Queen of the Dead (13 page)

“Crap!” Dave yelled.

We froze in our tracks halfway along an empty corridor as something skirted around us and ran down the hallway—a fuzzy blur—before it disappeared around a corner.

A cat.

“That was a big one!” the Burgermeister exclaimed.

“Yeah,” I said.

“Wouldn't want to pet it,” he added with a nervous laugh.

“Nope,” I said.

“Probably take your arm off!”

“Yeah,” I said again. I had more on my mind than wild cats.

And with that, my friend and I continued on our way, heading for the room we shared.

In the old Haven, there'd been only a boy's dorm and a girl's dorm, with army surplus cots for beds and footlockers for dressers. In the new Haven, the cots and footlockers were still here, but the dorms had given way to two-person bedrooms. On first realizing this, most of the kids had paired up pretty automatically, with the stragglers getting thrown together by lots. Only Tom and Sharyn each had private quarters.

Our space was small, about eight by six, just big enough for our cots and lockers. The only light came from a candle because, so far, electricity hadn't made it as far as the private rooms. Also, the lack of ventilation meant we couldn't use kerosene heaters. True, the subbasement's thick walls helped insulate us.

But still, going to bed in Haven meant chilly darkness. And a lot of blankets.

My side of our little cave was pretty sparse, though Dave had managed to spruce his up with a poster he'd found somewhere. It showed an old, worn-out, button-eyed teddy bear sitting in a dark gutter, looking lonely. The band was called the Mopey Teenage Bears. I knew nothing about them, but my roommate seemed to consider that poster his most prized possession.

We'd come here on our way to the cafeteria because Dave wanted to change his shirt. What I hoped that meant was he wanted to spray his sweaty pits and
then
change his shirt. The Burgermeister had some great qualities, but underdeveloped sweat glands weren't among them.

“Can I ask you something?” I said as he rummaged through his footlocker. “Whose idea was the party last night?”

Dave frowned. “Bobson's a scumbag. Ignore him.”

“Who?” I pressed.

“Helene. She told me, and then we both told everybody else. Once we got Tom's okay, she and Nick set it up.”

“How did Helene know it was my birthday in the first place?”

“I dunno. She just did. Why? Didn't you like the party?”

“No! It was cool. It's just…nobody else around here ever gets a birthday party.”

Dave's yellow eyebrows knitted. “So?”

“So…you're fifteen, right?”

“Um…yeah.”

“But when we were back at First Stop together, you were only fourteen. I heard Sharyn say so.”

Did his face redden a little? In the bad light, I wasn't sure.

I pressed on. “So you must've had a birthday, and nobody knew it. You never even mentioned it.”

“Look, dude!” he snapped. “All we wanted to do was give you a fun night! I'm sorry you hated it so much!”

Then, giving me a hard look, he turned and stormed out through the curtain.

“Hold up!” I called after him. But he'd already gone.

I stood alone in the dark, trying to make sense of what had just happened. I replayed our conversation but couldn't figure out what had made him so mad. Outside our room, other kids hurried by, talking among themselves and going about their daily business.

I gave the quiet darkness another five minutes, hoping the Burgermeister would reappear. He didn't. I briefly considered going after him. He'd probably be in the caf. When the Burgermeister was upset, the Burgermeister ate. But then I rejected the idea. Dave tended to get sullen when he was pissed. It would be a couple of hours at least before any apology would penetrate that thick layer of sulk.

So, partly because I wanted to tell Tom that he'd be getting his door and partly to check on Sharyn, I headed for the infirmary.

Tom wasn't there, but Helene was. So were Burt and Chuck. Both were sitting on one of the patient cots, with Amy ministering to nasty-looking cuts on their shoulders, elbows, and knees. Burt had a shallow gash across his forehead too. It looked eerily like a second smile.

Sharyn lay where I'd last seen her, still on the ambulance gurney. Her head was wrapped in white gauze, her eyes were shut, and her skin looked ashen and sunken. Just seeing her like that made my heart sink. She was one of the founding Undertakers, and I doubted there was a kid in Haven whose life she hadn't saved at one time or another. She was our best fighter—with the possible exception of Tom—but more than that, she was this beacon of optimism and good spirits in the midst of a pretty bleak life.

A world—especially
this
world—without Sharyn Jefferson in it didn't bear thinking about.

Helene and Ian stood vigil beside the gurney, looking every bit as worried as I felt.

“Any change?” I asked.

They shook their heads.

Ian said, “That's not necessarily bad. With injuries like this, the biggest risk is always brain swelling—”

“Brain swelling?” Burt exclaimed. “Sick!”

Ian ignored him. “Thing is, without an X-ray, I can't really know what's going on inside her skull. The best we can do is watch her, hour by hour. If the swelling gets worse, there'll be signs. So far, though, she seems to be holding her own.”

Burt offered, “Sharyn's tough. Nobody tougher.” Then, “Ow! Watch it with that thing, Amy!”

The little girl, who'd been administering what looked like a butterfly bandage to the boy's torn forehead, jumped back in alarm, her eyes wide. “Sorry!”

“Ignore him, Amy,” Helene told her. “He's being a wuss. Burt, it's not her fault you bumped heads with a brick. Let her do her job.”

Burt glowered but didn't object when Amy resumed her first aid.

“What if Sharyn's swelling
does
get worse?” I asked Ian.

Haven's medic shifted uncomfortably. “Well…she'll die. Unless I risk a shunt.”

Helene asked, “What's a shunt?”

“The swelling is caused by blood. It fills the inside of the skull and starts cutting off oxygen to the brain. Usually, the blood reabsorbs over time…no problem. But in really bad cases, a small hole is drilled into the skull. Then a thin tube is stuck through it to drain off the excess blood and relieve the pressure on her brain.”

“Cool!” said Burt.

“Cool?” Helene exclaimed, whirling on him. “This is Sharyn's life we're talking about, you insensitive pig!” Her throat still sounded hoarse but much better than it had. I suppose the pills and ice cream had helped.

Chuck reached over and punched him on the arm. The younger Moscova brother looked immediately sheepish. “Didn't mean it like that! Sorry…it was stupid.”

Helene looked about to say something more. Then she turned back to Sharyn, impatiently wiping at a tear on her cheek. “Forget it.”

I suppose I should say something, maybe tell her that the Boss Angel would be fine, that she'd be swinging Vader around again and lopping Deaders' heads off in no time.

Except I wasn't sure I believed it.

So I asked, “Where's Tom?”

“You just missed him,” Ian replied.

Helene added, “I'll bet he's in your father's room.”

Yeah, I'll bet he is.

Burt said, “Before he split, Tom put Chuck in charge of the Angels. Temporarily, I mean.”

Chuck, who hadn't had much to say, offered me an unhappy wave.

“Okay,” I said. “Why are you guys here anyway? What happened?”

“Remember the half-pipe we had back at the old Haven…for skateboarding?” Burt replied. “Well, Chuck and me were trying to build one in one of the empty rooms along the east wall.”

That was a part of the subbasement that hadn't been completely explored yet, much less made usable. Tom had issued orders for everyone to stay clear of there for safety's sake.

Apparently Chuck and Burt had other ideas.

“Almost got it done too,” Burt continued. “But then a piece of the ceiling came down and tripped us off our boards. I slammed my head on some loose brick, and Chuck here bit through his tongue pretty bad. Ian's just stitched it up. That's why he's not talking.”

Beside him, Chuck uttered two thick, uncomfortable syllables that I translated to mean “bad luck.”

“You shouldn't talk,” said Amy in her quiet voice.

Helene groaned. “Bad luck? You were where you weren't supposed to be, doing something you weren't supposed to be doing, and you got yourselves hurt!”

Burt glowered at her. “Will does it all the time!”

The girl's eyes flashed my way, as if it was my fault these two were dorks. But then she said, “Will breaks rules and takes risks when he feels he
has
to…when there's something serious at stake. It's not the same thing!”

Helene paused, as if waiting for my confirmation.

I just shrugged.

“But this
is
serious,” Burt protested. “We're Angels, and biking and boarding are big parts of what we do! And since we moved to this dungeon, there hasn't been any place to practice.”

This time, Chuck uttered four syllables that I took to mean “we're getting rusty.”

“You heard Amy!” Ian barked, an uncharacteristic sharpness to his voice. “No talking! Not for at least a couple of days.”

Chuck's lips snapped obediently shut.

Helene exclaimed, “You're both lucky you didn't break your necks!”

“I'm going to find Tom,” I said.

Burt and Chuck offered little waves. “Could you…you know…put in a good word for us?” Burt asked. “We really do gotta get back to work on our boarding. The Chief'll listen to you.”

Will
he?

As I left the infirmary, heading back in the direction of Tom's office, Helene caught up with me. “You okay?” she asked.

“I guess,” I replied.

She touched my arm and a little inexplicable shock of
something
flashed from the point of contact and warmed my stomach. “No, you're not,” she said. “I know Will Ritter when he's okay, and something's definitely bugging you. What's up?”

“You mean besides the war with the Corpses, Sharyn's coma, missing my family? Besides all that?” I said it with a smile she didn't return.

“Yeah, besides all that.”

“Your voice sounds better,” I noticed.

“Thanks. Ian's great. Now quit stalling.”

I sighed. “Dave and me had a fight.”

“A fight? About what?”

“It's not important.”

She eyed me. “Come on, Will. Spill it!”

I dished up another sigh. “I asked him who set up my party last night. He said it was your idea, but that…once you got Tom's approval…everybody got involved.”

“Something like that. Why?”

I'd known Helene Boettcher for about six months, ever since she'd appeared in my math class at Towers Middle School. For the first several weeks, I'd been completely incapable of stringing three words together in her presence. Her long dark hair and vivid hazel eyes just seemed to close my throat up.

Then I'd started seeing Corpses, which included Mrs. Yu, our math teacher.

And Helene Boettcher had saved my life, spiriting me away from everything I'd known and making me an Undertaker.

Since then, we'd been through a lot together, risking our lives in the war. It was a toss-up as to whether she or Dave was my best friend.

And a couple of hours ago, I'd almost watched her die.

The memory of it was like a festering wound.

“How did you even find out it was my birthday?” I asked. “I never said a word about it.”

“I always knew,” she replied. “When I was sent into your school to watch out for you, Tom gave me your file, and I pretty much memorized it. Not much else to do in the evenings as a Schooler. I was living in a sewer pipe in those days, remember? Wanna hear your social security number?”

“No thanks.”

“Will, what's wrong?”

“It's not important,” I repeated. “Forget it.”

She studied my face. “You didn't like it…the party, I mean.” Not an accusation; just a statement of fact.

I shrugged. “Sorry…”

“Don't be. I didn't do it for you.”

“Huh?”

Helene laughed. I felt my cheeks redden. She saw it and laughed harder. “I'm sorry!” she stammered. “But you should see your face!”

“You threw a surprise party for me that wasn't for me?” I asked.

“Well, of course it was for you. I mean, it was your birthday…but it could have been anybody's.”

That did absolutely nothing to ease my confusion.

“Look,” she said. “Dave's got it a little wrong. The party was actually Nick Rooney's idea. Ever since we moved to the new Haven, morale's been at an all-time low around here. I mean, look at this place! It's dark. It smells. It's infested with cats, for God's sake! Cats that look more like giant rats than anything in a Friskies commercial.”

“Yeah. So?”

“So, nobody likes it here, and it's been starting to show. Nick figured what we needed was a party. We haven't had one since you killed Booth last year. But now, like then, we needed a reason…something to celebrate. So they went to Sharyn, and Sharyn came to me. I remembered that your birthday was coming up, and it just kind of…ballooned…from there.”

A coincidence? I'd gotten the surprise party because my birthday happened to be the next one on the calendar? I wasn't sure if I was relieved or disappointed.

“After you and Tom left, it kept going, you know,” Helene told me. “It went on pretty much all night. Everybody needed it.”