who spoke.
She studied him. “You may.”
“If Haven is truly so secret, how will you discover its location?”
The Queen of the Dead smiled a smile that, had there been any humans present, would have caused their hearts to burst with fear. “Why, I already know it, Cole,” she replied. “I know exactly where those brats are hiding!”
Chapter 7
ON THE ROAD WITH A DEAD GUY
I glared at Dillin. “No, I won’t ‘Take you to my leader!’ Why would you even ask a lame question like that?”
We were in a stolen airport limo, heading along the Pennsylvania Turnpike toward Philly. The Zombie Prince was driving. I was riding shotgun. Julie had somehow managed to fall asleep in the back. Traffic was light and it looked like pretty smooth sailing from here to Philly.
I had to admit it. This “alternative mode of transport” as Dillin had put it, was a solid idea.
While in the faculty lounge at Merriweather Intermediate, we’d heard more sirens coming. Ambulances, this time. “They’ll be driven by my wife’s minions,” the principal had explained. “And they won’t be alone. By now, Marcy’s distress call … which is like a bell ringing in my head … has been heard by other Malum. Before long, my treachery will be common knowledge. The Queen will have people watching the bus and train stations. We can’t get out of town that way.”
“We?” I exclaimed. “There’s no ‘we’!”
He looked at me, this strange Corpse, with his patient expression and absolute lack of menace. “Mr. Ritter, you’re a capable young man. You and the Undertakers have conducted yourselves astonishingly well. I don’t think you really comprehend the level of your success. But things are ‘coming to a head,’ as the human saying goes, and I have information that you desperately need.”
“So tell me.”
His dead head shook. “We get out of here … together. Then I tell you.”
I looked at Julie. But there was no help there. For all her courage, Helene’s sister was still a rookie. So I decided to call Haven. But, as I reached for my sat phone, the sirens suddenly got louder. Vehicles squealed into the school’s front entrance. Not three or four of them, either. I counted at least eight.
“We’re out of time,” Dillin said urgently. “I need to run. I have a method for getting us safely to Philadelphia. An alternative means of transportation, if you will. Now, if you and Miss Boettcher prefer to make your own way, that’s fine. But I need an answer from you. Now.”
“I don’t trust you,” I said.
“I don’t blame you,” he replied. “Coming or staying?”
“You’ve got a way out of Allentown without running into deaders?”
“Deaders. That’s cute. And, yes, I do. Last chance, Mr. Ritter.”
I looked again at Julie. She shrugged.
Finally, I said. “Coming.”
He offered up what seemed a sincere smile. I decided then and there that I really didn’t like sincere smiles on dead guys. “Glad to hear it! Let’s go.”
So we did. Out through the faculty lounge door and down the hall to a basement stairwell. From there, he led us along a series of passages that smelled so much of mold and rat crap that I got nostalgic for Haven. At last, we came to a locked gate that looked as if it had been there for a hundred years.
The Zombie Prince explained, “This old conduit connects the school to the sewer system. From here, we go straight to an abandoned gas station at the edge of town. I’ve already arranged for an airport limo to meet us there.” He checked his watch, a weirdly human thing for an animated cadaver to do. “Let’s hurry.”
My every instinct kept telling me to zap this dude, take Julie, and run. But if Dillin was even half-
right about how many Corpses would be on the streets looking for us, we wouldn’t last ten minutes. By now, they’d probably be bringing in the local cops to help in the search for “students who assaulted some teachers.”
But the first time you go squirrelly on us, I’m taking you down, deader!
As promised, the abandoned gas station was there, boarded up and completely deserted. The airport limo was there too, a gray van with the service’s name and phone number stenciled on its side.
Seeing it, Dillin waved and marched over.
I took Julie’s hand and followed cautiously.
“Here’s the situation,” Dead Principal said to the driver. “My friends and I aren’t going to the airport. We’re going someplace else entirely, and I’m willing to pay you three hundred dollars to take us there. You can’t ask any questions and you can’t use your radio at all.”
The driver, a stocky dude in his fifties with more hair on his chin than atop his head, scowled at Dillin, and then looked past him at Julie and me. His scowl deepened. “You takin’ those kids somewhere you shouldn’t?” he demanded.
“Absolutely not!” Dillin actually looked offended.
The driver opened his door and climbed out of the van. He was big.
“I’m not liking this,” he said. “My dispatcher sent me here … to the middle of nowhere … to pick up a lone man. That’s freaky enough. But now you show up with two kids and want to make some kind of deal with me?”
“That’s about it,” Dead Principal told him pleasantly.
“What’s say I call the cops?” the driver said, reaching back into the van for his radio.
“No!” Dillin yelped. Yep, the Corpse actually yelped. “Wait! Please! You don’t—”
The driver ignored him.
So I let go of Julie’s hand, ran up and Tased the guy with my pocketknife.
“Sorry,” I muttered.
“Mr. Ritter!” the principal exclaimed in a tone that made him sound like—well—a principal.
