Death 07 - For the Love of Death

by Tamara Rose Blodgett

  “Looks like it,” Gramps says. “I don’t like it.”

  “Well no shit, Gramps!” I blow up.

  He moves into my grill, and I seethe at him. “I don’t like it because it’s smart. But listen to me, and listen good. We have him.” He jerks a thumb at Parker. “They think like each other, clearly. They have the same”—he waves his hand around—“death sigs. Make it work for us. Right now.”

  “Can you find her?” I ask Parker.

  “Yes.”

  Pax steps in front of Garcia. “Dad. Have you thought about why they’d take her to begin with?”

  I want to scream, rail against my son. Who gives a ripe hairy shit why they want Deegan? They have my baby girl, the fucks.

  “Dad, settle. Listen, don’t get your temper cooking, ʼkay?”

  I breathe deeply, trying to settle The Rage.

  Worst. Thing. Ever.

  Why? Why would they take Deegan? The black hole bullshit, certainly. My mind whirls.

  Paxton fills my vision.

  He nods.

  Maybe Deegan isn't the only smart kid in the family.

  He shrugs. “I think it’s a toss-up. They want me too. They’d have to.”

  “Why take her instead of you?”

  “Twofer,” Gramps says. “They get her first because it’s easier, then they use her as bait for you.”

  “We can’t let Pax walk into a trap.”

  “It’s conjecture,” Dad says from behind me.

  I turn and feel a pang that Mom’s alive and looks okay. Weak but well.

  I sigh.

  “It’s what I’d do,” Parker says into the silence.

  We all look at him.

  “I’m no saint, y’know.”

  I knew.

  “I chose my path. But there’s always a yoke. It sounds like the Parker of this other dimension chose an alternative route.”

  As I think, I watch the activity of the other cops cleaning up the scene. Multiple hover hearses stack bodies deep in their cargo holds.

  Garcia's threat had been hidden as we stood quietly talking along the side of Gramps house, the lake at our backs.

  He looks at me now. “I have to go with. If there's the slimmest chance that my wife will live, that my family will not be slaughtered when I don't deliver Deegan—I have to try.”

  “I'm sorry for this,” Mitch says quietly. “Because God knows, if I was still lucky enough to have a family, I'd be fierce.”

  Garcia's eyebrows shoot up as Mitch clocks him.

  It’s a good strike, hitting that glass-like spot on every guy’s jaw that’ll knock his lights right out.

  He drops and Gramps catches him as he falls. “Poor bastard.”

  Tiff walks over to Garcia’s limp form. “We got bigger fish to fry. He’ll have to get over it. Because we’re not handing Deegan over to some government hobags.” She looks at Mitch, clapping him on the shoulder. “Right, big guy?”

  Mitch nods, his gaze faraway. If I were a betting man, I’d say he’s a planner, our Mitch.

  As Mitch degrades, she remains unfound.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT

  Deegan

  “Stop it!” Parker says from a distance, irritation thick in those two words. “I had to put the Skopamish to rest. They were being... unruly as hell.”

  Brad rises from his perch next to my beaten form. “Why the hell is that?” He toes my side and I cringe in pain.

  He smiles in delight.

  I turn to look at Parker. At least he doesn’t touch me.

  “Because”—he shakes his head in disgust and impatience—“she is Native American and for reasons unknown, it goes against the grain to watch a tribeswoman get beaten while bound. Brad.”

  Brad misses the sarcasm, but I catch it like a perfectly thrown pitch.

  “Son,” the elder Thompson says quietly, “however fun this is for you, torturing this girl, let’s get on with it. Lure the brother, then we can hop to this other world…” He looks to Parker for confirmation, and I swallow past the pain in my throat.

  “Flip,” Parker corrects absently.

  Blink, I offer inside my head, with a sad hiccup.

  “I want to do her, Dad.”

  I snap my eyes open. His are steady on me, every bit of purpose there for me to see.

  I gulp painfully. Panic like oil slithers underneath my skin.

  The elder Thompson chuckles. “I appreciate that, Brad, I do. But if what Parker says is true…”

  “It is, of course. I’ve given you the proof.”

  “You have.”

  Silent understanding exchanges in the looks they pass each other. I grit my teeth, taking it in as maybe useful for later, as I keep one eye on perv Brad.

  “Then you can wait, son, until we get to a world where the stations I have our unlimited in their capacity… to serve.” He smiles.

  I despair.

  Yet deep inside me, a pulse of hope beats. I send it out like music. To Pax. To Mitch.

  Hopefully, one of them hears my distress signal.

  Before it's too late.

  *

  Caleb

  We set Garcia's unconscious body inside Grampsʼ house.

  “Things are so chaotic right now, they won't find him until later.”

  Gramps closes the sliding glass door on the deck. “Good thinkinʼ, Mitch.”

  Mitch nods impatiently. “Let's find Deegan.”

  I look at Dad. “You going to be okay here with Mom?”

  He nods, and walks to the end of the deck.

  Mia, Sophie, and Archer are staying with my folks. Jonesy, Bry, Tiff, and John look at me.

  “We’re in.”

  Dad limps to me.

  “Are you okay?” I flick my gaze to the tear in his pants from the bot blast, but already my sights are on Deegan. I can hardly think about anything else.

  He blows it off with a dismissive wave. “You need to find Deegan. My leg’s bothering me from the piece of ALB shrapnel it took.”

  Dad is making a bad joke. I grab him and give him a fierce hug. He’s a big-ass dork, but I love him.

  “Don’t let your anger rule you, son.”

  Our eyes meet. His have been wise my entire life.

  Easier said than done.

  A beat of silence thumps between us.

  “I’ll try.”

  Mom leans her head on my shoulder. I fight tears as a wave of gratefulness washes over me. She’s alive.

  Wings of urgency beat inside my skull. Deegan.

  I move away, and Gramps falls into line beside me.

  I can’t leave Jade behind, so I take her with me, though the alternative is barely better. Either way, she is more vulnerable than I’d like.

  We move through to Grampsʼ escape route. The gang who remains behind will see to my parents. Archer will claim ignorance in his clever way.

  I’m not fooling myself. Archer gains us precious time.

  When they discover Garcia, they will be after us. Bobbi can stay and play former cop cum intermediary.

  Clyde will run shotgun, as he has many times before.

  There will be no get out of jail free card to save us from some of the transgressions we've perpetuated.

  *

  Pax

  “Argh!” I grunt like a pirate on the plank, falling to my knees.

  Mom rushes up behind me.

  “Don't,” I say more sharply than I mean to.

  My eyes warn her.

  Dad’s widen then slit to anger. He clenches his fists. “What have they done to Deegan?”

  I can’t tell them. It’ll make Dad an instant lunatic.

  I give Gramps a full look. He nods, knowing it’s bad.

  It’s so bad I feel the underlying emotion in her voice as she drumbeats telepathic Morse code.

  Mitch groans, putting his hands against his own skull as if he’ll crush it.

  Dad jerks me up to my feet, and I outweigh him by twenty. Adrenaline and all that happy shit.


  “Where is she? What’s going on?” he shouts.

  “Caleb, whoa. Ya crazy ass, let the kid breathe.”

  Dad turns on Jonesy like a shark. “You don’t have kids, so shut the fuck up, Jonester.”

  Jonesy punches him. Dad should see it telegraphed for a mile, but he’s so in his head he doesn’t know what year it is.

  Dad staggers, falling hard on his ass.

  Jonesy whips his fingers out, swinging his hand back and forth as though it hurt like hell.

  Clyde smirks. “Thank you, Mark.”

  “Don't mention it.”

  Oh shit.

  Dad gets up like a bull before it charges. Mom moves in tight, wrapping her arms around his waist. “Don’t, Caleb. Let them help you. Stop this anger. It won’t help Deegan.”

  Dad looks at Jonesy with pure hate. Jonesy stares unflinchingly back then settles on giving Dad the bird. “Get your shit together, Hart.”

  Bry stands next to Jonesy. “Yeah.”

  John flanks them. His eyes agree.

  Dad strokes Mom's hair, his breaths growing more even.

  “We cool?” Jonesy asks.

  Dad nods, moving his jaw back and forth. “I'm just—I'm just so damn scared I can't think.”

  Clyde nods. “We understand, Master.”

  He shakes his head. “I don't know if anyone does.”

  Tiff grabs his shoulder, giving it a squeeze. “Just wish I had a kid to feel this way about.”

  Mitch lifts his eyebrows and Tiff's gaze slims on him like a laser beam. “What?”

  He sighs, looking vaguely conflicted. “Let's move.”

  “You got something to say you big dead lug, say it.”

  His lips thin. Uncle John seems to be considering he might have to bring it because of Tiff's mouth when Mitch blows us away.

  “What you said made me think about a question Deegan asked me.”

  Tiff stares at him.

  Dad begins to walk in the direction we'd been moving toward, ignoring us all.

  “What question?” Tiff asks more softly, her head thrown back as she looks up at Mitch.

  Dad's too far away to hear.

  “If you could be fixed in my world.”

  “Fixed,” Tiff says, as if someone just sucker punched her.

  He elaborates, “Have babies.”

  Tiff shakes her head as though clearing cobwebs. She grips his forearm, his tat bleeding out from underneath her fingers.

  “What was your answer?” Her eyes search his.

  He leans down, gritting his teeth. “Yes.”

  I jog, leaving the two of them and their revelations behind.

  I hear Mitch’s heavy treads as he races behind me.

  *

  Deegan

  From the ground, I lean against the shins of a zombie Fake Parker raises.

  “They're coming,” one of the suits says quietly.

  He’s a new Random, with only one ability. They call him The Ear.

  He can hear things of all frequencies and distances.

  He hears my family coming to save me.

  Inviting their enslavement.

  What I don’t expect is how much I want to die. I feel like if I didn't exist, then my family wouldn’t be in danger.

  Mitch appears through the forest first.

  The graves stand all around us like a creepy Stonehenge.

  Mitch doesn’t rush headlong to me, though I feel him like balm inside my skull.

  I sigh. The first non-pain I can manage.

  Pax, the parents, Jonesy, Clyde, I think his name is Bry, and Gramps pile up behind him.

  Dad goes straight for Parker, and gravestones tumble like rotting teeth, settling on the grass in his wake.

  Bodies pour forth and I close my eyes, too beaten and weak to do anything but watch.

  Then the Parker of this world slips from behind the group of guys… and Tiff Weller.

  Her presence makes me smile. Drunk or sober, I love her vitality.

  Fake Parker throws his head back, laughing. “This is simply perfect. Hello, self, nice to make your acquaintance.”

  Gramps says, “You know, you have real potential to be an asshole.”

  “I see that,” Parker says.

  My brother’s gaze flicks to me.

  I’m coming, Dee.

  No, it’s a trap, Pax.

  We know, doesn’t matter. Dad’s off the rails, and we’ve brought all the big guns to help.

  Old Thompson nods at the Nulls and my lungs deflate, the Parkers squaring off.

  Pax and Mitch stare at each other. Mitch breaks for me, and I find the strength to lurch to my knees. But when I pitch forward, my hands can’t brace my fall.

  Half my fingers are broken.

  The zombie footrest behind me stoops to pick me up and I roll slightly out of reach.

  Mitch's eyes meet mine upside down as I lie on my back.

  Tears pour from my eyes at his rage over my injuries. He grabs the zombie as it reaches for me.

  Legs stream past my vision as he tosses the zombie across the open field of upended tombstones. It plows through three grave markers like dominoes, shattering the granite with the impact. The last one glances it solidly, embedding the broken shards through its chest.

  It struggles to disengage from the marker, to get back to me.

  Mitch scoops me off the ground.

  Randoms in suits move toward our position.

  Then something remarkable happens as the dead leak from the ground to choose their master.

  I take the dead’s undecided energy and heal myself by accident, but most of it pours into Mitchell.

  His eyes glow as he faces the enemy.

  I've never seen anyone look as human as he does in that moment.

  I wiggle my new fingers, so happy not to be broken anymore.

  Pax strides to Dad, thinking to help.

  The Randoms give their signal.

  I scream too late.

  Hands snap together like locks.

  Mitchell can’t get out of reach fast enough without dropping me.

  He never would.

  They knew that.

  Just as they knew my family would come for me.

  Fake Parker smiles at Real Parker.

  He turns, the horror of realization striking his face like sunlight.

  Twilight descends in the second everyone stands connected by the dead, the ground—each other.

  Pax's unique second eyelid descends and he blinks.

  Images waver in front of me like a mirage.

  No.

  Only Mitch's arms keeping me safe are real.

  THE END

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  Love Death? Take a sneak peek at the new dark dystopian TRB release, THE REFLECTIVE....

  THE REFLECTIVE-excerpt

  Book One: The Reflection Series

  Copyright © 2013-14 Tamara Rose Blodgett

  All rights reserved. Except as permitted under the U.S. Copyright Act of 1976, no part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, or stored in a database or retrieval system without the prior written permission of the publisher.

  This book is a work of fiction. The names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the writer's imagination or have been used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, actual events, locales or organizations is entirely coincidental.

  All rights are reserved.

  Dedication:

  Sarah Drum

  The only limitation is the one you put on yourself;

  never give up~

  THE CAUSE

  First: Right the Wrong

  Second: Bear No Injustice

  Third: Change Not What Must Be

  Prologue

  twenty years before

  The midwife made her way along a
ncient cobblestoned streets, her shoes catching in the crevices though Principle knew, her shoes were as sensible as they come.

  As was her occupation.

  She would arrive in the birthing ward at exactly eight a.m. for her twelve-hour shift. Of course, it would not be twelve hours—it would be for however long the woman labored.

  And if a Reflective were born ....

  Just the thought of the potential for that caused a nervous thrill to flutter deep within Florence, as it did each time she worked.

  The Reflective newborns must be swaddled in special non-reflective blankets. A baby would not be lost on her shift because it was a prodigy who jumped at a mirror or other reflective surface left uncovered.

  Dear Principle. She shuddered, thinking about what the punishment would be for that. As it was, midwives couldn't use any surgical instruments that were not brushed stainless steel, and since the last unfortunate incident, the midwives had since moved to an all-ceramic surgical unit.

  Florence swept up the massive steps. The rise of the treads was so low the stairs felt more like a gentle slope than true steps.

  The sparkling flakes of charcoal that clung to the thick white granite reminded her that the sun still shone brightly, though their version of autumn would soon be here.

  A shadow fell over Florence, and she twisted to look at the sky, her foot on the top step, her hand on the solid brass door handle that opened to the birthing center.

  A swarm of butterflies, so thick it blocked the cerulean of the sky, dropped false night all around her as they flew through the rectangular vents that fed the ventilation system in warmer months.

  The ports were a deliberate architectural feature that allowed entry to the only creature in their world that could identify a Reflective

  So many.

  Florence stood in stunned wonder. She had witnessed butterflies come to mark the birth of a Reflective, but never in such a great number.

  Their importance was such that her world was named in their honor: Papilio, Sector Ten.

  Their path created a rainbow of iridescent color, which poured like water through the narrow vents that had been carved in the solid stone of the birthing center.