The Undertakers (21 page)

Disaster

My heart seemed to seize up inside my chest as the realization of what I'd just done came crashing down on me. Cold, bitter terror flooded my mind. Desperately I clutched at Tara's father's words.

Be brave.

But then something my own dad had sometimes said bubbled up to the surface.

There's a difference between courage and suicide.

Well, it was too late to worry about that now.

Feeling suddenly terribly foolish, I brandished my pistol at the motionless wall of Corpses. There were so many of them! They looked hungrily back at me—all dead eyes and rotting fists that opened and closed in eerie unison.

On the platform, Kenny Booth grinned, still clutching the terrified, trembling girl.

“Well, Mr. Ritter,” he purred, “this
is
a pleasant surprise.” Then to the mob, he barked, “Take him alive and undamaged!” His grin widened. “At least, mostly undamaged!”

A rumbling chuckle rolled through the mass of Corpses as they slowly advanced.

I knew I had eight good shots in my gun—maybe nine. Then they'd be on me.

How stupid am I?

I'd jumped to Amy's rescue without a thought, much less a plan. But I couldn't imagine having done anything differently. Booth had been about to murder the girl, and the idea of just standing there and watching it happen—

No.

No matter how things turned out, I was proud of what I'd done.

I'm sorry, Mom. Kiss Emmie for me.

Abruptly the lights flooding the parade grounds went out.

I blinked into the sudden darkness that was rendered even deeper by the cloudy night. Then my Undertaker training kicked in, and I didn't bother wondering what had happened. It was an opportunity, and I took it.

I had no idea if the Corpses were as blinded as I was, but I had no intention of waiting for my eyes—and theirs—to adjust.

Turning sharply left, I ran across the width of the parade grounds. Some fifty feet to my right, I could hear the wall of Corpses collapsing into chaos as the walking dead all jostled each other in the confusing blackness. Moving as quickly and quietly as possible, I skirted the main force of their numbers before cutting in and hurrying toward where I hoped the platform waited.

I reached it seconds later, almost running into it in the dark. Hastily I climbed up onto it and squinted into the surrounding black, desperately trying to spot Booth and Amy. For several agonizing moments, I couldn't see them.

Then the Corpse himself came to my aid, calling out into the crowd, “Spread out! Cover the exits! Don't let him escape again!”

There! Ten feet away—a tall silhouette clutching a smaller one. I could just hear the terrified girl's sobs.

Silently I drew closer. Booth's head was turning this way and that, scanning the darkness.

I'm right here,
Deader!
Just give me a few more seconds.

I considered using Tom's Taser to drop the monster but worried that its light would alert the others. No, the gun would be better—although first I needed a diversion.

Turning, I fired three quick bursts of saltwater out into the crowd of Corpses below the platform. Within moments the air was flooded with groans of helpless outrage. I heard bodies collide and crash down to grassy floor of the parade grounds.

Nearby, Booth stiffened.

He knows I'm here. But he's too late
.

Smiling in the darkness, I changed my aim and fired again.

Now it was Kenny Booth's turn to groan.

The Corpse staggered away, his arms out in front of him like a sleepwalker, looking for all the world like the zombie I knew I wasn't supposed to call him. He wandered toward the edge of the platform, and as I watched, did a clumsy sideways tumble off it. It occurred to me, with satisfaction, that the mud down there would ruin his fancy suit.

I ran to Amy's side.

Injured and terrified, she jumped when I took her hand.

“It's me—Will,” I whispered. “Come on.”

“Wh-what?” she stammered.

My eyes had mostly adjusted to the darkness, and I could easily see her grimy, tear-soaked face now that I was closer. She evidently recognized me too because she started to say something. I clamped my hand over her mouth. “Shut up, and stay close!”

Amy nodded fearfully.

I led her to the rear end of the platform, and once there, I helped her down onto the grass. Then, using the big, blocky silhouettes of the fort's half-dozen buildings as landmarks, I navigated the darkness, making my way back toward the commandant's house.

I was halfway there when the lights came back on.

I felt my heart leap into my throat. One moment, Amy and I were moving like ghosts through nice, shielding darkness, and the next, we were pinned by dazzling light.

Amy screamed, squeezing my hand so hard that my knuckles went white.

Dozens of walking cadavers surrounded us, littering the path of our escape route. Once again, all their heads turned in my direction.

This time, however, they didn't come at me slowly.

This time they charged.

I pulled Amy toward the only gap I could see in the Corpses' ranks. One of the cadavers, a female, lunged at me, and I fired into her face, driving her back. Another approached from my left, and I whirled and sprayed saltwater at that one too. The Corpse fell away just as the last of my ammunition dribbled from the pistol's plastic barrel.

Fighting panic, I dropped the gun and fished out Tom's pocketknife, releasing its Taser.

But in my heart, I knew it was hopeless. There were too many of them, and they were everywhere. In seconds a dozen Corpses would descend on us, and it would all be over.

Then something small, round, and blue whizzed over my head.

It struck the nearest Corpse full in the face and exploded, stopping him in his tracks and dropping him to the grass, where he spasmed like an upended turtle. Before I could really grasp what was happening, another of the
somethings
caught a second Corpse in the chest, sending it staggering spastically off in a new direction. Then another. And another. Within moments the sky will filled with colored orbs, each about the size of my fist.

Water balloons.

I nearly laughed out loud.

There had to be dozens of the things raining chaos down on the hoard of walking dead, transforming them into a panicked mob.

Still clutching Amy's hand, I spun around.

Angels lined the west wall battlements. Each was armed with a funny-looking slingshot, and each had a huge sack a small water balloons hanging from his or her belt. As I watched, they methodically hooked balloons into their slingshots' leather pouches, took aim, and fired. In this manner, working as one, the ten of them were each able to launch perhaps a dozen projectiles per minute into the night air!

Sharyn's eyes found mine, and for once she didn't smile. Instead she paused in her firing routine just long enough to quickly gesture Amy and me toward them.

I nodded. Then I looked back toward the commandant's house for Dave and Helene. At first I spotted neither one, but then Helene came rushing around the corner, her pistol at the ready. She shot first one Corpse and then another before giving me a heroic wave.

Grinning with relief, I waved back—

—only to watch in horror as a Corpse caught her from behind.

Helene screamed and thrashed, but the dead man knocked her gun away. Then, his milky eyes triumphant, he clamped one slick, decaying hand over her mouth and yanked her savagely back into the shadows.

Screaming, I shook free of Amy and started forward.

Another Corpse appeared in front of me. This one was flailing wildly, blinded by one of the water balloons, and completely unaware of my presence. Nevertheless, as I tried to get around him, he changed direction suddenly—and with the thoughtless power of a hurricane, he body-slammed me. The blow was both accidental and incredibly powerful. I felt my feet leave the grass, saw the darkened sky tumble past me, and then heard a terrible
thump!
as my head hit a rock.

I tried to get up, but my arms and legs wouldn't cooperate.

Helene!
I called silently.

And then everything went black.

Angel

William?”

I opened my eyes. I was lying on a cot under a thin blanket. My head ached. My shoulders and arms ached. My legs and chest ached. In fact, it felt like my hair ached.

But the worst was the light. It was dazzling—utterly blinding, as if the Corpses had decided to torture me by strapping me right up against one of those huge parade ground lamps.

“William?”

Definitely not a Corpse. Their voices didn't sound so sweet—almost musical. Mom's did. I could definitely remember my mother sometimes sounding like that.

But of course it couldn't be my mom. She was part of another time. Another life.

“William?”

Slowly my bleary gaze settled on the woman who was leaning over me. She was pretty and fair-skinned, with a thick mane of blond hair. It seemed to fill the air around her with its luminescence.

Kind of like a halo.

The woman smiled the single-most beautiful smile I'd ever seen. “There we are.” Her voice had an odd, echoing quality, as if she were far down a tunnel. But she was so close!

“Who—?” I began, but she put a finger to my lips.

“Shhh. Don't speak, William. Not yet. You've been rather badly hurt.”

No kidding.

I tried to remember. There'd been this blinded Corpse. It had plowed into me. Jeez, it had been like getting hit by a truck.

“I don't have much time, William. So just listen. I knew your father. I once gave him something of great value that he then presented to Tom Jefferson. I think you can guess what it was.”

The pocketknife. Had to be. So this woman had given my dad that strange gadget? Who was she? I tried to voice these questions, but her finger stayed on my lips—gently but firmly silencing me.

“Don't speak. Before I go, you'll have the chance to ask one question—just one. So I want you to think about it before you ask. But don't ask yet. For now, just listen to me. Will you do that?”

I nodded, suddenly understanding that all this light was coming from
her
—from this strange woman. I supposed I should be afraid, but I wasn't. Instead I felt perfectly calm. And I experienced another feeling too—one that I hadn't felt in a long time. Not since I'd been a little kid. Not since—well…

Not since I'd believed in Santa Claus.

“William, you have a destiny. You think you know what it is, but you don't. You think it's all about fighting the
Malum
—the Corpses—but it's more than that. Much more. This battle is just the beginning. But that doesn't mean it isn't important. It's very important because everything that will come later—all the rest of your destiny—depends on it. You need to remember that, William. You and your fellow Undertakers—you
must
win.”

I realized that I was probably dreaming—that I was likely still lying on the Fort Mifflin parade ground, waiting for some Corpse to stomp me dead. Or maybe I
was
dead, and this angel had come to take me to Heaven. But then why would she be telling me about my destiny? What destiny could I have if I was dead?

Hey, that could be my one question:
Am I dead?
No. That was stupid.

“I have to go now. But before I do, I will leave you something. It'll be here.” Her hand slipped briefly under my pillow. “When you wake up, you will find it. Use it, William. Use it well.”

She smiled again. “And now you may ask your question. One question, William, and I will answer it. It's not
my
rule. It's merely
the
rule. So think carefully before you ask it.”

Even after her finger left my lips, I stayed quiet, considering. A thousand questions churned like a whirlwind inside my throbbing skull. They all seemed important. How was I supposed to choose? One question? That wasn't fair!

But then, quite abruptly, a single question pushed the rest away. I felt almost guilty for having hesitated.

Swallowing, I whispered, “Is…Helene dead?”

The golden woman—for that was how I'd started thinking of her—seemed pleased, as if I'd passed some test. For a long moment, she didn't answer but merely gazed at me with an expression that once again reminded me vaguely of my mom.

“No, she isn't. But she's in terrible danger, William. She's being held prisoner at Kenny Booth's home in Roxborough.”

The words seemed to charge through me, driving away my aches and pains and filling my limbs with fresh energy. Helene was alive! But what about Dave? Amy? The Angels? I tried to say something more, but the woman shushed me.

“I'm leaving now, William. Don't worry though—we'll see each other again.”

“When?” I asked, fairly spitting out the word.

But she was already gone.

Recriminations

Will?”

I opened my eyes.

Another woman hovered over me, younger than the one before. This one wasn't blond or fair-skinned—but at least she was familiar.

“Good,” someone else said. “He's awake.”

Sharyn managed a weak smile. “Yeah. How you feeling?”

I uttered a painful croak. “Helene?”

Sharyn's slight smile faded completely. She glanced up at Ian MacDonald, Haven's makeshift doctor.

“Will,” Sharyn replied gently, “there ain't no easy way to say this. Helene's dead.”

I shook my head. “Uh-uh. She's alive, and I know where they're keeping her.”

The girl's expression went strangely blank. She and Ian shared a worried look.

They don't believe me. They think I hit my head too hard or something.

“Hey, really!” I insisted. “Booth's got her at his house up in Roxborough!”

“Roxborough,” Sharyn repeated. Then hesitantly she said, “Red—I saw that Corpse grab her. Then I saw you go down. We had to move to get you before the Corpses did—ended up shooting our way out of there and boosting a Deader's car so we could bring you back here, with you being knocked out and all. You ain't talked to nobody since then. So how do you know this?”

I frowned. What could I tell her? Sharyn clearly figured I was delusional already. What would she think if I started describing a golden woman with shining hair?

“What about Dave and Amy?” I asked.

“Dave got tagged by a Corpse,” Ian said. “Broke his collarbone. But he'll be fine.”

“And Amy's safe,” Sharyn added. “Pretty freaked out though. I don't like even thinking about what the Corpses done to her.”

I nodded miserably, wracked by conflicting emotions. Last night I'd gone out without permission and rescued Amy. I couldn't help but be proud of that accomplishment.

But had it be worth Helene's loss?

“How bad am I hurt?” I asked Ian.

The boy sighed. “You probably have a minor concussion. And of course, your right arm is broken.”

I blinked. “It is?” I looked down at the limb, which lay across my chest atop the thin blanket. It was bent at the elbow and held rigid with splints. I wiggled my fingers experimentally. “It doesn't hurt.”

Ian scratched his head. “That's good, I guess. We don't have an X-ray, so I can't tell how bad the break is. All I could do is set it and hope for the best. Still, I haven't given you any pain pills, so you should be, well, hurting pretty bad right now.”

“I'm not,” I insisted. “In fact, I feel fine.” I started to sit up, but Sharyn pushed me firmly back down.

“Chill, Red! You ain't going no place.”

“Sharyn,” I said, trying to control my frustration, “I'm telling you, Helene's alive! Booth's got her at his house. We can get her back!”

Sharyn replied gently, “Maybe we can and maybe we can't. But
you
sure can't. Not with no broken arm.”

“I—don't think my arm's broken,” I said, twisting it back and forth inside its stiff wrapping. “I don't feel anything wrong with it.”

“Um, shock can do that,” Ian suggested.

“I'm not in shock!” I exclaimed. Again the two of them shared a worried look. I felt like exploding. “I'm fine! Now, we've got to go get Helene!”

Then a third voice said—quiet but as hard as stone—“No, we don't.”

Tom filled the Infirmary's curtained threshold, his expression grim and his eyes fixed on me. “Sharyn, Ian, give us this room.”

Sharyn looked like she was about to say something but changed her mind at the last second. Reaching over, she gave my good shoulder a friendly squeeze. Then she wordlessly followed Ian out.

Tom waited until they were gone. Then he approached and said, his tone cold, “How you feeling?”

“Okay,” I replied. Actually, I was suddenly nauseous.

“Dave's got a broken collarbone.”

“Ian told me.”

The Chief nodded. “He'll be out of action for at least a month. Now, there ain't no way to really set a broken collarbone. So he's just got to carry his right arm in a sling to keep from stressing the fracture. We can only hope it'll heal straight.”

I bit my lip but said nothing.

He reached the foot of the bed. “And then there's Helene.”

“Tom, she's not—” I began, but he gestured for silence.

“Do you know what keeps Haven running, Will?”

“Huh?”

“Haven. The Undertakers. All of this. You know what keeps it running?”

At first I didn't know how to reply. Then I did.

“Loyalty?” I asked, my stomach churning.

“That's one word for it. 'Nother might be
discipline
. 'Nother might be
duty
. In the two years that I've been Chief, ain't no one ever done what you did last night. No one. Truth is, we ain't really got no rules or regs for this. I mean, there's no brig or a jail or nothing like that. And it ain't like we can just kick you out onto the street. Not with the Corpses wanting you so bad.”

All of a sudden, I felt like crying. I fought it—hard.

“So,” Tom continued, “what're we going to do with you? I suppose I could get the Monkeys to build a cell and then lock you up in it. But then I'd just need to assign somebody to feed you and take you to the bathroom. Besides, half the kids think what you pulled last night was courageous—my sister's one of them. They'd probably freak if I locked you in some cage. So—I'm stuck, ain't I?”

“Tom,” I began. “I…I'm sorry.”

He studied me. “Are you?”

With an effort I met his eyes. “No,” I admitted finally. “I'm not.”

“Didn't think so.” Tom shook his head. “Thing is, this is the kind of crap your dad might've pulled—the kind of crap that got him killed. The difference is that Karl didn't take orders from me.
I
took orders from
him
, so I couldn't say nothing when he went off on his personal crusades.”

I risked sitting up. It proved easier that I thought it would be. The sling on my arm seemed more of a nuisance than anything else. “Tom…” I said hesitantly, “don't punish Dave. All he did was go along with what I wanted to do.”

“And what exactly
did
you want to do, Will?” Tom asked evenly.

I flushed. “I wanted to find out what Booth was up to at the fort.”

Tom nodded. “But what made you figure I didn't want the same thing?”

“You wouldn't even go into the fort!” I snapped. “You were gonna just stay outside and watch who went in!”

“And so you decided it'd be better to sneak inside for a real close peek?”

“Look, I know it was risky! And I know that Dave got hurt and Helene got caught because of it. But we had to hear what was going on! I mean, how can we fight the Corpses if we don't even know what they're up to?”

Reaching into his pocket, Tom extracted a flat stone about the size of a quarter. He tossed it to me. I caught it left-handed and then looked at it in surprise. It didn't have much weight. It wasn't even a real stone. It seemed to be made of Styrofoam painted granite gray. “What's this?” I asked.

“A wireless short-range transmitter,” he explained. “Steve whips them up for us. Last night after the Angels arrived at Mifflin, Sharyn used her slingshot to fire a bunch of them over the wall and onto the parade grounds. They're heavy enough to travel but light enough and soft enough to make no noise when they land. The Corpses never knew a thing—they were a few more rocks among thousands. But using them, we managed to hear every word of Booth's pretty little speech.”

I blanched. I suddenly recalled the strange project that Steve had been working on in the Brain Factory yesterday while Dave and I had been making our plans.

Tom continued, “How'd you think we knew when to show up and save your sorry butt? From the second that Sharyn heard you charge into the middle of that nasty blood oath ritual of theirs, she tagged your voice and came running. If she hadn't, then all three of you—four, including Amy—would be dead.”

I gulped. “I…didn't know about this.”

“No, you didn't. But then it didn't occur to me that I was supposed to tell
you
everything. Of course, I wasn't figuring on your little stunt last night.” Tom sat down on the edge of the cot and held out his hand.

Feeling oddly small, I returned the stone. “Was it Sharyn who shut off the parade ground lights?”

“Nope. Helene. According to Dave, after you took off—ready to go toe to toe with a few hundred Corpses while armed with one little water pistol—Helene split in another direction. Seems she figured out that the lights they were using all plugged into the same portable generator. So while you was playing hero, she slipped around to the generator and shut it off.”

“Smart move,” I remarked.

“Undertaker training. She'd have made a great Angel. Before long, though, the Corpses clued in and turned the power back on.”

“Yeah.” After a long moment, I added, “I—just couldn't let them kill Amy.”

“I know.”

“You wouldn't have done anything different.”

Tom scowled. “Will, I'd have done
everything
different.”

I scowled right back, “So—what? You'd have let Amy die?”

Tom slowly, reluctantly nodded.

“I don't believe you!” I exclaimed.

“Don't judge me too quick, Will. This is war—and wars have casualties. Before you go around patting yourself on the back for saving that poor girl, 'member that Helene's dead because of what you pulled.”

“But she's alive! Booth's got her at his house up in Roxborough!”

For the first time, he faltered. “How d'you know that?”

“Because a—” I caught myself.
Because a golden woman told me in a dream?
“Well, it's just a feeling—but a strong one.”

Tom's expression made no bones about his opinion of my
feeling
.

“Do you know what's going down in the Big Room right now?” the Chief asked.

I shook my head.

“Packing. Everything's getting boxed up and loaded into vans.”

“Vans? Like back at First Stop?”

“Actually we keep a half-dozen big white vans around for emergencies. We're rich, remember? Bought them used and park them in a month-to-month garage down the block. A few of us—Sharon and me included—know how to drive. Even had Elisha hack into the DMV databases and whipped us all up some nice licenses. Fake names and addresses, of course.”

I asked, “But why are you packing at all?”

For the first time, I hear real anger behind Tom's words. “Thanks to your stunt, the Corpses got Helene, and she knows Haven's location. By now, chances are they've wormed that info out of her and then likely killed her. The Corpses don't keep prisoners alive for no good reason—believe me.”

“That's what you said about Amy,” I protested. “And they kept
her
alive!”

“Booth wanted to use her as a sacrifice,” Tom replied flatly. “A little bit of showmanship in front of his Deader flunkies. But last night's Corpse lovefest is over. He won't have any use for Helene.”

“You
don't
know
that!” I pressed.

“Then let's talk about what I
do
know. I know that now, after three years, the Corpses got our location. So we need to be gone before sundown. I don't figure they'll risk a major attack during daylight hours. We have to abandon Haven, Will.”

It was like being hit in the chest with a sledgehammer. “It's my fault.”

“Yeah, it is.”

“But—where will you go?” I couldn't bring myself to say
we
—not anymore.

“I've had a place lined up for more than a year now. Nobody knows about it but me and Sharyn. The trick'll be keeping the Corpses from tracking the vans. They must be watching the building by now. But we got ways around that.”

I stammered, “Tom…I…”

The Chief gave me a hard look. “Sorry now, Will? Now that you see the real damage you've done?”

I squeezed my eyes shut. “Leave me here.”

“What?”

“When you go tonight, leave me behind.”

“Don't turn martyr on me. It's stupid.”

“I mean it! It's my fault! I've messed up everything! You should just leave me here!”

For a long moment, Tom didn't reply. I waited, my shut eyes flooding with tears.

Finally, and to my horror, the Chief of the Undertakers said quietly, thoughtfully, “I should.”

In the heartbeat that followed, I found myself wondering where I would go and how I would survive alone.

Then Tom added, “But how would I feel the next time I visited Karl's shrine, knowing that I handed his only son over to the Corpses?”

I waited.

“When we go,” Tom said, “you're coming with us.”

It took all my courage to open my eyes—and when I did, I still couldn't see past the wash of tears. When at last my vision cleared, the expression on Tom's face had softened. The coldness was gone, replaced by a deep sorrow.

I hurt him.

And that knowledge dug more deeply into my conscience than I'd ever have imagined.

“Thanks,” I muttered, the words coming out in a pathetic squeak.

Tom nodded. “I'd better let you rest.”

“I don't want rest,” I insisted. “I'm fine. I wanna see Dave and Amy.”

He considered it. “Your call. Dave's laid up in the boys' dorm. Amy's next door in the girls'.”

“Okay,” I said.

Tom rose and walked to the door. He looked somehow smaller than he had the other day when he'd addressed the full gathering of the Undertakers. His shoulders were slumped, and his head had lowered.