Controlling the Dead Page 2

  For the balcony, I use my crossbow. I don’t want to draw more putrids to the alley, just shoot the ones walking around. The only reason I have the crossbow is because someone was thoughtful enough to bring it to me during the whole army base fiasco. We killed and almost died ourselves to save someone who didn’t want to leave the base. It inadvertently killed people, innocent people, I’m sure. My mind drifts to the playground at the base. The belly laugh of a toddler on a merry-go-round sounds in my ears as if I stand right in front of it. I stuff it down.

  Reece sits and crosses his ankles on the cast iron patio table, munching on the stale popcorn. A map of New Orleans, held down by guns, stretches across the table. He watches me shoot a couple of putrids with arrows. Dead weight hits the ground in deep thumps. The sounds join in with their moans, resonating through the alley.

  “You shouldn’t be so angry all the time,” he comments, rubbing his tattooed arm before continuing his munch-a-thon.

  “I’m not angry,” I snap, but I don’t mean it. I’m more than angry. The newly acquired nightmares raise my anxiety level so high, I get easily fatigued. I keep waiting for something to trigger a panic attack.

  “You can’t fool me, Kan,” he states, and I turn to stare at him. His beaded goatee sways with the breeze. “I used to be a counselor for a boys home in Detroit. I recognize the signs. I’ve been watching you rip doors off hinges and take down zombies like the PGA we’ve been drinking.” Sighing, he continues, “All the while hiding under that hood and those sunglasses. You came here to hide. Not only to hide, but mostly. I humor you. I won’t ask you what really happened to you. I get the gist of it, but… I don’t know. I’m not going to push you….” He lets his thoughts trail off into nothing.

  I close my mouth from gaping. He completely catches me off guard. Reece never talks about his past life. Maybe if I don’t acknowledge it, he’ll extend the same courtesy and back off. “Oh yeah, you want me to talk it out.”

  “Better than reading it from a book.”

  Glaring at him, I see something out of the corner of my eye. “Did you see that?” I ask in a short breath. Reece peers over the balcony and shakes his head. “Someone’s looking at us from around that corner.” I point. His head whips in that direction. Sure enough, something bobs into view.

  CHAPTER TWO

  “Shit!” A certain anticipation slithers through me like an old friend. It can easily be Bill or Marge, but I dismiss the idea. I doubt they’d go out after dark. I look around knowing I don’t have time to take the stairs and swap the crossbow for a gun on the table. Finding a gutter going down the side of the apartment, I climb over the railing while sticking the gun in the back of my pants.

  Reece sees what I’m going to do. “Wait,” he says, reaching out at me. It’s too late. Already on the gutter, I make my way down when the frail metal groans. I look up to see my weight making it pop away from the top gutter.

  The gutter pitches me backward, and I jerk instantly as it catches on a sturdier bracket. I let out a breath as my weight pulls at my hands, but I hold tight. The sidewalk is still a good ways down. I look up at Reece, grinning,

  “Shit, that was—” The bracket snaps and the ground hurtles toward me. I brace myself, feeling the sharp sting in my feet as my legs jolt from the impact, sending a shockwave through my body. I stand up and grab my stomach from the discomfort, shaking out my legs.

  “Idiot!” Reece calls down, but I turn and dash off.

  “Hurry up, Reece!” I shout over my shoulder. I round the corner into an alley and don’t see anything. I slow to listen, looking the dark alley over. A putrid wearing a tattered dress with half a scalp of stringy hair starts crossing the street toward me, but I ignore it. A ding draws my attention to our intruder. The sharp sound echoes through the alley. I step softly toward an overflowing dumpster. The trash is almost five years overdue for pickup. “Hello. I want to talk,” I call, trying to sound nonthreatening.

  The person apparently doesn’t want to talk. They take off, and so do I, getting close enough to see a boy around thirteen or fourteen. I grab the back of his shirt and swing him around.

  “Who are you?” I ask. He stares at me wide-eyed and fearful. Sweat beads down his dark skinned temples as his chest rises and falls. All of my endurance training pays off, I breathe as if I’m on a Sunday stroll in Central Park.

  Reece catches up to me, huffing. The boy jerks back when he sees Reece. I grab his arm before he runs away. “We aren’t going to hurt you,” I reassure him. “Are you the only one?” He shakes his head, keeping his eye on Reece as if he’s the biggest threat. I hold back a scoff and might sound irritated as I go on, “I’m looking for a man named Mago. I need to talk to him. It’s important.”

  Big hands come into my line of sight as they latch onto me in a death grip. I crack out a scream when I realize it’s a famished. Drool drips from the zombie’s mouth. His skin and lips are blue with the milky white and bloodshot eyes of the living dead. My hands come up to keep it at a distance. Reece’s gun cocks as he prepares to shoot it.

  The boy comes alive and screams, “Wait! No need ta shoot ‘em.”

  What? He’s not the one Zombie Smurf wants to eat. The boy grabs it as the zombie releases its hold on me. I gasp as I rub my upper arms. “No, no!” The boy chides the zombie as he pulls something squirming out of his pocket, feeding it to the eager zombie.

  I notice then the zombie’s clothes are clean and so is the boy. The zombie wears a sleeveless shirt and cutoff shorts. The boy has on a striped polo with khaki shorts. Neither one of them wear shoes. The boy’s little afro surrounds his head, neat and tidy.

  I glance at Reece and exchange a befuddled look. We know we are in the right place, but I’m freaking out a little. I will my heart and breath to slow.

  The boy eyes the gun Reece still has on his zombie. “No. I take ya ta Mago. Don’t shoot ‘em.”

  Reece lowers the gun, never taking his eyes off the zombie. He nods to the boy, “Right now.” Reece uses his scary tone with a side of heavy demand.

  The boy turns to lead the way. The zombie stands in the same place for several blocks. “Um… You’re forgetting your zombie,” I mention.

  He looks at it. “Nah, not mine. He make ‘is way befo’ da swamp dog’s eat ‘im.”

  Reece and I exchange more confused glances. Lifting a shoulder to Reece, I figure everywhere has different zombie etiquette, even though this goes against my grain. “What’s your name?” I ask by way of conversation.

  “T. Paul.”

  *

  I don’t know how long we hike, but Bill was right. We head straight out of town and through some woods. Now we’re in a swamp. It smells swampy, like moss, stagnant water and reptile. The earth squishes beneath our feet and it’s so dark the stars peek through the treetops. I never take my glasses off, though. My legs ache to stop and my abdomen hates me. The dryness in my throat needs something because it burns. Reece huffs a little, and I begin to dread the walk back. “Where are we going?” The extra hoarseness in my voice makes Reece glance at me.

  “Down the bayou,” he answers, which doesn’t reassure me any.

  “We could have driven, it would have been faster,” I gripe.

  I’m sure this never occurred to T. Paul from his silence. “I git someone ta take ya back.” That’s a relief.

  More or less than two hours later, a light gleams in between trees and mossy stringy thingies. Sludge covers my boots, which irritates me. I walk through an invisible wall of gnats, effectively breathing some up my nose. By the time we come to a small housing development, I’ve sneezed out half my brain and I’m not in a mood to be friendly to anyone. Especially since there are numerous guns trained on us by several men.

  T. Paul keeps strolling along. He goes to a small house in the middle and knocks on the door. When it opens, T. Paul says, “I brought ‘em, Mago.”

  The light over-hanging the porch and yard is bright enough to block out anything beyond the door. Se
veral long moments stretch out before a familiar voice carries from the darkened house. “Oh, it’s you.”

  CHAPTER THREE

  I narrow my eyes at the bored tone as his face appears in the light. The all black attire blends the rest of his body into the background. My neck bends as I follow his height. Mago’s dark eyes travel the length of me in intense scrutiny. A hand motions us inside. The only color on his body is the gold hoops in his ears, gleaming in the light.

  Upon stepping inside, the house is dim and shabby, but clean. A floral sofa is a little worse for wear and trimmed with wood. An afghan drapes across the back. Pictures of children and smiling faces adorn the wall as oil lamps cast shadows against them.

  My stomach flips when I spot his performing zombie, Pappers, sitting on a cushioned chair looking putridy. A weird altar sits in the corner. The place reeks of incense—not incense, herbs. Jasmine and sage is all I can make out. Mago leads us across a well-worn carpet to a back room with more shabby couches and a ring-stained coffee table in the middle of the room. Like the front room, oil lamps are the main source of light.

  “All right,” he continues in the uninterested manner as he glides down into a chair. I’m beginning to think his tone is perpetual, so I let it roll off me. He motions for us to sit, so we do. “What do you want?” He strokes his thin pointy beard with long fingers and tight eyes—the only sign of skepticism.

  I scoff but come up short. Spent all this time looking for the man and I’m not sure what to ask first. It’s hardly believable we are finally here. Glancing at Reece, he’s no help, only raising his brows in response. I start with the basics. “How do you do it?”

  “The how is really none of your concern. You couldn’t do it if you tried. I was born to it. It doesn’t mean I like it.” He speaks slowly, as if he is talking to ignorant people.

  “But…why? Why do shows at the community and help Dr. Finnegan?”

  He steeples his fingers together, “I do what I have to do to be left alone.” His tone implies we are wasting his valuable time. A sigh escapes him and he runs a hand along his small beard. Must be a nervous tick. “I’m really not the villain you’re seeking.”

  “That little boy controlled a zombie and stood up for it.” I point in the general direction of the front door.

  “I would imagine so, since they give great contribution to our family.”

  “Don’t you worry about anyone getting bit?”

  Mago lifts a shoulder. “It hasn’t happened in a while.”

  “You give your family the vaccination,” I state, fishing for any information he’ll give me.

  He narrows his eyes and looks between Reece and me. It takes him a long moment to speak. Leaning forward, he says, “The vaccination is intended to sway individuals into willing compliance. It puts them in a state of fallacious assurance.” He rambles without an ounce of his soft Cajun dialect. He leans back into the couch. “In other words, the vaccine is bullshit.” These words slip out slowly and all other thoughts flee my brain as I fall backwards onto the couch.

  Long minutes pass as this news sinks in. I turn to Reece when he moves. His head is in his hands, and I bite my cuticles. Our disappointment with this news weighs heavy. This is where the situation can get tricky. Reece hasn’t thought of the biohazard suits yet, but I have. If those vials aren’t a vaccine, what are they? Do I trust Mago enough to ask him? After all, he could be feeding me crap. The light dawns on Reece’s face as he looks at me. I silently communicate we will not trust Mago with everything just yet. I think he understands because his head inclines a fraction.

  Determination makes a leap underneath my skin as I notice Mago taking in our exchange. Maybe he wants us dejected, but I sit up straight and press on, “You’re saying you’re helping Dr. Finnegan by means of zombies, while he lies to…” How many more places live with that false security? “Numerous people with a supposed cure? Just to be left alone?”

  “Finnegan plays with fire. Karma works in mysterious ways. One must be careful of ill health and death.” It doesn’t escape my notice he gives me information without outright answering my questions. Surely, he’s aware he does it, as if he’s trying to tell me something without actually saying it while evading all my other questions.

  Anyway, isn’t karma Buddhism? “Funny you say that, since you’re the one with the zombie minions.” I tap my chin and blurt, “How do you know all of this?”

  Mago’s eyes slide toward the wall for a brief second, but I notice. “I don’t,” he says through gritted teeth as if he hates admitting when he doesn’t know anything. The air becomes thick with things unsaid. Reece audibly swallows. The denim between my thighs scratches together when I shift. A fly buzzes inside the blinds of the window. Long moments pass as we sit and watch Mago in his lifeless state. He doesn’t move, nor does he switch his gaze between Reece and me. His eyes are on me, but his focus is the space between all of us. He is in his own world or in a room by himself, and we are not here.

  I wipe my sweaty palms on the couch and clear my throat. “Do the zombies know what’s happening to them? Are they still in there, somehow?” I’ve wanted to ask him this since I stepped through the door.

  Awareness snaps together in a split second as his eyes dart to me. “In-Sight-Ful. Lit-tle. Thing.” Mago bites each syllable out, but his gaze returns to the space between Reece and I. “Do you think I can read their minds?”

  “No, but if you’re so worried about karma, you should keep that in mind.” Reece peers at me as if he’s never seen me before.

  Mago rubs his eyes with a forefinger and thumb, stopping at the bridge of his nose. “You have no idea the sacrifices I’ve made. Not only for humanity, but also for myself. My deeper, spiritual self.”

  I don’t know how to respond to that.

  “I do what I have to for my daughter, Mya. A Mambo being held and used by Finnegan.”

  I stare at him. “A Mambo?”

  “Yes, a priestess. A female version of myself.”

  “You have to help us then. Almost the whole world’s population is gone and he’s taking credit for it. He said so himself, just not in those words. I don’t comprehend this whole Voodoo thing, but I can help you, too.”

  Rubbing his beard, he stares at me, but not really. His eyes dart around me and he looks distracted again. “Maybe. They are dealing with the ramifications of your menace. Just as you are.” His dark eyes scan my face and neck. I zip my hoodie tighter as he continues. “I shall think about it.” He stands as if dismissing us.

  Reece climbs to his feet too, “That’s it?” he says to Mago.

  I don’t get up yet. Mago peers me. “In such a hurry for things you know nothing about. I said I would think about it. I’ll be in Nashville when I can.”

  I reluctantly stand up, feeling—well, I don’t know how I feel just yet. As we step out, a woman with long braids greets us with a smile. Her light brown skin contrasts nicely with a printed shirt of blue and purple paisley. She blinks at me, looking stunned and says, “You should help them, Mago.”

  He peers at her, his face unreadable. A string of French releases from his mouth. She looks at me with renewed interest, which makes me uncomfortable. “Do be so kind as to pack them some N’awlins gumbo, Leila.” Mago smiles widely, and it adds animation to his face. My mouth waters even though I’ll be picking meat out of it.

  She grins and goes about her business. I look at the grisly looking altar. A little bowl wafts smoke, but the smoke starts a new hurried rhythm as it drifts in the air. A chill shudders through my body. For some reason, I need to get out. Now.

  Reece is out the door before me, when I hear rather than feel a snip on my hair. I turn to find Mago standing behind me with scissors, stuffing the clip of my hair into his pocket.

  “What the—” My hood has fallen, and I snatch it over my head. “Why do you need that?” My voice squeaks even more abnormally as my heart picks up speed. Thoughts of what he can do with my hair flash through my mind. A lit
tle doll with yarn dreads and needles sticking out of its eyes takes precedence in my mind. Panic makes me break out into a cold sweat.

  Mago looks at me steadily. “Insurance. Miss Moore, do not tell anyone you were here or that you spoke to me. If you can keep it to yourself, maybe you really will be of use to me,” he smiles. It’s disheartening. I try to swallow past my uneasiness and understand he’s trying to develop some kind of trust with me, but I can’t.

  “I don’t care. Give it back.” I step toward him, reaching for his pocket when I slam backward into a wall. Bloated fingers hold onto my arms and I’m face-to-face with Pappers. Only an inch of space is between us, and the smell of his rotten breath overtakes my senses. Grunting, I push him off and grip my gun as he tries to grab me again. A gunshot sounds, echoing in my ears, and Pappers splatters across the small foyer and me. Swiping at the blood on my face and neck, it’s cold and gooey.

  My throat contracts, but I swallow as my body trembles. I just killed a Voodoo priest’s prized zombie. Mago watches ominously, but makes no move against me. Reece’s eyes are wide and spooked. “We should go, Kan. Now.”

  “That’s probably a good idea,” Leila speaks up. She’s the only one that does not look upset. She says something to Mago in French. I back out of the door, not taking my eyes off Mago as a deep sense of dread settles over me.

  Some strange men lead us to an old, rusted Pinto. Reece doesn’t say anything and that worries me. Out of nowhere, T. Paul arrives and climbs in the front to drive. I gulp and look at Reece. He shrugs, knowing it beats walking back. Walking will keep us alive, though. This kid is not old enough to drive.

  We get into the back and I immediately reach for my seat belt only to discover it’s broken. Great. T. Paul turns to give us a reassuring smile. “Mmm… I smell Leila’s gumbo. She make it best.” I nod, trying not to show my internal protest. “Hold on to ya knickers!” The pinto jumps to a go with a loud backfire.