The Undertakers (20 page)

“Guys—” Helene stammered. “Wait a minute—”

“I think I'd better go alone,” I told Dave.

“Not a chance! You think I want to stay here and scrub toilets? I've got to be out there where the action is!”

“Guys!” Helene exclaimed loud enough to startle us both into attention. “Neither one of you is going anywhere. Tom won't let you.”

“I won't be asking him,” I said.

At that, Helene's mouth dropped open.

Her reaction pissed me off a little—or maybe it was the Justin thing. I snapped, “Well, what did you think I wanted to know this stuff for?”

“You told me you were just curious!” she replied harshly. “You didn't say anything about running out there without Tom's okay!”

I wasn't sure how to respond to that. It was true that I'd lied to Helene about why I wanted the Booth info. But I was also pretty sure that she'd
known
I was lying.

But if so, then why had she gone along with it?

“Look,” Helene pleaded, “forget about all the trouble you'd get into—”

“What kind of trouble?” Dave interjected.

A good point. What sort of discipline did the Undertakers have? What could Tom do to me? Give me a detention? A time out? Send me to bed without supper? I'd never heard of anything like that happening in Haven. Was such a high level of cooperation and obedience a result of everyone's common effort against the Corpses? Or could Tom's personality really be so strong that more than a hundred kids followed the rules all the time?

What did that say about a leader?

And why was I finding it so easy to defy that leader?

Because I'm a special case.

I smiled humorlessly.

“I don't know what kind of trouble,” Helene admitted, sounding exasperated. “But trouble. Besides that, you can't get out—not without somebody knowing it. There are motion sensors all along the tunnel.”

My smile overturned. I hadn't thought of that.

“No sweat!” Dave said cheerfully. “Will's going to think of a way around that. Ain't that right?”

“Guess I'll have to,” I said.

Helene threw up her hands in disgust. “You're both crazy! What do you think you're going to do even if you
do
manage to get to Fort Mifflin?”

“What Tom won't do,” I replied. “I'll sneak in and find out what's going on.”

“You mean
we
will, dude,” Dave corrected.

I sighed and then relented. “Okay.
We
.”

“Booth's a Corpse,” Helene pointed out. “There's no way for you to kill him.”

“I know that, Helene. I'm not an idiot. I'm not gonna charge in there and start yelling at him. I'm just gonna find out what he's
doing
there!”

Half a minute passed during which Helene studied me with a look on her face that I couldn't quite identify. Admiration? Respect? Worry? Surprise?

Finally she said, “Well, in that case—
I'm
coming too.”

Master Plan

To pull off our unauthorized mission, we required three things: equipment; wheels to Fort Mifflin, meaning three bikes; and some way of getting past Haven's motion sensors.

Late Saturday afternoon I went around the Big Room and quietly collected the gear we'd need, including squirt pistols, bottled water for the trip, and a few energy bars. All this I stuffed into three backpacks, which I hid in a dark corner of the Brain Factory where nobody would notice them, least of all Steve.

The second and third obstacles took a bit more thinking. Because the Stingrays were kept out in the open—in the roped-off corral—just swiping them wasn't an option. Fortunately, by dinnertime, Helene had an idea. “We didn't always use Stingrays,” she explained during a quiet powwow that the three of us shared in the cafeteria. “In one of the front storage rooms, there are a bunch of older bikes. The room's close to the ramp, so if we go in quiet—one at a time—we can probably get three bikes out without anybody seeing us.”

“What about the jump?” I asked.

She looked thoughtful. “I've got a way around that one too—I think.”

“You
think?
” Dave remarked nervously.

That just left the motion sensors.

Once again it was Helene who came through—this time at Sunday's breakfast. She dropped onto the cafeteria bench between Dave and me, deposited her tray on the table, and bent her head close to ours. “Good news,” she whispered. “The tunnel sensors are programmed for one-way throughput.”

“Was that English?” the Burgermeister asked, his voice low.

“It means that they only detect motion coming
into
Haven from
outside
, not the other way around. As long as we're heading out, they won't pick us up.”

“Until we come back,” I whispered.

If
we come back.

“Well—yes. But by then everybody'll know we're gone anyway.”

She was right, of course.

“Yeah,” Dave muttered sourly. “Real good news.”

But it
was
good news. It meant that we were ready.

The
coming back to Haven
part would have to take care of itself.

That evening the three of us hung out in the TV room, watching whatever was on. My eyes kept straying to the clock, and the minutes dragged like hours. It was all I could do to sit still and stare at the tube. More than once Helene elbowed me for fidgeting.

Finally the time passed, and with wordless nods all around, we each left the Rec Hall one at a time a few minutes apart. Nobody noticed. I went last.

The few kids in the Big Room were busy and either so tired or so deeply involved in their tasks that they never even looked up.

I had no problem at all getting into the storage room unnoticed. By the time I slipped inside, Helene and Dave had already picked out their bikes. Most of the best rides had been dismantled for spare parts, and the leftovers looked pretty lousy. Dave had selected a big old Schwinn, while Helene had settled for a green Huffy. I grabbed a rusty red Roadmaster.

“The Angels already left,” Helene told us. “I checked. Once they were gone and I was sure nobody else would be going out through the tunnel, I dropped this hunk of plywood over the jump, from ramp to ramp. Tom keeps it handy just in case we have to get everyone out in a hurry.”

That sounds like Tom,
I thought, and I felt a sharp pang of guilt. The Chief would undoubtedly see what we were doing as a betrayal, even if the three of us did manage to do some good out there.

I patted my jacket pocket, feeling the comforting weight of the pocketknife.

After tonight I'll probably need to give it back.

But I
have
to do this.

“You guys ready?” I asked.

They both nodded.

“Then let's go.”

We departed one bike at a time—walking, not riding. Nobody stopped us. Nobody shouted an alarm. Nobody so much as looked our way.

Within a minute we were pedaling up the spiral tunnel, and a minute after that, we were on the darkened Philly streets.

We rode in silence to the Tenth Street subway station. Fortunately bicycles were welcome on city trains, so it was pretty simple to catch the R1 to Philadelphia International Airport. After that it was just a matter of getting through the airport and then mounting up for the one-and-a-half-mile ride to historic Fort Mifflin.

It was more biking than I'd ever done in my life. The same seemed true for Dave, who huffed and puffed atop the Schwinn, which was clearly too small for him. Only Helene pedaled along without breaking a sweat, keeping to the side roads and following the route we'd mapped out ahead of time. The October night was cold, and cars often jetted past us, creating currents of air in their wakes that threatened to tip our bikes. Worse, because we were riding right by the airport, huge planes kept flying low over our heads, so loud and so massive that I almost lost my balance more than once.

Finally, with relief, we turned onto the less-traveled Fort Mifflin Road.

Here, amid wooded marshes, we switched our headlights off, fearful of alerting the Angels, who were undoubtedly already in position. I felt almost dizzy with nervousness as the low, sharply angled walls of the two-hundred-year-old fort came into view. There were lights on inside it, and cars were already filling the North Gate parking lot.

A
lot
of cars.

It was time to get off the streets.

As planned—and with the fort still a quarter-mile away—Helene led us down a dirt side road. Minutes later we parked our bikes near some railroad tracks around a bend that was flanked by trees and tall grass.

From there the three of us set off on foot, hurriedly crossing a dimly lit access road that serviced the fort's administrative offices. We kept low and moved quickly, mindful of the vehicles that were arriving with increasing regularity. Booth, it seemed, wasn't the only midnight visitor, and the last thing I wanted was to be caught in the headlights of an advancing car.

We finally reached the northern edge of the moat. From this point, I could see two obvious entrances. One, the North Gate, bridged the moat fifty yards to our left. The other, the Main Gate, was nearer to the parking lot.

Both entrances were brightly lit and clearly guarded.

Fortunately we'd already mapped out another way in.

“The wildlife refuge is on the south side of the fort,” I explained. “That's where the footbridge is. We'll follow the moat until we get there. And keep it quiet.”

The hike proved to be longer and harder than I'd expected, leaving us scratched, muddy, and very cold. By now, voices had begun to emanate from inside the fort. Sharing nervous glances, the three of us crossed a narrow footbridge that spanned the moat. We then approached the high brick façade that formed the fort's angled southern wall.

Wordlessly Dave bent over, laced his fingers, and offered me a boost. I took it and was startled to find myself all but thrown over the top of the wall. I landed on a flat, grassy battlement. Helene followed a moment later, and together the two of us managed to haul the Burgermeister up to join us.

Breathlessly we turned and faced the ancient fort's bright and noisy interior.

Speech

Buried in shadows, the three of us made our way cautiously down from the earthworks and onto the fort's green. Moving as quickly as we dared, Dave, Helene, and I soon reached the centuries-old artillery shed, which was constructed more like a big mound of earth with tunnels beneath it than like an actual building. Once there I motioned for the others to stay low. So far we hadn't been spotted, and I wanted to keep it that way.

“This is a creepy place,” Dave muttered.

“That's because of all the ghosts,” Helene replied.

The Burgermeister scowled. “That ain't funny.”

“That's because I'm not kidding,” she told him.

“It's true,” I said. “Fort Mifflin's like the second-most haunted place in the country. There's got to be a dozen ghost stories connected with this place. I thought everybody knew that!”

“
I
didn't,” Dave complained. “Thanks loads.”

Carefully we peered around the edge of the mound.

“Wow,” Helene muttered.

Fort Mifflin's parade ground was filled with the walking dead. There had to be hundreds of them, dressed in everything from military uniforms to surgical garb. Their milky eyes darted this way and that, and their feet shuffled anxiously, as if they were waiting for something.

“Jeez,” Dave mumbled. “There's a lot of them.”

“Let's get closer,” I whispered.

“Closer?” Helene quietly exclaimed.

I led them around the artillery shed and past the blacksmith's shop. Finally we settled into the shadows surrounding the two-story commandant's house. From there we had a pretty good view of the goings-on.

And just in time too.

As we watched, Kenny Booth appeared. He moved through the crowd, still wearing Kyle's body, and stepped confidently up onto a platform that had been erected in the center of the parade grounds. Kyle's cadaver was a week old now and not as fresh as it had once been. The skin had turned gray, and the hair had begun to fall out. The result was a grotesque, twisted shadow of the Undertaker who had given his life at First Stop.

It made my stomach turn to see Kyle's body so abused.
Desecration
was the word that came to mind. I hadn't really known the boy whose skin this Corpse now wore, but he'd surely deserved better treatment than
this
.

Besides, Mr. Would-Be-Mayor was wearing a fancy suit and tie that I was pretty certain poor Kyle wouldn't have been caught dead in—no pun intended.

“I hate seeing him in Kyle's body,” Helene said.

“I know,” I replied. “Try focusing on his Mask instead.”

Taking my own advice, I crossed my eyes, watching not Kyle's face but the older-looking, perfectly grooved visage of Philly's favorite news guy. It helped a little.

Behind me the Burgermeister grumbled, “I really wish I knew how you guys did that.”

I almost assured him that he'd learn but stopped myself. To be brutally honest, I wasn't sure he ever
would
.

On the platform, Kenny Booth raised his fists skyward in a triumphant salute. The crowd roared. “Brothers and sisters!” The Corpse spoke loudly in Kyle's voice. It was unsettling, but at least he was speaking English. Suffering through a speech given in Deadspeak would have been
too
much! “For years we have returned to this place, drawn to its long and bloody history, to meet in secret. But tonight is no ordinary gathering! Tonight, safe from human eyes, we revel in the knowledge that we are about to enjoy our first great victory on this place called Earth!”

“They must have Corpse police posted on the roads around the fort,” Helene whispered, “making sure nobody gets close enough to hear any of this.”

I nodded. “It'll make it harder to get back.”

Booth continued, “Earlier this week, as planned, I announced my candidacy for the office of mayor of Philadelphia. My years spent smiling for the human cameras, cultivating the trust and respect of this city's foolish natives, have finally borne fruit. In two weeks I will become the first of our kind to seize genuine control over a major Earth city! Then, in time, I shall bore deeper into the world of human politics. In a month, City Hall; in five years, the governor's mansion in Harrisburg; and in ten…the White House!”

“This dead guy thinks big, doesn't he?” Dave remarked.

“Ugh,” Helene moaned softly, shaking her head. “I can't keep that Mask thing going. It gives me a headache.”

“Me too,” I admitted reluctantly. I uncrossed my eyes, resigned to having to witness Booth is his stolen Undertaker body.

Booth declared, “In the three years since we established our foothold on this world, I have worked tirelessly toward increasing the scope of our invasion. Our brethren have now begun to infiltrate every metropolitan area on the East Coast. Still it is only fitting that it is here, where our campaign began, that I have taken this glorious step toward final triumph! Brothers and sisters, I—and I alone—have given us our greatest success to date! This is my success. My glory!”

The cheers of the Corpse crowd were almost deafening.

Dave scowled. “He's talking like he's already won the election.”

I watched the
thing
on the platform, feeling anger churn inside me like molten lava.

“So before we begin tonight's festivities,” Booth said, “each of you must once again declare your loyalty to me! For I alone can bring us total victory! I alone can make us masters of Earth!”

What followed seemed less like an oath of loyalty than a cry of worship. There could be no doubt that Booth, no matter whose body he wore, was the boss of the Deaders.

This guy's evil even by Corpse standards.

Booth spoke again, this time in a more serious tone. “We are not, however, without our enemies, brothers and sisters. As all of you are aware, almost from the moment we arrived in this place and began taking their bodies for our own, there have appeared among these pathetic humans those who can See.” A hiss of general loathing rumbled through the crowd. “At first we believed these cases unique, and we removed each threat as it appeared. After all, these Seers were nothing but human children, to whom adults barely listen, much less believe.

“But then there appeared one adult with this power—a policeman named Ritter. Of all the humans, he came closest to discovering our secrets—and revealing us!”

Another group hiss.

I felt a surge of pride.

That's my dad this stinking cadaver is complaining about!

Then Booth grinned savagely, his thin lips pulled back against surprisingly white teeth. “But eventually I dealt with him myself, brothers and sisters. And sweet it was to take that puny man's life!”

This was followed by a roar of appreciation. For a moment I thought I might explode with rage.

“Easy, Will,” Helene whispered, touching my arm.

Easy, Will.

I forced myself to keep still and listen.

Booth went on. “With his death, however, we face his legacy—these brats who somehow share his Sight. They plague us! Organized and well led, they infiltrate the city's schools, spiriting away other Seers before we can find and deal with them. And their goal, brother and sisters? Their goal is to build an army to stand against us. Us!”

As one, the audience of walking dead laughed. It was a harsh, raspy sound that hurt my ears.

Booth sneered, “They call themselves
the Undertakers
. They strike at us in the night and then flee, unseen, to their hidden lair. But they are merely whelps romanced by a child's delusion of battle and glory. We have tolerated them, for what can they really do? Their weapons cause us no lasting harm. At worst they rob us of a handful of Seers each year. So after a few token attempts at discovering their lair, we had all but forgotten them…

“Until now.”

Booth's expression twisted in anger. “Today we have a new enemy: the son of Karl Ritter. Long have we watched this human child, waiting for him to shows signs of his father's inexplicable ability. But when he did, the Undertakers—the cursed Undertakers—spirited him away like all the rest! Now they have him, and the spy that we slipped in among their newest trainees failed to secure him for us.”

The audience hissed their collective displeasure. It suddenly struck me that the crowd's reactions to Booth's speech seemed almost childish, cheering the good points and booing the bad ones.

This isn't a secret meeting. It's a pep rally!

And the “big game” they intend to win is me!

“We must have William Ritter, brothers and sisters! We must take him apart, cell by cell, and learn from him just how these humans are able to penetrate our illusion. Then there will be nothing to stop us!”

A new cheer followed, more raucous and terrible than any of the others.

I felt sick to my stomach.

“As mayor I shall bring the whole of this city's resources to bear against the Undertakers. We will find their hidden lair and scratch that persistent itch once and for all! At the same time, we will take possession of Ritter's only son!

“I state this as my blood oath to you!”

Booth's audience went into an almost animalistic frenzy, hopping up and down, flailing their arms, and cheering with their rotting, swollen tongues. All of them were dead. All of them wrapped in the stolen bodies of men and women who had once been real people with real lives.

These were invaders, yes. And killers. But they were thieves too.

They stole dignity.

“What's that?” Dave whispered, pointing.

All three of us craned our necks to see.

A small contingent of well-dressed Corpses was marching through the crowd, approaching the podium. At the sight of them, I felt my anger fade, replaced by a growing dread.

The Corpses went suddenly, ominously quiet.

“Oh, no…” Helene whispered.

Nestled in among the contingent, looking small and terrified, walked Amy Filewicz.

Her clothes were soiled and torn, her hair matted, and her face grubby and tear-streaked. Suddenly, despite what she'd done, I felt sick at heart to see her. Whatever was happening, Amy was right in the middle of it, and she clearly didn't want to be.

“Here,” declared Booth, “is a whelp whose mind was turned to us by the
pelligog
. She was placed into the Undertakers' training center, originally to discover the location of their lair. Later, however, when we learned that William Ritter was among her fellow trainees, she was ordered to help us capture him. But in the midst of the attempted capture, the quarry escaped—after this little brat tried to kill him without permission!”

Her Corpse escorts scooped Amy up under each arm and deposited her on the platform. There she stood, staring wide-eyed up at Booth, who smiled wickedly down at her.

“I don't blame you for failing us, child,” he said soothingly. “After all, failure is the way of your kind. Instead, tonight you will have the honor of validating the promise I've made to my brethren. Tonight your blood will seal my oath!”

He touched her face with his slimy, decaying fingers. She flinched and trembled but didn't try to run. The Corpse grinned and licked his lips with a black tongue that glistened hideously in the harsh parade ground lights.

His fingers settled around the girl's throat.

With an almost electric shock, I grasped what was about to happen.

He's gonna kill her—right now!

I didn't think. I just reacted. No way was I going to watch this innocent girl get murdered to satisfy some sick ritual!

“No!” I exclaimed, yanking the water pistol from my belt and charging out of the shadows.

“Will!” Helene screamed loudly—too loudly.

On the parade grounds, hundreds of dead eyes turned toward us as if pulled by a common string.