by Elisa Hansen
“So, wait,” she said. “Then why does the horse matter?”
Death’s entire frame went rigid, his hands clamping into fists. He twisted around, and his eyes flashed down at her. “Have you ever had a horse?”
“No,” she answered on the edge of her breath, frozen.
“Then you wouldn’t understand.”
Emily made the decision then to give the questions a rest for a while.
There went her purgatory theory. She wasn’t in Death’s realm; he was in hers. Test for the afterlife? She could smack herself. Death might be traipsing through the desert because of her, but he wasn’t there for her at all. The entire morning blabbing out her life story felt so stupid now.
The sun clawed its way over the hills, and their generous shadows burned into nothing. Emily finally did the thing she least wanted to: she examined bits of herself in the raw daylight. The skin on her hands was the characteristic cement color, her veins dark, gnarled ropes. She pulled back her sleeve to follow the pucey lines cobwebbing her arm. Her fingertips felt swollen like tiny water balloons, and the deep blue of pooled bruise blood unable to circulate showed through her well-chewed nails. She almost asked Death about it but suspected she wouldn’t like his answer. Thank the universe she didn’t have a mirror. She wasn’t ready to confirm her face was as bad off as her hands. Probably worse.
Maybe approaching the Nevada border unit wasn’t such a good idea after all. But no. She had to try. She’d start talking even before they saw her. She’d come at them quoting Shakespeare or something. They’d have to hesitate long enough for her to explain. She wasn’t a zombie, not really. At least, not yet. Would she get worse? Death said the transformation was complete, but could she believe that? She could be getting worse with every step she took. She didn’t know how it worked. She didn’t want to think about it. Instead, she pondered how to explain the mission.
Goddammit, why couldn’t she remember any Shakespeare?
It might have been her silence or occasional uncertain footing, but as the day wore on, Death began to pause every so often to peer back at her. Each time he did it, Emily met his stare, but she couldn’t keep it up and would look down. Then he would start walking again. It was like he was waiting for something. Just what did he think was going on with her? That she’d start drooling and gnawing on her own arm at any moment? He knew something she didn’t, she was sure of it. Finally, she couldn’t take it anymore.
“Stop it!”
Death stiffened and paused on the road. “What?”
“You’re giving me the creeps.”
“I am?” He sounded incredulous, as if it should be the other way around.
“Just…please stop looking at me like that.”
He cocked his head to the side like he had no idea what she meant. But then his eyes flickered, and he gave a small nod. “Ah.”
He resumed walking and did not look at her again. She should have been glad.
She didn’t let herself think about the vague, queasy disappointment that surfaced instead.
In the early afternoon, Emily spied a camp huddled between low hills. The equipment was generic, but the setup had LPI style all over it.
“That’s it!”
Death stopped to follow her gaze.
“That’s them! It’s got to be.” The arrangement appeared temporary, a row of quiet dust-brown tents hugging the base of the hill and a squared stack of supply cartons. Weird that everyone would be resting in the middle of the day. Or maybe not. Maybe it was safer? Though the lack of lookout was weirder. And no truck? No way they carried all those supplies on foot.
Someone’s using the truck. Scouting while everyone naps. Of course.
“Hey!” Emily called down the hill. “Hello! Hi!” She turned up the perky and put as much Iamnotazombiepleasedon’tshootme into her voice as possible.
Come on, AP English. Bring on the Shakespeare.
Four score and seven years ago. No—shit.
Whatever. “Helloooo!” She started down the rocky slope but paused when Death continued to walk east along the crest of the hill.
What? So that was that?
Should she thank him? He didn’t even say goodbye.
Fine. Whatever. Focus.
She turned her back and jogged down to the tents.
“Hey! I’m LPI, and I’m alone.” Emily forced her tense cheeks into a smile she hoped didn’t look freakish. “I’m from the Southland unit.” Forsooth, good morrow? Better not.
Unzipping the flap of the nearest tent, she angled herself behind it before pulling it back. “Okay, let me explain. I know I look—” A gasp strangled her words.
Two zombies lay entangled on the sleeping mats. Or more like one and a quarter zombies. The second consisted of more holes and tattered clothing than flesh, drippy bones protruding from all its bendy places. God, how long was the dude being eaten alive by the other one before the change finally took over? It had to be dead now.
Both twitched.
Or not.
It rolled its head to look at her. It had no bottom jaw, but that didn’t keep it from screaming.
Emily yanked the zipper closed. Stumbling, she collided with another tent. Sudden fingertips raked her back through the poly.
“Holy—!” She jumped and bolted to the supply pile. From the other side of it, she gaped at the tents. All but two of them sprang riotously alive, rocking and roaring, their spikes straining at the ground.
Emily’s knees gave out, and she slumped against the supplies.
God fucking dammit.
Gone. Just like her team. Just like her.
Mission 12 would never happen. She knew that now.
Emily’s chest heaved, and she gagged, but as sick as she should feel, nothing came of it.
Nothing. Because she wasn’t alive. She was just as undead as what howled in those tents.
How did this happen? Some random attack? Did any of them get away? But why take their truck and leave the supplies? Emily didn’t know, and she could never find them now.
The screams, the groaning. What did they want? Couldn’t they tell she wasn’t edible anymore? Were they that far gone? Nothing.
There was one thing Emily did know. What they were, that was not—was never going to be her.
She slid into a crouch and unsheathed her gun. Before it’s too late. To conserve bullets, she rarely used the G18 on full automatic, but if there ever was a time, this was it. A flip of the switch, a strong squeeze, a good twist of the wrist, and it would make a mess of her head before she collapsed. There would be no brain left. Slamming her eyes shut, she bit down on the barrel.
A hard hand covered hers and tore the gun away. “Don’t do that.”
Emily gasped and fell against the cartons. Death stood over her, blotting out the sky. Shocked, she stared at him, cradling her hand. It felt like he zapped her with a tiny taser. “Why—why not?”
“It won’t work.”
“What the hell do you care?”
“Do you genuinely want another hole in your head?”
She pushed herself to her feet. “Seriously, what do you care?”
He fell silent for a moment as if he might actually give her an answer. But then he sighed and handed back the gun.
She snatched it from him. “I can’t be a zombie.”
“On the contrary. You can’t not.”
“You—”
“You cannot die, Emily.”
“I won’t be like them!” She flung a hand toward the tents.
“Then don’t put holes in your head.”
The gun suddenly felt too heavy. Is that how it worked? Their bodies were ravaged, their minds broken. Without her brain, would the shrieking monster emerge? “Will that do it?” Her voice shook. “You’re sure?”
“No.” He sighed. “I’m not. These are matters of undeath.”
She didn’t believe him. Why else would he stop her? The screaming behind them was hoarsening into low groans. Emily clenched her t
eeth, but the determined moment abandoned her. She couldn’t shoot herself now, and she knew it. She smushed her gun into its holster.
“When did this happen?” she whispered as she watched the tents settle back into their slumbering row. Days ago? Weeks?
Death gave her no answer but a slight shrug.
Bullshit! “Aren’t you supposed to know everything?”
“I know everything of death, but this—”
“Undeath. Right. Fine! I get it.” What was she supposed to do now? The mission couldn’t all be for nothing. “I don’t even know where to look for other units.”
“Why does that matter?” Death asked her quietly. “You tried to kill yourself, after all. You were done.”
She wasn’t sure if he meant just now or last night. Was it seriously only last night? “Maybe I wasn’t really going to do it.” It seemed unthinkable now. She’d been alive and pure. She wanted to tear her new undead body apart, but could she truly have shot herself last night?
“Oh, no,” Death said with a decisive nod. “You were going to do it.”
Emily rubbed at her eyes but stopped when she felt them sinking beneath her fists. “I…”
“You were scheduled.”
She forced a thick swallow and pulled her gaze from the silent camp.
“Tell me.” Death gestured for her to follow him around the supply pile. “Why do these affairs matter to you still? You were done with your life.”
She let herself think on it as they hiked up the hill. Was she just supposed to say what’s the point of making the world a better place to live if she couldn’t live in it? Let the living help themselves, as Death said?
She was done, last night when squeezed the trigger. If it hadn’t stuck, she would be dead now. Actually really dead. She would have left the living to fight without her. Because dying pure was more important than finishing what she started.
How selfish.
“I don’t know.” She sighed. “I guess I just… There’s got to be some reason I didn’t die. Maybe I really was going to kill myself, but it would have been wrong.”
“Death is never wrong if the time is right.”
She shook her head. If the undead shouldn’t care for the living, then she shouldn’t be undead. She needed to be alive. She wasn’t a zombie, not truly, not like any other zombie. But whatever undead thing she was couldn’t be permanent. One way or another, she would not stay like this. If she couldn’t die, then living again was the obvious other option. And there would be a way, wouldn’t there? Like Rosa said, maybe it even already existed? Emily felt a surge of excitement and moved up to Death’s side. “They always said they could find a cure for—for this.” She gestured to her stupid whatever body. “They were still working on it, last I heard. The Island Initiative.”
“East Potomac Park and Martha’s Vineyard fell months ago.”
“But Manhattan made it.” A cure. Was it too much to hope for? A second chance. “Manhattan is where they spent all the effort, stockpiled all the weapons. They blew up the bridges and caved in the tunnels. Cleared out the zombies and fortified against the vampires. That’s where my organization headquarters.”
“I know.”
“All those skyscrapers, all that storage, enough resources to last tens of thousands of people for years on end.”
“There aren’t tens of thousands of people there anymore.”
“But the ones who are there are safe. We met someone just a few weeks ago when we came back through Nevada who relayed orders from headquarters. They said the safe zone was thriving.”
“Did you believe that?”
Emily narrowed her eyes at the side of his hood. What was with that tone? Did he know better, or was he just a skeptic? If he knew, he’d say it, right? If all he knew about were Matters of Death, then maybe he didn’t know because they thrived.
“I have to believe something. If there’s any place that has a chance, it’s Manhattan.” Every assignment she took, every instruction she followed for the past year and a half came from LPI headquarters. It might be thousands of miles away, but it was all she had. “They’re working on a cure. They found a way to stay safe. Keeping the vampires off the island was the reason they started our task forces. Our work to disband the communes is only a means to that end. I mean, I know a perfect solution’s not just going to happen, but I can’t believe this is the end of the world.” The cure would see to that. “I just can’t.”
“Do you mean the apocalypse?”
Emily stumbled and caught herself against a boulder. She stared at Death, but he said nothing as he passed her by and led the way into a narrow ravine.
“Is this the apocalypse? Is that really a thing? The End Times?”
“It could be.”
“You don’t even know that? You didn’t like, plan it?”
“I?” It almost sounded like a scoff. “This is not how I would plan it.”
She wanted to ask. But then she really, really didn’t.
“Is that why Time and Space bound you?” she asked instead.
He stopped so abruptly that Emily got a couple paces ahead. When she turned back to him, he had his electronic device thing out and tapped at it intently. Why did he keep checking it? Was he counting all the people scheduled to die who now weren’t? Kind of masochistic, wasn’t it?
“Look,” she said after an impatient minute. “You can’t do your, um, thing anymore. That’s a pretty big deal, right?”
“I certainly think so.” Tap. Tap.
“Because the…balance will be destroyed?”
“That is what I said.”
She rolled her eyes at his tone but considered his predicament. No death might seem like a good thing, but Emily was not naïve enough to think the world would be better off without it. Was that what he meant by balance? Of course, Death needed to get back to business.
A ridiculous idea came to her then.
Help him.
This was a whole lot bigger than rescuing a commune’s hostages. This was the whole world they were talking about.
And then, if he recovered his omnipresence, then he could go back to poofing around wherever he wanted. He could poof right to Manhattan. To the cure. Could she seriously hope? And headquarters—if they didn’t know vampires had figured out how to use zombies as weapons, someone needed to tell them. If Emily helped Death, could he repay her by poofing her there, too? It was his fault she was like this, after all.
His failure. If she was scheduled, then what went wrong? Something he did?
“Is that why you stopped me just now? From shooting myself?”
Death’s fingers stilled, and he lifted his face. He stared at her as if waiting for her to explain the random question, but then he spoke softly. “No.”
It was funny. The way his bony hand felt on hers a few minutes ago. So different from his touch last night. That pierced her flesh like an icicle, but this time, a jolt ignited it. Like he shuffled over some serious carpet before he touched her. Touched her… She shuddered.
“I don’t even know if it would have worked.” She looked down at her G18. “Last night, the trigger. It stuck.” Or did her hand stick? She hadn’t tried firing the gun since then.
Death pocketed his device and started walking again. Emily followed right after him.
“But I guess last night it would have worked; otherwise you wouldn’t have shown up, right?”
“Right.”
“It’s weird that it stuck, though.” Super weird. “It’s never done that before.” How was it even possible?
“Indeed.”
Emily looked up at him, and he turned his head with a jerk to avoid her gaze. Okay, he was definitely keeping something from her. Did he know why her trigger stuck? He quickened his pace, and she had to jog again to keep up.
Just how had he failed? And how could she help him? What did Time want? The apocalypse or not? To keep people out of the afterlife? Why would he want that? What even was it? She needed more informa
tion before she could attempt to Criminal Intent a cosmic force of nature.
“So what happens after we die?” she asked after giving the awkwardness a few minutes to dissipate.
“We do not die.”
“I mean humans. What happens after?”
“After I reap their life?”
“Yes.”
“I turn it over to the beyond and then move on.”
“No, not you. What happens to them?”
“Their bodies?”
Was he being deliberately obtuse just to mess with her? Instead of taking the bait and snapping, she drew out her words. “What happens to the life that you turn over?”
“It goes beyond.”
“Beyond what?”
“Itself. Beyond life.”
“What is beyond?”
He sighed. “You want to know if there is an afterlife such as humans have imagined beyond life.” He spoke as if he heard the question too many times to be tired of it anymore.
“No. I want to know what is beyond. I don’t care about speculations matching ideals. I want a clear answer.”
“I’m sure you do.” He sounded amused.
She bit the insides of her cheeks. “And you’re not going to give it to me.”
“There is no it to give, Emily. There is no is.”
“So you’re saying there’s nothing beyond. The life just ends.”
“No. That’s not what I’m saying at all.”
“Then what happens to it?”
“It goes beyond.”
“I swear to god!”
Death stopped walking and blocked her path. She folded her arms and looked up at him, waited. He leaned over and poked the tip of her nose with one of his bone fingers. “There is only one way to find out, Emily.”
She jerked back. That jolt again. Her face seriously tingled. In the dry air, was his cloak full of static electricity?
He stared down at her. Too close. “And you’ll never know now, will you?”
Her body itched to back away, but she fought it. “I will if you tell me.”
