Redemption of the Dead (21 page)

Sven put a
hand on her shoulder and gave her a gentle push back to give him
some room. “Open the door!” he bellowed and smacked it with the
side of his fist.

Bastian pulled and tugged on the door
knob. “Nothing.”

Sven tried the doorknob, too, with the
same result.

The two men
kicked and beat at it until they turned away, sweating and panting,
realizing there was no use.

Billie could only look at them with
puzzlement.

What the heck was going on?

Over an hour
passed. The trio sat around the table. Billie rested her head in
her hand. Sven and Bastian each had their arms folded and heads
down on the table. Every so often Sven let out a huge snore; for
some reason she found it cute.

How long were they going to stay here?
What was the point of coming here only to be locked up in a
room?

Her stomach growled and she looked
forward to having another taste of Sven’s cooking. The big man let
out another loud snore.

The sudden
snap of the blinds on the three walls as they shot up gave Billie a
jolt. She jerked against the table, the quick movement rousing Sven
and Bastian. Heart racing, she saw the three walls each held a
large mirror beneath the blinds. All three of them were on the
alert, each looking at a separate mirror.

Whispers rose on the air, foreign
whispers, a smooth rhythmic language. After a couple phrases,
Billie recognized it was the same language that hovered on the air
during the Storm of Skulls.

“We got to get out of here NOW!”
Billie jumped over the table and ran to the door. She kicked it and
pounded it with all her might. “No!”

Sven came up
behind and put a hand on her shoulder. “What? Why?”

She spun around to face him. “Don’t
you hear that?”

“I hear it,
but I don’t know what it means?”

“It’s a trap! We’re in a
trap!”

Finally,
Bastian shot up from the table and came over to them. “Trap? What
kind of trap? Are we going to die?”

Billie pressed her lips together,
debating whether she should tell him the truth, that unless they
acted, yes, they were going to die.

Sven gently
nudged Billie aside and with a nod to his brother, he and Bastian
went to work banging on the door and looking for a way to take it
down. Billie knew that if the door was supernaturally sealed, their
efforts would be useless.

The voices
on the air rose in volume. She slowly turned around and her breath
caught in her throat when she saw in the mirror opposite the door
that her, Sven’s and Bastian’s reflections were gone.

“Uh . . .
guys . . .” She didn’t think they heard her above their thunderous
thuds against the door.

She checked
the other two mirrors. The one on the right bore the same thing,
but the one on the left took her by surprise. Her visage in the
mirror had changed. She was no longer the young, happy-go-lucky
computer nerd she once was. Instead, a woman stood by Sven and
Bastian, a tall woman with long, spindly limbs, pale translucent
skin, sunken cheeks bones and dark eyes. Her hair was pale ginger,
long and scraggly, hanging well past her waist. The woman’s clothes
were in tatters, mere ribbons of what must have been at one point a
beautiful golden gown.

Trembling,
she reached for Sven, tugging on his arm, the woman in the mirror
copying her movement. He spun around and backhanded her, sending
her across the room.

Billie lay on the floor, shaking, her
face throbbing from the impact, her nose alight with fiery pain. He
must’ve broke it.

Sven stormed
over to her. “Where is she!”

“Where’s—Sven, it’s me. It’s Billie!”

“Liar!”

He picked
her up and slammed her down on the table. The shock of the impact
rattled every bone in her body, dazing her. Sven leaned over her,
eyeing her with such hate she didn’t know if he was even who she
thought he was. Perhaps he was one of the shape-shifting zombies
and this whole thing had been a ruse, right from the cottage all
the way through to this place. Had Nathaniel simply sent her off to
die? Or had the angel been deceived and thought he had put her on a
special assignment which, in reality, was devised by
Hell?

Eyes watering, Billie said, “Please,
Sven . . . don’t . . .”

Sven cocked
his fist. “Don’t say my—” He looked forward to somewhere past her,
maybe at the mirror across the way, and his expression went from
raging mad to one of sheer shock and terror. He immediately
collapsed beside the table and started retching on all fours.
Bastian ran to his side only to be shoved away.

Sven got to
his feet and began stumbling around the room, tearing out clumps of
his gorgeous blond hair, ripping his outfit. Bastian shouted at him
in German though Billie didn’t understand the words except
“dummkopf,” which basically meant “stupid person.”

Bastian once
more tried to console his brother only to receive a violent kick to
the groin that immediately sent Bastian to his knees. Now kneeling
before another mirror, Bastian’s body began to quake and Billie
could only assume he saw himself in another way, too.

“Oh no . . .” she groaned.

Bastian
shakily got to his feet and ran at the mirror. He crashed into it,
the mirror cracking. Right after, he braced himself against it with
both palms and started hitting his head into the mirror, sending
out shards of it streaked with his blood.

“Bastian,
stop!” Billie screamed, then bit back her tongue, thinking maybe
he’d suddenly turn on her and assault her like her brother
did.

Sven.

He paced
back and forth near the corner of the room, arms outspread,
screaming and cursing, occasionally taking swings at an opponent
that wasn’t there.

Billie tried to get off the table. The
moment she raised her head, a bolt of nausea punched her in the
stomach and she had to put her head down on her arm for a moment
before trying again. Summoning her strength, she slowly rose up and
was able to sit on the table. She deliberately kept her eyes off
the mirror, only aware of the mirrors in her peripheral.

I
t’s the mirrors that
are messing up Sven and his brother because they keep looking at
them. I don’t want to see that woman I saw again, whoever she is.
Oh no! Is it me? Maybe even the
real
me?
She shook her head.
No, don’t let them play mind games
with you. Stay focused. You’ve been in deadly situations before.
Keep a level head like Joe does. It’s the only reason we lasted as
long as we did. Is he okay? Oh, Joe, don’t be dead.
She shoved the thought from her
mind.
Mirrors. Mirrors,
mirrors, mirrors.

Billie
hopped off the table, keeping her head bowed. She grabbed the
nearest chair and took it to the mirror on her right. The first
blow sent a spider web across it. The second turned the spider web
into a mosaic. The third shattered the mirror, the pieces falling
off the wall, revealing glowing occult symbols
underneath.

Ignoring the sudden rush of evil that
permeated her being, she cautiously approached the mirror near
Sven.

Please don’t lash out, please don’t lash out.
Deciding to move and hit as hard and
as fast as she could, she raised the chair and quickly smashed it
into the mirror. Sven roared. She got in a second shot. Sven turned
toward her, feral. Billie threw the chair again against the mirror,
bringing it down, revealing similar glowing symbols on the wall
beneath.

Bastian. Where was Bastian?

He came in from the side and took her
to the ground.

“No!” she shrieked.

Bastian had
his hands around her throat, his eyes coated over in black,
reminding her of purple olives. Snarling, he squeezed, the pressure
on her throat throwing her body into a panic.

Something
shattered by her. Another crash followed by another, then a deep,
hoarse roar. Sven flew in from the side, tackling his brother and
getting him off her. He beat down on his brother without restraint,
shouting at him in German.

Coughing,
Billie rolled on her side, reached her hand out toward Sven.
“St—stop . . .”

He struck
Bastian again.

“Stop . . .
Sven . . . stop . . .”

Panting and sweating, Sven finally let
up, leaving his brother rolling beneath him, moaning with his hands
to his face. Sven looked at her with sad eyes, then got up and went
to the other side of the room.

Billie lay on the ground, catching her breath.
Oh God, have mercy.
She managed to slow her breathing
enough so she could get up and start pacing, walking off some of
the dizziness and sore limbs. Her nose still hurt like all get out
and for a brief second she wanted a mirror to check it, then was
quickly thankful there was none.

The room
went dark; the glowing symbols on the wall increased their
brightness. Soon the haunting colors of red and orange filled the
room, reminding her of a photo lab. The voices resumed their chant
on the air. The strong, disturbing power of evil dripped off the
walls, causing her to shudder without meaning to.

It wasn’t over.

* * * *

20

Honesty

T
he trek back
to the safe house had only grown busy
every twenty minutes or so, with a pack of the undead emerging from
behind corners and back lots. Joe, Tracy and Felix took them down
with ease, and despite her bumps with Felix in the past, Tracy
noticed the three of them had a certain chemistry that seemed to
work when taking on the undead.

Now below
ground in the safe house, Felix went back to his book, leaving Joe
and Tracy alone by the kitchenette. As Joe fixed himself something
to eat—more than once saying how hungry he was and even a lame joke
about there better not be any chickpeas around—Tracy simply watched
him, wondering what their next move was, both professionally and
personally.

Joe pieced
together a small meal of canned corn, tuna and a pack of Ramen
noodles, which he didn’t bother adding water to but instead simply
sprinkled the seasoning on—chicken—and ate them like a bag of
chips. He washed it down with a glass of water.

The two sat
on opposite sides of the table, Tracy eyeing him with squinted
eyes, already upset at him for being so preoccupied with his food
that it served him as a good excuse to not immediately start
talking. Joe kept his eyes to his plate, shoveling the food into
his mouth then seemingly to consciously slow down as if trying to
prolong his meal.

Just. Eat. The. Stupid. Food,
Tracy thought, trying to project her thoughts across the
table into Joe’s head.

He just ate
and drank, her “telepathic powers” not making a dent. When he
finally finished, he sat back, arms folded across his belly, and
let out a suppressed burp. “Sorry.” It was only then since he first
sat down did he raise his eyes to hers. The two stared at each
other a long moment; she was fully aware he didn’t want to be the
one to break the ice because neither did she.

She crossed her arms and took a deep breath, prolonging the
exhale, buying herself as much time as possible.
Fine. I’ll do it.
“So?” she said just as Joe opened his
mouth as if to say the same thing.

“Um . . .”

“What, were you going to say
something?”

“No.”

She arched an eyebrow.

“I mean,
yes, I was, but you spoke first so go.”

“I spoke first because you were just
sitting there.”

“Sorry for eating.”

“You should be.”

“What does that mean?”

She shook her head. “Never
mind.”

He glanced to the side, sighed, then
said, “Look, I’m sorry, all right?”

Now we’re getting somewhere.
She stared at him, hoping to give the impression she was
expecting him to say more.

Joe leaned forward and put his elbows on the table. Maybe
she
was
telepathic?

He peered up at her with sincere eyes.
“I’m sorry.” He paused. “I’m sorry for leaving the house when I
shouldn’t have. You were right. I had some stuff to work
out.”

She kept her voice soft. “I
know.”

“You do, too, you know?” he
said.

“Don’t. This
isn’t about me right now. There’ll be time for that
later.”

Joe waited a moment before speaking.
“I had to go see if April was still alive.”

Tracy’s eyes
widened at this. Though it was what she’d thought he was doing, to
actually hear it was something different and she felt ashamed that
it bothered her.

“I had to
make sure. I went to her apartment, or at least where it was in my
world. At that apartment, she didn’t live there. I know this
because the place had pictures of a completely different family. I
mean, she” —he swallowed— “she could’ve maybe married someone and
went by that name. I don’t know. It’d be impossible to find out. I
didn’t see a single living soul out there, which makes it very,
very clear that whoever’s here in this place” —he glanced around,
gesturing to the safe house— “are the very few who are left. I
didn’t see April at the Hub. She’s not here. I even looked when we
got back.” He sighed. “I just had to know. I had to
try.”