The Rising Dead (5 page)

The Stranger tested the ax in the air. He nodded his approval and handed it back to Matt. With an easy, graceful sweep, the Stranger swung his rucksack over his shoulder and began walking.

There was no reason for Matt to ask if they were leaving—the answer was obvious. But would it kill the guy to say something before marching out into the desert? Matt stashed his ax and water in his duffel and caught up. As they walked, he began telling his quiet and unpredictable companion about his life. He grew up in a small town in lumber country and married his high school sweetheart, Janey. She died. Normally that was the end of the story, but Matt kept going because he was convinced the Stranger had a similar story of his own. He talked about the avalanche, waking up in the hospital months later, trying to go back to a simple life and the weird things he saw. “I had to shoot my best friend because he turned into a killer and I felt like what he became was my fault. Like I’d brought something dark and evil back with me.”

Just thinking about Mr. Dark had Matt reaching to touch his ax. “I’ve used my grandfather’s ax to kill. I never thought I’d need to use it on people, but I’ve lost count of how many times I’ve needed it to defend myself or someone else. I don’t hunt them down. I don’t want to hurt them. It seems like some of them aren’t even that bad, but Mr. Dark does something to them. It’s like he can make the little bit of bad in a person stronger until that’s all they are.” Matt didn’t look at the Stranger. He didn’t want to see the reaction yet, because even though he knew it was all true, talking about the past wasn’t easy for him. If he had guessed wrong and the Stranger thought he was crazy, Matt didn’t need to know that right now. But the Stranger just listened and walked. Matt
had told bits and pieces of his tale to others, but never the whole story. How could he? Any normal person would just back away slowly or call a cop.

They walked another forty-five minutes in silence before Matt decided it was the Stranger’s turn to talk. “What is that? Cherry?” Matt pointed to the walking stick. He wasn’t making small talk. Matt was a lumberman who loved a good piece of woodworking. Timber had been his life. He liked to feel its weight and know its history. There was honesty in the simplicity of a fine piece of wood.

During the long pause before the Stranger’s answer, he seemed to be considering much more than just whether to tell Matt the species of tree. “Mahogany. Belonged to my uncle. He was a land surveyor until the Revolutionary War. Then he became a captain in the First Pennsylvania Regiment. After he was wounded he had a terrible limp. A blacksmith offered to make him a sturdy walking stick with a metal cap and tip. Weeks later my uncle and some others were riding out to inspect a bridge and map its location when they were ambushed by the British. When he ran out of bullets, my uncle fought with the walking stick. It saved his life, and he was able to ride back to warn his regiment. Afterwards, he went back to thank the blacksmith, but the man and his shop were gone. He asked around, but nobody in town even remembered the blacksmith…”

Again they walked in silence. If the Stranger’s uncle was in the Revolutionary War, the Stranger was much older than forty. Matt waited as long as he could before asking, “How long have you been doing this?”

“I don’t bother with time anymore.”

Matt grinned. The Stranger wasn’t getting off that easy. “How did you die?”

“We were mapping the Northwest Territory for the government. I knew it was dangerous. I figured the natives might get us, but in the end it was just snow. There was a storm like I’ve never seen before. Snow for weeks. The others died before me, so I took their clothes and wore them over mine. Made me look fat, but I was starving. I remember lying down just before Christmas and thinking about those roasted chestnuts my mother used to make. I could even smell them and feel them burning my hands, because I never waited long enough for them to cool. Then I woke up in the spring with a wolf cub chewing on my leg. I picked up my walking stick when I thought his mama might try to make me supper, but she sniffed the air and snatched her pup by its scruff. The rest of my party was gone except a few bones here and there. I thought I must have been dead, but I was something else.”

“What?”

“There’s no word for what we are.”

A screaming hawk and the light thudding of their feet on the solid ground were the only sounds. Matt considered the Stranger’s account. It was much like his own, but older. Northwest Territory? How long ago was the Northwest called a territory? Had the Stranger been traveling alone like this all that time? He had to know more than he was saying. Matt had met other dead people like himself, and they had all been psychopaths who helped Mr. Dark. It was clear to Matt that the Stranger wasn’t an agent of Mr. Dark’s. He didn’t want to rescue Cheryl, but he had been willing to fight to save her when she was right in front of him. And, of course, he’d saved Matt twice. It seemed that the Stranger belonged to no one.

“What about Cheryl?”

“It’s a shame. They seemed like nice people.”

Matt had only so much patience. “That’s it? Cheryl’s not dead yet.”

“Maybe.”

“You know, you and I could go get her. We were kicking ass at that gas station.”

The Stranger ignored him, seemingly lost in his memories.

“You helped me. Why not at least try to help her?”

The Stranger sighed, not in frustration, but in a sort of resignation. The sigh was heavy with something that had built for many years. “Every death leaves its fingerprints on you. You don’t know it yet, but the smudges become heavy. When you fight, you’re playing his game, which makes him stronger. The weapons get better and the killing gets easier, but it’s the same game.”

“What is he?”

“I don’t know. If I did, I could figure out how to kill him.”

“He can die?”

“I like to think so. I’ve tried. I believe I’m here for more than his amusement, to feed his need for bloodshed. But he’s grown stronger and more dangerous. I think my chance has passed. In the beginning he could control one or two people at a time, but now he can summon a small army. He is evolving. I think he was flesh and blood once, like we were. Violence and evil give him power. He uses that power to spread evil and becomes even stronger. It’s like a snowball rolling downhill.”

Matt grinned at the comparison—both of them had died in snow. He wasn’t sure, but he thought the Stranger had made a little joke.

“I’ve tried to kill him. Twice. The first time I doused him with kerosene and lit him up like a torch, but he didn’t burn up. It was like he was part of the flame—or it was part of him. He just laughed and danced through a little mining town while people screamed. Every few minutes he would stop and touch a building long enough to set it on fire. The old wood siding on those houses caught fire in seconds. I was running after him knocking on doors and carrying out kids, old people, and dogs. You’d have thought he’d get tired of it, but no, he set the whole town on fire.” The Stranger shook his head. “People lost everything right before winter set in.

“Later, up in northern California near San Francisco, I set a trap. Went out with a boat full of smugglers and thieves. I waited with those stinking, decaying halfwits until we were out near the Farrallon Islands, where the big sharks are. Then I started a fight with the scum, figuring it would draw him in. Once I knew he was on board, I scuttled the ship. Sank the whole damn bunch. As I was swimming away, he popped up next to me and grinned. At first he looked normal, but his teeth began growing until they were the size and shape of sharks’ teeth. Big ones. I could feel sharks all around me. Their skin was so rough, it made my hands bleed. The creature was laughing the whole time. We swam like that for hours. As we got closer to shore, three small boats of crab fishermen got caught up in the school of sharks. One of the boats was tipped over. Those men were dead before their screams faded away. The others who were still in their boats had to listen, knowing the same was about to happen to them.” The Stranger stabbed the ground with his walking stick. He drove it deep into the rocky soil. “It’s like trying to kill a ghost.”

Listening to the Stranger’s grisly history didn’t discourage Matt. Instead, he was more determined than ever to find Mr. Dark. Knowing he wasn’t the only one fighting back was good news. Even a reluctant ally was welcome. Here was a man with enough courage to try to defeat Mr. Dark. Someone else who wanted Mr. Dark dead—well, destroyed, because whatever Mr. Dark was, Matt was pretty sure he was already dead, at least by any human standard.

“How did you know I was like you? As soon as we met I could tell you knew somehow.”

The Stranger looked at him with a puzzled expression and then coughed out a laugh, the way people do when they’re surprised. “You never noticed your own eyes?”

Matt shrugged. He didn’t spend much time looking in mirrors. As long as his eyes didn’t bother him, he wasn’t going to be bothering them.

Stopping suddenly, the Stranger turned to Matt. “Look at my eyes.”

The desert sun was harsh and reflective, making it hard to see details, but Matt could see a thin ring of light around the Stranger’s pupils. It was subtle but easy to spot once he knew where to look. No wonder the Stranger’s eyes looked so bright.

“Do I have that, too?”

The Stranger nodded.

“Did you ever meet someone like us that was working with Mr. Dark?”

“Yep.”

“Did they have the rings?”

“Yep.”

“I didn’t notice.” Matt spoke softly, but the Stranger caught it.

“You didn’t even notice your own.” The Stranger grunted out a laugh. “I’m sure they tried to hide their eyes somehow. Whatever he is, Mr. Dark isn’t stupid.”

“I’ve seen him look surprised, though. A few months ago a man-made virus spread through a group of people stranded in a blizzard. Everyone heated up, burning hot and then acted crazy. I cooled one of them down in a lake. The man had been completely taken over by Mr. Dark, but when he recovered from the shock of the cold, Mr. Dark lost control of him. We could save Cheryl and then try to find the people who made that virus. It might be a way to get rid of him—at least weaken him and immunize people from him.”

The Stranger shook his head. He also walked faster, as if eager to leave Matt and his ideas of fighting Mr. Dark behind.

CHAPTER SIX

As the sun began to set, the desert light changed. Subtle colors that had been washed out by the earlier brightness became visible. There was a softness and majesty to the cactus and mesquite trees. Doves and quail began announcing themselves while they searched for bugs and seeds. A cottontail rabbit popped out from under a bush. The Stranger raised his stick, but the little rabbit scooted into a hole before he could reach it. Matt realized that he was hungry, and rabbit would have made a good dinner.

They walked on, both watching for a chance to catch dinner, but there were no more little bunnies. The one that had escaped only made them hungrier. Just before it became completely dark, they saw a structure in the distance. It was too far away to see clearly in the low light, but without discussion, they both trudged toward the building. Walking in the darkness was easy because the desert was flat and cooling off quickly. Still, it took them several hours to reach the spot, which was deceptively far off. Matt knew it was just another desert trick.

Even in the dark, the little shack looked lopsided. Boards were sticking up on the porch and one side of the roof sagged. Matt guessed it was an old hermit’s cabin. In this lonely location and barely standing, it wasn’t of much use. All Matt wanted right now was a bed—well, a bed and a rabbit—but he’d settle for a reasonably even floor. He doubted that the rickety place had more than that to offer. The little porch lurched and made a human-sounding squeal when both men stepped onto it. They waited to see if it
would collapse before continuing. Matt was glad the place was deserted, because they certainly would have given themselves away.

The Stranger moved forward, opened the door, and stepped inside, letting the door bang shut behind him. As the door closed in his face, Matt shook his head. He didn’t expect anyone to hold doors for him, but the Stranger had developed some bad manners. When Matt entered, he sensed something was off. The Stranger had stopped a couple of feet inside the door. They weren’t alone in this hovel, but they couldn’t see well enough to figure out who else was there. Matt gestured for the Stranger to go to the right while Matt moved to the left.

A girl shrieked.

“Damn it. She’s got a knife and she stuck it in my arm.” The Stranger sounded more angry than hurt.

The girl yelled in a language that sounded like Spanish.

The Stranger answered her calmly. They spoke for a few minutes. Then Matt heard her moving. She lit a match followed by several candles.

The candlelight lit up her pretty face. In her hands she had a rough-looking little steak knife that she must have found in the shack. It was so dull and rusty that Matt was surprised she could break the skin on the Stranger’s arm with it. The girl was dressed in jeans and an embroidered blouse, with a red and yellow scarf around her neck. There was no rot, but she did look as fierce as a cute teenager could look. Matt had no doubt that she’d try to put that nasty old knife right through him if she thought it was needed.

“Did you tell her we’re not going to hurt her?”

“Yep. This is Maria. She thought we were coyotes. Still not completely convinced we aren’t.” The Stranger knelt down and pulled a scarf out of his rucksack.

Matt thought he was going to wrap his wound, but instead the Stranger ignored his bleeding cut and held it out to the girl.

When he reached towards her, Maria yelled, “Stay there,” in English.

He hung the scarf on the end of his walking stick and extended it so she could take the cloth. The Stranger easily could have knocked the knife out of her hand, but the girl didn’t seem to know that. She pulled the fabric close, spreading it out in her fingers like she was reading it in the candlelight. Matt could see symbols on it, and he hoped that they were friendly.