The Laughing Corpse (27 page)

He hesitated, glancing at me.

“Go on, run,” I said.

He put on an extra burst of speed and was gone into the darkness. He didn't even look back. If you said you were fine in the dark with a killer zombie on the loose, Dolph would believe you. Or at least he believed me.

It was a compliment but it left me running alone in the dark for the second time tonight. Shouts were coming from two opposite directions. They had lost it. Damn.

I slowed. I had no desire to run into the thing blind. It hadn't hurt me the first time, but I'd put at least one bullet into it. Even a zombie gets pissed about things like that.

I was under the cool darkness of a tree shadow. I was on the edge of the development. A barbed-wire fence cut across the entire back of the subdivision. Farmland stretched as far as I could see. At least the field was planted in beans. The zombie'd have to be lying flat to hide in there. I caught glimpses of policemen with flashlights, searching the darkness, but they were all about fifty yards to either side of me.

They were searching the ground, the shadows, because I'd told them zombies didn't like to climb. But this wasn't any ordinary zombie. The tree rustled over my head. The hair on my neck crawled down my spine. I whirled, looking upwards, gun pointing.

It snarled at me and leapt.

I fired twice before its weight hit me and knocked us both to the ground. Two bullets in the chest, and it wasn't even hurt.

I fired a third time, but I might as well have been hitting a wall.

It snarled in my face, broken teeth with dark stains, breath foul as a new opened grave. I screamed back, wordless, and pulled the trigger again. The bullet hit it in the throat. It paused, trying to swallow. To swallow the bullet?

Those glittering eyes stared down at me. There was someone home, like Dominga's soul-locked zombies. There was someone looking out
of those eyes. We froze in one of those illusionary seconds that last years. He was straddling my waist, hands at my throat, but not pressing, not hurting, not yet. I had the gun under his chin. None of the other bullets had hurt him; why would this one?

“Didn't mean to kill,” it said softly, “didn't undersstand at firsst. Didn't remember what I wass.”

The police were there on either side, hesitating. Dolph screamed, “Hold your fire, hold your fire, dammit!”

“I needed meat, needed it to remember who I wass. Tried not to kill. Tried to walk past all the houssess, but I could not. Too many houssess,” he whispered. His hands tensed, stained nails digging in. I fired into his chin. His body jerked backwards, but the hands squeezed my neck.

Pressure, pressure, tighter, tighter. I was beginning to see white star bursts on my vision. The night was fading from black to grey. I pressed the gun just above the bridge of his nose and pulled the trigger again, and again.

My vision faded, but I could still feel my hands, pulling the trigger. Darkness flowed over my eyes and swallowed the world. I couldn't feel my hands anymore.

I woke to screams, horrible screams. The stink of burning flesh and hair was thick and choking on my tongue.

I took a deep shaking breath and it hurt. I coughed and tried to sit up. Dolph was there supporting me. He had my gun in his hand. I drew one ragged breath after another and coughed hard enough to make my throat raw. Or maybe the zombie had done that.

Something the size of a man was rolling over the summer grass. It burned. It flamed with a clean orange light that sent the darkness shattering in fire shadows like the sun on water.

Two exterminators in their fire suits stood by it, covering it in napalm, as if it were a ghoul. The thing screamed high in its throat, over and over, one loud ragged shriek after another.

“Jesus, why won't it die?” Zerbrowski was standing nearby. His face was orange in the firelight.

I didn't say anything. I didn't want to say it out loud. The zombie wouldn't die because it had been an animator when alive. That much I knew about animator zombies. What I hadn't known was that they came
out of the grave craving flesh. That they remembered only when they ate flesh.

That I hadn't known. Didn't want to know.

John Burke stumbled into the firelight. He was cradling one arm to his chest. Blood stained his clothing. Had the zombie whispered to John? Did he know why the thing wouldn't die?

The zombie whirled, the fire roaring around it. The body was like the wick of a candle. It took one shaking step towards us. Its flaming hand reached out to me. To me.

Then it fell forward, slowly, into the grass. It fell like a tree in slow motion, fighting for life. If that was the word. The exterminators stayed ready, taking no chances. I didn't blame them.

It had been a necromancer once upon a time. That burning hulk, slowly catching the grass on fire, had been what I was. Would I be a monster if raised from the grave? Would I? Better not to find out. My will said cremation because I didn't want someone raising me just for kicks. Now I had another reason to do it. One had been enough.

I watched the flesh blacken, curl, peel away. Muscles and bone popped in miniature explosions, tiny pops of sparks.

I watched the zombie die and made a promise to myself. I'd see Dominga Salvador burned in hell for what she'd done. There are fires that last for all eternity. Fires that make napalm look like a temporary inconvenience. She'd burn for all eternity, and it wouldn't be half long enough.

I
WAS LYING
on my back in the emergency room. A white curtain hid me from view. The noises on the other side of the curtain were loud and unfriendly. I liked my curtain. The pillow was flat, the examining table was hard. It felt white and clean and wonderful. It hurt to swallow. It even hurt a little bit just to breathe. But breathing was important. It was nice to be able to do it.

I lay there very quietly. Doing what I was told for once. I listened to my breathing, the beating of my own heart. After nearly dying, I am always very interested in my body. I notice all sorts of things that go unnoticed during most of life. I could feel blood coursing through the veins in my arms. I could taste my calm, orderly pulse in my mouth like a piece of candy.

I was alive. The zombie was dead. Dominga Salvador was in jail. Life was good.

Dolph pushed the curtain back. He closed the curtain like you'd close a door to a room. We both pretended we had privacy even though we could see people's feet passing under the hem of the curtain.

I smiled up at him. He smiled back. “Nice to see you up and around.”

“I don't know about the up part,” I said. My voice had a husky edge to it. I coughed, tried to clear it, but it didn't really help.

“What'd the doc say about your voice?” Dolph asked.

“I'm a temporary tenor.” At the look on his face, I added, “It'll pass.”

“Good.”

“How's Burke?” I asked.

“Stitches, no permanent damage.”

I had figured as much after seeing him last night, but it was good to know.

“And Roberts?”

“She'll live.”

“But will she be alright?” I had to swallow hard. It hurt to talk.

“She'll be alright. Ki was cut up, too, on the arm. Did you know?”

I shook my head and stopped in mid-motion. That hurt, too. “Didn't see it.”

“Just a few stitches. He'll be fine.” Dolph plunged his hands in his pants pockets. “We lost three officers. One hurt worse than Roberts, but he'll make it.”

I stared up at him. “My fault.”

He frowned. “How do you figure that?”

“I should have guessed,” I had to swallow, “it wasn't an ordinary zombie.”

“It was a zombie, Anita. You were right. You were the one who figured out it was hiding in one of those damn trash cans.” He grinned down at me. “And you nearly died killing it. I think you've done your part.”

“Didn't kill it. Exterminators killed it.” Big words seemed to hurt more than little words.

“Do you remember what happened as you were passing out?”

“No.”

“You emptied your clip into its face. Blew its damn brains out the back of its head. You went limp. I thought you were dead. God”—he shook his head—“don't ever do that to me again.”

I smiled. “I'll try not to.”

“When its brains started leaking out the back of its head, it stood up. You took all the fight out of it.”

Zerbrowski pushed into the small space, leaving the curtain gaping behind him. I could see a small boy with a bloody hand crying into a
woman's shoulder. Dolph swept the curtain closed. I bet Zerbrowski was one of those people who never shut a drawer.

“They're still digging bullets out of the corpse. And every bullet's yours, Blake.”

I just looked at him.

“You are such a bad ass, Blake.”

“Somebody has to be with you around, Zerbrow . . .” I couldn't finish his name. It hurt. It figures.

“Are you in pain?” Dolph asked.

I nodded, carefully. “The doc's getting me painkiller. Already got tetanus booster.”

“You've got a necklace of bruises blossoming on that pale neck of yours,” Zerbrowski said.

“Poetic,” I said.

He shrugged.

“I'll check in on the rest of the injured one more time, then I'll have a uniform drive you back to your place,” Dolph said.

“Thanks.”

“I don't think you're in any condition to drive.”

Maybe he was right. I felt like shit, but it was happy shit. We'd done it. We'd solved the crime, and people were going to jail for it. Yippee.

The doctor came back in with the painkillers. He glanced at the two policemen. “Right.” He handed me a bottle with three pills in it. “This should see you through the night and into the next day. I'd call in sick if I were you.” He glanced at Dolph as he said it. “You hear that, boss?”

Dolph sort of frowned. “I'm not her boss.”

“You're the man in charge, right?” the doctor asked.

Dolph nodded.

“Then . . .”

“I'm on loan,” I said.

“Loan?”

“You might say we borrowed her from another department,” Zerbrowski said.

The doctor nodded. “Then tell her superior to let her off tomorrow. She may not look as hurt as the others, but she's had a nasty shock. She's very lucky there was no permanent damage.”

“She doesn't have a superior,” Zerbrowski said, “but we'll tell her boss.” He grinned at the doctor.

I frowned at Zerbrowski.

“Well, then, you're free to go. Watch those scratches for infection. And that bite on your shoulder.” He shook his head. “You cops earn your money.” With that parting wisdom, he left.

Zerbrowski laughed. “Wouldn't do for the doc to know we'd let a civie get messed up.”

“She's had a nasty shock,” Dolph said.

“Very nasty,” Zerbrowski said.

They started laughing.

I sat up carefully, swinging my legs over the edge of the bed. “If you two are through yukking it up, I need a ride home.”

They were both laughing so hard that tears were creeping out of their eyes. It hadn't been that funny, but I understood. For tension release laughter beats the hell out of tears. I didn't join them because I suspected strongly that laughing would hurt.

“I'll drive you home,” Zerbrowski gasped between giggles.

I had to smile. Seeing Dolph and Zerbrowski giggling was enough to make anyone smile.

“No, no,” Dolph said. “You two in a car alone. Only one of you would come out alive.”

“And it'd be me,” I said.

Zerbrowski nodded. “Ain't it the truth.”

Nice to know there was one subject we agreed on.

I
WAS HALF
asleep in the back of the squad car when they pulled up in front of my apartment building. The throbbing pain in my throat had slid away on a smooth tide of pain medication. I felt nearly boneless. What had the doctor given me? It felt great, but it was like the world was some sort of movie that had little to do with me. Distant and harmless as a dream.

I'd given Dolph my car keys. He promised to have someone park the car in front of my apartment building before morning. He also said he'd call Bert and tell him I wouldn't be in to work today. I wondered how Bert would take the news. I wondered if I cared. Nope.

One of the uniformed police officers leaned back over the seat and said, “You going to be alright, Miss Blake?”

“Ms.,” I corrected automatically.

He gave me a half smile as he held the door for me. No door handles on the inside of a squad car. He had to hold the door for me, but he did it with relish, and said, “You going to be alright, Ms. Blake?”

“Yes, Officer”—I had to blink to read his name tag—“Osborn. Thank you for bringing me home. To your partner, too.”

His partner was standing on the other side of the car, leaning his arms on the roof of the car. “It's a kick to finally meet the spook squad's Executioner.” He grinned as he said it.

I blinked at him and tried to pull all the pieces together enough to talk and think at the same time. “I was the Executioner long before the spook squad came along.”

He spread his hands, still grinning. “No offense.”

I was too tired and too drugged to worry about it. I just shook my head. “Thanks again.”

I was a touch unsteady going up the stairs. I clutched the railing like it was a lifeline. I'd sleep tonight. I might wake up in the middle of the hallway, but I'd sleep.

It took me two tries to put the key in the door lock. I staggered into my apartment, leaning my forehead against the door to close it. I turned the lock and was safe. I was home. I was alive. The killer zombie was destroyed. I had the urge to giggle, but that was the pain medication. I never giggle on my own.

I stood there leaning the top of my head against the door. I was staring at the toes of my Nikes. They seemed very far away, as if distances had grown since last I looked at my feet. The doc had given me some weird shit. I would not take it tomorrow. It was too reality-altering for my taste.

The toes of black boots stepped up beside my Nikes. Why were there boots in my apartment? I started to turn around. I started to go for my gun. Too late, too slow, too fucking bad.

Strong brown arms laced across my chest, pinning my arms. Pinning me against the door. I tried to struggle now that it was too late. But he had me. I craned my neck backwards trying to fight off the damn medication. I should have been terrified. Adrenaline pumping, but some drugs don't give a shit if you need your body. You belong to the drug until it wears off, period. I was going to hurt the doctor. If I lived through this.

It was Bruno pinning me to the door.

Tommy came up on the right. He had a needle in his hands.

“NO!”

Bruno cupped his hand over my mouth. I tried to bite him, and he slapped me. The slap helped a little but the world was still cotton-coated, distant. Bruno's hand smelled like after-shave. A choking sweetness.

“This is almost too easy,” Tommy said.

“Just do it,” Bruno said.

I stared at the needle as it came closer to my arm. I would have told them that I was drugged already, if Bruno's hand hadn't been clasped over my mouth. I would have asked what was in the syringe, and whether it would react badly with what I had already taken. I never got the chance.

The needle plunged in. My body stiffened, struggling, but Bruno held me tight. Couldn't move. Couldn't get away. Dammit! Dammit! The adrenaline was finally chasing the cobwebs away, but it was too late. Tommy took the needle out of my arm and said, “Sorry, we don't have any alcohol to swab it off with.” He grinned at me.

I hated him. I hated them both. And if the shot didn't kill me, I was going to kill them both. For scaring me. For making me feel helpless. For catching me unaware, drugged, and stupid. If I lived through this mistake, I wouldn't make it again. Please, dear God, let me live through this mistake.

Bruno held me motionless and mute until I could feel the injection taking hold. I was sleepy. With a bad guy holding me against my will, I was sleepy. I tried to fight it, but it didn't work. My eyelids fluttered. I struggled to keep them open. I stopped trying to get away from Bruno and put everything I had into not closing my eyes.

I stared at my door and tried to stay awake. The door swam in dizzying ripples as if I were seeing it through water. My eyelids went down, jerked up, down. I couldn't open my eyes. A small part of me fell screaming into the dark, but the rest of me felt loose and sleepy and strangely safe.