The Dead Ones (Death Herself Book 3)

by Amy Cross

  “Molly?” I whisper finally, before knocking on the window again.

  A moment later, the strange girl appears once more, and this time she slides the window open and leans out.

  “Hey,” I say, “can you -”

  “Whichever one of you assholes is trying to bug me,” she calls out, still not making eye contact with me, “you can just cut it out, okay? I'm not interested! Go to hell!”

  With that, she leans back in and slides the window shut. I'm left staring in shock, trying to work out what just happened. Molly doesn't have a sister, and I'm pretty damn sure she'd have mentioned it if her parents had sold the house, which means -

  “It's not my room anymore,” Molly says suddenly.

  Turning, I see that she's standing nearby, barely visible in the darkness.

  “What do you mean?” I ask cautiously, stepping toward her. “Since when is it not your room?”

  “I don't think I live here anymore,” she continues, her eyes filled with fear. “Bonnie, I know this is going to sound crazy, but I think I've figured out what's wrong. I think maybe I'm dead.”

  Chapter Twelve

  “Just listen to me!” she hisses, following me as I march along the dark street. “It actually sorta starts to make sense if you just think about it for a moment! I've been having these blackouts lately, things I don't really remember, but I think they're more than blackouts, I think -”

  “You think you're dead,” I mutter, shocked that such a load of garbage could be coming from her mouth. “Well that sounds completely logical. I'm glad you've jumped to the most sane conclusion.”

  “It's not just me! The same thing has been happening to Shannon and Karen too!”

  “Then it must be true,” I reply.

  “Bonnie, please!” she continues. “I've been thinking it through and I think I've put it all together. I can't explain everything, there are still some parts I don't understand, but I really think I'm dead!”

  “Yeah?” I say with a sigh. “Then how come I can talk to you?”

  She grabs my arm and pulls me back until I turn to face her.

  “How do you think?” she asks, with fear in her eyes. “You're dead too, Bonnie!”

  ***

  “I remember going to school that day,” Molly says later, as we sit with Shannon on a bench in the center of town. It's late, almost midnight, and there's no-one else around. “I was in the cafeteria and I remember hearing screams suddenly, and seeing people running, and then I saw...” She turns to me. “I saw Malcolm and Jonathan with guns.”

  “I know,” I reply with a shudder. “I saw them too.”

  “And then...”

  I wait for her to reply.

  “And then what?” I snap.

  “And then Jonathan looked right at me,” she continues, her voice filled with fear, “and I heard a loud bang.”

  “And then you ran,” I reply. “You've told me this over and over, I know the story!”

  “I don't think I did run,” she says firmly. “I don't think he missed. I think...” She reaches up and puts a hand on the side of her face. “I feel like I'm going crazy, but I think maybe he shot me. It's like I've known all along, but I couldn't face the truth, and then tonight something changed. Suddenly I couldn't hide from it, not anymore.”

  I can't help sighing. “This is ridiculous.”

  “I think the same thing happened to me,” Shannon says suddenly, “but... I think I was shot in the chest. It's like the memory of that day was somehow lost, but now it's coming back. Something changed, something must have happened a couple of hours ago, because it's like this veil has been lifted and now I can remember everything.”

  I open my mouth to argue with her, before thinking back to the moment when I thought I saw my brother bursting into flames. He said something about someone coming for me, once they'd got him, but that was all just in my head. It can't have been real.

  “So you really think we're dead?” I ask finally, my voice filled with scorn. “Then explain how we can talk to other people! Explain how I can talk to my mother, or to Mr. Dyson, or -”

  “They're dead too,” Molly suggests.

  I turn to her.

  “Think about it,” she continues. “Ever since the shooting at the school, haven't you basically only talked to the same small group of people? Haven't you ignored everyone else, and they've ignored you as well?”

  “When you walk along the corridor at school,” Shannon adds, “everyone blanks you.”

  “That's because of who I am,” I tell her. “My brother was one of the shooters, remember? It's natural that no-one likes me! I mean, hell, I wouldn't like me if I was someone else and I'd been shot by my brother! My own boyfriend stopped talking to me after it happened!” Feeling suddenly overwhelmed by how ridiculous this whole situation feels, I get to my feet. “Maybe there's something in the water. I don't know what's going on here, but you guys have lost your goddamn minds, okay?”

  “You get angry these days,” Molly points out. “Way more than before. I do too. We've all noticed it about ourselves. I think it happens whenever something challenges our -”

  “Go to hell!” I sniff, taking a step back.

  “I saw Karen go up in flames,” Shannon says suddenly.

  I turn to her.

  “It happened about an hour ago,” she continues, her eyes filled with fear. “She was right in front of me, she was fine one moment and then suddenly she said something about a noise. She kept asking me if I could hear these people, but I had no idea who she meant. Then she started running, but she didn't get very far before...” She pauses. “It was right in the middle of town, but no-one noticed. No-one seemed to give a damn, it was like she was screaming and burning but they couldn't see her. I don't know what happened, exactly, but now she's gone and I'm scared. I saw the same thing happen to Jenna a few minutes later.”

  “We'll go and find them, then,” I stammer. “Come on, Shannon, you're not exactly a reliable witness. You pee yourself at the first sign of danger.”

  “Bonnie, please,” Molly continues, “I know you feel it, deep down, we just -”

  “I'm out of here,” I add, turning to walk away. “This is -”

  Stopping suddenly, I see a figure heading this way through the darkness. For a moment I feel a flash of fear at the thought that maybe the creature from earlier has found us, but when the figure comes closer I see that it's Adam. Of all the people I really don't need to deal with right now, he's pretty much at the top of the list.

  “What the hell are you doing here?” I ask, looking past him but not seeing anyone else. “Where are your little pals?”

  “They're gone,” he replies, ashen-faced.

  “Finally sick of hanging out with a bully, huh?”

  “Bonnie, don't,” Molly says, slipping past me as she heads over to Adam. “They burned, didn't they?”

  “Right in front of me,” he replies, his voice sounding weak and fragile. “I think there was something in the flames with them, too. Something... something that was enjoying it.”

  “You've got to be kidding me,” I mutter.

  “You can see me, right?” he continues, grabbing my arm.

  I pull away.

  “Tell me you can see me!” he hisses.

  “I can see you,” I reply. “I wish I couldn't, but I can.”

  “I think your brother's execution has something to do with it,” Molly says, turning to me. “That's the only explanation that makes sense. I think somehow we've been stuck here in limbo, and we've been able to exist in this fantasy world where we don't have to face the truth, but now it's breaking down.” She pauses. “Haven't you noticed how cold it's getting?”

  “So?” I ask cautiously.

  “So we've all felt it,” she continues. “We're all feeling so much colder now. It's like, over the past few hours, the temperature across town seems to have plummeted.”

  Staring at her, I realize that she's serious. I always knew Molly had a tendency t
o veer toward the hysterical, but I thought she always hung onto her sanity. Now, however, I'm starting to think that this isn't some huge prank, that it's actually some kind of mania that managed to infect them all. I was so busy trying not to lose my mind, I didn't notice that everyone else around me was going nuts too.

  “I'm not joining in with this,” I whisper finally, taking a step back. “You're all our of your minds.”

  “So you don't feel it?” Molly asks. “Something's wrong, Bonnie.”

  “I agree with you there,” I tell her, “but the rest of it? No way. You're going too far.”

  “We have to face the truth,” she continues. “I don't think we can fool ourselves anymore. We're dead, and now at least three of us have gone up in smoke over the past few hours.”

  “Four,” I whisper, thinking back to Malcolm on the beach. “He was the first.”

  “Who was?”

  I open my mouth to reply, before realizing that there's no way I'm willing to add fuel to this crazy idea.

  “No-one,” I stammer, turning and walking away. Wrapping my arms around my chest in an attempt to keep warm, I hurry across the street, ignoring Molly as she shouts at me to go back. This whole situation is completely insane and I refuse to listen to their garbage. In fact, by the time I get to the street corner, I feel so much anger burning through my chest that I grab the nearest trashcan and push it over in a desperate, futile moment of anger. This isn't me. I never used to get so mad at things, but something changed after the shooting.

  Turning, I hurry away before Molly and the others can catch up. I need to get home.

  ***

  “Mom?” I call out as I enter the house. “Mom, are you still up?”

  I was expecting her to be fast asleep, but the lights are on in the front room and I'm pretty sure the house was dark when I left. I head through to the kitchen, worried that she'll have been out to the store and that her little moment of sobriety has already passed. After a moment, however, I hear the sound of someone in the bathroom, so I head to the door and lean through. I know it's dumb, but I need to talk to her so I can make sure that everything's okay, so I can put Molly's dumb ideas out of my mind for good.

  “Mom,” I say, trying not to sound too panicked, “can -”

  Stopping suddenly, I see that Dad is standing at the sink, washing his face.

  “I...”

  I wait, but he still hasn't seen me. It must be six months at least since Dad has been here, maybe even longer, and the sight fills me with a strange, tense sense of worry. I watch as he dries his face, and then as he stares at himself in the mirror. Stepping forward, I'm shocked to see that he looks so much older than I remember, with heavy bags under his eyes, and he's lost weight too. Still, it's so good to see him after all this time.

  “Dad?” I say cautiously. “What... What are you doing back?”

  I wait.

  No reply.

  Reaching up, he rubs his eyes. He seems totally zoned out, as if he's lost in his own little world.

  “It's been so long,” I tell him. “Mom said... Well, Mom wouldn't talk about it, but I knew something was wrong. Where have you been?”

  When he doesn't reply, I take another step closer, before spotting his Hazley Town Industries work jacket hanging on one of the hooks. He worked at HTI since before I was born, so I guess it's possible that he just happens to still have part of the uniform, but after a moment I spot his logbooks next to the sink. I guess I assumed when I stopped seeing him that he must have gone away and left everything behind, but now it's like he never even left.

  “Did you get your old job back?” I ask.

  Ignoring me, he starts washing his hands.

  “Dad, say something,” I continue, feeling a flash of panic. I want to believe that he's come back for good, or that he's going to take us away with him, but I know better than to hope for the best. “Dad, what's going on?”

  Still ignoring me, he dries his hands on a towel before grabbing his logbooks and heading out of the room.

  “Dad?”

  I follow him to the kitchen, where he grabs something from the cupboard and puts it into the microwave. Once he's set it going, he takes his phone from the counter and brings up a number. Again, he seems so tired, it's hard to believe this is the same guy who used to give me piggy-back rides around the house. It's as if something has crushed his soul.

  “Hey,” he says wearily after a moment, “it's me. Just calling to say I won't need that lift tonight after all. I think my car's working just fine now.”

  He waits, listening to someone on the other end of the line.

  “No,” he continues, “it's been in the shop for almost a week now, but those losers finally figured out what's wrong. I've got a bill you wouldn't believe, but at least the car's sitting out front.”

  Heading to the front room, I look out the window and see that the car is in its usual spot. I don't know why he claims it's been in the shop, though, since I know for a fact that Mom and I have been using it for weeks. Well, trying to use it, since the engine hasn't worked properly since forever. As I hear him saying goodnight to whoever was on the other end of the line, I hurry back through and head over to him just as he take his box of noodles from the microwave.

  “Dad, listen to me,” I say firmly, grabbing his arm, “you have to -”

  I stop as I feel something pushing my hands back, as if some invisible force won't let me touch him.

  “What is this?” I whisper, trying again but feeling the same thing.

  Sighing, Dad wanders to the table and flops down, clearly exhausted. Balancing the box of noodles on his belly, he uses a fork to start shoveling them into his mouth.

  “Dad,” I continue, kneeling next to him, “can you say something to me? Can you please at least look at me?” With tears in my eyes, I wait for him to respond, but he's just chewing slowly, as if nothing matters in the whole world. This is exactly the same as when I was with Josh at the bus stop.

  “He can't hear you,” a voice says suddenly.

  Turning, I see Mom standing in the doorway.

  “Why not?” I ask, wiping away the tears that have started running down my face.

  “I thought he was a ghost at first,” she replies, coming closer. “I was terrified when I suddenly saw him tonight, but finally I realized...” She rubs her arms. “Are you cold, Bonnie? The heating seems to be on, but I'm so cold. I don't know why, but I feel like the whole world is just getting colder and colder.”

  “What's happening?” I shout, getting to my feet. “Why is Dad suddenly back, and why is he pretending like we're not here?”

  “I don't think he can hear us, honey,” she replies, her voice trembling a little as if she's on the verge of crying. “It's like... I was hoping and praying that at least he'd be able to see you, but I guess not. In that case, I suppose maybe you're just like me.”

  “And what does that mean?” I ask.

  “I think...” She pauses. “I remember the morning of the shooting. I couldn't before, not clearly, but in the past few hours it suddenly came rushing back to me. Your father had gone out to work early as usual, you'd gone to school, and I could hear your brother still bumbling around in his room. I was in a hurry, and I wasn't about to let him stay home for the day, so I barged in and...” Another pause, as tears fill her eyes. “He and Jonathan were standing there with guns. Malcolm mumbled something about being sorry, then he aimed the gun at me and...”

  Her voice trails off.

  “That didn't happen,” I tell her, trying to stay calm.

  She puts her hands over her face as she starts sobbing.

  “That didn't happen!” I shout, pulling her hands away. “Mom, stop it! Have you been talking to Molly? None of that happened, not the way you described it!”

  “Oh God,” she continues, pulling me close and hugging me tight. “I think we're dead, honey. I don't understand what's going on, not completely, but I think... I think you must have died too, at the school. Sudden
ly it all makes sense.”

  “I'm not dead!” I hiss, pushing her away. “Why do people keep saying that tonight? Look at me, I'm right here! I remember the shooting and I remember surviving! I remember -”

  Before I can finish, I realize my memory is a little different this time. I definitely remember running toward the door, and I remember hearing shots being fired. Until tonight, I always remembered throwing myself out of the cafeteria and landing on the hard floor outside, unhurt. This time, however, the memory is different: I remember a sharp pain in my back, bursting through my body, and then...

  But that can't be right.

  I survived. I know I did.

  “It's so cold,” Mom whispers, grabbing me for another hug. “I can't find a way to keep warm. No matter what I do, even if I stand next to the hot water pipes, nothing works. It's like all the heat is just draining away from the world.” She squeezes me tight. “I don't even feel anything from you.”

  “This is insane!” I mutter, pushing her back yet again. “It's as if everyone has -”

  Before I can finish, Dad gets to his feet and shuffles past us.

  “No!” I shout, running after him and trying to grab his arm. When I feel my hands being pushed away yet again, I follow him across the kitchen instead. “You can't ignore us!” I yell, as my anger starts to boil over. “You don't get to disappear and leave us all alone, and then suddenly come back and act like we're not even here!” I try yet again to grab him, before trying to slam my fists against his chest.

  Still ignoring me, he turns and wanders over to the far corner of the room.

  “He's alive,” Mom says, as we both watch him toss the cardboard carton into the trash. “He's living here all alone. I don't know why we couldn't see him all this time, but it's like we were in limbo and now something has changed, suddenly -” She glances toward the window. “Did you hear that?”

  “Hear what?” I ask, feeling completely impotent.

  “It's like there are people in the yard,” she replies, stepping past me and heading through to the front room. “Jesus, Bonnie, can you seriously not hear them?” She turns and looks back toward the kitchen. “They're round the back, too.”