Tortured Spirits (28 page)

Maria opened her door and hopped out. “Get your ass back in the truck,” she said to Jorge, who joined her on the ground. “You're either a brave little fucker or very stupid.”

Jorge smiled. “I could say the same thing about you.”

Across the river, the zonbie army stood still along the embankment on each side of the bridge.

“They must know about the piranhas,” Maria said as she and Jorge got into the truck. “Or they've been ordered not to cross the river.”

The truck moved forward.

“We're not out of the woods yet,” Armand said.

Ten minutes later, speeding along the road, they spotted two helicopters in the sky.

Armand killed the headlights, turned down a narrow side road, and slowed the Ram to a crawl. “The trees will hide us.”

“Where are we going?” Maria said.

“We know a place on the west coast. At this speed, we'll be there in two hours.”

Stephane glanced at Jake, unconscious between Maria and Jorge. “How many more like him were inside that building?”

“Twenty or thirty,” Maria said. “But none of them were this healthy. In my country, we call them scarecrows. Don't beat yourself up. They were practically zonbies already. There's nothing we could have done for them.”

Silence settled over the truck. Maria put her arms around Jake and pressed her head against his.

Sitting in the backseat of his moving limo, Russel massaged the bridge of his nose. Late night emergency calls came with the territory, but this was the first one that had ever involved Malvado's zonbies. So far, Russel had done a pretty good job avoiding Pavot Island's supernatural elements, other than dealing with Mambo Catoute and her circle of witch doctors.

As the chauffeur navigated the limo through the woods, flashing strobe lights became visible through the trees, and then the first checkpoint came into view. Police cars and military jeeps flanked the road, and officers clad in khaki and camouflage uniforms guarded the perimeter.

The limo stopped at the open gates, and Russel lowered his window for the police officer who approached. “How many?” Russel said.

“Four sentries killed and stripped of their uniforms,
their weapons missing. The woods are littered with the bodies of those other things, and we had to pull three dozen of them out of the road so our vehicles could get through. General Buteau and Colonel Solaine are in the compound.”

Without acknowledging the officer, Russel turned to his chauffeur. “Drive on.”

Ahead, a fire truck idled near the smoldering bridge, and half a dozen vehicles blocked the entrance. Soldiers and firemen stood around the vehicles.

Russel told his chauffeur to pull over, and he got out.

A lieutenant greeted him. “They torched the bridge. It's safe to walk across, but no vehicles are allowed. Would you like me to accompany you?”

“That won't be necessary.” Russel crossed the bridge, pausing only to look at the charred area where the fire had been put out. Smoke still lingered in the air. His footsteps sounded loud in the night, and he gazed over the railing at the river below. Too bad the trespassers hadn't tried to cross it; a lot of problems would have been solved.

On the other side of the bridge, soldiers stood near flares set up on the ground. All of them wore red berets, the sign of the elite. Only the top soldiers and police were allowed in the compound. No one else was permitted to see the zonbies, although Malvado had instructed his officers to encourage talk of their existence among the rank and file. He enjoyed ruling his subjects through fear.

Russel said nothing to the soldiers as he passed them. Motionless zonbies littered the road. He didn't look forward to Malvado's reaction. At the second checkpoint, he counted
four dead zonbies and an equal number of living soldiers and police. He conferred with another soldier, then proceeded.

Several work lights illuminated the compound. Police officers scrounged around in the grass for evidence, and soldiers guarded the perimeter.

Russel found Buteau and Solaine standing near the smoldering ruins of the Black Magic lab. Unlike Maxime and Najac, the army general and police colonel worked well as a unit. Neither man seemed to desire greater responsibility than the other, and they appreciated having someone with whom to share the blame when things went awry. They stopped speaking as Russel approached, something to which he had still not become accustomed. The military and police operated in the open, following established guidelines, while Russel had been given carte blanche to operate in the shadows.

“Gentlemen, I see we have a real cluster fuck on our hands.”

“As long as all three of us take responsibility, he can't blame only one of us,” Solaine said.

Just like a cop,
Russel thought. Glancing at the fields, he saw the zonbies and their overseers had returned to work.

“The overseers directed a band of workers to hose down the building,” Buteau said.

“How much damage was done?”

“At least six kilos of Black Magic,” Solaine said. “We don't know how much heroin and cocaine was in there. A total loss, which is why the overseers went right back to work.”

I can't blame them,
Russel thought. “What's the body count?”

“Seventy zonbies and counting,” Solaine said.

“And one Houngan,” Buteau said. “As far as we can tell, his bodyguard didn't make it out of the building alive, either.”

“Do we have any security video?”

“Just at the checkpoints,” Solaine said. “A black truck with three men and one woman. They wore masks.”

A woman, of course.
“License plates?”

“Fakes.”

“How many junkies are in building one?”

“Maybe twenty-five,” Buteau said.

“Administer overdoses as soon as a new Houngan shows up. At least we can cut down the losses to the workforce.”

“The American isn't among them,” Solaine said.

“Of course he isn't. He's who they came for. Destroying the drugs was just a bonus.”

The officers exchanged looks.

“We don't have to wait for a Houngan,” Buteau said, nodding in the direction Russel had come from.

Turning, Russel saw three figures approaching in the distance: a tall man and a young woman trailing an old woman.
Issagha, Sivelia, and Mambou Catoute.
“Looks like the gang's all here.”

The sun shone bright on the lush green vegetation. Jake walked through a jungle with Sheryl, who held Cain's hand. Cain appeared human, with flesh pulled over his muscular physique and long brown hair extending from his scal
p. Jake knew him as a fiery demon with translucent skin and glowing organs. The three of them were naked, and Sheryl caressed Cain's bicep as they walked.

This isn't right,
Jake thought.
Sheryl belongs with Abel. I guess she changed her mind again.

They both spoke to him, but his dream lacked audio. Another couple joined them: Abel and Laurel Doniger, also naked. Abel shook Jake's hand and clasped Cain's shoulder. It was nice to see them getting along. Abel didn't seem jealous to see Sheryl with his brother, and Sheryl didn't seem jealous to see Abel with Laurel.

Heaven is a very nice place.

Or was this hell?

Laurel isn't dead.

Or was she?

All five of them swam in a lake at the bottom of a waterfall. The two couples frolicked and splashed water at each other, leaving Jake alone. He wondered what had happened to Maria.

A bird cawed, and Edgar alighted on a rock in the water.

I guess it's just you and me, sport.

Edgar spoke and Jake heard his words clearly: “You've lost your hands.”

You're wrong. I lost only one of them.
To prove his point, Jake raised his arms from the lake. Edgar was right: both of them ended in stumps.

“And your eyes …”

Panicking, Jake reached for his eyes with the stumps, which pressed against his empty sockets.

“You're in no condition to help me.”

The world went black, like a television that had just been switched off, and Jake screamed.

Jake opened his eye. At least he still had one. His head throbbed, his face and chest felt tight, and his nasal passages felt dried out and drawn in. The feeling reminded him of a cocaine hangover.

Black Magic
…

Bill Russel and a vodou witch doctor had forced him to breathe in the smoke from that candle, and he recalled dozens of scarecrows on the floor around him while he snorted the vile black powder. He wondered if he had kept any of the plastic bags.

A pillow supported his head, and he was lying on his back. The ceiling came into focus.

Stalactites?

Flickering orange light highlighted the giant mineral daggers poised above him. Turning his head to the left, he saw cabinets, a table, and chairs positioned along a natural rock wall that supported several torches. Turning his head farther, he saw Maria sleeping on her side on a thick rug laid over a wooden floor. But where the hell were they? He tried to sit up, but the tightness in his chest increased, and he fell back onto the foldout cot with a groan.

“Jake?” In an instant, Maria stood at his side, her sleepy eyes filled with concern. It had been a long time since
anyone had really given a damn about him.

“You're a sight for a sore eye,” he said. His throat felt raw. Reaching up to brush her curly brown hair out of her face, he saw the stump where his left wrist and hand had once been, and the image of Russel burying the machete in his arm flashed through his brain. His head sagged into the pillow, and he felt the strength leaving his arm, which dropped onto the mattress.

Jesus Christ. Russel fucking maimed me.
For almost two years he had feared the man would take revenge on him, and now it had come to pass.
I want to kill him.

Maria's eyes turned shiny and reflected the firelight. “You're alive. Whatever else they did to you, you're alive.”

This time he reached up with his right hand and caressed her face. “Where are we?”

“In a church.”

Of all the answers she could have given him, that one was the furthest from his mind. “In a cave?”

She nodded. “The Church of the White Snake. When Humphrey said religion went underground, he wasn't kidding.”

“What are we doing here?”

“Hiding. The whole fucking country must be looking for us.”

“Water …”

Maria moved to the cabinets and filled a glass with water from a pitcher. Jake noticed dozens of deep scratches on her legs and arms. When she returned to his side, she held the glass while he gulped the water. Then she set the glass down.

“The last thing I remember, they doped me up with some vodou smoke and threw me into a drug den out in the middle of nowhere.”

“We came and got you.”

He raised his eyebrows.

“Three friends helped me. They're good men, like Humphrey. We killed a lot of zonbies getting out. I'm not a virgin anymore.”

“Where are they?”

“Jorge's asleep in the next room. Armand and Stephane are guarding the mouth of the cave. This place is enormous. You'll meet them all later.”

Jake swallowed and the soreness returned to his throat. “Thank you.”

She brushed his hair out of his eye, her fingernails scraping his forehead. “You're welcome.”

“I feel terrible.”

“You look terrible.”

“You look—”

Maria leaned forward and kissed him. Her lips and tongue tasted sweet. When they parted, she said, “I'm sorry. I had to do that.”

He managed a smile. “You deserve it.”

“So do you.” So she kissed him again.