The Queen of the Dead (26 page)

“Nobody’s trampling on your flag, General—we’re old friends of yours, but we don’t want our asses shot off,” the hidden woman replied. “We got dead fuckers all over this area and they’re not coming for you. Why?”

“Because I have bad breath,” Father said.

“Get the gunslinger to drop the guns,
padre.
You’d be dead already if we wanted to wax you.”

Father put a hand on the general’s shoulder. “This is someone who needs us,” he said. “Put your weapons down. Those guns are going to save civilians, but we have to stay alive.”

The general spat. “Ya’ll a bunch of thieves!” he accused. “You want our guns? You come and take ‘em from us.”

“Mina!”

Her heart quickened. She knew that voice… could it be…

He died a long time ago. He’s dead, you stupid bitch.

“General,” the woman said, “we’re old friends of yours. From the gas station, earlier today. You mentioned Chavo’s son. Did you find him?”

“Died for his country,” the general’s voice grew quiet.

“I’m coming out, Mina,” the familiar voice declared.

Her jaw dropped, and the voice inside her head screamed. Her entire body shook from the rage that boiled against her desire.

“It’s Patrick,” she said while lying prone on the cement. 

It was his voice. He was alive. He came back for her. It had to be him. Had to be.

A woman stood up from behind a car with a handgun pointed at them. A soldier popped up and leaned heavily against a car, and a black man stood up with him and pointed a gun at the general. Mina thought she recognized him.

She was safe. Everything was going to be okay.

General Masters spat again.

A man stepped from between two cars and confidently walked toward them, a large, silver handgun in his hand. He wore a rain poncho and jeans, and his thinning, graying hair was combed back from his face.

It was him. Really him.

“It’s Patrick,” Mina breathed. “Please don’t hurt him, General.”

“You bit?” Patrick asked the general. “Any of you bit?”

“Don’t think so,” Father said.

“You don’t
think so
?” Patrick’s eyebrows shot up. He turned his gaze to Mina. “You alright, darling? Nice outfit you got on.”

“Are any of
you
bit?” Father asked Patrick.

“Fuck’s it matter?” Patrick pointed to his friends. “You’re surrounded by guns, jackass. Give me the girl and walk away.”

“I’ve been bit,” the soldier who leaned against the car limped from behind his cover, a gun still leveled at General Masters. “I’m putting my weapon down. We’re all putting our weapons down.”

A tense silence followed. They stared at each other for a moment, and Mina couldn’t stand it.

We still hunger for flesh. Feed us, Mina.

Father said, “Is there anything I can do to help?”

The soldier lowered his weapon. A bald-headed man whose skin was pale, his shoulders sagged and his bravado dropped completely. “Where we’re going… it won’t be safe for any of you. If the girl wants to come with us, I suggest you let her. Maybe this asshole will stop following us.” He nodded his head at Patrick.

“Don’t leave me this time,” Mina said. Should she cry? Maybe she didn’t know how. “I want to be with you, I mean, I didn’t want to leave you. I’ll never do it again.”

Patrick balled his hand into a fist and glared at the general. He was prepared to die just to be with her again. He wouldn’t back down like he did before with Jim.

She stood, ran past the general and the priest, and launched herself into Patrick’s chest. He wrapped his arms around her and hugged her into him; she melted into his body.

She would never let him go. She wouldn’t walk away from him again.

“I don’t need you,” the general said, still not dropping his guns. “I don’t need any of you.” He turned around to Father. “Once I get to Selfridge, I’m going to hook up with the 127th just like I planned. Going to fight this war…”

“Selfridge is overrun,” the woman announced. With her own weapon lowered, she stepped out from behind with the black man following her. Another head popped up from behind the car; a man with who wore glasses and carried a board with a nail in it.

“Bullshit,” General Masters said.

“You found those guns in a Hummer,” the black man said. “Where’s the truck?”

“That truck is military property,” the general said. “Same with these guns.”

Father put his hand on the general’s arm and pushed the gun down, and the other hand dropped with it. “I’m Father Joe,” he said. “This is General Masters. We all just met, but I think we’re friends. If you want our weapons, they’re yours. I’m out here trying to find people who can help.”

The woman had an exotic look to her, with long eyelashes and dark skin that made it difficult to tell if she was Hispanic, Arabic, or black. She said, “I’d love to hang out and chat, but we need cover.”

“We heard you firing the M60,” the wounded soldier said, “and we shadowed you. Patrick wanted his girlfriend back, who you were so kind to rescue.” He seemed tired, as if every word he spoke was nothing more than a manifestation of will.

“We done?” the black man asked.

From over Patrick’s shoulder, Mina met his eyes. They stared at each other for a long moment, and she wondered what he would say. Vincent. At the church, he traded an axe for her body. In a fit of insanity and rage, Vincent wanted to destroy everything and everyone, but he promised to calm down. What would he tell them about her? What did he know? Would it even matter, especially if she could finally be alone with Patrick?

She remembered the last time she saw Vincent, right after he put a gun to Derrick’s head and ended his life for him.

“Where’s Shanna?” Mina asked.

VEGA

It was comforting to see all the guns again, despite how many they managed to pick up along the way. It wasn’t so comforting to see that John’s condition was getting worse.

They packed into a school counseling center that seemed empty. There weren’t any cars in the parking lot, so it was safe to guess they’d find it devoid of unwanted zombies. Inside, Vincent took Jeremy on a quick search through the building while everyone else plopped into office chairs.

John’s lips were turning blue and his skin looked waxy. He had a hard time keeping up, and he was fading in and out. He mumbled incoherent things Vega assumed were apologies to a woman.

She immediately retrieved the 20” Larue Tactical 7.62 semi-auto rifle from one of the duffel bags. A gas-powered skull blaster that fit neatly into her arms.

The shithead detective was looking pretty bad, too. He claimed it was nothing more than a cold, but his eyes were looking a bit red around the edges. He and the redheaded chick in the bunny pajamas sat apart from the rest of the group.

The priest stood near her and John, while the crazy-ass general sat by himself and mumbled.

“I want to help,” the priest said.

“Keep praying,” Vega said while watching John’s eyes slowly find the spaces between Vega and the priest, until he looked upon the thick-shouldered, square-jawed Father Joe.

“Last rites would be great,” John croaked.

“Alright Father, question of the day,” Vega began, “what would Jesus do? He cured leprosy and all, so maybe if you sprinkle some holy water on John’s head, he’ll be cured. Like Pinocchio or something.”

“If only it was that easy,” Father said. “Are you mocking me, or do you really want to know?”

“I’m ready,” John Charles said. “Take care of me. Please.”

“You can still hold a rifle,” Vega said. “You can pull a trigger. When the time comes, I’ll do what needs to be done.”

She wanted the priest to challenge her, but he said nothing. Griggs had something to say, like always.

“This has been fun,” he said, “I mean, golly gee, a swell time. Popcorn and circus rides. I’ve gone as far as I’m going.”

“That’s the best news I’ve heard all day,” Vega said. It was mostly true, considering she was doing all she could to keep herself awake and food in her stomach. Her bell had been rung pretty good by Crater, and by all those zombies she wasted when she was chasing after Shanna in the street. Staying awake was harder than killing a slow-moving target, but she had to keep it together. Griggs was good with his gun, but she had enough of him.

“You guys have been a lot of fun,” he continued, and wrapped his arm around the redhead’s waist. “I got what I wanted.” He seemed to be convincing himself as he looked at the floor; he was disappointed and she half-wondered why, but then realized she could care less.

Griggs walked away from them with Mina in tow. Just like that. The voice of reason was gone. He saved her life, and she still didn’t want to thank him.

“You’re a cute couple,” Vega said. “You guys about to make another movie together? Just keep that gun of yours holstered so you don’t blow her damn head off.”

No remarks. No last words. Good for him.

“Look,” Father began, “thank you for trusting us and taking us in. I appreciate it, but I can’t be empty-handed. I hate to beg, but I was out there trying to find supplies, or
something
or
someone
who’d be willing to help. I made a promise I intend to keep.”

“To God?” Vega mocked him. He didn’t seem like a priest. He looked like he’d rather be hanging out in a bar after a hard day working outside with his bare hands.

“To a few people who’re waiting for me across the street,” he answered. “At the retirement home. I found guns, the general, Mina, and now it’s all gone.”

Vega chuckled. “Sorry to get my hands in your pot of gold. That’s quite a misfit crew you assembled. A porn star, a lunatic, and then there’s you… with some guns. Going to save the world?”

“Those things wanted nothing to do with Mina,” Father said. “She’s something special, I think. I don’t know what, but she has a way about her.”

“Yeah, she likes to open her legs,” Vega said. “That’s good enough for her buddy.”

“He’s telling the truth,” the general looked up. “We walked right through a crowd of those bastards because they were afraid of us. That woman scared something fierce into ‘em. By God, something fierce.” He rubbed his knuckles. “I can hear it calling me and I can’t sit here. Been waiting to get back out into the shit and save these people. Help them. Ain’t nobody can do it but me.”

The old man was getting antsy. What did she get herself into with these people? The priest was worried about something, and the crazy old man’s eyes moved as fast as his hands.

“Hold your horses,” Vega said. “We’re not exactly pen pals just yet, so before anyone wants to guilt-trip me into fighting another battle for them, we need to accept that straying from the path got this man hurt.” She pointed to John Charles. “Father, you don’t know what we’re about… we saw you with the duffel bags and the detective has a hard-on for the girl.”

The priest smiled. “I didn’t mean to presume. We don’t know each other, and because I’m wearing the collar means I must be a nice guy, right? Let’s start over: Hi. My name’s Joe, and I hope you have a charitable ear. No. That’s not right. Let me try again. Hi. My name’s Joe, and I really hoped those guns could help me out.”

“Maybe it’s best for us to keep running from place to place, each time arguing and waiting for it to crumble over our heads,” the general nodded cynically. “A couple more people die. Run around and find more survivors. Hide. Die. Trying to stay organized won’t work. You have to be willing to spill your own blood to kill as much as you can. You can’t kill an idea. You can’t kill death.”

“Stop right there,” Vega said. “Let me re-introduce myself: Hi. I’m Vega. Go fuck yourselves.”

The priest sighed. “It’s pointless to argue with a woman with a very big gun. You could’ve taken the guns and the woman, but you brought us here with you. I told you this place was safe. We’ve helped each other.”

Vega slumped into a chair of her own. “Safe? Safe from what? Those things out there? We might not be safe from each other.”

Exhaustion, her frayed nerves, her headache; running and shooting, running and shooting, running and shooting.

The last thing she needed around her was a priest. It was like he could see right into her soul, a power every priest seemed to possess.

Vincent and Jeremy were back. She would let them do what they wanted, but she already knew her next move. Selfridge seemed far away. Traverse and whatever secret he held—the entire human race, both dead and alive, stood between her and the ghostly target with all their lusts, all their needs.  

“What’s up?” Vincent asked. “Where’s the party?”

The general laughed. “Party? You wanna party when there’s a war going on?”

Vincent ignored him. “Where’s my best friend?”

Vega wanted to see the look on his face. “Who knows? Took his woman and left.”

Vincent chuckled. “Points a gun at me and walks away. Good for him.”