Cemetery Club (25 page)

“Good thing it happened after closing, huh?”

Travers turned and saw Kyle Overton, one of the junior patrol officers, approaching. Waving his hand at the overturned tables, broken bottles and glasses, and scattered body parts, Travers asked, “A good thing? What in hell is good about this, Overton?”

Overton’s face turned red and his eyes went wide. “I, um, I just meant that it could have been a lot worse if the restaurant was open and crowded. Sir.”

He’s right. Three dead is a helluva lot better than twenty or thirty. But he also needs to learn when to keep his mouth shut.

“Tell you what rookie. Go help the crime scene boys bag the pieces. Then talk to me about how lucky we were.”

Overton had enough sense to look embarrassed - and afraid - as he walked away. Watching him, Travers gave a silent curse. He’d probably been too hard on the kid but it would make him a better officer in the long run.

Then his thoughts turned to the mess inside. They
had
gotten lucky. Not only had there been just a skeleton crew cleaning in the kitchen but one of them had escaped and called 911. The officers who’d responded managed to kill two of the perps. No one was saying anything out loud about the condition of the two assailants but from the brief look Travers had of the bodies, he’d seen they were just like the ones in the morgue.

Monsters,
his mind supplied.
Zombies.

Bullshit. There’s no such thing. They’re just wacked out on some new drug, something we haven’t been trained to look for. But that’s gonna change tonight.

Pulling out his cell phone, he scrolled through his contacts for the Medical Examiner.

“Corish? It’s Travers. Get your troops together ASAP. We’ve got bodies coming in and I want tests run for every known and unknown drug possible. Legal and illegal. Something’s turning people into walking death machines and I want to know what it is.”

*  *  *

Marisol was enjoying a wonderful dream. It was the last day of school. As soon as classes were over, she and Cory were going to the beach for a month with Cory’s family, a whole month with her boyfriend - and just as important, a month away from her own family.

The strident ring of the school bell signaled the start of summer vacation. Grabbing her book bag, she ran outside. Except the bell wouldn’t stop ringing. If anything, it grew louder.

What’s wrong with it? And where’s Cory?

“Marisol?”

Someone grabbed her shoulder. She turned her head, expecting to see Cory standing there.

Instead, it was a skeleton dressed in a gray robe.

“No! I don’t want to die!” She tried to pull away but the bony hand shook her harder.

“Marisol!”

She sat up and the Reaper disappeared, replaced by the dark outlines of her bedroom.

A dream. Oh, sweet Jesus, it was only a dream.

The ringing continued.

“Marisol. The phone.”

Cory gave her arm one more shake. Her heart still beating in double-time, she reached out and picked up the phone.

“Hello?”

Five minutes later she was heading for the door.

Marisol stared at the corpses and wondered if she was still dreaming, a nightmare about the end of the world, like in one of those movies where the dead rise up and take over everything.

Not for the first time since reuniting with her old friends, she wished she could just pack her things and leave Rocky Point far, far behind. Common sense told her to say the hell with her town but her conscience wouldn’t hear of it. Forget her burgeoning relationship with Cory; there was no way she could abandon Todd. Not again.

We did that once already and ruined his life.

No, the four of them were stuck with the mess they’d made, doomed to see it out to the end, whatever that might be.

Please God, just don’t let it be at the hands of one of these...
things
, with its teeth tearing my stomach open.

She hadn’t had any nightmares about her attack - yet. Maybe because three days had passed and she hadn’t turned into a walking corpse. But she knew it was just a matter of time before the zombie-things appeared in her dreams. She’d always been that way. The problems of her waking hours became the stuff of her nightmares.

“Marisol, which one do you want?”

“What?” Startled from her musings, Marisol glanced to the side, where Ned Felson, who usually worked opposite shifts from her, was standing between the two bodies, a tray of tubes and syringes in each hand.

“Left or right?” he asked, unfazed by the gruesome condition of the corpses. Their skin was gray and mottled, their eyes a vile yellow, worse than jaundice could explain. Although they looked like week-old corpses, the fresh blood around the bullet holes in their bodies was clear evidence they’d been alive when shot.

“I’ll take left,” she said, accepting one of the collection kits. She’d only worked with Felson on a couple of occasions but he seemed like one of those people who are always cheerful, even when handling a stinking, rotting body. She wasn’t sure if that was a good or bad thing, given that her current mood was one of barely-controlled terror. She decided that maybe focusing on work would be a good way to blot out both her anxiety and Felson’s already irritating whistling.

Although their job was simply to collect samples, Marisol couldn’t help doing her own unofficial examination as she gathered specimens of blood, body cavity fluids, cerebral-spinal fluid and saliva. Corish himself would be in later to perform the autopsies and collect further tissue from the brain and other organs.

The brain might be a tough one,
she thought. Both men had been shot in the head, resulting in tremendous damage to the skull and its contents.

You have to shoot a zombie in the head to kill it.

Forcing the thought away, she scraped under the fingernails, gathering potential evidence into small brown envelopes. At the same time she took a closer look at the man’s skin. While his paleness could be explained by loss of blood, there was no hiding the dark mottling covering his body, the same mottling that usually occurred when decomposition began to set in. Also, the skin had no yellowish tone to it at all, in direct contrast to the eyes.

Definitely not a liver issue.

The smell was all wrong too. There was the usual stink of fresh death - shit and blood and piss from the damage to the stomach and intestines, and the associated relaxing of the bladder and sphincter muscles. But based on the visual clues, the body should have reeked of decomposition. Yet the only other odors Marisol picked up were a mélange of body odor and dirt, as if the man had been living in the woods for weeks.

Or underground. Like in a cave or tunnel.

“You ready Freddy?” Ned asked, his overly-cheerful voice actually a welcome break from the pop tunes he’d been whistling.

“One second.” She ran a final swab under the eyelids. She thought about sticking the eye as well, to collect some of the aqueous and vitreous humors, but that was traditionally the ME’s job, performed when he did the cranial autopsy. She made a note on her sheet of the samples that still needed collecting and then handed the kit box to Felson.

“There you go. While you process them, I’ll get the equipment up and running.”

He frowned. “I thought we’d process together and then run them together.”

The thought of spending more time than absolutely necessary with Mr. Sunshine made Marisol want to cringe. “Ed said he wanted everything ASAP. It’ll be faster if I warm up the machines and then load small batches as you set them up, rather than waiting to do a big batch all at once.”

“Oh. Yeah, that makes sense. Catch you in a little while then.” Completely unaffected by her gruff tones or the late hour, Felson started gathering the chemicals he’d need to prep the samples for Marisol’s chemistry and DNA analyzers.

Lord, save me from the perpetually cheerful.

Glad to be out of the autopsy room, Marisol headed for the analysis lab.

It was only when she realized she’d be alone in the room for the first time since her attack that she regretted - just a little - her decision not to stay with Felson.

By four a.m. the initial blood and tox screens were done and the results emailed to the ME. With the DNA tests not due for hours, Marisol dragged her aching body to the break room for another in a seemingly endless line of cups of coffee. While sipping the bitter brew, she sent a quick text message to Cory’s phone, highlighting the results of her tests. As she’d expected, neither body showed any signs of drugs or poisons. In fact, there’d been no foreign substances of any kind in any of the fluid or tissue samples. The only anomalies had been drastically elevated BUN and creatinine levels, along with low blood glucose, evidence of an extremely high protein diet.

And I have a feeling I know what they’ve been eating,
she thought, rubbing her hand across her stitches. She wondered what Chief Travers would say when the stomach contents came back positive for human flesh. Then maybe he’d listen to them.

Probably not. He’ll find a way to rationalize it. A new drug we can’t detect. Satanists. Anything but the truth.

Even with the caffeine in her system, she found her eyes starting to close
. Maybe a quick nap will be good. Refresh my brain.

As she drifted off, Marisol’s last thought was an image of Cory standing in front of a court room, his finger pointed at Chief Travers while quoting that famous line from
A Few Good Men
:

“You can’t handle the truth!”

*  *  *

Marisol arrived at Todd’s house just after 5 p.m. The others were already there. Cory gave her a quick hug and kiss before they all sat down at Todd’s kitchen table. Her stomach growled as she got a whiff of the turkey breast Todd had roasting in the oven.

“Like I told Cory earlier, the tox screens showed nothing unusual. No foreign substances of any kinds. Edwin is still working on the brain and eye samples but I doubt they’ll show anything.”

Cory summed things up. “So, what we’re dealing with, at least for now, are cannibals who seem to be alive and dead at the same time.”

Marisol nodded. “They bleed. Their organs function. They can see and think and breathe. They digest food. But their skin and muscles show signs of decay, as do some of their internal organs. It’s like they’re going through decomposition before they die.”

“Is that why you can shoot them but not kill them?” Todd asked.

“I don’t think so. Remember, some of them have been killed.”

“Head shots,” John said. “Like in the zombie movies.”

“Yes. I haven’t seen all the autopsy results or police reports but I have a theory. I think they just don’t feel pain. Shooting them in the stomach or lungs probably does kill them. But not right away. Unlike a normal human, they can ignore a horrible wound and keep going until they bleed out. My guess is a bullet through the heart would kill them just as well as a head shot.”

Just then the timer on the stove dinged, indicating ten minutes before the turkey was done.

“That’s because they’ve been taken over,” John said, placing a bag of frozen vegetables in the microwave. After starting the timer, he set a basket of rolls on the table, along with a tub of imitation butter.

“That much we can agree on,” Todd said. “Now we just have to figure out by what.” He looked at Marisol. “Is there any way you can get copies of the evidence files, including the police reports?”

“Christ, I don’t know.” She rubbed her hand along her neck. Just being caught looking through the files would be enough to get her fired. But printing them out for private use?

Then she remembered what Todd had sacrificed for them. Without him, she wouldn’t even have a job. Or a life.

“Maybe there’s a way. We’d have to go back tonight, real late. Find an empty lab. I know some of the ME’s pass codes. We all do, in case we have to get information for him when he’s out in the field.”

“I’ll go with you,” Cory said.

“No.” Todd shook his head. “I’ll go.”

Cory tried to object but Todd kept talking.

“If we get caught we could get arrested. I’ve got nothing to lose by spending a night or two in jail. But we’ll need you to stay free so you can get us out.”

Marisol looked at Cory. “I hate to say it but it does make more sense.”

Cory looked like he might continue his argument but then he sighed and sat back in his chair. “Fine. You guys go ahead.”

A series of beeps sounded. signaling the vegetables were ready.

“And with that,” John said, “we eat.”

At three in the morning, the morgue and adjoining lab were as quiet as ever. With the rush work completed, both buildings were back to skeleton crews. Marisol’s knowledge of the layout allowed her and Todd to make their way unnoticed to an unoccupied lab room. In order to keep their presence a secret, they left the lights off, with Marisol using the light from the computer screen to see the keyboard.

“Keep an eye out,” she told Todd. “If you see anyone coming let me know and I’ll turn the monitor off.”

“Got it,” he said, stationing himself in the doorway.

Marisol brought up the reports folders and entered the ME’s personal password. She knew he had other passwords, allowing him access to even more sensitive information, but she was hoping that she’d be able to find what they needed in the folders the morgue and police department frequently shared.

It only took a few moments for her to locate the ones relating to the recent murders. “Bingo,” she said, plugging a memory stick into one of the USB ports. “This is it. Autopsies, names, times. I think we have...oh, holy shit.”

“What?” Todd made his way across the dark room to her side.

“Look at this. There’ve been more than three dozen reports of missing persons or break-ins in the last week. And that’s on top of the ones released to the press.”

“Jesus. We’re living in a war zone and no one even knows it.”

“I’m going to copy all these too.” Marisol tapped some keys. “Maybe we can find a pattern and use it to locate the main hive or nest or whatever.”