"Maybe," Cummings said, jotting something down. "But, I'm sure you know who did it."
"The same person who unearthed the mausoleums in Pine Ridge and Cedar Valley."
"I don't doubt that," Cummings smiled. "The same person we are talking to right now."
"What do I have to do to prove to you I wasn't involved."
"Simple. Find a way to get back in your jail cell last night, so we don't find you here in the morning."
"If I was still in that prison, I would be dead right now."
"Half the people at the precinct died last night. We checked the cells and found yours was the only one open. Can you guess what we found just outside your cell, Mr. Gilmore?"
I sighed. "A dead officer."
"Correct. Him and a half dozen other bodies. We might not be able to prove you unearthed those mausoleums or perpetrated the attack on the precinct, but we sure as shit have you as an accessory."
"You have no proof."
"We have you on video with someone in a mask running through the building, even breaking into the evidence locker, before making your escape through the garage. The way I see it, you and your little friend are a pair of cop killers. You are lucky my boss requires us to fill out pages of paperwork, Mr. Gilmore. Do you know why?"
"I'll never get a fair deal if the cops are involved?"
Cummings and Ross looked at each other and laughed. Cummings finally stopped long enough to speak. "Ross there is just itching for a reason to pull the trigger. All you have to do is make one false move and you'll find yourself bleeding out on the floor from a bullet wound to your chest. To be fair to Agent Ross, he wants to kill you outright, but I asked him to miss on purpose. I want nothing more than to watch cop killers like you suffer."
"Thank God for due process then," I muttered just loud enough for them to hear. "I'm going to tell you now, like I told the New Orleans Police last night. I'm not involved. If you wish, you can take me in and arrest me. I'll be out in a few days when you are unable to file charges against me for lack of proper evidence."
The pair laughed again. Harder this time. "You are going to be charged the moment we get back. Federal prison is nothing like a city, or even state prison. We don't need to dig for evidence. That video is more than enough evidence for us to proceed." Cummings gave me a sad look when he noticed the disappointment washing over my face. "Don't worry too much about it. Federal judges are backed up for a while. You'll have plenty of time to tell us everything."
"There's nothing for me to tell you that you didn't already see. You have the video. You must've seen the dead people walking through the hallways on their own."
Ross snorted. "Think we need to get him checked for drugs while we are at it. He's losing it."
I looked at the pair confused. How could they have a video of my escape, yet not see the massive amount of undead roaming the halls before I was let out. Something wasn't right. "It has to be on the video. They were all over the place. Those bodies you saw outside my cell, they were dead. Long dead."
"I'm not sure how long they were dead. By our estimation, a few hours at best."
"Few hours? Most of them were heavily decomposed by the time I'd seen them."
"I'm not sure what you are on, but you may want to consider a stint in rehab once you get out."
"If he gets out," Ross added.
I thought about firing back. Asking them what they were smoking if the didn't see what I had. Thankfully my better judgment took over and I kept my thoughts to myself. "If you are taking me in, let's get it over with." I looked over at Ross who was still gripping his gun like I was going to do something to harm them. "And you can relax with that thing. I'm going peacefully."
"You went peacefully last night too."
I sighed and offered my wrists. Officer Cummings pulled out a pair of handcuffs from a side compartment on his belt and placed one on my left wrist. He had me stand up and pulled my right behind my back before cuffing the other. While restrained, they checked my pockets and placed their contents on the table. Once they were done, they placed my wallet back in my pocket and left the rest of it on the table. Ross put his gun away, finally, and grabbed my laptop. He placed it in a trash bag he pulled from the trash can and carried them to the door.
"Leave that, Ross. I'll have a unit come in and sweep the place later. He might be hiding all sorts of goodies in here." Agent Cummings held me by the arm and directed me forward. "I assume you can walk on your own?"
"I got it." Those were the last words I said until I was strapped in the back seat of his car and we were heading down the road.
- 16 -
The silence lasted about five minutes before Cummings turned around in the passenger seat of the car. He looked me in the eye and asked, "so who is your friend from last night?"
"Never saw her before," I answered. "Doubt I will ever again."
"So you are telling us that this mystery girl just happened to walk across the precinct and just happened upon you and decided to let you out of the goodness of her heart?"
"You saw the video. Tell me what you saw."
"I saw a woman walk through the place deliberately, like she was looking for something. She never stopped until she got to your cell where she let you out. From there, you both worked your way across the building to the evidence locker, where you broke in and stole a walking stick." Cummings paused for a moment. "Should I continue?"
"She wasn't looking for me."
"That's not what we saw."
"She was there hunting the person animating those bodies you seem to think were still alive."
"The only people even close to you two were the dead officer near your cell and the other one you pulled the keys off of near evidence." His lips curled when my face gave away my surprise. "You didn't know we saw that too, did you?"
"Assumed you had. You only have selective vision on things that don't involve me."
Ross looked over his shoulder and spoke. "I'm about to have some of that selective vision now. I think I see you trying to escape back there."
"So that's your plan? Get me away from the hotel where there were plenty of witnesses just to shoot me? What's your endgame? Dumping my body in the bayou?"
"That's not quite it, but thanks for the suggestion."
"We aren't going to kill you," Cummings said, pointing towards the road. "We are trying to get to the bottom of this."
"Then you need to start listening," I said angrily. "I told you I'm not involved."
"Perhaps you aren't. But you have to admit the evidence is stacked against you and your little friend. You realize if she pulled that little stunt just two hours earlier, she wouldn't have made it out of there alive."
"I doubt that. She seemed more than capable."
"What can you tell me about her?"
"Judging from the accent, she's French. She is about five-five, one twenty, with blond hair. I couldn't tell her eye color."
"Any distinguishing marks or tattoos?"
"No idea. She wore the mask until we were outside. Even then it was too dark to notice anything."
"Hiding critical information about her doesn't do you any favors. You realize this, right? If she was the mastermind behind all this, she could be the key to your freedom."
"I'm not leaving anything out," I said. "But I can tell you she didn't kill those people either. Not the living ones anyway."
Cummings looked at me confused. "If they were alive, of course she didn't kill them."
"I'm talking about the bodies. Like the ones you found next to the fallen officer outside my cell."
"She certainly killed those."
I sighed. These two clowns weren't going to get it and I was getting tired of explaining myself. When they got to wherever they were taking me, I would demand a lawyer to get things worked out. From there I would have the lawyer demand to know if the Feds have a paranormal investigator of their own. The odds this person was even half as skilled as me was slim, but at least he wouldn't be as c
lueless about the paranormal as these two were. He should at least have some general idea of the concept of necromancy and magic in general. Or at least be able to tell the difference between a living body and a dead one.
A man can hope anyways.
Ross drove for a few more miles before pulling onto an exit ramp. He drove through the city, avoiding the congested city streets like only a member of law enforcement could, by using their detachable police lights and on-board siren. The very epitome of what I disliked about cops. Quick to take you in and string you up for the same minor offenses they do themselves, often in the name of public safety and justice. I wanted to call him out on it, but decided I didn't want the pair to find some other charge to add to my fairly large, list.
He sped through the city streets and pulled off onto a road bordering a lake and turned right, following the lake to the east. Traffic on the road was sparse, which I found odd considering the fair weather. Back home, on a day like today, there would be thousands of people flocking south towards Lake of the Ozarks for a weekend out on the lake. Looking over, I saw a few boats on the lake, but nowhere near the traffic the lakes get back home.
The next few miles we rode in silence. I looked out the window at the lake, enjoying the last few moments of freedom I had. I imagined myself on the lake, basking in the sun on the deck of an expensive yacht. The day was just like this one, beautiful and sunny, without a cloud in the sky.
I pulled my mirrored sunglasses off my eyes and looked around. Max was sitting on one of the wooden chairs near the rails, fishing pole in hand. I didn't bother to ask him how many he had caught, I knew there would be enough to feed us for days if we wanted. Stacy was lying on a chair not far away. She was wearing a one of those one piece swim suits that had shorts, fairly common in the early twentieth century. In her hands she had a book, likely a horror novel or perhaps even a thriller.
I sat up in the chair and stretched the kink in my back out. Once it popped, I stood up and walked towards the cabin to grab a beer out of one of the two large coolers just inside, out of the sun. I reached inside, grabbed an ice cold Coors, popped the tab, and drank half of it in one quick drink.
"Easy on those, Ray. I know I'm off duty, but I still have an obligation to the people." The voice came from further inside the cabin, but I couldn't tell where as my eyes were struggling to adjust to the darkness after being out in the sun for so long.
"Trevor?" I said into the room, in the direction I had heard the voice.
"Yeah?" he asked, confusion in his voice.
"How did you get here?"
"I met you in Columbia with the others. We flew out here a few days ago. Been on the boat ever since."
"That's impossible," I said, taking a step away from the darkness. "You're dead."
"Dead?" the voice said, getting closer. I rubbed my eyes and opened them slowly. The objects inside the cabin started to appear as my eyes finally adjusted. Slowly, I scanned the room, looking for the man who had been taking to me just moments ago, but the room was clear. I closed my eyes, shook my head, and sat down.
"I'm losing it," I said, rubbing my eyes once again. "I swore he was just here."
"Me?" I felt an arm on my shoulder. I turned around expecting to see Max, but instead Trevor was standing in front of me, but he looked horrible. Like he had been hit by a truck. His face was covered with cuts that oozed dark colored blood and pus down his face. His nose was bent awkwardly to the side and was smashed against his face like it had been broken. I jumped away from the arm and caught a better look at his body.
The arm that had been on my shoulder wasn't as much of an arm as it was a stub of an arm. The fingers I had felt were nothing more than the tendrils of skin and muscle tissue that remained where the arm had been ripped off. His other arm was broken between his wrist and elbow, leaving his hand dangling. He was still wearing his police officer uniform, but his badge and nametag were missing, replaced instead with a large gash across the middle of his chest, ripping his shirt and exposing the bones in his rib cage. The lower half of his body was in much better shape appearing relatively untouched though he walked with a limp as he shambled closer to me.
"I thought you would be happy to see me again, Ray."
I backed myself across the room and into the corner. Instinctively, I dropped my beer and scanned the room for something to use as a weapon, but there wasn't anything even remotely close to me. I screamed out as loud as I could manage, but it came out more like a muffled cough than anything else. As Trevor got closer, I closed my eyes, hoping he would be gone when I opened them again. After a minute, when the noise of his movement had stopped, I opened my eyes.
The room was the way it was before I closed my eyes with one notable exception. Trevor was gone. I frantically searched the room again for the man who had just been in the room, dripping blood and puss all over the tan wool rug I had in the center of the floor. But the room was empty. The only trace anyone else had even been in here was the can of beer I had dropped on the floor, now spilling its contents onto the hardwood floor.
I grabbed a towel out of a nearby closet and walked back to the corner where I picked up the beer and cleaned up my mess. I knew I needed a vacation, but I hadn't known how badly until that very moment. The events of the past few months raced through my mind in a torrent of emotions. The plane and the fight with the guardsmen after. The events in the pot shop and the Amtrak train not long after. Even the whole fiasco in Cincinnati flashed through my mind, filling it with visions of Corbin, Silas, and even Alfred in various states of emotion.
Once the beer had been cleaned, I bent over, picked up the towel, and turned around. I made it two steps before I bumped into something.
A man.
I looked up slowly starting with his freshly polished black shoes and fancy pin-stripped pants up to the thin leather belt around his waist. Looking up further, I noticed his gray shirt was wet down the center with a dark stain that came from a hole in the center of his chest. The shirt was ripped around a puncture wound in his chest, just below the man's rib cage. Blood and gore coalesced around the wound though it wasn't gushing out like I had expected it to be.
I forced my eyes further upward, leaping back into the wall when I noticed the face. "Bradley Tucker?"
"I prefer Brad. You'd know that if you took two minutes to talk to me instead of throwing accusations the whole time."
"But I killed you!" I shouted, holding my hands out in front of me to keep him away.
"That you did." He rubbed the wound in the middle of his chest. Blood and pus gathered on his hand which he examined before he thrust the hand at my face, holding it close enough for me to smell. I nearly gagged as the smell of death and decay hit my nose. Part of me expected the metallic smell of fresh blood and was caught off guard by the vileness of the smell. Bradly laughed as I dry heaved. "It should've been you that died. You got lucky."
My mind struggled to find a comeback, to come up with a response, but my lips wouldn't move. I stood in the corner and gathered every last ounce of my willpower to run past him and back out onto the deck where Max could save me.
The ship hit something and sending me crashing down to the floor. I tried to pull myself back up but another sharp hit sent me back down and back against the wall. A third sharp hit caused something to fall off the wall, hitting me in the head.
"Hold on!" Cummings shouted as he reached for his seatbelt.
My eyes darted open. Outside the car there were hundreds of people standing all over the place. Some of them were on the patches of grass near the lake. Others standing nonchalantly on the sidewalk, watching the car as it sped past. The vast concentration of people were in the road. Ross turned the wheel sharply to avoid an older woman who nearly stepped in front of the car.
"Was I asleep?" I asked, wishing my hands were free to rub the side of my head. It ached like I had been sucker punched by a bouncer at a bar for trying to sneak in to avoid paying the cover charge.
"Out like a
light. Snoring and all," Cummings said, glancing over his shoulder with a grin.
"What's going on?"
"Looks like your friend is nearby, and she brought a few hundred friends."
"Few hundred?"
"Been like this for the last mile."
For the last mile? The woman that saved me last night mentioned that the necromancer could manipulate the dead from as far as a mile or so away. But as I looked out the windshield, I saw nothing but people for as far as I could see. The sight reminded me of one of the herds of walkers that the people in the Walking Dead try feverishly to avoid, and for a very good reason.
Within moments, the hordes of people stepped into the streets. Without anywhere else to go, Ross swerved to the right, hopping the curb and driving into the grass. The force of the impact with the curb jarred my body, sending my head into the glass window again. My head ached and stars clouded my vision. I was too busy shaking off the blow I didn't notice the tree until the car slammed into it, jarring my head into the back of Ross' seat and sending me into darkness.
- 17 -
I woke up feeling like I had been hit by a truck. Out of instinct, I tried to move my arms to feel my face and head for scars or marks, but they were still cuffed behind my back.
In the front seat I saw Ross dangling upside down like I was. His arms dangled free, hands resting on Cummings' face. Cummings hadn't had time to buckle his seatbelt before the impact. His face and arms were covered with blood from his nose. It didn't look broke and the flow of blood had stopped and I started to worry he had died in the crash.
The car was on its roof and still running, flooding the cab with exhaust that burned my eyes and made it difficult to breathe. "Ross. Cummings," I said, starting to feel disoriented from the extra blood rushing towards my head. When they didn't respond I said it again, louder. But they didn't respond.
Dead of Night: The Nephalem Files (Book 3) Page 10
