Death 07 - For the Love of Death

by Tamara Rose Blodgett

  “Don't make me take you apart,” I say, as honest as I've ever been.

  Mitchell smiles. “No chance, bud. I'm here for the girl. Because of the girl. No one touches her.”

  “You're touching her,” Gramps points out.

  Mitchell hisses.

  Mouth looks good, I think, having a proud papa moment.

  “Mitchell, it's okay. This is my dad, Gramps, and you've met Pax.”

  “He's an asshole, Deegan.”

  She gives a shaky laugh. “Kinda, but he's still my bro.”

  “He hurt you,” Mitchell says, pointing at me.

  Deegan shakes her head, pulling on him until he lets her go. She moves to stand in front of him.

  I swallow at their size difference. He could kill her with a hit.

  She raised him. She’s safe.

  Still about twelve different alarm bells are going off simultaneously. Gramps, shotgun pointed to the ground, must feel the same way.

  He inches forward.

  Mitchell's eyes flick to Gramps.

  He's awfully sharp for a corpse. Reminds me of Clyde. Those type never dull down.

  Some people are just meant to be alive.

  Through any means.

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  Caleb

  “Goddamn!” Pax jumps to his feet and hightails it to Gramps and me.

  I toss a hard look his way. “Pax, cool it.”

  The zombie’s cold gaze follows him, and Pax flips him the bird. “Dick.”

  Deegan rolls her eyes. “Pax please… can ya just not for once?”

  “Chump,” The zombie replies.

  Gramps snorts. “He’s an oldie but goody!”

  Great. “Deegan, explain what’s happened.” I fold my arms, one eye on Mitchell.

  Gramps’ eyes narrow. “Not a good time, son.”

  I scan the vicinity. Cars are pausing in the sky, hovering over the street in my neighborhood.

  Someone is filming Fam Dead at the top of the hill. An eyepiece sweeps over their face for live feed upload to PulseTube.

  Wonderful.

  I punch out some death juice. It’s the wrong season for bees, but they’re dead and won’t mind.

  The swarm moves to the cars with the rubber-neckers and blocks their bird's eye line of sight.

  “Nice.” Gramps rocks back on his heels, laughing. “That’ll shut those nosey-Parkers right down.”

  “Deegan?”

  “I know, Dad. I got it, but Pax had to escape the dudes back by Gramps’, and we didn’t have any time.”

  I turn to Pax, who shrugs. “I did what I had to.”

  “You blinked?” I ask, though I’m pretty sure of the response.

  He nods.

  “It’s okay. You protected your sister.”

  Mitchell gives a grunt of assent.

  Gramps hides his smile behind a fake cough.

  Perfect.

  “How about me?” Pax asks with a smirk.

  I lift my chin. “I know you can take care of stuff, Pax.”

  “And things,” Gramps mumbles.

  A true day from hell.

  I plow forward. “Let’s take,” I check out the posse of undead, “the zombies back to the house and figure it out in a more private setting.”

  Pax blanches. “Fine, you deal with Mom. She’s not going to dig the Motley Crew of Death showing up.”

  “Pax is right,” Deegan agrees.

  I palm my chin. “Right—but you guys raised these in some parallel earth?”

  They nod.

  Kids.

  “I don’t think they’ll go to rest here.”

  “Why not?” Gramps asks. “You keep telling me the dead are dead are dead.” He lifts his shoulders.

  “They are. But I think because the kids raised them in another earth, there is no resting place for them. On this earth.”

  Silence.

  Pax gives a horrified glance to the dead family at the top of the hill. “Great. It's not really—I didn't want dead I can't put to rest. They're not goldfish, Dad.”

  “It's a dilemma,” I say.

  Gramps laughs.

  “Not funny, Gramps,” Pax says, sullen.

  “It’s a barrel of monkeys. You two having to drag around a few corpses for a little while might put the kibosh on doing it for no reason.”

  Pax has a history of raising without much thought.

  Deegan raises by accident. All we do is teach her how to control it.

  It is the least of her abilities, the frightening one we handled like potty training.

  Sometimes she does it in her sleep, like talking.

  It’s been a stressful few years.

  “If we’re just going to hang around here chewing our cud, I’m going to light up.”

  Mitchell raises his eyebrow, smiling despite the circumstances.

  I sigh as the agitated bees buzz in the background. “I think we need some ground rules with… Mitchell.”

  “Mitch,” he corrects, and my patience thins like an old sheet of paper.

  “Caleb,” I say.

  “Nice to meetcha.”

  Gramps looks at Mitch. “Mac.”

  “Hey.”

  Pax flips him off again.

  Mitch hisses.

  “Paxton.”

  Pax looks at me.

  I say, “Stop the bullshit. It's been a day.”

  “Right.” He flings a hand behind him as he walks up to the top of the hill.

  Deegan follows, and Mitch brings up the rear.

  Gramps trains his eyes on his back. “Big fella.”

  I measure him as I do all men, carefully. “Yeah. If Pax hadn’t been a Body and an Organic, he’d be broken.”

  “Yup,” Gramps agrees easily, the smoke from his cigarette lighting off a Christmas tree of memory triggers.

  I reach the top and with a thought, I send the car home without us.

  I pulse Jade, and images flow between us. Her anxiety is crippling.

  Her anger is worse.

  It gets better and better.

  The bees make a privacy cocoon around us.

  The dead family walks behind Pax, who's in the lead and we follow.

  Deegan walks beside the monster of a guy she raised.

  Gramps keeps his eye on the threat.

  The people who might witness four corpses and walkers. We’re not out during the exercise cycle and can be called in for violation.

  Gramps is smoking while carrying a firearm. Though he wears his card around his neck, not everyone thinks that's good enough.

  There's always a flock of do-gooders. And like birds, they want to shit on everyone's heads.

  Jade waits at the front porch. Seeing Deegan, she rushes down the broad concrete steps and I race forward.

  There's no way I want The Hulk near Jade.

  I shouldn't have worried.

  “Mom!” Deegan squeals.

  They collide, crying and hugging.

  Mitch the zombie stands around awkwardly like the rest of us.

  Jade pulls away. “Come inside. I have disturbing news.” Her gaze meets mine.

  Sounds about right.

  *

  Our place isn't very big. Built in the beginning of the twentieth, it's all wood, plaster, beamed ceilings and cozy rooms.

  Translation: small.

  It's been a terrific home. It has the antiquated vibe I dig. The bungalow was always meant to be a starter. Then it became the home we didn't want to leave. Even when we converted the attic to a space for Pax while he went to Paranormal Tech School. I guess it's a finisher.

  But with Gramps and four zombies, the size doesn't feel cozy.

  It's oppressive.

  “Pax... gall, can ya do them a little better, honey?” Jade covers her nose, eyeing the family.

  Pax turns to me and we shrug.

  He asks Gramps, “You smell anything, Gramps?”

  “Just rotting meat.” Gramps winks.

  Pax sighs. “Fine.”
>
  He turns to the dead family (the dad looks great, I think critically), and the breath of his energy floats past me. It touches Mitch and he stiffens, recognizing it, though he can’t respond.

  The girl goes first, her face morphing from gray to yellow. The gaps around her eyeballs close, the whites getting brighter, the irises taking on a fresh green color. Her hair, a bright orange in life, turns back to carrot-colored in seconds.

  It reminds me of John, though his has faded as he has gotten older.

  The mom goes through the same metamorphosis, but her hair is a blonde turning golden.

  The dad gets some peripheral leakage and perks up, hair thickening, eyes brightening, his skin taking on a ruddy cast.

  “Mouths,” I say.

  Pax grumps, turning back to the small horde. “Open your mouths.”

  The girl’s looks a little dark.

  Pax gives her another round of juice, and it pinks up.

  I can’t help my grin. “Nice.”

  Pax gives a small smile at my praise.

  Then he frowns. “Dee always gets the mouths.”

  “Don't compare,” Jade says.

  We look at Mitch.

  He smiles but it looks like a shark.

  Deegan giggles. “I don't think I can get excited about perfect zombies when it's accidental, and they're all criminals.”

  That gets me thinking. I narrow my gaze on Mitch.

  “What did you do?”

  “He”—she glances at him for permission, and Mitch nods.

  “No sis, that's not how it works. You own his ass. You tell him what you want. There's no deference for his undead opinions.”

  Mitch frowns at Pax then turns his attention to me. “You’re the dad?”

  I nod.

  “Went easy on him, then?”

  Gramps laughs.

  “You try raising a kid with these kinds of fun abilities, and we’ll see how you do.”

  Jade approaches, and I tense.

  Mitch looks down at her. “Ma’am.”

  Jade smiles and from his expression, he understands why I love her. “We did the best we could. He’s got a sharp tongue and a soft soul.”

  She moves in for the kill.

  “Jade, no,” I say.

  Mitch snaps his head my direction.

  Deegan takes Jade’s hand as her other touches Mitchell’s forearm.

  He sucks in a sharp breath as she closes her small hand around his arm. Sweat beads pop on Mitch’s upper lip, as Jade’s body becomes a tense plank. She moans when she reaches something awful, and I step forward.

  She sends me a look full of pain and temperance, and I freeze.

  Mitch finds her eyes. His are wide and surprised.

  Hers are filling with tears.

  She steps away, and he asks, “How did you do that?”

  “I still have a touch of it.”

  She turns to me.

  “A touch of what?” he asks.

  Jade doesn’t answer.

  I wait.

  When she’s done telling us what she sees, we all look at Mitch.

  Sometimes murderers kill for bad reasons.

  I cover my face with my hands. I’ve heard horrible things. Survived shit.

  Gramps is quiet.

  Pax’s face is red with what appears to be remorse.

  I shake it off, walk to Mitch, and clap him on the back. “I’m glad it was you.”

  Mitch, cupping the back of Deegan’s head, looks down at her. He’s so big he palms her entire skull.

  “Me too.”

  Jade's expression mirrors my own concern.

  Mitch is bad news. But not for the reason we thought.

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  Pax

  “So we're not gonna get our asses kicked?”

  Jade sighs. “Language, language, language, Paxton.”

  “Mom,” I say.

  Gramps says, “Don't get smart. I've given you as much leeway as I feel magnanimous about.”

  “We would have been tarred and feathered for that mouth back when I was alive,” Mitch comments from the peanut gallery.

  “It's not prize behavior now either,” Dad offers.

  I roll my eyes. Everyone stresses over shit that's nothing. The F-word is a medieval acronym for shit's sake. Anyway. “Dad,” I look at him, “did you, I mean, did you run into the suit dudes over by Grampsʼ?”

  He nods. “I did, had to put a lid on that mess.”

  “Who are they?”

  “Random A-holes.” Gramps cuts the cursing so close it could slice air.

  Mitch eyebrows drop above his eyes.

  He’ll have to catch on or drown.

  I look at them, willing them to understand. The Hart family frowns on blinking. “I had to get out of there. It didn’t seem like those Randoms wanted to deal with my indifference anymore.”

  Dad, getting charged up, folds his arms. “Why weren’t your mother and I aware there’d been some prior exchange?”

  I shrug. “I thought they were like college recruiters. I get all kinds of weird crap in the pulsebox about that stuff.” I mime what I think they’d sound like if it didn’t go into the spam pulse folder locked in my head: “Paxton Hart, you’re the type of ‘thinking-out-of-the-box’ young adult needed to be a part of the Random Movement.”

  I return my voice to the normal tones of boredom. “So, I file thirteened it. Don’t care.”

  Mom approaches me, concern all over her face.

  Great. “No touchy, Mom.”

  She laughs. “I think I’ve got that, Pax.”

  I have just enough Empath for things to get awkward. It makes me jump outta my skin sometimes.

  I scope out the zombies. Mine are nicely blank. But that guy Mitch.

  That guy.

  He puts the animated in reanimated.

  “Then they started putting flags and jumps on it. I knew I had to block their dumb butts.” I smile and Mom nods at my effort in less Foulness of the Mouth.

  “Way too aggressive for just one kid that ignores spam,” Gramps says thoughtfully.

  I check out Grampsʼ shotgun. I laugh.

  “Well, our avoidance gear didn't engage. I busted my arm trying to stop the roof from caving.”

  Mom gasps. “Are ya okay?”

  “Yes. I just, it was a case of The Dumbs that wouldn’t quit. I was in this other Earth. Dee was gone, my arm was ten kinds of messed up, and there were these effing creeper bots…”

  “What?”

  “Artificial Life Bots,” Dee supplies.

  I whip my hand toward her. “Yeah, what she said, they were enthusiastic…”

  “Buggers,” Gramps fills in, and I laugh.

  “Yeah they were.”

  “What were the bots doing?” Dad asks.

  I give a rough exhale. “They were trying to kill us.”

  Dad’s brows pull together. “Why?”

  “I guess there’s only certain types of paranormals allowed in that Earth. We weren’t part of ‘the chosen’.” I chuckle. So lame.

  “Who is?” Gramps sets the shotgun in a corner of the living room.

  I think about it. “AFTDs are a no. Organics are okay. They knew who was reanimated, and that sucked big time.”

  “How strong are they?” Dad asks.

  “My strength,” I say.

  We look at Mitch. “Less strong than me, but not by much,” he adds.

  Gramps whistles. “Zombie strong. Not good news.”

  “I don’t know what it matters,” Dee says. “We don’t have to go back there.”

  Mom frowns. Uh-oh, I know that look.

  “Of course you do. These”—she swallows—“people need to be put back.”

  “I’m not going back,” Mitch announces.

  The silence is a tomb. I open my mouth, decide better, and close it. Then I open it again. “No, bud, my sister doesn’t need a pet zombie. Hell, she raised you by accident. She was probably so scared she was practically peeing her p
ants, right, Dee?”

  “Wow, thanks Pax. For the… words.”

  Dee’s face is bright red. I didn’t mean to embarrass her in front of, what? The zombies. Whatever.

  Mitch steps forward, and Dad and Gramps are en pointe.

  “Where were you when your sister was vulnerable?”

  Don’t have a good answer for that.

  “I think I was blacked out. Y’know, from the broken arm and shit.”

  Mom glowers. I ignore her.

  Mitch steps into my space, our chests almost touching.

  “Listen, I’m effing sorry about your sister, Mitch. I am. But this is not the same. I’d never let anything happen to Dee.”

  I realized my fuck-up too late.

  “I didn’t think I would, either. Shit happens, if you’ve noticed.”

  A small hand appears on Mitch’s forearm.

  “Mitchell,” Dee says in low voice.

  I feel her AFTD. It’s like perfume; everyone wears a different fragrance, and hers smells like Dee—summer, kindness, floral, just Dee.

  Mitch backs off.

  He stares at me, and I stare back.

  Fine, we don’t dig each other even a little. Got it loud and clear.

  Dee breaks in, “Pax was out cold. I was woozy. Then Brad Thompson shows up and takes me.”

  Shit. “Brad Thompson. That pudwhacker whose dad is Sanction king?”

  Dee nods.

  “That's so bad. That whore, what was he thinking?”

  “Pax,” Dad warns.

  “Sorry, Dad—it's just, he is such a douche nozzle.”

  Dad sighs and Mitch smirks.

  “He took me.” Dee holds out her hands. Her wrists have deep abrasions.

  “Come ’ere!” I say loudly and Mitch flinches, lurching forward.

  “Oh honey, go to brother,” Mom tells her.

  Dee approaches. “He had me zip-tied, Pax. He said he killed me there once already.”

  Prick. Makes me want to go back there and kick his ass about a hundred times. My gaze shifts to Mitch. And when I get tired, Mitchie-boy can take over.

  Sounds like a plan.

  I grip her hands, pulling her against me.

  I let my power go. It’s a bathtub filled with warm water, lapping at the sides of our energy, and runs over the rolled porcelain rim, sliding over Dee.

  She gasps. I open my eyes.

  Small wounds and scratches close as I watch. Her marred wrists puff to pink and meld into her dusky skin.