Resurrection (14 page)

You see, when a cemetery worker buries someone, they usually use a backhoe, or another machine, to tamp the dirt down afterward, adding more until the grave is level with the surrounding ground. That packs the dirt and makes it so the grave doesn’t collapse once weather and gravity starts wearing on it.

So, without the tamping, pockets of air form, leaving open spaces. Since the zombies just pushed dirt over the liner, the weight nowhere near what a backhoe would shovel in each time, there would be a lot more pockets meaning there was a lot less dirt sitting over me.

Taking advantage of that, I dug at the dirt just outside the hole I’d made and shoveled it in underneath me and behind, always mindful of the air hole. I had Chatterbox—my pet zombie head—bite down on my shirt, near my shoulders so he could ride out with me, but I wouldn’t have to worry about him being buried. After he was situated, I tucked my gun into the back of my waistband and made my move.

Handful after handful, loose dirt running down into the liner, I moved the soft soil beneath me, raising me up toward the lid of the liner while the space in front and above opened up. Inch by inch I crawled forward as more room opened up, filling the space under me.

Another fortunate thing in my favor was Rest Land’s standing policy of sticking to the letter of the law and not going one iota further. By local health regulations, the lid of the liner only had to be eighteen inches from the surface. And since Karra had dumped me in a hole that had already been dug, intended for another funeral, I wasn’t anywhere near the mythical six feet depth.

By the time the liner was nearly full, the way above me was almost clear, gravity helping to siphon the dirt downward. The last foot was the worst as the airway behind me had been blocked off while the way ahead had yet to be cleared. I held my breath and tore at the dirt as the remainder caved in on me, its weight threatening to drag me down with it.

Throwing everything I had into it, my arms burst free of the sinkhole, latching on to the solid ground to the side of the grave. Leveraged, I pulled myself up and out, spitting out a mouthful of dirt. Once I could breathe, I drew in a deep gulp and collapsed on the soft, wet grass, reveling in the sun’s warmth. Chatterbox let go and rolled across my back to land beside me, careening into my armpit.

“
Boots…oots…ssss
,” he muttered.

I raised my head to see what he was rambling on about and spotted a pair of dirty work boots coming towards me. Following them up, I saw a pair of dirty work pants, a dirty work shirt, ending my visual climb at a dirty face.

“Hi Javier.
Como Estas
?” The grubby cemetery worker stared at me through wide eyes, his face ashen where the grime was lighter. Carlos stood about twenty feet behind him, crouched down and peeking out from behind a raised headstone.

“What the fuck,
esse
? You nearly gave us both heart attacks.” He gestured to his partner with a shaky hand. “We heard spooky voices, then you come popping up out the ground.”

He shook his head, little puffs of dirt billowing around him like a brown halo. Sad thing was I probably had less on me than he did. There’s no doubt I smelled better.

“We thought you were another one of the stiffs. We had like fifty disappear last night.” A hint of anger crept into his fearful appearance. “I thought you were handling this shit.”

Damn. Karra apparently had more reasons for being at the cemetery than just dropping me off. That didn’t bode well. It meant there’d be another zombie party popping up sometime soon.

“Sorry. I got sidetracked.” I ran through the warehouse full of sarcastic responses inside my head, but decided to just leave it alone.

“So you came out here to talk to yourself and play in the dirt? We knew you were crazy,
vato
, but we didn’t know you were
this
crazy.”I sat up, shaking the dirt off. “Oh, I wasn’t talking to myself.” I picked up Chatterbox and held him up. “I was talking to my buddy.”

“
Hi…I…I…eeeeeeeeee
.”

Javier froze, his body stiffening up, his eyes widening so much I thought they were gonna roll out of the sockets. His face went pale and he fell back unconscious, kicking up a cloud of unfriendly smelling dust when he landed.

Carlos ducked down behind his protective gravestone. I saw one eye and a fluff of black hair peeking out from the side. You’d figure guys who dug graves for a living would be used to seeing pieces of corpses. Though I’d imagine the ones they saw didn’t talk.

“I think he might be one of yours,” I told Carlos as I turned Chatterbox around, letting him see the park. He did his best to nod.

Carlos didn’t move. He didn’t even blink.

“He’s cool.” Carlos didn’t look convinced. Figuring low-key was the best way to go about things, I turned to the head. “Let me set you down for a minute while I deal with these guys. Your sexy ways are making them nervous.”

Chatterbox giggled as I carried him over to the nearest stand of trees and set him down. I angled him to give him the most interesting view possible, then went over to Carlos.

“There, he’s gone. It’s all good.” My hands were raised as I stood in the direct line of sight so he couldn’t see Chatterbox.

Carlos stood slowly, his whole body shaking, his forehead moist with sweat. He was seriously freaked out. Despite him and Javier knowing some small measure of the supernatural world that exists beyond theirs, they never had to deal with it face-to-face. Their information had always come through me and I imagine they took a lot of it with a grain of salt. Guess that wouldn’t be the case anymore.

“I’m gonna give you some time to work things out, okay?” I wiped at his chin. “You got a little something, dripping…” Anyway, yeah, moving on. “I need a phone. You got one on you?”

Carlos nodded, his twitching hand gesturing to the general vicinity of his front shirt pocket. Taking that as an invite, I dug in and pulled his cell phone out.

“Thanks.” I popped it open and dialed the number for DRAC. While the phone rang, I stepped away so Carlos couldn’t hear and passed on my message and location once the line picked up. Finished, not concerned with Carlos having the dummy DRAC number, I didn’t bother to clear the phone before dropping it back into his pocket. He couldn’t do anything with it, all of our conversations carried on in a complex code of misdirection.

“Thanks.”

He nodded, or did something that somewhat resembled nodding. Whatever it was, there was a lot of moisture involved.

“I’ve got some friends coming to check things out, so unless you’re looking to have your memory tampered with, I’d suggest you pack up Javier and beat feet for a little while.”

He started forward slowly, but once his mind kicked in he hurried over to Javier. I helped him pick his buddy up and got his still unconscious butt onto the quad-runner they used. As soon as he was situated, Carlos lit off, the sputtering engine being worked hard.

Once they were out of sight, I retrieved Chatterbox and found a shady place to wait. Bored, I broke into a rousing rendition of Bolt Thrower’s, “No Guts, No Glory” while Chatterbox grunted out the rhythm line.

I was a little disappointed with his accompaniment. I’d have thought a dead guy would have a better death metal voice.

Chapter Eleven

About twenty minutes after I’d called, Katon showed up with Michael Li, the head of DRAC’s cleanup division. A powerful telepath with an analytical mind, Michael had the raw power to read minds and the wit to make sense of it all.

I hoped he could help.

“Morning.”

Katon looked me over, eyeing my dirty and disheveled appearance, the zombie head cradled in my arms. He wrinkled his nose when he got a whiff of me. “Do I even want to ask?”

I shrugged. “Probably not.” Can’t say I was all that excited to explain how I’d pissed on myself. Some things should just stay private. “I followed a lead and got shanghaied and put in time out. Though the lead didn’t do anything but add to the general confusion, I did manage to procure us a possible informant.” I held up Chatterbox.

Through glassy, squirming eyes, the head stared at them, his focus lighting upon Katon. “
Haaaaiilll…aaaa…lll
.”

Michael took a step back. However used to the weird world he inhabited, there’s apparently no way to be human and take a talking severed head in stride. Katon, on the other hand, had no problem with it.

“I see your taste in dates has gotten better.”

“You’re just jealous.”

He chuckled, peering at Chatterbox. “I assume this is why you had me bring Michael along.”

“Yup. He wasn’t interested in ratting out Reven, but he does do an amazing
a capella
version of “Run to the Hills.” I figured Mike might have better luck getting something of substance from him.” After talking to Karra, I wasn’t certain Reven was who I should be looking for, but I didn’t have any way to contact Lilith and I sure as Hell wasn’t gonna go anywhere near Baalth, if I could help it. Chatterbox was all we had. Hopefully Karra’s patience with me lasted a little longer.

Shaking off his jitters, Michael made a sour face and examined Chatterbox, staying at a distance. He shook his head slowly. “I’m not sure I’ll get much, if I get anything at all. Even though he’s been reanimated, his mind is still dead. This could prevent me from forming a link, or it could distort any of the thoughts I manage to pick up. There’s no telling what I’ll find.”

“While I’m not sure how long he’s been dead, though I’m guessing a while based on stench alone, he’s clearly pretty functional. He quoted a ton of song lyrics, even ones I’d forgotten, and he seemed pretty connected to the living world, however irrationally.” I turned Chatterbox toward Michael. “Give it a shot.”

Katon encouraged him. “It can’t be any worse than digging around inside Frank’s head.”

I shrugged, not arguing with the statement.

Michael nodded as he dropped down, his legs crossed beneath him. “I guess it can’t hurt anything to try.”

He looked up at Chatterbox, his lips quivering, and took a deep breath, letting it out slow. He closed his eyes and sat there regulating his breathing for a few minutes before his eyelids popped open. His eyes, normally a shade of dark brown, had become glistening silver, which flowed in dizzying circles like loose mercury. He stared at Chatterbox as though he was looking through him, his lips moving soundlessly.

Michael’s face lined with concentration. His cheeks looked sunken and his hands fidgeted at his lap. For several long moments, he muttered to himself and stared forward, his eyes twitching in their sockets. His body sat rigid, his veins pulsing against his skin.

“
Commmmppaaaaaannneeeeee…aaaaaa…neeeeee
,” Chatterbox muttered, his own eyes rolling back to look inside his head.

At last, the shimmer faded and Michael blinked twice, looking up at us through his natural browns.

“Wow. I’m not sure what kind of damage dying had on your boy’s sanity, but reading his mind is like looking through a shattered carnival mirror. He’s got some serious issues.”

And The Understatement of the Year award goes to…

“Ya think? I doubt the least of which is the fact I’m holding his talking head, sans body. Just tell me what you saw.”

Michael rolled his eyes. “Not much, actually. It looks like his long term memory is surprisingly functional, but his short term is a chaotic blur, everything short-circuited.”

“Anything useful in there?” Katon asked.

Michael shrugged. “I don’t understand any of it, but you might. Forefront in his thoughts is an image of a sarcophagus. It’s an old one, carved out of a dark stone and covered in indistinct runes and symbols. It looked like it was surrounded by a sea of blood.”

I turned to look at Katon. He didn’t seem to know any more than I did about the coffin.

“What else?”

“I saw the English letter ‘B’ flashing in his mind, capitalized. It seemed to pulse in threes. One, two, three, pause then repeat.”

So far…nothing. Mike went on.

“There were also a large number of shadows which seemed to take almost humanoid form, only they weren’t really shadows.”

“So, non-shadow shadows and a Sesame Street routine?”

Michael and Katon gave me the same irritated look.

“I’m looking for clarification, that’s all.”

“And I’m just telling you what I saw. Mind reading isn’t an exact science, especially when it’s a corpse’s mind,” Michael replied, frustration in his voice. “They moved fluidly, like shadows, their shape stretched and pliant, but they weren’t dark. They were white, luminescent almost.” He threw up his arms, no doubt unable to describe what he saw in more detail. “The last two images, which were blurry, were of a figure hidden behind a dark cloak, no discernable features to be seen, and a giant crucifix set upon a hill, a mountain perhaps, looking down over a field of fresh graves.”

“What did the crucifix look like?” I asked. “I mean besides the obvious, Christ on a piece of wood.”

Michael took a second to think about it, dredging his absorbed memories. “It appeared to be made out of brass, or some other coppery-like substance. It stood high upon a scrub-covered hill, a white marble dais surrounding it. There were wide steps carved into the earth at its feet.” He slowed at the end and his eyes lit up as he recognized it.