Scary Dead Things - 02 (10 page)

Speaking of China, there was both a good and a bad to the whole thing. The good being that seven thousand miles between myself and the disgust I felt at my inability to speak my mind with Sheila sounded pretty decent to me. I seriously doubted anything in the Gansu province of China would give me cause to dwell too much on her. Unfortunately, everything else fell into the bad category. The trip was a twenty-plus-hour nightmare of transfers, starting at LaGuardia (
or as I like to think of it, Satan's airport
) and ending in Beijing. However, I needn't have worried about being stuck in the middle row between two fatties or next to a screaming kid for the entire trip. No, because I was luggage.

* * *

Did I say luggage? No, luggage would be too kind. After a whirlwind packing job, including making sure my iPod was charged (
no way was I flying in the cargo hold for almost an entire day without some tunes
), I managed to convince Ed to give me a late night drop-off. This did not put him into a good mood. If you've ever driven to LaGuardia, you know what I mean. It's like the state of New York purposely decided to make one of their major transportation hubs as big of a clusterfuck as humanly possible. So after lots of twists, turns, and exit-only lanes, we finally managed to crawl through traffic to our destination. Things were bad enough, and it was eleven PM. I could only imagine the insanity of doing this at rush hour.

As per Sally's instructions, Ed dropped me off at a small private terminal. He gave me an annoyed growl as way of saying goodbye before driving off. The windows of the terminal were opaque, although whether this was purposeful or just layers of grime, I couldn't tell. The doors were also locked from the inside. I stood there looking confused for about ten minutes. I was just starting to pull my cell phone out to call Sally when finally I heard a click. The doors opened. Beyond them was a figure silhouetted by the light inside. It beckoned me forward. Creepy. But then again, I am a vampire. Creepiness kind of goes hand in hand with my life these days. I tried to conceal my nervousness and walked in, thoughts of all the various slasher flicks I had ever seen going through my mind.

I needn't have worried. Vampire society isn't much different than ours once you get past the blood-sucking eternal creature of the night aspect of it. Sure, they liked to put forth a mysterious atmosphere, but I think that was just to impress the newbs. Once you got past all that, it was surprisingly mundane. Case in point, once I entered the building, it became obvious that this was just another private terminal. Small, spartan, and efficient. Once my eyes had adjusted to the light, I saw that my mysterious beckoning figure was just another vampire, a rather bored looking one at that. He was wearing business casual and holding a clipboard. As I entered, he said in a completely disinterested tone, “Close the door behind you and give me your paperwork.” Right there and then, any creep factor dropped to zero. I was just dealing with the undead equivalent of boarding check-in.

I handed him some forms Sally had emailed over to me. He took a quick look and called back over his shoulder, “I need a box, a big one!”

A few minutes later, a couple shambling figures carried out what looked to be an oversized shipping crate. It was about seven feet long by three feet wide, and maybe four deep. The figures carrying the crate were zombies. I had met some several months back. Apparently, they were the equivalent of general office staff to the vampires. Hmm, I wonder if they have a union. That wouldn't surprise me in the least.

Anyway, the zombies placed the crate on the floor. One of them procured a crowbar, which he used to pry the lid open. The top off, I could see the box was empty, save for some straw padding at the bottom and some black felt lining the inside, no doubt to keep the sunlight out. Looking into it, I had a distinctly sinking feeling.

“OK, get in,” said the bored vampire.

“In there?” I asked.

“You see any other box here?”

“I thought I was supposed to be traveling in a coffin,” I replied. Either way, I wasn't exactly traveling in style; however, I was expecting a little better than this.

“Coffin, crate, what's the difference? You'll fit, and since you're flying freight, the accommodations don't need to be fancy.”

“Freight?” I asked.

“FedEx, to be exact. They'll be loading you up in the next hour or so. We still gotta put all the export forms onto this thing, so we don't have time for too much dicking around here. Hop on in.”

“It's a box!”

“You want luxury? Next time, go first class, cheapskate.”

That fucking bitch! She was mailing me to China. She was goddamned lucky that I had no interest in pissing off James. If not for that, I'd be grabbing a cab back to the loft and sticking her ass in a box.

“You waiting for an engraved invitation?” the vampire attendant asked impatiently.

“No, I'm going,” I sighed, climbing in and trying my best to find a comfortable position to lie down in. “Just make sure my bags don't get lost.”

“Won't be a problem,” he said and started tossing them in with me. I didn't pack heavy, but still. What had merely been an uncomfortable fit was now a tight uncomfortable fit.

“What the fuck, man!?” I yelled in outrage.

“Sorry. Your papers specify one and only one box. Take it or leave it.”

However, that last part wasn't really an option. Before I could say another word, the zombies placed the lid back onto the crate, and I could hear them nailing it shut.

There was a knock on the top of my makeshift tomb, and I could hear the attendant yell, “Whatever you do, don't try to get out until they open it up. Once you're in China, a truck will take you to your destination, and your contacts will release you. If you try to get out beforehand...well, let’s just say the Chinese can be a little trigger happy.”

Great! “What if I have to go to the bathroom?” I yelled back.

“Heh! I hope for your sake you didn't drink anything before getting here.”

* * *

My iPod made it about three quarters of the way through the flight before finally crapping out. Not that I had much of a chance to relax and enjoy the music. The loading process was brutal in and of itself. I must have been dropped at least three times. As for the flight, aside from some brief layovers to refuel, it was a real motherfucker. The pilot was either a daredevil or an idiot, as he seemed to make it a point to head straight into whatever turbulence he could find. Even had I not been afraid of flying before, I sure as shit was now. After my music died, I did the only thing I could think of to pass the time...mentally kill Sally over and over again. By the time we finally landed and I could feel my box being unceremoniously loaded onto a truck, I had come up with some pretty ingenious scenarios for her untimely demise. Ultimately, though, I kept coming back to using a wood chipper to do it. There’s nothing like the classics.

The truck ride took another eternity, during which I had to assume we were either moving along unpaved roads or the driver had a serious fetish for potholes. Straw or no straw, all I knew was that my entire backside was full of splinters. I was just about to start hoping that one of them would eventually be long and sharp enough to pierce my heart when the truck finally stopped at long last.

I could feel my box being lifted up and then dumped onto the ground. Jesus Christ! Was it too much to ask for somebody to tape a fucking ‘
Fragile: do not drop
’ sticker onto me?

What followed was some muffled conversation. I couldn't make it out. No surprise there. I was in China after all...or at least I hoped I was in China. It would be just my luck to have been delivered to the wrong place. Right now there could be some poor schmuck in Alberta, Canada, thinking he was about to unpack his new end table, when whoops...sorry, but we shipped you a pissed off vampire by mistake.

The muffled conversation started to sound like a minor argument for a few minutes; however, it finally abated, and I could hear the truck start up again and drive off. I patiently waited for what would happen next, hoping against hope that there wasn't a ‘
Do not open until X-mas
’ sign on my new home.

For the first time in over twenty-four hours, though, luck was with me (
don't ever ask me about the whole needing to go to the bathroom thing!
). I could hear the top of the crate being pried off. Now all I had to do was hope that it wasn't high noon outside. The top began to move, and I could see bright light starting to stream in. Oh shit! As it was lifted off, I gave a yell of panic and reached up to shield my face with my arms.

A second or two passed, and I finally noticed I wasn't going up like wood shavings covered in gasoline. I slowly lowered my arms and realized the light was artificial. As my eyes adjusted, I made out the face of James, as well as a few others looking in at me. Most of the new faces looked bemused, no doubt at my little panic attack; however, James' expression was more one of confusion.

“Dr. Death?” he said with his Bostonian accent, using my old coven name. “What are you doing here?” Despite his confusion, he reached down and offered me a hand. I took it, as being wedged into a tiny box for over a day doesn't exactly leave one all that limber.

As I slowly peeled myself from my wooden prison, I replied, “You sent for me. I'm here.”

“No. I didn't.”

“Yeah. Sally told me you did. I just spent the last day wedged into that thing because I thought it was an emergency.”

“Why didn't you just book a private charter, like we normally do?” he asked, still confused.

“That was an option?” I asked, starting to feel a different kind of smoldering going on behind my eyes.

“Of course. This isn't the eighteen-hundreds you know. We only do that vampire in a casket thing on short hops or emergencies anymore. Ghastly way to travel.”

“Yes, it is,” I agreed dryly. “Let's back up for a second. You didn't send for me?”

“Why would I? I shot Sally a message asking you to contact me, but I was expecting a call or maybe an email. Certainly not you arriving all gift wrapped like this.”

“But Sally said...”

“She must have heard incorrectly,” he said dismissively. Somehow I doubted that. “Oh well, I guess you can stay for a bit. But there's dangerous work afoot here. I'm afraid no more than a day or so, and you'll have to head back.”

“Please tell me you're not stuffing me back into the box.”

“Of course not. As long as you have your passport, it shouldn't be an issue.” I was silent for a moment, and then averted my eyes. “You didn't bring your passport, did you?” I quickly shook my head. He chuckled, and then patted the top of my packing crate. “Well then, I'm afraid we'll probably need to hold on to this.” He then turned to the others and said something I couldn't understand, probably in Chinese. A round of hearty laughter followed.

“I assume that was at my expense,” I said.

“Sorry, my friend,” he replied with a smile. “But things have been pretty stressful here. I'm afraid we take our laughs as we can get them.”

Speaking of here, I finally took a moment to look around. I was in what appeared to be a large circular tent. It was mostly bare except for some other crates off to the side. Apparently, this place was for storage. James was dressed warmly in what I guessed was native garb. His three companions, all males of distinctly Asian origin, were dressed similarly.