Tortured Spirits (41 page)

Andre glared at the woman, who appeared to be thirty. Her eyes grew wider as if she recognized him.

“The humane thing is to put them out of their misery,
put them down, free their souls.” Jake walked to the back of the building and stood at the foot of a medical table. A male zonbie looked at him. He aimed his Glock at the man's head and fired, splattering the wall with brain chunks. The zonbie's body jerked, his eyes closed, and his soul rose.

Jake moved on to a teenage girl who sat up, her breasts discolored blue. After he pulled the trigger, she fell back down. A middle-aged man with a potbelly, down for the count. A once attractive Hispanic woman with blonde hair matted with her own brains after Jake shot her. With methodical precision, he freed their souls one after another. The zonbies didn't panic or flee.

When Jake reached the zonbie the Mambo had been treating, the creature lunged at Andre, who blasted it in the chest. The firepower drove the zonbie onto the table again, where Jake executed the dead thing and freed its soul.

Andre stood over the unmoving zonbie, smoke rising from the barrel of his machine gun.

“That one was just about ready,” Jake said. “It had been programmed with a survival instinct.”

Andre stared at the Mambo. “How
could
you?”

“I'm only following orders,” the woman said in a defiant tone.

A low growl rising from Andre's throat became a full roar as he swung his machine gun over his head and split the woman's skull open.

Lying on her back with the stone floor beneath her head, Maria drifted off into a half sleep. Several times, she opened her eyes at the sound of Catoute's chanting, only to close them again. She saw no point in engaging the withered creature in conversation; she wasn't seeking information, after all. If Jake really was still on Pavot Island and Malvado's people intended to use her as bait, there was nothing she could do but try to warn him if he showed up.

When he shows up.

Maria sensed movement somewhere in the darkness near her, and when she opened her eyes, she saw six pairs of feet approaching her. Blinking to make sure she wasn't dreaming, she looked at the people in the shadows.

Jorge and Pharah!

Jorge, wearing an African robe, held one finger to his
lips for Maria's benefit. Pharah wore a white pantsuit with her hair tied up in a matching ribbon. The others in the party—two men and two women Maria didn't recognize—wore robes similar to Jorge's. The six of them moved in a triangular formation, with Pharah on point.

Maria sat up just enough to glance at Catoute's back. The old woman was kneeling, and Maria heard a chicken cluck. As Maria turned to her rescue party, the chain attached to one of her manacled wrists clinked. The rescuers stopped, and Maria jerked her head toward Catoute, who stiffened.

The old woman clawed at her black cane, stood up, and turned with slow deliberation toward Pharah and the others. The chicken flapped its wings, its legs tied together with wire.

Catoute's eyebrows rose. “What brings you here, Daughter?”

Pharah stepped forward. “This is your day of reckoning.”

Smiling, Catoute shook her head at the tall man standing by Pharah. “Issagha.” He remained stoic, and Catoute wagged a crooked finger at him. “I guess you were more ambitious than I ever realized.”

“The church is sealed,” Issagha said with a touch of regret.

Catoute moved forward, her cane tapping the floor. “And who is this other rabble?”

Maria watched Jorge stiffen.

Pharah stared at Catoute. “Where's my daughter? Issagha says she's vanished.”

“You're standing on her, dear.”

With dread filling her eyes, Pharah looked down at the faded red circle at her feet.

Maria jumped to her feet, the chains pulling at her.

“You wicked, wicked woman,” Pharah said. “You took Sivelia away from me when she was just a child, and now you've betrayed her.”

Catoute brandished her cane. “She betrayed me! That's why I sacrificed her to almighty Kalfu.”

“You'll pay for this, I swear. If not in this world, then in the next.”

Catoute spat chocolate-brown phleghm on the floor. “We'll see who pays.” Cocking her arm, she hurled her cane like a spear at Issagha.

The cane struck him in the throat, and he screamed as he collapsed, his body going into spasms.

Pharah's eyes widened. “Issagha!”

The cane writhed on the floor, then slithered toward Pharah, who jumped backwards.

Maria gasped in disbelief.

Pharah drew the white wrap from around her waist and threw it at the black snake. The wrap descended on the serpent like a shroud, ensnaring it.

Catoute hissed like a serpent herself.

The black snake entwined around the white wrap, which began to slither as well. Two long snakes, one black and one white, battled each other on the floor.

Oh, Jesus,
Maria thought.

Jaws snapped at each other, fangs flashed, tongues darted in and out. The white snake seized the black snake
behind its head and clamped down on it.

“No!” Catoute said, her face contorting as if she'd lost a child.

The white snake gnawed on the black snake, which snapped its body like a whip. The ebony body continued to writhe even after the white snake had separated its head.

Sinking to her knees with tears in her eyes, Catoute screamed.

The white snake slithered toward Pharah, who picked it up by its head and tail. The younger woman stretched out the white snake, then wrapped it around her waist. She crouched beside Issagha, who had stopped moving. Wincing, she rose. “Your magic is weak. Your time as a Mambo is at an end. Help us or stay out of the way.”

Catoute looked at Pharah, one side of her upper lip twitching. “I'll see your blood on that floor next, bitch.”

“Put a gun on her,” Pharah said.

Throwing back his robe, Jorge revealed a machine gun, which he aimed at Catoute. “Get up.”

Glaring at Jorge, Catoute managed to rise.

“Somebody get me out of these chains,” Maria said.

Pharah glanced at Catoute. “Where's the key?”

“I don't know. I didn't think I'd need one.”

Pharah faced Maria. “I'm sorry. We've got something more important to worry about right now. You'll just have to wait.”

“This is some rescue,” Maria said.

“Don't take this the wrong way, but we didn't come to rescue you.”

Maria glanced at Jorge, who shrugged with a guilty look on his face. She turned back to Pharah. “Don't take this the wrong way, but that old bitch keeps talking about summoning a Loa named Kalfu, and as far as I can tell, I'm standing in the middle of the landing pad. Get me
out
of these.”

Pharah nodded to Jorge. “Go ahead. Look. Everyone else—start lighting these candles.”

Andre stood gasping over the corpse of the Mambo he had just slain, his face wet with her glistening blood. “Monsters.”

Jake set one hand on the man's shoulder. “Jesus, you're no Mandela.”

Andre wiped the blood on his face. “No, I'm not. After thirty years in El Miedo, I'm filled with rage.”

“You're only human.”

“Is there more to see?”

“I'm afraid so.” Jake led Andre and Stephane to the last structure. With difficulty, he ejected the magazine from his Glock, slapped another one in its place, holstered the gun, and drew a flashlight, which he aimed at putrid black smoke billowing out of a ventilation shaft in the roof.

“What is it?” Andre said.

“When the zonbies are too far gone to be of any more use, they recycle themselves. One of the key ingredients of Black Magic is the self-cremated remains of the undead.”

Andre turned pale. “It's like the Nazi concentration camps, only even more perverse.”

“We're on a schedule,” Jake said.

They returned to the truck. The four overseers lay dead on the ground, their horses tied to the truck. Louider and his men had unloaded all of the crates and were prying them open with crowbars.

“Uh-oh,” Andre said, looking in the direction of the jungle opposite the poppy fields.

Jake turned around. “Ah, fuck.”

Two dozen zonbies emerged from the trees two hundred yards away. All of them carried machine guns.

“Maria said the patrols carried machetes. I guess they stepped up their game.”

“Louider!” Andre said.

Louider joined them and cursed. Then he called out to his men, who came running. “What do you propose, Helman?”

“We don't have any choice,” Jake said. “But taking out that many”—he pointed in the direction of the poppy fields—”will bring many more.”

“I'm beginning to see the downside of your plan,” Andre said.

“Spread out,” Louider said to his men, who moved into action. “Helman, you can't shoot a machine gun with one hand. Andre, you can't shoot at all. Both of you get into the back of the truck and lie down. Stephane, you'd better cover their asses.”

Jake glanced at the zonbie patrol marching forward, rifles and machine guns clenched in their leathery hands. He looked the other way at the hundreds of zonbies who
continued to work in the fields without the overseers' supervision.

“Make sure you wait until you see their white eyes,” Jake said to Louider. “It will be easier to hit them in the head that way.”

Louider waved in a dismissive gesture.

Jake climbed into the truck and helped Andre up. Stephane followed. They lay down in the truck and switched on their flashlights.

Then the shooting started.

Jorge grabbed the leather around Catoute's neck, and two dozen keys rattled on a ring. “Got it!”

He pulled the ring over the old woman's head and raced over to Maria, who stood watching as Pharah and the others in their party lit the candles one by one with kitchen matches.

“What are they doing?” Maria said as Jorge inserted different keys into the locks on the manacles.

“Each candle represents the soul of one zonbie. We need to light all of them.”

“For what reason?”

Jorge looked her in the eye. “To enlist the zonbies in our cause.”

Maria's mouth hung open for a moment. “This is Jake's crazy idea, isn't it?”

“Oui. You know him well.”

“But there are
thousands
of them. At the rate they're going, it'll take all day.”

Jorge continued to try different keys. The manacle on Maria's right wrist snapped open. The same key unlocked the other manacle.

“Where's Armand?” Maria said.

“Dead. He was killed outside El Miedo, along with eleven others.”

Maria felt as if she'd been kicked. She had liked Armand, had felt a connection to him. “I'm sorry. Very, very sorry.”

“Merci.”

Moving forward, Maria gazed at the candles that had been lit so far. Maybe a hundred with four people working.

“It will never work,” Catoute said, drawing out each word.

Jorge aimed his machine gun at her. “Thank you for showing such concern for our cause. We'll give it a shot anyway.”

Rubbing her wrists, Maria stood behind Pharah as she lit the candlewicks. “How is this
supposed
to work?”

“Look closely at the base of each candle, and you'll see a single human hair wrapped around it,” Pharah said without interrupting her task. “Each hair belongs to the zonbie whose soul the candle controls. My mother programs each zonbie with a simple list of commands when her priests and priestesses embalm them—work the poppy fields at night; return to your shelter at sunrise; obey all commands from your overseers—then modifies those orders as she wishes with these candles. Now are you going to stand there
gawking, or are you going to give us a hand?”

“I have a better idea.” Maria ran over to the cabinets against the curved wall. “Jorge, put Catoute in her own chains so you can help.”