Queen of the Dead (27 page)

His expression turned thoughtful. Then he said, “Of course. The FBI agent. So…my mistress was right to have him taken. He knew too much!”

Helene's hand came slowly out of her pocket. And it wasn't empty.

The Deaders around us had nearly roused. We had thirty seconds—maybe less.

“Yeah,” I replied, keeping my focus on Pierce. My heart was hammering; it was almost painful. “She
was
right. Too bad we got to him before she had the chance to find out for herself.”

“It doesn't matter!” the Corpse hissed. “In moments, you'll be dead!”

Then Helene's fist pumped up and down—hard—jabbing her Ritter into Pierce's forearm and slamming the plunger home.

Startled, Pierce stared at it, more perplexed than angry because, of course, the needle didn't hurt his lifeless body.

“And just what was that supposed to—”

Which was as far as he got before his left arm exploded.

He dropped Helene, who landed badly and stumbled, her ankle visibly twisted. Nevertheless, she gritted her teeth, spun around, and treated her attacker to a savage kick in the midsection, knocking him flat.

As she did, something went flying out of the Corpse's jacket. It skittered across the tile floor and hit my dirt-caked sneaker. I looked down at it. Then I looked back at Dave and Helene.

“Guy's
still
a tool,” Helene remarked.

Pierce lay on his back, staring at his arm—or rather, where his arm used to be. “What
was
that?” he exclaimed, his smug tone having turned to sudden terror.

“Dave!” I called. “The others!”

The Burgermeister snatched up his shovel. “I'm on it!”

And he was. The first Deader to recover lost his head before he even knew what was coming. The second raised his arm to block the blow only to have the shovel blade lop it off at the elbow before it buried itself deep in his skull. He went down too—and stayed down.

The last guy regained his feet and turned to fight. I tossed my pocketknife to Helene, who snatched it out of the air, hit the
2
button, and pressed the Taser into the small of the big Corpse's back. He stiffened, his milky eyes going wide, black fluid dribbling from his mouth, nose, and ears.

Then he dropped like a lumberjacked tree, and Dave did his shovel thing a final time.

“What are you doing to the bad men?” Emily asked me, looking around.

My sister wasn't a Seer—at least not yet. Too young. So I couldn't help but wonder what she saw. But I filed that question away for another time—too much to do.

“I have to put you down for a minute, Em,” I said.

“Don't leave me!” she cried.

“I won't. I promise. But I need both hands.”

She reluctantly nodded, and I lowered her to the floor only to have her cling to my leg, which made it harder to ready Aunt Sally.

Then I glanced over and caught Dave brandishing his shovel over Pierce, who held his free arm up as a useless shield.

“Don't!” I barked. The Burgermeister paused to look at me. So did Helene, who had her Super Soaker out now. She'd limped to the middle of the room and was watching the doors, turning in a slow circle just in case another Deader showed up to the party late.

To Dave, I said, “I want to talk to him.”

With Emily in tow, I went over to Pierce, who looked up at me with fearful, milky eyes. “What did the girl do to me?”

“She stuck you with a needle filled with saltwater,” I said.

“We call it a Ritter,” Dave added, though I wished he hadn't.

I pointed Aunt Sally at Pierce. “Allow me to demonstrate.”

Then I shot him in the leg.

For whatever reason, Steve's invention worked faster in limbs than in the torso. Barely a second after the bolt hit and the plunger plunged, Pierce's leg seemed to launch like a rocket off his hip. It skittered across the tile floor before suddenly bursting, painting the nearby wall with Corpse juice.

Even though I knew he'd felt no pain, Pierce acted as if he had. He moaned piteously and threw his remaining arm over his face, as if the world had just become too unbearable to look at. He stayed this way while I loaded another crank assembly onto Aunt Sally.

At my side, Emily asked, sounding confused. “What did you do, Will?”

Instead of answering her, I looked over at Helene. “Are we clear?”

“I think so,” she replied.

“Better be sure. Pierce?”

The Deader mewled pathetically and risked a look at me. I pointed Aunt Sally at his chest. “If I shoot you
here
,” I told him. “Your entire stolen body will pop like a balloon. Nothing left. And there's no handy substitute. Know what that means, wormbag?”

He nodded.

“Good. Now I'm going to ask you a bunch of questions. The first time you don't answer one or try to lie to me, I'm going to send you to wherever it is
Malum
go when they die. You got that?”

Pierce opened his mouth. His tongue was swollen and black, like there was an eel hiding behind his teeth. “Yes.”

“Good. First question: any more of you in the prison?”

“No,” he said without hesitation.

“But more will be coming…now that we've dropped your buds?”

“Yes.”

“How soon?”

“I…don't know.”

“Okay. Now here's a big one. Where the hell's my mother?”

Then, just for emphasis, I pressed the point of the Ritterbolt against the front of his yellow slicker, right about where his navel would be.

Pierce actually trembled with fear. Was this really the same guy who'd threatened Helene with a smile on his face? Did all bullies—and what
were
Corpses if not bullies—when they fell fall this hard?

“She's…with Dashiell.”

“Dashiell,” Helene echoed. “That's the guy Cavanaugh hired to kill the governor.”

At that, Pierce almost smiled.

“What's so funny?” I demanded. Then, when he didn't reply, I shot his other leg.

His smile vanished in a second.

So did his leg.

As Dave guarded the dude with his shovel, I rearmed Aunt Sally. “Emily,” I said. “Why don't you go sit in that chair? We'll be out of here in a minute.”

“No!” she replied, screwing up her little face into a look that our mom sometimes called Emily Ironnose. “I'm staying with
you
!”

I sighed. “Okay.”

Then to Pierce, I said, “I'll ask one more time.”

The Corpse was down to just one limb now. He shuddered with desperation. “Please…don't kill me!”

“Pretty cute, coming from you,” the Burgermeister growled.

“I just do what I'm told. I follow orders.”

“Good. Follow
this
one,” I said. Then I moved the point of the Ritterbolt up to his bloated, rotting forehead. Pierce's face twisted in near panic. He looked like he wanted to crawl right down through the floor. If he'd had a working bladder, he'd probably have wet himself. “I
order
you to tell me exactly where my mother is!”

His answer came out in a rush. “She's in City Hall Tower with Dashiell.”

Helene and I exchanged looks. “City Hall Tower?” she echoed. “But that's nowhere near Penn's Landing! The governor's giving a speech at Penn's Landing this morning, isn't he?”

I nodded.

Pierce stared in horror at the needle, his milky eyes crossing. “My mistress doesn't want to kill the governor!” he exclaimed. “Get that…thing…away from me!”

“Then who…?” I began.

But the Deader on the floor spilled his guts before I could even finish my thought. “The governor's wife!”

“What?” This came from the Burgermeister, who'd been standing over Pierce this whole time with his shovel poised like a guillotine. How he was able to keep his arms up like that, steady as a rock, was a mystery. But not as big a mystery as what Pierce had just said.

“The governor's wife?” I replied, my “tough-guy interrogator” bit momentarily forgotten.

Pierce nodded, suddenly the very soul of cooperation. “The mistress wants power at the state level. She can't get that by killing the governor.”

Which was true. Hadn't we all discussed it back in Haven?

But if the governor's death wouldn't help her, how would the death of his wife—

And just like that, I figured it out.

It happens that way sometimes.

“She's gonna
marry
him,” I said, speaking to no one in particular.

“Who's gonna marry who?” Dave asked.

I looked at Helene and could see from her expression that she'd gotten it too. If the Burgermeister hadn't, it was only because he'd never seen what we'd both seen.

The
Pelligog
in action
.

“So what's the plan?” I asked Pierce. “She kills the governor's wife, then finds an opportunity to stick a
Pelligog
into the governor, grabs control of his mind, marries him, and then sets herself up as the first lady of Pennsylvania? After that, she runs the state she way the runs the city—from the background. Sound about right?”

Pierce looked from one to the other of us. If it were possible for those dead eyes to appear shifty, he managed it. I glanced down at Emily, who was pressed close to my leg, sucking her thumb. She'd zoned out, which was scary in a way but also probably good—at least in the short term.

Then my eyes fell to my sister's other hand. She held something in it, clutched tightly in her little fist. Reaching down, I took it from her. She gave it up without complaint or comment.

It was the
something
that had come flying out of Pierce's pocket. Some kind of quartz, maybe ten inches long.

It felt…strange. But not bad strange. Just holding it seemed to make me less tired. Rejuvenated. Suddenly, the aches and pains of the night were gone.

“You okay?” Dave asked. “What's that?”

“I don't know,” I replied. And I didn't have time to find out. I pocketed the
something
. As I did, I noticed Pierce looking at me. There was something like horror behind his milky eyes, a horror that had nothing to do with the threat of Aunt Sally.

I pressed Aunt Sally's tip down until it almost punctured one of Pierce's shifty eyes. “
Is
that Cavanaugh's plan?”

Pierce whimpered. “If I tell you the rest, will you promise not to kill me?”

“Sure,” I said.

“Yes. That's her plan.”

“And my mom? Why is she with Dashiell?”

“The assassin is controlled,” Pierce replied. “His orders are to kill the governor's wife during her speech in Love Park. Then he's to shoot Susan Ritter through the heart and leave her body in the City Hall Tower before jumping over the rail.”

“Jumping over the rail?”

“He's to kill himself,” the Corpse explained.

“Would that work?” Dave wondered. “I mean, even with one of those…spider things…controlling you, are you so far gone that you'll kill yourself just 'cause the Queen tells you to?”

I looked over at Helene, who'd gone pale, lost in a really bad memory.

“Yeah,” she whispered. “It'd work.”

“No witnesses,” Pierce added.

“And when's this supposed to happen?” I asked him.

“Nine-fifteen in the morning. Just a little bit into the speech at Love Park.”

Helene blew out a sigh. “Then we got some time to warn Haven.”

Still keeping Aunt Sally aimed at the trapped Deader, I checked my watch. Eight twenty-two in the morning.

Wait…

Hadn't it been eight twenty-two when we'd crawled out of the tunnel? “Helene! What time do you have?” But she only shook her head helplessly. Then I remembered that she'd lost her own watch back in the dirt tube.

And the Burgermeister, of course, didn't have one.

I quickly scanned the room and noticed an expensive-looking gold watch lying in the dust near to where Pierce had fallen. It was his own, of course, left behind when the arm inside it had exploded.

With a sick feeling of dread, I leaned over and picked it up.

It was 9:03.

“Holy crap!” I exclaimed. “We got twelve minutes!”

Helene gasped. “Oh my God…”

“What do we do?” Dave asked.

My watch had broken back in the tunnel, probably when I'd been fighting with the bricks. But did that mean the radio was busted too? I lowered Aunt Sally and fumbled with it. There
was
a signal, but it seemed messed up, fading in and out. Something wrong with the antenna maybe?

“How's your ankle?” I asked Helene.

She tested her bad foot, putting a little bit of weight on it. Then she winced. With a defeated sigh, she replied, “Hurts bad. I think it's swollen. I can't ride—at least not fast enough to do any good.”

I glanced at Dave, who only shrugged. We both knew how good he was—and wasn't—on a bike.

Prying my sister from around my leg, I knelt down in front of her. Seconds were kicking by. Precious seconds. But I forced myself to stay calm. “Emmie?” When she didn't reply right away, I put one hand on her thin shoulder and pried the thumb from between her lips. It was a gesture I'd seen my mother do a hundred times. “Emmie. I need you to look at me, honey.”

“Okay, Mommy,” she muttered, as if speaking in a dream.

Swallowing, I ignored that.

“This is my friend, Helene.” I motioned to Helene, who limped over. “She's gonna take you someplace safe. I'm going to go get Mommy.”

Emily looked at me, her eyes clearing. As if suddenly remembering where she was, she asked, “Are you going to save her from the bad men too?”

“Yeah, I am.”

“Okay.” She hugged me, squeezing hard, as if still afraid I might not be real. Then Helene took her hand and smiled down at her. After a few painful seconds, my baby sister smiled back.

I straightened up, peeling off my watch and tossing it to Dave. “Get outside and use the radio! Tell Haven to send somebody up to the City Hall Tower right now!”

On the floor between us, Pierce—or what was left of him—chuckled. “You'll never get there in time.”

I looked at him.

Then I pointed Aunt Sally at his chest.

“Wait!” he exclaimed. “I answered all your questions!”

“Here's one more,” I said. I didn't have time for this—I didn't have anything
like
time for this—but I intended to do it anyway. “Whose body are you in?”

“What?”

“That body you're wearing!” I barked. “It belonged to someone once. A person! A human being! Someone with a life…a family. People who loved them and who miss them. Whose body
is
it?”

The Corpse trembled pitifully. “I…I don't know.”

“Will,” Helene whispered. “Are you sure—”

“Wrong answer,” I said.

Then I shot him in the stomach, tossing Aunt Sally to Dave, who caught it smoothly with one hand.

“
Go
, dude!” he told me.

I turned and ran, not back toward the tunnel but straight down Cell Block Nine, heading for the main gate.

Behind me, I heard Pierce screaming. It was an awful sound, but at least it didn't last long.

A few seconds later, he exploded.

And I felt nothing. Nothing at all.

As I neared the double doors at the end of the cell block, I knew I'd thrown caution right out the window. If there were more Corpse guards patrolling the yard between the cell block and the gate, they'd be on me in a second. But I had to take the chance. The dirt tube would be too slow. Love Park was across the street from City Hall, and City Hall was more than a mile away.

Fortunately, there were no guards.

Fairmount Avenue buzzed with morning traffic. I pushed open the prison gate and turned west, running along the landscaping wall and past the hole that Dave had dug about a million years ago. At the corner, I crossed, not bothering about the light, drawing honks from some cars that I completely ignored.

I sprinted another block to the alley where we'd stashed the bikes. I mounted mine, turned it east, and pushed off.

All that took thirty, maybe forty seconds.

I kicked the pedals harder than I ever had in my life.

My heart hammered behind my ears, sounding like shotgun fire. Despite the winter chill, my hands were soaked in sweat. Riding a bike in the city is risky enough at the best of times. But if I wanted to make it to Love Park before Dashiell took his shot, I had to go all out.

I turned down Twentieth Street, ignoring the cars, ignoring the stoplights, ignoring the pedestrians. “Outta the way!” I kept screaming, wishing I had a siren to blare or even a bike horn to blow.

Traffic roared and honked. Curses flooded the air like raindrops. I was ticking off everyone around me, but I didn't dare stop. If I got hit by a car, it was over. If I got knocked down by someone crossing the street, it was over. I still had Pierce's watch, having slipped the heavy thing around my wrist as I'd run out of the prison, but I didn't dare look at it. Second by second, I needed to study the road ahead of me, watching for the next break between cars, dodging the next obstacle.