Dead Spots (31 page)

It was then that Mackenzie knew she was going to die.

As death laid its agonizing claim on her and dragged her into the mire, Mackenzie's last thoughts were that dying wouldn't bring her peace or release.

 

CHAPTER 20

The sounds of birds chirping and the rustling of leaves lured her out of her deep slumber. Eyelids fluttering, she was temporarily blinded by light. Raising her hand to shield her eyes, she slowly opened them to see the thick gray clouds of an overcast sky. The jagged tops of trees edged her vision, and a gentle breeze brushed over her face to play in her hair.

Somewhere in her mind, she anticipated pain, but instead she felt relaxed, warm, and even buoyant. There wasn't a single uncomfortable twinge in her body. Stretching her arms over her head, she flexed her feet inside of her leather boots and felt the belt tucked into the loops of her jeans rub against her hip bones. Slightly tilting her head, she saw that she was lying in a meadow. The day had a placid, dreamy feel. The tall green pines were untouched by the change of the season, but the tawny color of the grass spoke of autumn and a few trees were capped with red and orange leaves.

“Where am I?” she wondered aloud.

Her legs dangled, brushing the grass beneath her, and her hands rested in the tangle of her floating hair. She loved the sensation of drifting on warm waters.

“That's not right,” she said, frowning. She wasn't in water.

Rolling over, she gave out a startled gasp when her body swiveled completely about and she ended up facing the tops of the swaying grass. She wasn't lying in a meadow, but hovering a few feet above it. Suspended in the air, she floated in the crisp soothing breeze, the sensation strange, yet exhilarating.

“I'm dreaming,” she decided.

No, that wasn't right.

“I'm trapped in the dream world,” she amended.

Then the last twenty-four hours crashed into her conscious mind like a sledgehammer, shattering her solemnity. The full awakening of her mind sent her plummeting to the ground with a painful thump.

The smell of fresh earth after a gentle rain made her gag. She vividly remembered the sensation of mud filling her mouth and throat. Clambering upright, she stood in the center of the meadow. Fresh, wonderful air filled her lungs. The rush of oxygen to her brain made her a little dizzy, but it felt amazing to be able to take a breath. She was alive again. Mackenzie wasn't certain if she was relieved or not. In the moments before her death, she had yearned to awaken in heaven with Joshua in her arms. Now standing alone in an empty field, she felt the pang of her loss keenly. She was alone again in a world filled with nightmares.

A quick inventory of her apparel revealed she was clad in the same clothing she had been wearing when she entered the dead spot. Even her purse was lying on the ground nearby. The painful blisters that had covered her feet seemed to be gone, and the ugly knot between her shoulders was blissfully missing. Touching her hair, face, and neck, she noted the lack of mud. It occurred to her that despite Tildy's claims of being killed and resurrected recently, she hadn't borne any marks of death.

“It's like I didn't even drown in a muddy grave,” she muttered.

Picking up her purse, she studied the meadow and the trees. It appeared she was nowhere near the old farmhouse. Even the trees were different, with more oak and cedar than pines. Mackenzie hoped she had resurrected far away from Grace and Tildy. She felt a pang of remorse when she thought of Grant. Obviously, he had tried to save her, but failed. Now she had no idea where he was in this terrible world, but maybe they would find each other eventually. She missed him, but she suspected he missed her more. His last kiss had been filled with passion and need. The thought of it made her flush and feel uncomfortable. Shoving those thoughts away, she concentrated on what she needed to do now.

Mackenzie rummaged through her purse. It was a relief to see Joshua's blanket still rolled up at the bottom. Out of habit, she checked her cell phone. It was nearly out of battery and there was no service. For a moment, she'd hoped she was back in the real world but realized that was foolish. Everyone else who died in a dead spot resurrected in the world of dreams and nightmares.

With a sigh, she looked in both directions. What she had missed before was that there were dark shapes hidden in the tall grasses to her right. Her heart sped up at the thought of monsters lurking in the meadow, but then she realized the forms were boxy in appearance. Taking a few steps toward them, she caught sight of the elegant gothic spires of a wrought iron fence listing in the grass.

“A graveyard,” she said. “Shit.”

Mackenzie's first inclination was to be scared, but then she realized that a graveyard would have to be near a road. She'd have to walk through the graveyard to find it, but the overwhelming fear she would have experienced before was now a low hum. Maybe it was flippant to think such a thing, but she really couldn't see how her situation could worsen. What she had feared would happen had happened. She had died in the most horrible way imaginable, but she was alive again. The memory made her shudder, but also feel strangely triumphant.

Shifting her purse onto one shoulder, she started across the old, abandoned graveyard. Many of the headstones were broken, or overwhelmed by weeds. Some graves had sunk deep into the earth, the inscriptions barely visible. Others were rubbed bare by the elements. The atmosphere of the cemetery was peacefully gloomy. It wasn't scary, but rather sad. Mackenzie hesitated near an angel that had long ago lost its features. Reaching out, she patted the angel's cheek. She hadn't consciously recognized she was in a dead spot, but her touch restored the monument to its full glory. The upraised eyes of the angel rose out of the worn stone to beseech the heavens. The dainty lips, solemn in their repose, regained definition.

“Much better,” Mackenzie whispered in awe.

The restored angel was beautiful. Her wings were skillfully carved and she looked as though she were ready to take flight to heaven, carrying the souls of the dead in her elegantly poised arms.

The cry of a child forced Mackenzie out of her reverie. For a moment, she thought she had perhaps imagined the sound, but then it came again, desperate and afraid. It reminded her of the cries she had heard the day before. Scrutinizing the area, Mackenzie sought out the source of the frantic calls for help. Yesterday Grant had convinced her that the screams had been a trap, but he'd been wrong about Grace and she had been right. Now that she was on her own, she was going to have to trust her instincts. She had counted on others for too long to save her. It was time for her to save herself. If it was a trap, she would fight back. But if it wasn't, there was a child in need.

Breaking into a run, she headed in the direction of the cries.

A line of trees separated one portion of the cemetery from another section that was heavily overgrown with brambles. There were very few headstones in this area. Most graves were marked with slabs of concrete that were cracked and covered in a thick layer of green mold. The ground gently sloped downward to a wide expanse of land filled with more opulent monuments surrounding a dank, dark pond. Wisps of water vapor slid over the ground, ghostly in appearance.

Another cry rang out. Scanning the graveyard, Mackenzie finally saw a little boy scampering among the obelisks and weeping angels. Casting frightened looks over his shoulder, he darted between the markers, taking cover from something Mackenzie couldn't see.

Running was difficult due to her heels, but she managed to reach the area where the little boy was hiding just before she caught the scent of death. It was pungent and revolting. Nervously inspecting the area, she covered her nose with one hand.

“Watch out!” the little boy shouted.

Mackenzie glimpsed a dark shape out of the corner of her eye and she instinctively swung her purse at it. Her heavy purse smacked into the gray face of a man lunging out from behind a tall tombstone. Knocked off balance, he windmilled his arms, attempting to stay on his feet. His white hair, chalky face, and frayed suit seemed curiously familiar.

Retreating from the uncoordinated man, Mackenzie caught sight of the child crouching behind a large double tombstone.

“Lady, you need to hide!”

Mackenzie ducked and scooted behind the gravestone topped by a flying eagle. The little boy had an unruly cowlick of dark blond hair, freckles, and big brown eyes. Dressed in jeans, PF Flyers sneakers, and a blue-and-red-striped T-shirt, the boy stared fearfully over the top of the cement marker at the ghastly creature.

“He's a dead man who wants to kill me,” the boy whispered. He was probably around six or seven years old and still had a hint of baby fat in his face and body.

Mackenzie dared to take a peek and truly studied the awkwardly shambling man. He stood out starkly in the graveyard, his body and clothing varying shades of black and white. Slowly, it dawned on Mackenzie why he seemed familiar.

“
Night of the Living Dead,
” she whispered to the boy. “It's the zombie from the first scene in the movie.”

“Zombie?” The term was obviously foreign to his tongue.

“Yeah. The zombie who goes after Barbara and Johnny in the first scene.”

“My name is Johnny,” the boy whispered, his eyes widening. “That monster wants to bash my brains out just like the guy he killed in the movie.”

Mackenzie fit all the pieces together and understood what was going on. Johnny had manifested the monster out of the classic zombie movie, and now it pursued him. That's why the creature was in black and white. “Well, he's not going to,” Mackenzie said firmly.

Johnny's eyes welled with tears. “He has before.”

“Well, not this time.” Mackenzie stood and watched the zombie searching behind some gravestones nearby. “Stay here.”

She had watched
Night of the Living Dead
every Halloween with Tanner. She knew that this particular zombie was the fastest and meanest of the lot. The thought of it killing the little boy hiding behind the headstone infuriated her. It was awful enough that she was being terrorized by her fears, but the thought of an innocent child enduring this world spurred her into action. She'd already died once in this world, and she felt strangely emboldened by that fact. The one thing her death had taught her was that she was not going to run away again. If she was going to die, she was going to die fighting.

She stooped over and plucked a piece of a shattered gravestone off the ground. It weighed a good five pounds and she clutched it with both hands.

“Hey! Asshole!” she shouted.

The zombie stopped its search and rested its eyes on her.

“Come get me!”

Fear sped up her heart, but Mackenzie stood her ground. The zombie darted toward her with its stiff-legged gait. Its teeth were bared, its hand clawed, but she had already seen far worse the night before. It was almost upon her when she tackled it. They crashed onto the ground with Mackenzie on top. The zombie's hands flailed at her, trying to find purchase on her leather jacket. Raising the heavy stone over her head, she gritted her teeth.

“So done with this crap!” she exclaimed.

Smashing the piece of tombstone onto the zombie's head, she felt the sickening crunch of bone as his skull shattered. Black blood splattered her arms and chest, but she ignored the reek of the corpse and bashed in the creature's face. She kept hitting it until it finally lay still beneath her, its head a flattened mess of white bone and black flesh and blood. Even in death, it was still caught in plain black and white.

“It's dead!” Mackenzie called out to the little boy. “Johnny, it's dead.”

Standing, she discarded the blood-caked lump of stone and walked to the pond. The dark water lapped against the edge, a tranquil sound that was a vivid disparity to the brutality of the event that had just occurred. She rubbed the black blood from her hands, her skin very white beneath the water. Using some napkins from the bottom of her purse, Mackenzie wiped off the blood from her jacket and face. She wet the napkins and kept blotting her clothing and skin, waiting for the little boy to join her.

“You mushed his head!” Johnny called out.

She looked over to see him standing over the corpse. “Yeah. I did.”

“Cool.” Johnny smiled and prodded the body with the toe of his sneaker.

Mackenzie had to admit he was right. It was pretty cool. There was no buzzing anxiety filling her, making her head swim and her body heavy. She felt strong and competent, even heroic. Johnny squatted at her side, his grubby fingers raking at the damp earth.

“You're like Wonder Woman before she got lame in the comics,” he decided.

Mackenzie laughed, giddy at her victory. “Thanks. I felt like Wonder Woman.”

“Why did you call him a zombie?” Johnny picked up a small twig and flung it into the pond.

“That's the name of the monsters like him.”

Frowning, Johnny picked up a red leaf and sent it sailing across the pond. After a few seconds, water lapped over the edge and submerged it. “I don't think so.”

“Well, in the second movie they're called zombies.”

“Second movie?” Johnny tilted his head. “There's a second movie?”

Studying the boy's attire and hairstyle, Mackenzie realized her mistake. The little boy was from an earlier time period. “What year were you born?”

“1962.”

“And when did you see
Night of the Living Dead
?”

“When it was at the drive-thru. My brother took me. That was a couple of weeks before I…” He hesitated, his small mouth twisting nervously.

“Before you ended up in here?”

As he nodded, the little boy's eyes welled with tears. “I should have listened to Mama. She always said not to go into the old haunted Weller House. She said bad things would happen and she was right.”