Controlling the Dead (3 page)

T. Paul keeps strolling along. He goes to a small house in the middle and knocks on the door. When it opens, T. Paul says, “I brought ‘em, Mago.”

The light over-hanging the porch and yard is bright enough to block out anything beyond the door. Several long moments stretch out before a familiar voice carries from the darkened house. “Oh, it’s you.”

C
HAPTER
T
HREE

I narrow my eyes at the bored tone as his face appears in the light. The all black attire blends the rest of his body into the background. My neck bends as I follow his height. Mago’s dark eyes travel the length of me in intense scrutiny. A hand motions us inside. The only color on his body is the gold hoops in his ears, gleaming in the light.

Upon stepping inside, the house is dim and shabby, but clean. A floral sofa is a little worse for wear and trimmed with wood. An afghan drapes across the back. Pictures of children and smiling faces adorn the wall as oil lamps cast shadows against them.

My stomach flips when I spot his performing zombie, Pappers, sitting on a cushioned chair looking putridy. A weird altar sits in the corner. The place reeks of incense—not incense, herbs. Jasmine and sage is all I can make out. Mago leads us across a well-worn carpet to a back room with more shabby couches and a ring-stained coffee table in the middle of the room. Like the front room, oil lamps are the main source of light.

“All right,” he continues in the uninterested manner as he glides down into a chair. I’m beginning to think his tone is perpetual, so I let it roll off me. He motions for us to sit, so we do. “What do you want?” He strokes his thin pointy beard with long fingers and tight eyes—the only sign of skepticism.

I scoff but come up short. Spent all this time looking for the man and I’m not sure what to ask first. It’s hardly believable we are finally here. Glancing at Reece, he’s no help, only raising his brows in response. I start with the basics. “How do you do it?”

“The how is really none of your concern. You couldn’t do it if you tried. I was born to it. It doesn’t mean I like it.” He speaks slowly, as if he is talking to ignorant people.

“But…why? Why do shows at the community and help Dr. Finnegan?”

He steeples his fingers together, “I do what I have to do to be left alone.” His tone implies we are wasting his valuable time. A sigh escapes him and he runs a hand along his small beard. Must be a nervous tick. “I’m really not the villain you’re seeking.”

“That little boy controlled a zombie and stood up for it.” I point in the general direction of the front door.

“I would imagine so, since they give great contribution to our family.”

“Don’t you worry about anyone getting bit?”

Mago lifts a shoulder. “It hasn’t happened in a while.”

“You give your family the vaccination,” I state, fishing for any information he’ll give me.

He narrows his eyes and looks between Reece and me. It takes him a long moment to speak. Leaning forward, he says, “The vaccination is intended to sway individuals into willing compliance. It puts them in a state of fallacious assurance.” He rambles without an ounce of his soft Cajun dialect. He leans back into the couch. “In other words, the vaccine is bullshit.” These words slip out slowly and all other thoughts flee my brain as I fall backwards onto the couch.

Long minutes pass as this news sinks in. I turn to Reece when he moves. His head is in his hands, and I bite my cuticles. Our disappointment with this news weighs heavy. This is where the situation can get tricky. Reece hasn’t thought of the biohazard suits yet, but I have. If those vials aren’t a vaccine, what are they? Do I trust Mago enough to ask him? After all, he could be feeding me crap. The light dawns on Reece’s face as he looks at me. I silently communicate we will not trust Mago with everything just yet. I think he understands because his head inclines a fraction.

Determination makes a leap underneath my skin as I notice Mago taking in our exchange. Maybe he wants us dejected, but I sit up straight and press on, “You’re saying you’re helping Dr. Finnegan by means of zombies, while he lies to…” How many more places live with that false security? “Numerous people with a supposed cure? Just to be left alone?”

“Finnegan plays with fire. Karma works in mysterious ways. One must be careful of ill health and death.” It doesn’t escape my notice he gives me information without outright answering my questions. Surely, he’s aware he does it, as if he’s trying to tell me something without actually saying it while evading all my other questions.

Anyway, isn’t karma Buddhism? “Funny you say that, since you’re the one with the zombie minions.” I tap my chin and blurt, “How do you know all of this?”

Mago’s eyes slide toward the wall for a brief second, but I notice. “I don’t,” he says through gritted teeth as if he hates admitting when he doesn’t know anything. The air becomes thick with things unsaid. Reece audibly swallows. The denim between my thighs scratches together when I shift. A fly buzzes inside the blinds of the window. Long moments pass as we sit and watch Mago in his lifeless state. He doesn’t move, nor does he switch his gaze between Reece and me. His eyes are on me, but his focus is the space between all of us. He is in his own world or in a room by himself, and we are not here.

I wipe my sweaty palms on the couch and clear my throat. “Do the zombies know what’s happening to them? Are they still in there, somehow?” I’ve wanted to ask him this since I stepped through the door.

Awareness snaps together in a split second as his eyes dart to me. “In-Sight-Ful. Lit-tle. Thing.” Mago bites each syllable out, but his gaze returns to the space between Reece and I. “Do you think I can read their minds?”

“No, but if you’re so worried about karma, you should keep that in mind.” Reece peers at me as if he’s never seen me before.

Mago rubs his eyes with a forefinger and thumb, stopping at the bridge of his nose. “You have no idea the sacrifices I’ve made. Not only for humanity, but also for myself. My deeper, spiritual self.”

I don’t know how to respond to that.

“I do what I have to for my daughter, Mya. A Mambo being held and used by Finnegan.”

I stare at him. “A Mambo?”

“Yes, a priestess. A female version of myself.”

“You have to help us then. Almost the whole world’s population is gone and he’s taking credit for it. He said so himself, just not in those words. I don’t comprehend this whole Voodoo thing, but I can help you, too.”

Rubbing his beard, he stares at me, but not really. His eyes dart around me and he looks distracted again. “Maybe. They are dealing with the ramifications of your menace. Just as you are.” His dark eyes scan my face and neck. I zip my hoodie tighter as he continues. “I shall think about it.” He stands as if dismissing us.

Reece climbs to his feet too, “That’s it?” he says to Mago.

I don’t get up yet. Mago peers me. “In such a hurry for things you know nothing about. I said I would think about it. I’ll be in Nashville when I can.”

I reluctantly stand up, feeling—well, I don’t know how I feel just yet. As we step out, a woman with long braids greets us with a smile. Her light brown skin contrasts nicely with a printed shirt of blue and purple paisley. She blinks at me, looking stunned and says, “You should help them, Mago.”

He peers at her, his face unreadable. A string of French releases from his mouth. She looks at me with renewed interest, which makes me uncomfortable. “Do be so kind as to pack them some N’awlins gumbo, Leila.” Mago smiles widely, and it adds animation to his face. My mouth waters even though I’ll be picking meat out of it.

She grins and goes about her business. I look at the grisly looking altar. A little bowl wafts smoke, but the smoke starts a new hurried rhythm as it drifts in the air. A chill shudders through my body. For some reason, I need to get out. Now.

Reece is out the door before me, when I hear rather than feel a snip on my hair. I turn to find Mago standing behind me with scissors, stuffing the clip of my hair into his pocket.

“What the—” My hood has fallen, and I snatch it over my head. “Why do you need that?” My voice squeaks even more abnormally as my heart picks up speed. Thoughts of what he can do with my hair flash through my mind. A little doll with yarn dreads and needles sticking out of its eyes takes precedence in my mind. Panic makes me break out into a cold sweat.

Mago looks at me steadily. “Insurance. Miss Moore, do not tell anyone you were here or that you spoke to me. If you can keep it to yourself, maybe you really will be of use to me,” he smiles. It’s disheartening. I try to swallow past my uneasiness and understand he’s trying to develop some kind of trust with me, but I can’t.

“I don’t care. Give it back.” I step toward him, reaching for his pocket when I slam backward into a wall. Bloated fingers hold onto my arms and I’m face-to-face with Pappers. Only an inch of space is between us, and the smell of his rotten breath overtakes my senses. Grunting, I push him off and grip my gun as he tries to grab me again.
A gunshot sounds, echoing in my ears, and Pappers splatters across the small foyer and me. Swiping at the blood on my face and neck, it’s cold and gooey. 

My throat contracts, but I swallow as my body trembles. I just killed a Voodoo priest’s prized zombie.
Mago watches ominously, but makes no move against me. Reece’s eyes are wide and spooked. “We should go, Kan. Now.”

“That’s probably a good idea,” Leila speaks up. She’s the only one that does not look upset. She says something to Mago in French. I back out of the door, not taking my eyes off Mago as a deep sense of dread settles over me.

Some strange men lead us to an old, rusted Pinto. Reece doesn’t say anything and that worries me. Out of nowhere, T. Paul arrives and climbs in the front to drive. I gulp and look at Reece. He shrugs, knowing it beats walking back. Walking will keep us alive, though. This kid is not old enough to drive.

We get into the back and I immediately reach for my seat belt only to discover it’s broken. Great. T. Paul turns to give us a reassuring smile. “Mmm… I smell Leila’s gumbo. She make it best.” I nod, trying not to show my internal protest. “Hold on to ya knickers!” The pinto jumps to a go with a loud backfire.

“Do you really think that was wise? And for a Voodoo priest to have your hair?” Reece whispers. No. No, I do not. My eyes burn and my brain hurts. It’s probably because my body has not stopped trembling. When I glance at the house, Mago stands on the front porch in the bright light looking like a complete shadow. Goosebumps rise on my flesh as a chill sweeps up my spine.

Reece’s silhouette shows in the moonlight. His bald head has grown stubby. “If you had hair, I would have offered yours,” I throw out facetiously. A nervous chuckle escapes him as we bound our way through the swamp.

C
HAPTER
F
OUR

We eat our gumbo on the patio watching putrids scratch at the poles below. I pick out some weird sausage and keep the shrimp. It’s good. I can’t remember the last time I’ve had any kind of seafood.

“This sausage looks gross,” I mumble, tossing it into Reece’s cup.

He chuckles. “That’d be gator.” He takes a chunk, chewing dramatically with his mouth open. “Tastes like chicken.” He smiles, but my stomach heaves.

I give my cup to him. “All yours.”

 “You should eat.” Bushy brows pull into a frown as he studies me.

I pick up a bottle of PGA and change the subject. “If the vaccine is fake, why the need for the biohazard suits?”

Reece sighs and decides to ignore my chug-a-lug. “Maybe they are trying to come up with one?”

“Maybe,” I say, biting my lip. Something isn’t right with it. “What if it’s the zombie virus? Finnegan did imply making it. Why keep it cold? They went to the trouble of cutting power for some reason.”

The wheels turn inside his noggin as he contemplates. “The team might have some answers. And anyway, Mago’s only grasping at straws about the vaccine being fake. He admitted that much.” I can only hope the vaccine is real now. I also don’t see any reason for anyone to give the team useful information.

“I think Mago knows more than he is letting on.”

Reece rubs his head. “Probably, but that is one weird fucker.”

“No shit. At least you don’t have to sleep with one eye open.” Reece stares at me in concern. We remain silent.

I can’t take it. “I thought you did tattoos in the old life.”

He shakes his head, “Nah, riding buddy of mine did. I was around a lot. Learned from him as a hobby of sorts. Never got a certification.” He shrugs, “Plus, I loved my job. I enjoyed helping those boys.” He sends me a pointed expression.

“Way to be subtle.”

“Not trying to be.” I look away, but still feel his piercing stare. He tries a different tactic, “He’s probably worried about you.”

I shrug, trying to seem indifferent, but he knows better. He also gives up. For now.

He finishes the gumbo and drinks a few gulps before retiring to the couch. I sit and drink, reading the damn book until I can’t think anymore. At least I make it to the bed tonight. I even shut the door.

*

“Darlin’?” I sigh at the whisper in my ear. “Darlin’, I love you. I love you. I love you.” The whisper is a far away echo. “Darlin’!”

My eyes pop open, and I flinch, blinking them against the bright sunlight. A gray textured dashboard sits in front of me, and I rest my head on the passenger door window. I sit in the jeep. Sweat beads my upper lip from the blistering sun shining through the window. I can’t tell where we are, but we aren’t moving.

With a small smile, I turn to the driver. “Where are we?” I ask Rudy.

He snarls at me. My heart and stomach drop to new depths. His bloodshot eyes fill my vision as his big body lunges over the middle console into me. My hands fly out to keep his snapping mouth away from me. Decayed breath huffs in my face. The skin of his neck is clammy under my fingertips. He has the strength of the newly changed. I choke on my gasp as I look into his eyes. The tricolored irises look milky beneath popped veins. He’s not Rudy anymore. His large body moves awkwardly in the small space. My arms buckle under his weight. There isn’t time to think. Instincts kick in as I jerk on the door handle. The door swings open with a metallic screech as our combined weight falls to the ground. Gravel digs into my back as his weight tumbles over me, giving me time to pull my gun and get into a sitting position.