The Death Series: A Dark Dystopian Fantasy Box Set: (Books 1-3) (56 page)

I nodded,
true
.

“Why would it be so out of line for it to start cleaning up shop when things get exciting?”

Like
maybe thinking for itself, taking charge of situations ahead of my thought process.

He was nodding in the firelight as he saw from my expression that I was connecting the dots.

“So, it could just, engage and do what it
thought
I needed, with or without my...” I began.

“Consent,” John finished.

“Bingo,” Gramps said.

Shit.

“Hang on, son. Don't borrow the worry, I just want you to be aware of the potential.”

Terrific News.

So, Gramps was the reason I was diggin' on the dead. Who knew? It made sense that there was already someone in my ancestry who carried the gene for it.

Jade said after a few minutes of quiet. “You know, come to think of it, my grandma had the second sight.”

Gramps was nodding. “It's safe to say that all of you that are manifesting these abilities may have a relative in your past that had the gene before you.”

Jonesy said, “Oh yeah! I forgot to say: I get to go to KPH.”

He leaned back and folded his arms across his chest.

All the kids started talking at once and Gramps did a shrill whistle, splitting our eardrums.

Everybody shut up.

“Nice that you told us, ya doofus,” Tiff said, her gum popping.

“What are you?” John asked, ever practical.

He shrugged. “Don't know. Unclassified...” he gave a sly look at Alex. (I sure could have used him during the gang-beating, I thought randomly.)

“I think you guys are losing the focus,” Jade said.

I looked at her, pressed into my body, her sweet-smelling hair up my nose. “What?”

“He gets to go to KPH, with us!”

“Well right, but we'd all love to know what he's slingin',” Bry said.

Christi nodded. “Yeah, what if he has some creeper ability?”

We all looked at her.

Don't ask, don't ask.

Gramps asked, “What does that expression mean?”

Wonderful.

Alex pushed up his glasses. “A
n individual who lurks about with an enigmatic, 'weirdo, avoid-at-all-costs' vibe...”

Huh, I didn't think that could be quantified...

Gramps puckered his lips, miffed.

“You're a mundane?” he asked Christi.

She nodded.

He looked at all of us. “Who else is?”

“Well, I was before yesterday's AP test,” Jonesy said.

Bry raised his hand; that left him and Christi.

“Does that bug you that you're mundanes?” he asked the pair.

Bry shrugged. “Only when I feel like I can't use my skills to defend myself.”

“What skills,
gnome-magnet?
” Jonesy said.

“You clearly have a magnet fetish,” Tiff said through a wad of gum.

“Do not.”

Bry and Tiff bumped knuckles.

“Right....” Sophie said and Jade and I laughed.

Gramps held his hand up. “The way I see things, there are three types of mundanes: one group would love to be paranormals, the second group is irked because they're not, and the final group hates the paranormals because they don't understand. That lack of understanding, in combination with their hate is a powerful force. Which do you two fall under?”

He held Christi and Bry's eyes.

Bry shrugged. “My sis is AFTD so to love her, I gotta accept what she is. She can't help it. Seriously, at this point, it's kinda like having green eyes instead of brown.”

The kids were nodding,
true
.

Christi didn't nod.

“What about you, young lady?”

She shrugged her shoulders. “I don't know.”

Gramps tightened the noose. “You just said, 'creeper abilities'. Are there some that are preferable to others?”

She rolled her pretty (bourbon-colored) eyes up into her head. “Of course! I mean, who'd want to be 'all about' the undead?”

Nice.
S
he really had the IQ of eggplant.

Gramps had just expounded on his “fun” childhood with the undead-flash-a-thon. Wow. Just wow.

He laughed. “You're missing the point. There are no 'cool' abilities. They just
are
.”

All the boys looked at Alex, whose small chest swelled with pride.

Gramps' brows arched.

John nodded. “Show Mac your skills.”

Alex ducked his head shyly and stood.

Gramps stood as well. “Caleb, is this going to make something irrevocable occur?”

Ah, I didn't
think
so. But things did have a way of getting out of hand sometimes.

Alex looked down at his trunks that were just barely dry, his tee not offering an ounce of warmth. It was good the night was sultry, we had true Indian summer weather and no wind.

He eyed Gramps' boat in the water. And yeah, it was completely illegal. It was a million years old and had huge actual fuel jets, which he had retrofitted for natural gas, the chrome of the pipes gleaming in the firelight.

Alex waded into the water until it came up to mid-thigh, the boat a bulky shadow behind him.

“Ah, Caleb, I'm wanting to know what's going to happen to my baby,” Gramps said.

“Just watch, Gramps.”

“You're gonna shit a brick on this,” Jonesy said.

“Language, young man,” Gramps said automatically.

Jonesy sighed, foiled again.

John smiled because Jonesy was fearless. He would have said the same thing in front of the President.

Alex scooped the side of the boat to him and untethered the ropes from the front and back cleats. He leaned forward, his torso just skimming the cold lake water. Sliding his arm completely under the back end of the boat, only his shoulder showing, he lifted the back end totally out of the water, the drips cascading to his body and running down his head, then neck, soaking the tee he wore. He slid the rest of his body under the boat and Gramps came on board then. “Hey, hey, that's not safe...”

Alex grinned, swinging his opposite arm to the front end and stood, balancing the boat while he stood underneath it in the middle, the sound of lake water splashing like rain all around him.

“Holy shit,” Gramps whispered.

Jonesy was nodding. “See, what did I tell ya?”

We knew that Alex had the super-human strength but...

“
Damn
,” Bry said. “That's impressive as hell!”

“I think maybe Bry just joined group one,” Tiff said.

I agreed, looking at the ridiculously undersized, nerdy Alex. It was an absolute unreal sight.

“Okay,” Gramps said. “Put her down, nice and gentle, sir.”

Alex lowered the boat until he was underwater, then swam out from underneath it, his tee plastered to his skin, his ribs in stark relief.

Bry waited until he was out of the water and gave him the damn-you're-great-to-know guy clap. Alex looked like he'd won the lottery.

Gramps grinned. “Now that was...”

“Righteous,” Jonesy said, fist-pumping.

“Exceptional,” Gramps finished, smiling slightly at the J-Man.

Alex's teeth started chattering and Gramps physically pushed him over to the fire. “Use your head, boy, I know you've got more than rocks rollin' around in that noggin.”

Alex was still glowing from having an arguably cool ability. Lots of guys would kill for that.

Gramps stretched, reaching around to put a palm on his lower back. “About time to turn in, I think.”

John looked at him. “You didn't do too bad with Hamilton today, Mac.”

Gramps was cool like that.

“Yeah, his brand of logic wasn't going to work on my property.”

“Where would it work?” Bry asked.

Gramps folded his arms across his chest, palming his chin. Finally, after a full minute he said, “Nowhere.”

We laughed and Gramps put dirt over the fire, squelching the flame into ash, the night's blackness edging in around us like ink.

CHAPTER 19

I had a fat weekend at Gramps and my ass had dragged down my stairs to the kitchen table then out the door to school. Onyx gave me the cold shoulder 'cuz I hadn't towed him along to Gramps.

He didn't even stand by the window.

I sighed. It was damn Monday all day long and into the night.

Of course, I had AFTD class first period and no one I knew except Tiff was in there. She was studiously decimating her nails as Smith droned on about the dead.

Ceci Cline was staring at me which was creeping me out. I wondered if she knew that Carson and the goons had planned on jumping me. I was so lucky Clyde had showed up I thought for the millionth time.

At least the whole group had a little vacation from school.

That rocked.

Suspension forever for all I gave a shit. Jerkwads.

“Now,” Smith droned, “I heard there was an incident of violence perpetuated against you this weekend, Caleb.”

Huh? Oh, yeah.  “Ah, yeah, some jerks tried to beat the crap out of me.”

Smith's eyes got wide at my blunt description and Ceci looked down at her shoes.

Hell-yeah
, she'd known, the bitch. Tiff had put it together and was giving her the Tiff Look. Of course, the merit of Tiff was,
as a girl
, she could hand Ceci her ass and I could watch.

A smile spread over my face as I fantasized.

“Mr. Hart?”

“Yeah?”

“I asked you a question...”

I gave him a blank face.

He sighed, running a hand through his hair, which reminded me of my dad, all the ends sticking up wildly.

“I was saying we could learn much about your zombie showing up.”

I shrugged. “I have nothing to tell. I mean, Clyde just showed up, I hadn't 'called' him or anything, he was just
there
.”

He began to pace; reminded me of the crazy Biology nut I'd had last year. What was his name.? He was obsessed over bees.

“In theory, a Cadaver-Manipulator who also possesses Life-Transference,” he looked at me for confirmation and I nodded, “would have a leakage problem with their gift.”

We all looked at him, Ceci jerking up her chin defiantly.

“In layman's terms, the dead would begin to think autonomously of the host.”

Well that cleared it right up, thanks.

Tiff went back to her intense fingernail exam and Ceci's eyes dropped to her desktop.

He was losing us with the jargon.

“Okay,” he paused, scrubbing his face, “we've got a zombie...”

We nodded, gotcha.

“...and said-zombie is connected to a powerful AFTD, say, a five-point.” All eyes turned to me, granted, there was only a handful but it still made me uncomfortable. “The host, in theory, should not need to consciously communicate to the zombie. The zombie should have a thought process that is interdependent.”

“Okay,” Tiff said, snapping gum. “So Caleb raised Clyde...”

“Is that the name of the zombie in question?” Smith asked.

I nodded.

She continued, “And he knows what needs doin', even if Caleb doesn't 'call' or 'ask'?”

“Exactly.” Smith looked relieved.

“Caleb didn't consciously 'call' Clyde. But, because of physical proximity, coupled with extreme duress,” in my periphery vision I saw Ceci squirm around, “he had enough 'thought process' of his own, to respond to the threat to the host.”

“The host being Caleb,” a boy in the back of the class called out.

Smith nodded. “If the host had ill intent and was also powerful, well, the result of everything could have been much different.”

The class grew quiet, chewing on that lovely fact.

“There's no way to control it then? I mean, I could do like...a sleepwalk-with-the-dead parade?”

Tiff laughed. “Nice, Caleb.”

“Not so funny, Tiffany,” Smith responded solemnly.

“It's Tiff, Mr. Smith.”

Smith ignored her, going on, “The pharmaceutical giants are even now fashioning a suppression drug that would be a broad depressant. It would negate abilities from manifesting say, in the middle of sleep.”

I thought of how Clyde had been skulking around the garbage separator.
Huh
.

Tiff flipped up the hood on her standard hoodie, effectively hiding her expression, which looked kinda like,
screw you and the horse you rode in on.

I stifled a laugh, hiding it in my hand like a cough. She was truly great.

The bell shrilled and Tiff grabbed her backpack and pulse, her thumb on it and mine vibrated:

I'm gonna commit suicide if Smith is flappin' his gums the whole year about this
profanity-block
.
-TW

Should I be offended that you don't give a ripe
profanity-block
about my subconscious raising an army-o-dead.
-CH

Profanity-block
-
no! Who cares? I mean, seriously, if you were gonna do gnome-genocide on everyone, wouldn't you have done it by now? -
TW

laughs
I guess...ya know, you were talking about magnet fetishes with Jonesy.-
CH

Cut the crap, Hart, Jones is totally dumb, not that I don't think he's a player.
-TW

Tell me what you really think! I still think you have a problem with gnomes.
-CH

Everyone knows that they're never in the same place in the yard in the morning.
-TW

What-the-
profanity-block!
-CH

It's a phenomenon. I'm sorry you're too lame to notice. NMP
.-TW

Not her problem?
Huh
.

A hand landed on my shoulder and with a thought, I put my pulse to sleep as Tiff glided by, her eyes landing on Smith for a fleeting second then meeting mine in a
better you than me
look
.

“Stay after class for a moment, Mr. Hart.”

“I don't have that long. I've got Griswold next hour, Mr. Smith.”

He grimaced in sympathy. Apparently, she was
real popular
with the adults too.

“Okay quickly then: I heard through the grapevine that you and Tiffany Weller are working in collusion with the police for the apprehension of the serial killer that's murdering the Nulls.”

A red flag of warning hit me between the mental eyes. I suddenly wished Jade was here so she could do the whammy on this guy.

“Yeah,” I was in the keep-info-from-the-adult mode (which always came naturally, I noticed).

“I just wanted to offer my help as an AFTD in case they need an adult in the mix.”

“Ah, thanks, but I think we have it.”

“Will you tell Sergeant Garcia?” he asked.

I nodded. Weirder and weirder. What were these two talking back and forth about? Supposedly the whole thing was hush-hush. I'd talk to John Smith about it, he'd tell me what was doin'. Garcia seemed to be on perpetual PMS-mode. I didn't want to dick with the drama on that.

****

I could see Griswold's sour pucker from my position on the floor perfectly. All the teens were surrounding me in a circle, my arms burned and shook. I'd been late because Smith had wanted to flap about the investigation. Nice. So now I was doing extra push-ups and Griswold (as usual) was all about me failing.

Which just made me not want to, of course.

Jade was behind her making faces, which I appreciated and I was containing my expression because every ounce of me wanted to rest. I was on the seventy-ninth one in a row. Over the summer, I had increased from forty a night in June and I was up to seventy.

“Just cry Uncle, Hart and I will let you just get a demerit for not suiting up on time.”

“No...” I ground out. “I can do the hundred.”

Jade smiled and Jonesy fist-pumped while John slapped his forehead, clearly saying,
stubborn swine
.

Yeah, I kinda was.

I pumped out another ten, my arms on fire, but no snow on the mountain. Which made Griswold glower harder; she hated that my form kicked ass. Of course it did, or Gramps would have put his foot in my ass. I gave a little smile remembering his drill sergeant ways:

“Caleb, your ass is so high you're catching snow on the mountain! Keep it straight! Elbows by your side, chest on the floor...no rest, back up. Pump it Pal! Get moving! Oh... for the love of God...

Gramps got down next to me and pumped out the next twenty like melting butter out of the pot.

Hell, I'd never be as strong as him.

He saw my expression, and reading it correctly, he said, “Stronger!”

“What?” I gasped out between a poorly executed push-up.

“You'll be stronger than me one day.”

Today was apparently Not The Day.

My girlfriend's eyes were on me but for a different reason;
she was so hot!
I pumped out another three... I was certainly not gonna cave in front of My Woman!

Ninety-three

Pump-gasp-burn...

Ninety-nine.

One hundred!

“Hmph!” Griswold made a noise in the back of her throat. “Walk it off, Hart.” She waved the clipboard at the indoor track that circled the basketball court.

I walked it off.

“Come on people! Show's over. Get your butts over there and do your warm-up for dodge ball.” She grated on our ears.

The sissified version of dodge ball.

The Js gave me guy claps on the back. “I guess you could climb that fence at the dump pretty easy now, huh, Hart?” Jonesy asked.

I nodded, yeah, probably could. Not that climbing that dumb thing was first on the list.

My arms felt heavy and fatigued. I'd gone over my push-ups-for-the-day. Amazing what ya could do with an audience.

Jade came up beside me and squeezed my bicep. “Nice job there, stud.” She winked.

I looked down at her in her super-short shorts (I was a fan), and her high-top sneakers and matching tee. Griswold's only allowance on suiting up was we had a choice of footwear. So, Jade chose the snazzy All-Stars.

I looked down at her feet and said what I thought, “You have elf feet, Jade.”

She looked down at her feet. “No, they are the right size for me.”

Mine looked like surfboards next to hers. “You have huge feet but not like John,” she said, looking pointedly at The Feet that were John's.

We looked at John who was skinnier and taller than last year and wore a size fourteen. (I was only a twelve.)

Sophie said, from slightly behind us but next to Jonesy, “You know what they say about a guy's feet.”

Actually, no.

Tiff piped in. “They say that there is a direct relationship between feet and penis size.”

Jonesy stopped walking. “No shit, frickin' Terran has a donkey-dick?”

Griswold, who was without paranormal skills of any kind still seemed to have exceptional hearing.

“Jones, front-and-center.”

“Shit,” he said dejectedly.

“Now!” she yelled and we all restrained ourselves from covering our ears.

He jogged over there and she pointed to the floor. “Give me a hundred like your good friend, Hart. Seems to be a trend today with you boys. Buck up!” Her beady eyes flicked to mine before returning to Jonesy. “You had me last year, you definitely know what the deal is. Just because you're here for the first time today, Jones, doesn't mean that I'm going to be soft.”

Yeah, we knew.

The double doors opened and two suits came in, who I recognized immediately
formula people
. The one guy that had looked like he was starved and smoked (illegal) was with a stocky dude. They were part of the AP Testing brigade last year. What did they want here now?

I didn't like it.

Then Jade said, “Those are the government guys.”

I whipped my face to stare at her. “Which ones?”

“The Graysheets,” she whispered. “They were the ones that were messing around with your locker.” Her eyes were wide and frightened. We sure didn't need a repeat of last year.

John, Tiff and Sophie made a loose circle around me. Then we walked over to stand behind Griswold.

Jonesy said from the floor, “Ah, duh? Am I gonna do these or not?”

“Stand up for now, Jones. But you owe me fella,” Griswold said.

“Right,” he said, obviously scheming on how to get out of it.

Not because he couldn't do a hundred push-ups, he
so
could. But because she
wanted him to
. He was against following the rules on principle. Jonesy Principle. It was a lengthy and unspoken code that only he fully understood.