Queen of the Dead (14 page)

“Yeah,” I said. “But…”

“But what? What's so bad about giving you a party?” Then realization flashed across her face. “You're worried that it made you look too…special!”

“Sort of.”

She shrugged. “Some kids probably think that. Who cares? The point is that there were some smiles around here for a change.” Then her own smile faded. “Until Sharyn got hurt. Jeez, Will…what if she dies?”

Tara died. So did Kyle Standish. And there were other Undertakers, including my father, who'd given their lives for the war effort long before I'd ever even
heard
of Haven.

Undertakers died. Nobody liked it, but it happened.

And
I
was
all
worked
up
about
a
party?

“We keep fighting,” I replied quietly. “What else
can
we do?”

Helene nodded. “So…you're okay?”

“Fine,” I said.

Except
every
time
I
close
my
eyes, I see that Corpse…almost killing you.

But I couldn't tell her that. Even if I wanted to, I lacked the words.

“Stupid stuff,” I explained. “No matter how bad things get, I always seem to be able to find time to worry about stupid stuff.”

“Yeah, we all do that. You should go talk to Dave. Settle it. He's pretty shook.”

“Shook?” I asked. “About what?”

Helene treated me to a pitying look. “You know, for a smart guy, Ritter…sometimes you can be such an idiot! I'll see you at dinner.”

“Sure,” I replied, perplexed.

She took a half step toward me, and for a terrifying second, I thought she meant to hug me. She'd done that once before, right after I'd managed to rescue us both from a Corpse trap. It had been awkward then. If she did so now, given the thoughts that were churning around in my head, I felt sure I'd squirm right out of my skin.

And Helene seemed to sense that because she checked herself. Then, with a shy little smile, she headed up the corridor back toward the infirmary.

I blew out a shuddering sigh of—what? Relief? Disappointment?

Silently, I cursed myself. Everything that was going down around me, and I was getting all worked up about…well, stupid stuff.

Except
that
wormbag
almost
killed
her.

I shuddered.

When I got back to Tom's office, Ramirez was screaming.

Not shouting or yelling or even hollering—but screaming as if half blind with rage. The dude was so loud I actually paused in Tom's office, hesitating. Was Tom even
in
there? If not, who on earth was the FBI guy screaming at?

I inched toward the bedroom curtain and peeked through.

Tom
was
there, standing with his back against the far wall, his expression carefully neutral. Across the room, Ramirez sat atop his gurney, straining against his handcuff chain. The forefinger of his free hand was pointed accusingly—even threateningly—at the Chief's passive face.

He wasn't using a lot of words that my mom would have approved of, but the gist of it seemed to be this: “Let me go or every evil thing that has ever happened in the history of the world will happen to you times infinity.”

I considered leaving. Crazy as it sounded, given everything I'd been through, the idea of having an adult lay that much hate on me felt a little scary. I honestly didn't know how Tom could handle it so smoothly.

But then, of course, I did.

He was Tom.

I worked up my courage and pulled aside the curtain, hoping to catch the Chief's eye.

Instead, I caught Ramirez's.

“Case in point!” he exclaimed. “How old is this boy? Eleven?”

Shades of Alex Bobson. I felt my face flush. “I'm thirteen.”

The FBI guy ignored me. “It's obvious he idolizes you! And I'm sure the rest of them are the same way. They do what you say, think what you tell them to think. I was wrong before! This isn't a street gang! It's a cult! The Cult of Jefferson!”

“That's stupid!” I exclaimed. “Tom's the reason I'm still alive…the reason we're all still alive!”

This time, Ramirez didn't ignore me but instead directed his fury at me like a flamethrower. “So you ‘see' these things too? These walking dead men?”

Now I understood all the yelling. Tom had decided to risk the truth, and the FBI guy had reacted the way grown-ups always did.

“Yeah,” I muttered.

“What did you say?” he snapped.

I took a deep breath.

Enough.

“Yeah,” I said again, louder this time, matching his glare with one of my own. “I See them. I've been hunted by them. I've watched friends of mine die because of them.” Then, after a long pause, I added, “Kenny Booth was one of them.”

Ramirez's mouth opened and closed. For the moment, at least, his anger cooled. “Booth,” he echoed. His voice sounded hoarse, probably from all the screaming. “Booth,” he repeated.

“He was their boss,” Tom explained calmly. “And he was eyein' up the mayor's office. We had to stop him.”

“Kenny Booth is dead.”

“Straight up,” Tom replied. Then he looked right at me—
hard
—like he was trying to tell me something.

Unfortunately, I didn't get the message.

“I killed him,” I told Ramirez defiantly. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Tom's shoulders slump.

“What?” the FBI guy gasped.

“Will…” Tom began.

“Booth died on live television,” Ramirez remarked. “Exploded. But nobody was ever able…I mean…the cause of death was never fully…”

“The Corpses got this thing about salt,” I said. “Like an allergy, I guess…but worse. I got Booth to swallow a salt pill I'd tricked out to look like this candy he liked. I wasn't even sure it would work until it did.”

Across the room, Tom rubbed his face with his hands.

Ramirez sat back on the gurney. “Karl Ritter's kid,” he muttered. “My God…”

Tom pushed off the wall and came to stand beside me. “Agent, I get where you're at. This
can't
be real. This city
can't
be infested by legions of animated cadavers. And the thirteen-year-old sons of police detectives
don't
go around murdering TV journalists.”

“What have you done to these kids?” Ramirez demanded. “What is it? Drugs? Hypnosis?”

Tom nodded, not in agreement but more like he understood the FBI guy's viewpoint. I had to admire the Chief's patience. I wasn't sure I'd let a stranger tear into me like this without getting seriously pissed. Especially when my sister might be dying—a casualty of the war this dude denied even existed.

“How's about I make a deal with you, agent?” Tom said. “You give me twenty-four hours. I'm going to set up a kind of demonstration…something that I hope'll convince you I'm tellin' the truth. If that don't work, then tomorrow night, my people will knock you out and drop you off anywhere in the city you want…within reason.”

The agent studied him. “How do I know you won't just kill me?”

Tom shrugged. “You're a problem…one I ain't sure how to solve. We can't keep you chained up forever. You need food, water, bathroom breaks. And never even mind the fact that this is
my
bedroom. Now, given all that trouble, if we was killers, you'd likely already be dead. Whatever you think of me, you gotta see the truth of
that
.”

Ramirez seemed to calm somewhat. “Let's say I buy that for now. What kind of demonstration are you talking about?”

“I'm still working on the details,” Tom replied. “In the meantime, I suggest you chill. I'll make sure you get some water. All that hollering must've burned your throat pretty bad.”

Then, before the FBI guy could reply, Tom put an arm around my shoulders and led me through the curtain and out of the room.

Once we were in the corridor, he stopped and gave me a hard look. “That wasn't smart, bro.”

“You were straight with him about the Corpses,” I replied defensively. “So was I.”

“
I
didn't confess to wasting a public figure on live TV.
You
did.”

I looked at him, my mouth hanging open. He looked right back at me.

“So what's gonna happen when we
do
let him go?” Tom asked me. “You think…even when this war is over…that he's just gonna forget you said that? He's a
Fed
, Will! That's like a super cop! No way is he gonna let you off the hook for what he figures was a cold-blooded murder!”

I actually felt the blood drain from my face. “I…didn't think about it that way,” I stammered. “I just wanted to…convince him…” The words trailed off.

“Yeah, I know,” the Chief said. “And at this point, that's about your only shot. We
gotta
convince him! It's the only way you'll ever be able to go back to your life.”

Now it was my turn to rub my face with my hands. “I messed up, Tom. I'm sorry.”

He shrugged. “What's done's done. Now we just gotta deal with it.”

“How?” I asked, wishing I didn't sound quite so desperate. “I mean…how
do
we convince him? He's a grown-up! He can't See the Corpses! What can we possibly do that won't make him just shake his head and call us crazy again?”

“That's what the door's for,” Tom remarked.

“I told Alex about it,” I said.

At that, he almost smiled. “Yeah, I heard about your visit to the Monkey Barrel. Alex came to me a while ago. Complained every which way about you. Said you and Dave ganged up on him and hit him.”

“That's not what happened!” I snapped.

But he raised a hand. “I can guess what went down. Alex got outta line, Dave's temper cracked, and you did something to keep it from turning ugly. Am I close?”

“Yeah!” I exclaimed, astonished. “How did you know?”

“Let's just say I'm familiar with the parties involved. Know why I sent you down there in the first place? I could have sent anybody to order me up that door.”

“I dunno,” I replied. “I figured it was 'cause I was there at the time.”

“That's part of it but not most of it. Will, Alex's got a lot of anger. He's a solid Monkey and a decent enough Boss, but that chip on his shoulder is more like a plank. And he seems to point a lot of that your way.”

“I've noticed,” I muttered.

“It's a situation that needs to be handled,” he continued. “And I sent you down there because the only way it
will
be handled…for good and all…is if the two of you handle it yourselves. I know you try to steer clear of Alex, and I don't blame you. But that won't solve the problem.”

“What will solve it?” I asked.

“Making him see you like I see you…like most of Haven sees you.”

I grimaced. “Most of Haven sees me as Karl Ritter's kid…and figures you treat me special because of that.”

“That's Alex talking.”

“But he's not wrong, is he? I
do
get special treatment because of who my dad is!”

Tom folded his arms and studied me. “What special treatment exactly?”

“Well…” I paused. “You put me on the Angels way younger than usual.”

“I did the same thing with Helene. Know why?”

I shook my head.

“'Cause she's
good
, Will. We're an army, and an army is made up of soldiers. But not all soldiers are combat material. Helene is. She proved that when she pulled you out of your middle school on the day you got your Eyes. Half the city was looking for you, but she kept her head and got you both to Haven safely. So I asked her to join the Angels.”

“And me?”

Tom rolled his eyes, something he didn't do very often. “Will, you got more courage than most kids years older. Sometimes it's a reckless kind of courage that gets you into trouble…but more often than not, it works out for you. And half the time, you don't even know it. Where else would I put you
but
the Angels?”

I stared at him, speechless.

Then he added, “But that ain't all of it.”

“Huh?”

“You got a serious mind.”

I blinked. “A what?”

“A serious mind. Once you committed to the Undertakers, you gave it all you got. You don't just suffer this war the way most of the others do. You come at it like a challenge, a problem to be solved…like something that stands between you and your family.”

“Well…it is!”

“Sure, it is,” he agreed. “What's more, it's a challenge every kid in Haven faces. 'Cept most don't handle it like you do.”

“How
do
I handle it?” I asked, feeling uncomfortable and not sure why.

“Let me ask you something,” Tom said. “When's the last time you played?”

“Played what?”

“Anything. Cards. Monopoly. A video game. When was the last time you dropped yourself in front of one of the TVs in the rec room and just watched cartoons for a couple of hours?”

I started to say something but stopped myself. The fact was that I couldn't remember. In all the months I'd been living this life, hadn't there been a single moment of good old-fashioned fun?

No. Of course not. Haven wasn't about fun. Being an Undertaker wasn't a game.

“So?” I asked, a little defensively.

“So, you said just now that you get special treatment,” Tom replied. “Well, I say you get treated the way you
should
get treated. A while ago, I told Ramirez that there were grown-ups in the Undertakers but no adults. Remember?”

“Yeah.”

“I like to think I'm one of those grown-ups,” Tom said.

“You are,” I admitted.

“And guess what, bro? So are
you
.”

I stood there in that cold, dank corridor, trying to take it in. I'd been a kid once, just a normal middle school kid worried about homework and friends and crushing on the girl who sat beside me in math class. I'd had friends that I'd hung out with in the evenings and a mom who nagged me to pick up my dirty clothes and put my shoes away. I'd owned an Xbox, a PlayStation, and a Wii.

Back in those days, I'd whined when there was nothing worth watching on TV or if the dinner menu didn't suit my liking. But I'd also laughed at my baby sister when she said or did something cute, at my friends when they cracked a joke or tripped over their own feet. I'd made fun of Old Man Pratt, who lived next door and was probably the meanest person on Grape Street.

But then I'd gotten the Sight, and Old Man Pratt had turned out to be much meaner than I'd ever imagined.

Old Man Pratt had been a Corpse.

These days, I didn't whine, and I didn't laugh. Games held no interest for me. All I wanted to do was work, push the cause forward, fight the Corpses—so I could someday see my mom and sister again.

But would they even recognize me? Would I even recognize myself?

Tom said, “An eye-opener, ain't it?”

I nodded wearily. All my discomfort and irritation was gone. Suddenly, I felt tired. Very tired.

“You've been up for almost twenty-four hours, bro,” the Chief said. “Go and get some sleep.”

“I want to see the demo for Ramirez,” I protested.

“You will. But there's stuff to be done first to prep for it, and I need you for that. I'm calling a meeting of the Angels in”—he checked his watch—“four hours. That'll make it around eight o'clock tonight. Be there, okay?”

“Okay,” I replied.

“Good. Get going now. Think on what I said.”

“I will,” I promised, a little reluctantly. Just what I'd needed—one more thing to think about!