The Mourning Woods - 03 (16 page)

“It’s not like he chomped off your fingers, asshole,” Ed said, “You don’t even have any bite marks, so stop whining.”

“But I can feel it tingling.”

“Psychosomatic,” I replied.

“Am I the only one here who watches the movies?” he protested. “A zombie puts its teeth on you and you’re doomed. It’s only a matter of time before I start craving brains.”

“That would be a step up, if you ask me,” Sally commented from behind a copy of
Cosmo
.

“Sally, can you tell this idiot that he isn’t going to turn into a zombie?”

“Fine. You aren’t going to turn into a zombie, idiot.”

“There, see...” I started to say.

“Not that I would know,” she added.

“What do you mean?” Tom asked, wide-eyed.

I turned to her. “I thought you knew about zombies, Sally.”

“Yes. I know that a bunch of them work here in Boston. So do you, congratulations.”

“Don’t you know how they got there?”

“Nope.”

“What about how they’re made?”

“Nada on that too.”

“Why not?”

“Because,” she said, giving Tom and I an excruciatingly long eye-roll, “it never occurred to me to give a shit...although now that you mention it, I still don’t.”

* * *

The next few hours were long ones. As we drove north through Vermont, I plugged my 3G modem in and attempted to get a little work done on my laptop. Ed continued driving, while Sally put on a pair of ear buds and proceeded to tune us all out. As for Tom, he continued whining from the front seat, a continual stream of bullshit along the lines of, “I can feel myself starting to decay.” Forget the vampires in the backseat, considering how white Ed’s knuckles were turning around the steering wheel, I had a feeling he was beginning to contemplate reaching over and shoving Tom out of the moving car. After a while, I doubted I would have tried to stop him.

Thanks to our stopover in Boston and then some traffic, we didn’t near the border until after sundown. Sally indicated, however, that actually was perfect timing.

As we got in line for the border crossing, Ed asked, “So what exactly are we supposed to say once they ask to look in the trailer, that we’re traveling Exxon salesmen?”

“They’re not going to,” Sally replied blithely. “Pull into lane five.”

“Lane five is closed.”

“Not for us it isn’t,” she said. “Pull in and flash the lights three times.”

Ed shot me a dubious look via the rearview mirror. No doubt, he was thinking we were all about to enjoy a nice long strip search at the Canadian border. Regardless, he did as told. He pulled into the closed lane, enduring a few annoyed beeps from the other cars in line. He flashed the high beams (which weren’t all that high in this clunker) and sure enough, the light in the lane switched from red to green. That elicited a few more angry honks.

“Watch and learn,” Sally said, rolling down the back window.

We pulled into the booth and Sally leaned out. I could see by her profile that she had blackened her eyes and brought her fangs out. The border guard leaned over and spoke to her.

“Your coven?”

“Village from New York,” she replied.

“Purpose?”

“Business.”

“What business?”

“First Coven business. Do you
really
want to ask more?”

The guard’s eyes momentarily flashed black revealing his undead nature, although whether out of shock or annoyance I wasn’t sure. He quickly composed himself, though. He looked toward the front seat, where Tom and Ed sat, then gave a quick sniff of the air.

“Technically you’re supposed to declare any food you bring across the border,” he said.

“They’re just snacks for the road,” Sally replied.

“Speaking of which,” the guard turned his head toward the cars which had followed our lead into this lane, “it is almost dinner time. Carry on. May the First smile upon you.” With that, he gave us a sort of salute and waved us through.

“What was that about?” I asked.

“There’re a lot of ass kissers out in the field,” she said dismissively.

“Did he mean what I think he meant?” asked Ed.

“About what?”

“About the cars behind us?”

“Probably,” she said with a smile.

“Serves them right,” Tom commented. “Line cutters are assholes.”

* * *

We continued north. After another hour, I took a turn behind the wheel. That lasted all of fifteen minutes before my companions demanded I pull over. Tom then got in the driver’s seat.

“What?” I demanded. “The speed limit said ninety.”

“
Kilometers
an hour, shithead,” he said. “Even I know that.”

“Besides, you were driving like an ass,” Ed commented.

“Was not.”

“You were weaving in and out of the lanes.”

“It’s been a while since I’ve last driven,” I offered as way of excuse.

“And it’s going to be a while before you drive again,” Tom said. He then adjusted the rearview toward Sally. “How much farther until we stop, Ms. Daisy?”

One corner of Sally’s mouth turned upwards at the joke, but she stopped short of a chuckle. “Keep going. We’ll find a motel before dawn.”

“All night?” Ed asked.

“Yes, all night,” she replied. “This is a vampire mission, thus we’re keeping vampire hours.”

Tom sighed. “Ugh, I’m going to need a coffee stop, maybe a few.”

“Fine,” Sally said. “Just pull in at the next
Tim Hortons
you see.”

“Too late,” I replied, looking out the window. “We just passed one.”

“Yep, and now we’re passing another,” she said. Sure enough, she was right. “This is Canada. Trust me; they have one on
every
corner.”

* * *

“I want the bed tomorrow,” I complained, stepping out of the motel room.

“Sorry, Bill, but it doesn’t work that way,” Ed said. “Tom and I are the ones playing chauffeur, ergo you get the floor.”

“Screw that,” I protested. “Guest of honor at the peace conference standing here. I show up all disgruntled from sleep deprivation and the world could end. Do you really want that to happen?”

“If it means not having to listen to you whine like a bitch, than yes. I’m cool with it.”

“Why do we have to share a room anyway?” Tom asked.

“Sally said the Draculas only budgeted for two.”

“Do you believe her?”

“Not even for one goddamned second,” I replied. “But all of the coven credit cards are in her name.”

“I don’t see why she gets one all to herself,” Tom sniffed.

“Because I’m special,” said Sally’s voice from behind us. She was good. Even I hadn’t heard her exit her room.

“Yeah, you’re special all right,” I groused, opening the tailgate on the Jeep. I pushed aside some of our bags to get to the cooler. It was packed with pints of blood. “Want one, Sally?” I asked, grabbing one for myself.

“No, I’m good.”

“What do you mean you’re ‘good’?” I asked, an edge creeping into my voice.

“Exactly that,” she sniffed. “You can suck down the bottled stuff if you want, but I decided to try the local cuisine.”

Tom and Ed turned a shade paler at that. I, however, rounded on her. “Did you ever think that maybe - just maybe - it might not be the best of ideas to leave a trail of bodies in our wake?”

She just gave me an easy shrug. “Wouldn’t be the first time.” She started walking toward the car before turning to say, “Come on, night time’s a burning. We have a long way to go...unless you’d like to wait around for the Mounties to arrive.”

Bitch!

* * *

That’s pretty much how it was for the next two days as we made our way further north. Eventually the towns became fewer and much farther in between. When not driving, Ed joined me in trying to stay as busy as possible. Unfortunately, cell service was starting to become spotty in the long stretches of...well...Canadian nothingness.

Tom, for his part, continued to push himself further up Sally’s list of people to kill. Despite looking absolutely fine, he continued to whine about becoming one of the undead. When I pointed out to him that both Sally and I were amongst that number and neither of us (especially Sally) looked worse for wear, it only increased the whining. “Yeah, but you guys are vampires, the undead elite. I’m going to be a disgusting corpse, forever in search of brains.”

“When you finally find some, I hope they stick,” Sally replied.

“Personally,” I said, “I think you should be more worried about your dick rotting off.”

“Seriously, Bill,” Ed asked. “Do you think Christy would even notice?”

“Nah, probably not,” I replied, eliciting laughter from both Ed and Sally.

“That’s right, joke about it now,” Tom said, morosely. “Just don’t go looking for any mercy once the zombie apocalypse starts.”

* * *

Eventually we were forced to start using our fuel surplus. We stopped along the side of the road at the northern tip of Saskatchewan - or whatever the fuck they call it - to refuel. It was about midnight, cold as fuck, and utterly desolate. While Tom and Ed went to grab some gas from the trailer, I got out to stretch.

“Don’t wander off,” Sally said from still inside the car. She was bundled up in a parka and looked like the world’s most expensive Eskimo hooker.

“Yes, Mom,” I replied. Her warning aside, I started to walk toward the tree line. It had been a couple of hours since our last stop and “little Dr. Death” was feeling the need for a piss break.