The Undertakers (26 page)

The Sun Room

At the top of the landing, I peeked out the cellar door. The hallway appeared deserted. “How many Corpses does Booth keep around?”

“Four altogether. There'll be two more guarding the front door.”

I nodded. “Then we'll go out the back. I came in through the kitchen. You know a better way?”

She thought for a minute. “Yeah, I think so!” She led me down the hall, through a nearby door, and then out into a long narrow room that looked like it made up most of the rear of Booth's big house. One wall was lined with fancy family room furniture. The entire opposite wall was all glass from ceiling to floor.

“He calls this his sun room,” Helene explained. “He spends a lot of time here reading newspapers and watching TV.”

“Corpses watch TV?” I asked, surprised. I tried to imagine a bunch of milky-eyed dead bodies gathering around the tube to catch
Scrubs
reruns.

“Booth likes to pretend he's human.”

“Yeah, I noticed that. Is there an outside door?”

She pointed. “Down at the end. A sliding glass door. Outside, there's a path down the hill. Booth showed it to me this morning, back when we were—pals.” She shuddered at the memory.

“It wasn't your fault,” I told her.

She met my eyes. “It feels like it was.”

“Let's go.”

We ran the length of the sun room. To our left, the night beyond the windows was so dark that only our reflections showed. I really hoped there weren't any Corpses out there. If there were, the two of us would be pretty hard to miss.

The room ended at two doors. One was Helene's sliding glass escape route. The other looked more ordinary and probably opened into an unexplored part of the big house.

Just as we reached the first door, the second one
erupted
.

It didn't just burst open. It was literally ripped off its hinges and hurled aside, where it shattered a nearby widescreen television.

No more
Scrubs
reruns.

The Corpse leapt into the sun room. He was a Type Two, his skin still slick but turning a dark, mottled gray.

He was also totally, hideously naked.

“Hello, Mr. Ritter,” he hissed.

At the sound of my name, I let my eyes cross. Suddenly the Deader's Mask became visible, showing a handsome, telegenic face that was twisted by rage.

Booth!

I didn't bother wondering how he'd accomplished the Transfer. It didn't matter.

Helene raised her Soaker, but she wasn't nearly fast enough. With one hand, Booth slapped the rifle from her grip. With the other, he shoved her hard in the chest, knocking her down and sending her body sliding back across the tile floor.

“Helene!” I cried.

Her head struck a bookcase with a loud
clunk
.
With a groan, she went limp.

Desperately I lashed out with Vader.

He dodged me, moving much faster than I would have thought possible in that rotting body. I came at him a second time, but he caught my wrist, holding the sword at bay. With his other hand, he clutched my throat, easily lifting me up onto my toes.

Both hands squeezed.

I felt the sword fall from my grasp and clatter to the tile floor. At the same time, my breath was cut off. Frantically I reached for the pocketknife in my pocket.

The Corpse's face split into a hideous smile. “Not this time, Mr. Ritter,” he hissed. Still clutching me by my neck, he shook me savagely. I felt like a rag doll in a dog's mouth. I tried to hang on to the pocketknife, tried to hit the
2
button and release my faithful Taser—but the shaking was just too much. I dropped it.

Booth tightened his grip and lifted me higher until my feet actually left the floor. The pain was terrible. I clawed at his hand, tearing off bits of rotted flesh, but he felt none of it.

“Like my new body?” he asked. “I don't. I took it because it was there in the closet, available.
Any port in a storm
, I believe is the human expression. Getting out of the body bag was problematic, but I managed it.”

Back at First Stop, Steve had theorized that a Corpse needed to actually see its target body before possessing it. Apparently he was wrong about that. Too bad I'd never get the chance to tell him.“Tell me something, Mr. Ritter,” Booth said. He was carrying me deeper into the sun room now, walking casually, as if clutching ninety pounds of kicking and struggling twelve-year-old didn't bother him in the least. “Have you ever heard of a
caste system
?” He didn't wait for an answer. Just as well—I couldn't give him one. He said, “It describes a society in which the members are separated into specific classes based on cultural status, education, wealth, or even intelligence. On my world, such a caste system exists. Most of the
Malum
that you've encountered, for example, have been from our warrior caste. They're bred for loyalty and prowess but not necessarily intellect. I, on the other hand, represent the leader caste. We are born to rule—to be cleverer and more resourceful than our lesser brothers and sisters.

“Let me give you an example. My underlings are still trying to recover from the damage you and your little friend did to them below. I, however, was able to manage a Transfer and escape the basement in time to—how's the saying go?
Cut you off at the pass?
”

My vision blurred. His voice was starting to sound very far away. Seeing this, Booth slowly turned me around, and with a casual flick of his wrist, he tossed me against the wall. I hit it hard and collapsed into a heap on the floor, clutching at my bruised neck.

“A good effort, Mr. Ritter,” he said, “but it's over now. The
pelligog
await. There's no escape. There never really was.”

“No!” I croaked. I tried to stand, but my head spun, and I fell back down on my butt.

Suddenly an image of my mother, heartbreakingly vivid, flashed through my mind. Blearily I looked up at the looming cadaver. “You won't…get our planet,” I coughed.

“No?” he asked. “And why not?”

I did my best to sound tough, to sound confident. It didn't go very well.

“I'll…stop you…” I gasped.

“Is that so?” He knelt down in front of me. He smelled of the grave, of death. “Another human cliché comes to mind:
You—and what army?
”

The entire rear wall of the sun room—fully sixty feet of glass—shattered all at once.

Booth leapt to his feet and spun around.

Figures emerged from the darkness, stepping over the broken shards and spilling into the ruined room. There were two dozen of them at least, and each one brandished a Super Soaker. In the center of the line, a tall, dark-skinned boy came forward with a slightly shorter dreadlocked girl right beside him.

“That'd be us,” Tom said.

Raising the Stakes

At first I couldn't believe what I was seeing. I blinked, trying to focus through a haze of pain and dizziness.

They'd come. Heck, it almost looked like
all
of them had come!

For just a moment, Tom's eyes found mine. The Chief smiled.

He doesn't
look
mad.

I moved my gaze over to Sharyn.

She winked at me.

Booth glowered, his milky sunken eyes accessing this new threat that seemed to have appeared out of nowhere. Then to my surprise, the Corpse smiled and said, almost politely, “Mr. Jefferson, is it?”

It was Sharyn who answered. “Ain't nobody but!”

Booth's smile widened. It wasn't a pretty sight. “This is a rare treat. I've heard so much about you.”

“Same here,” Tom replied.

“I'm surprised you made it past my security now that the power's back on.”

The Chief shrugged. “It ain't as good as you think it is.”

“Really? I'll have to have my people look into that. And my two guards?”

Tom brandished his Super Soaker. “A bit under the weather just now. As for those twenty Corpses you sent into Haven—they just found the place deserted. Go figure.”

Booth seemed unperturbed. “Ah! But we watched you load your van. By now my associates have followed it to your new hideout!”

Tom smiled thinly. “And which van would that be? By the time the one we loaded hit the streets, four more that look just like it were already tooling empty around the neighborhood—all headed to different spots all over town. Your thugs found nothing, believe me.”

At that, Booth actually laughed. “I see! How wonderfully clever of you. But then I would expect nothing less from the leader of a group that has managed to so effectively evade me over these past few years.”

“Thanks.”

Booth's smile vanished, replaced by a menacing sneer. “Of course, I wasn't trying all that hard. After all, what threat did your so-called Undertakers really pose? A few stolen Seers. Some boldly dramatic rescues. Nothing more troublesome than that.”

Tom's expression was stone. “All that's about to change.”

“Really? Ready to raise the stakes? Are you sure, boy? Because tonight, you
have
become troublesome. After this I will hunt your little Peter Pan underground movement to every corner of this city. And I won't rest until every one of you meddling brats is dead!”

“Big talk,” Sharyn remarked, “seeing that we're the one with the guns.”

“Fire away with your toys!” Booth declared, spreading his huge arms wide, naked as a jaybird. “I'll return as strong as ever! I
will
be mayor of Philadelphia, and when I am, there will be nothing to keep me from turning the whole of this city to the single purpose of your utter destruction!” The Corpse laughed mockingly. “You're nothing, Mr. Jefferson! A boy playing general—commander of a children's army. Even with your toys and tricks, you're no match for us! No match for me!”

“That right?” Tom asked, unperturbed. A slow smile crept over his face. He handed his Soaker to Sharyn. She accepted it without question, although I could read the sudden apprehension in her eyes.

Tom took a step forward. He glanced first at me and then at Helene, who still lay motionless on the tile floor. “You're good at beating up children, ain't you, Booth?” the Chief of the Undertakers said. “How's about trying your luck with a cooler partner?”

Booth's grin widened.

This is what he wanted!

The Corpse hissed, “My pleasure—Undertaker.”

Booth launched himself forward with such blinding speed that I reflexively cried out a warning. I couldn't believe that even Tom, as good as he was, could possibly defend himself against something that fast.

He could.

The boy sidestepped the dead man, sticking out his foot at the last moment. With a frustrated howl, Booth tripped, crashing down onto the tiles. The Corpse recovered instantly, springing to his feet with tiger-like grace, his milky eyes wide with anger.

Tom turned to face him, smiling thinly. Along the shattered glass wall, the Angels were swapping nervous looks. Sharyn's trademark grin was gone. For the first time, I could see real fear on the girl's face—fear for her brother.

Raising one hand, Tom waggled his finger Booth's way.

And the Corpse came, but more slowly this time, never taking his eyes off his prey. Tom waited, calm but expectant, not retreating a step.

“Get him,” I muttered.

The instant he came within striking range, Booth lashed out with one lightning-quick fist. Tom ducked it. Then came the other fist. Tom ducked that one too, his head bobbing and his body weaving with each new assault. I noticed that he didn't attempt to block a single swing. Doing so—given Booth's far greater strength—would have been disastrous. Instead the Chief, with his usual calm confidence, was simply arranging not to be there when each blow connected.

This went on for perhaps half a minute, although it seemed longer, and with each dodge, Booth grew more and more angry. Finally, with a frustrated roar, the Corpse suddenly hurtled himself forward, meaning to body-slam his irritating opponent halfway across the long room.

This time Tom didn't duck. He didn't even crouch. He picked his moment and then launched himself into a single hard kick. The blade of his foot caught Booth in the midsection. Reflexively the Corpse doubled over.

Tom then grabbed the cadaver's decaying right arm, twisted it up behind his back, and with a single brutal yank—
snapped
it off.

Sharyn let out a little whoop of victory, although she still looked frightened.

Booth staggered a few steps and turned around, accessing the damage. He felt no pain, of course, but there was no way to miss the humiliation in his eyes.

“You'll pay for that,” he hissed at Tom.

Tom merely smiled, still clutching the disembodied limb.

The Corpse advanced again, the fingers of his remaining hand open and reaching for his opponent's throat.

Tom swung the arm like a baseball bat, with terrific force, catching Booth squarely in the side of his head.

There was a sickening
crunch
that made me wince.

When I looked again, Booth was standing completely still. His head was
sideways
, half-hanging off his neck, his eyes unfocused. Tom looked him over for a few seconds. Then he dropped the severed arm and stepped close to the helpless dead guy.

In his native tongue, Booth slurred, “
No
.
Can
.
Kill
.
Me
.”

The Chief calmly placed his open palm on the Corpse's quivering chest. “Don't want to,” he said. Then he pushed.

Booth toppled like a tree, landing on his back, his head lolling horribly on what was left of his broken neck. Still, he didn't—couldn't—move. He was trapped inside a human body, and a human body had its limits.

Tom knelt down beside the fallen Corpse. When he spoke again, it was through clenched teeth. “What I want is for you to get this message, you decaying sack of meat. We been fighting now for three years—but it's been what you might call a defensive kind of fight. Well, that's done.

“As of this moment, the Undertakers declare war on your kind. As of now, we're going to start hitting back—hard. Maybe I can't kill you, but I can kill your plans. You think we were trouble before? Well, now we're going to be a hornet's nest. Everything you build, we'll tear down. Every victory you think you've won will turn out to be a defeat in disguise. Everywhere you turn, whatever you do, there we'll be. You want to know why?”

Tom leaned close. “Because you're tearing up folks' lives. Because you're killing innocent kids. Because you're messing with our city and our world. And the part that bugs me most? You're a tourist!”

Then he straightened, turned his back, and said to Sharyn, almost casually, “Got your sword back, sis?”

She grinned and held up Vader, recovered from where it had fallen from my grasp. “Got it!”

“Use it.”

As the Angels gathered around and Sharyn went to work, Tom went to Helene. He pressed his fingers to her throat and then his hand to her forehead. Then he turned to me. “She's got a good bump, but she'll be okay.”

Relief washed over me. Elsewhere in the room, hidden behind a circle of Angels, Sharyn's sword was going up and down, over and over. I realized with a shudder that she was doing more than just decapitating Kenny Booth. She was cutting him to pieces.

But it won't kill him. He'll be good as new by morning.

Unless—

Tom came and stood over me, smiling and offering his hand. I took it, and he pulled me to my feet. “You cool? We saw what was going down through the windows while we were coming up the hill out back but couldn't get here in time to stop it. You breathing okay?”

My throat was sore, but I was getting air. I nodded.

“Nothing broke?”

“I…don't think so.”

The Chief shook his head, marveling. “Ian'll be beside himself. He was sure you came out here with a busted arm.”

“I'm fine.” Then, lowering my head, I added, “Tom, I'm sorry.”

He shook his head. “Don't be. It's me who's sorry. I've been so busy trying to play it safe that I forgot the first rule of any army. You never leave a soldier behind—whatever the odds. It took my sis to bring me around. After you left, she cornered me. She told me what you'd done and what exactly she thought of my
defensive war
.”

I was shocked. “She shouldn't have done that!”

“Yeah, she should've. I needed it. She told me that Will Ritter was twice the leader I was because you were willing to go into the heart of the enemy camp—alone—to rescue a comrade in trouble. She was dead right, and I'm ashamed that it took me so long to see it.”

I felt a glow of pride, but it didn't last. Suddenly alarmed, I cried, “Tom! There's two more Corpses in the basement! I hit one with saltwater, and Helene dropped the other. But with the way these things heal—”

The Chief held up a hand. “No sweat. It's cool.”

“But—”

Tom reached out and slid a hand into the breast pocket of my jacket—a pocket I almost never used. It came out holding a rock.

Except, of course, it wasn't a real rock.

I gasped. “You planted a bug on me?”

“Sharyn did,” he replied, “when she hugged you outside Haven right before you split. She figured it might come in handy. But it's short range—so we couldn't pick nothing up until we got right up to Booth's front gate. By then you and Helene had escaped into this room and were already in trouble. But we
did
hear Booth talking all about his dudes in the basement. The same Undertakers that I sent to handle the front door guards took care of them too. They won't be going no place for a while.”

I looked from him to the rock and then back again. I laughed shakily. “Well, in that case, what the heck took you people so long?”

A perplexed look flashed across Tom's face. “Funny thing. We drove up here in one of the vans and got most of the way up Ridge Avenue when the engine suddenly died—along with every other car on the road, the streetlamps, and even the lights in the neighboring buildings. No matter what we did, that sucker wouldn't start again, so we had to all come the last quarter-mile on foot!”

I stifled a laugh. I'd have to explain that—later.

“Well, your timing was perfect!” I exclaimed. “That was one awesome entrance!”

“That was Sharyn. She's got this thing for being dramatic. Speaking of which—yo, sis! You done over there?”

The dreadlocked girl raised her sword. The blade wasn't bloody—Kenny Booth
had
no blood—but the girl wielding it looked like she'd broken a sweat. “I think he got the message!”

“Cool! Let's move out!”

Sharyn issued the retreat order. The Angels immediately turned and exited out through the shattered sun room windows. As Tom went to Helene, scooping her up effortlessly in his arms, I ran over and recovered my fallen pocketknife.

On the way back, I looked down at what was left of Kenny Booth. There wasn't much. Sharyn's efforts had reduced him to a pile of parts—a collection of twitching gray bits of human being. I felt bad for the guy—the living human—who'd once owned that body. But at least the
thing
inside it now wouldn't be going anywhere. Something told me there wasn't another handy cadaver for him to Transfer into here in this sun room.

“Nothing a couple of Sweet-Rox won't fix, right, Mr. Booth?” I asked.

One of the milky eyes inside what little remained of the Corpse's head fixed on me.

I grinned.

“Coming?” Tom called.

“Yeah!”

Together the two of us—with Tom carrying Helene—exited through the shattered windows and headed down the hill after the rest of the Undertakers.

Halfway across the lawn, however, alone and out of earshot from the others, Tom suddenly stopped. “Hey, bro—hold up.”

I paused, curious. He studied me for a moment and then said, smiling, “Know what I think?”

“What?”

“I think Karl Ritter would've been proud of his son tonight.”

I looked back at him. Tom stood bathed in the glow of the moon, with Helene's limp form cradled in his arms. That image of the Chief of the Undertakers seemed somehow to define him, and it was one that I knew I would remember for the rest of my life.

You came for us tonight. You may say that Sharyn talked you into it, but I don't quite believe that. Nobody could talk you into anything if you didn't already secretly want to do it. You wanted to come. You just needed somebody to show you how.