Undead to the World (8 page)

“Why?”

I hesitate. “Well … he’s kind of got a crush on me.”

“Which we are going to ruthlessly exploit?”

“We don’t have
time
to ruth.
For
ruth. To be ruthing?”

We’ve arrived at our destination, a plain little white house tucked away behind the
hardware store where I work part-time. I ring the doorbell.

“I don’t know about this, Jace,” Charlie says. “If this guy is in the cult, we’re
tipping them off. If he isn’t, we might be putting him in danger.”

“I’m just going to ask him to do a little web surfing, that’s all—no one will even
know he’s doing it. Unless he’s a cult member, in which case we’ll have succeeded
in telling them that they’re being investigated. Which, naturally, will lead to a
response, and then we can force them out into the open.”

“You do realize you’re supporting both sides of an argument. At the same time.”

“Genius is the ability to hold two conflicting views simultaneously. No, wait, it
isn’t.”

The door opens.

Damon Eisfanger looks surprised to see us—astonished, in fact. He’s in his late teens
or early twenties, a little pear-shaped, and an albino. Not the creepy, henchman-of-an-evil-organization
kind of albino, though—more like a pink-eyed, white-haired, human incarnation of the
Easter Bunny. Cute, in a harmless sort of way.

He stays well back from the door. Albinos have extremely sensitive eyes, and you never
see Damon outside on a day like today. Even the lights in the diner are a little too
bright for him—when he eats there, he usually wears sunglasses. Right now he’s wearing
a pair of baggy shorts, bedroom slippers, and a T-shirt with a picture of a velociraptor
riding a Segway.

“Hi, Damon,” I say. “Can we come in for a minute? I was wondering if you could help
me out.”

Damon blinks a few times, then says, “Uh, yeah, sure. What’s up?”

We step inside and Charlie closes the door behind him. “Computer stuff, mostly. My
laptop isn’t working, for one thing.”

“Okay. Well, I might be able to do something about that.” He motions us to join him
and walks down a hallway. The living room on the other end is a little claustrophobic—heavy
drapes over all the windows—but neat and clean. Damon sits in a lounger, and Charlie
and I take the couch. I’m careful not to sit too close to him.

“Nice shirt,” Charlie says.

“Thanks. You said
mostly.
What else?”

I study him for a second before answering. He seems a lot less awkward than when he
hangs out at the diner, where he makes small talk and pretends he isn’t watching me.
I guess home turf counts for a lot, especially when you spend as much time there as
he does.

“Research,” I say. “Internet research. I could do it myself, I guess, but I thought
you’d be better at it. You could find stuff I couldn’t.”

Now he looks intrigued. “What kind of stuff?”

We give him the same spiel as Gretchen: town history, local lore, facts about the
Gallowsman incident. But with Damon, I emphasize the supernatural angle a little more;
he has the same affection I do for
The Bloodhound Files
—all right, maybe nobody has the same affection for it as I do—and that crosses over
into other spooky subjects of interest. “Especially cults,” I tell him. “Anything
that might be connected to the Gallowsman legend or this area in particular.”

If he’s secretly a member himself, he’s hiding it well; he doesn’t look uncomfortable
at all, just interested and excited. “Sure, I can do that. What’s this all about?”

“We … can’t really say,” Charlie intones in a solemn voice. “Yet.”

Eisfanger looks suitably impressed. Charlie’s something of a local legend himself,
and to somebody like Damon he’s practically a deity of Cool. “Wow. NDA material, huh?
Okay, I can get behind that. Can you let me know what’s going on, uh, later?”

“Absolutely,” Charlie says.

Damon beams. I suddenly feel like I just drove over a bunny.

“You can bring your laptop over whenever you want, too. Any idea what’s wrong with
it?”

“It, my dog, and a cup of coffee had an informal discussion. Things got acrimonious.”

“Yeah, I can see how that might go. Hopefully it’s not too major.”

I get to my feet, and Charlie follows my lead. “Okay, then. We’ll let you get to it.
I’ll bring my laptop by later, all right?”

“Sure.” Damon shows us to the door, then stands back in the shadows as we leave. He
seems a lot happier than when we showed up, but that just makes me feel guiltier.

“It’s not like I’m leading him on,” I mutter as we walk away. “I’ve never come within
twenty yards of flirting with him.”

“Not really your style,” Charlie mutters back. “You’re more the intimidation type.
Probably threaten to take him to the beach or something.”

“I’m going to pretend I didn’t hear that.”

“Good idea. I’ll pretend I didn’t say it.”

We walk back downtown. I’ve set things in motion, but I’m really not sure what to
do next. What would Jace Red Dog do?

She’d go looking for trouble.

Trouble, in this case, meaning anything out of the ordinary. Odd behavior, things
missing or out of place. Anomalies. I suggest this to Charlie, who shrugs. “I guess.
I mean, it’s not like we can conduct a door-to-door search. But we could roam around
on foot and keep our eyes open. There’s not much real estate to cover, all told.”

So we do. I don’t know what we’re looking for—men with five-o’clock shadows at eleven
AM
, furtive clusters of nervous-looking people, a double-parked hearse—but what we find
is a lot of nothing. Houses, people, dogs, kids, cars. Small town America on a fall
morning. I see one suspicious-looking house with cobwebby windows, then realize they’re
just getting an early jump on Halloween.

But it isn’t what we see that’s interesting. It’s what we
hear.

Raised voices, coming from the parking lot beside City Hall. An argument of some sort?
Charlie and I glance at each other, then head in that direction while trying to look
casual.

I recognize the voices as we get closer. It’s Mayor Leo and his oldest son—Terrance.

“—I don’t understand your attitude, not at all!” That’s Mayor Leo. He’s sounds angrier
than I’ve ever heard him.

“Yeah, well, I don’t
care
if you don’t understand. We don’t have much to talk about, okay? I do my thing, he
does his. And we’re both fine with it.”

“You’re wrong. Wrong! Family is important, it’s
everything
—”

“Not to me! You’ve never gotten that! And the only reason family is so damn important
to you is because
you’re
king of the hill—just like you’re the king of this crappy little town! Too bad
families
don’t have elections—”

We round the corner just as a tremendous
BOOM!
thunders into the air. A large Dumpster rolls toward us, but it’s not moving very
fast; Charlie stops it with his foot.

I peer around it. Mayor Leo is standing there with one clenched fist held at waist
level. Terrance glares at him from an arm’s length away. “Maybe you should go have
that looked at, Dad,” he growls. “You know, by the son you actually have some respect
for.” He spins on his heel and stalks off, not even noticing us.

Mayor Leo does, though. He looks at me like he knew I was there the whole time. “Hello,
Jace,” he says, his voice a little sad. “I’m sorry you had to see that. It’s difficult,
sometimes, being a parent.”

I straighten up and walk around the Dumpster toward him. “Sure, of course. We just
heard the noise and thought we’d see—”

“My apologies. I got a little upset and kicked the Dumpster. Made a heck of a racket,
didn’t it?”

Charlie’s standing beside me, now. “Yeah, kinda. You didn’t hurt yourself, did you?”

“No, no, nothing like that.” He looks a little embarrassed. “Just lost my cool for
a moment. I’m fine. Actually, if you’ll excuse me, I think I should try to go patch
things up with Terrance. He gets his temper from me, I’m afraid.”

“Yeah, no, go ahead.”

He strides away. “Huh,” Charlie murmurs. “That’s a little unusual. Never seen Leo
lose it before.”

I walk over to the Dumpster. “That’s not the only thing. Look at this.”

I point to a dent in the thick metal of the side. “This seems fresh. See how the paint’s
flaked off at the impact point?”

Charlie studies it. “Points, you mean. Four of them.”

“Yeah. Kind of high for a kick, too. But just about perfect for knuckles.…”

Charlie nods, slowly. “All of which should be currently broken, if he hit it hard
enough to do this.”

“He seem like a guy with a hand full of broken bones to you?”

“No. But he is a politician.”

“I know. Question now is, what
else
is he?” I shake my head. “All right, we have our first official suspect. We should…”

“What? Shoot him with a silver bullet? Drive a stake through his heart? I have no
idea where we could get that sort of ammunition, but we can pick up some stakes at
the hardware store. You get an employee discount, right?”

I sigh. “I’m not suggesting we do anything rash. We don’t know what this means—he
was standing in direct sunlight so I doubt he’s a vampire, but maybe he’s not a werewolf,
either. Maybe he’s a cultist with some kind of magically enhanced strength.”

“You mean like Samson? Great. All we have to do is convince him to get a haircut.
Worst-case scenario, we ambush him with scissors and some mousse.”

“Wow, you are
so
helpful. You should share your talents with the world—maybe you could start by giving
swimming lessons to bricks.”

“I don’t swim.”

“All the better. You could demonstrate what people shouldn’t do. See all this thrashing
and sinking and drowning? Don’t do that.”

“Duly noted. So what
should
we do?”

I’m already moving. “You were right about one thing—we need to stock up on supplies.
Hardware is a good idea, but let’s hit the grocery store first.”

“For?”

“Garlic.”

We head for the local supermarket, Lucky Foods. It’s just off the town square—like
most of the local businesses—but it seems to be closed. There’s no explanatory sign
on the door, either; I would have expected
CLOSED DUE TO FAMILY EMERGENCY
or
BACK IN TEN MINUTES
or something similar.

I walk up and peer through the glass plate of the front wall. Nothing but rows of
stocked shelves and a deserted cashier station. I frown. “Something’s not right,”
I say. “Jimmy wouldn’t just close up shop like this, not without a note. He never
takes a day off.”

“True,” Charlie says. “Let’s check around the back.”

There’s a parking lot at the side of the store, and an alley at the rear. I can see
Jimmy’s truck parked there, right next to the loading bay. The rolling steel gate
is pulled down, blocking off the back door, but it’s not locked.

“Hello?” I call out. “Jimmy?”

No answer. I grab the bottom of the gate and tug. It rolls upward with a loud rattle.

“Jace,” Charlie says, a warning in his voice.

“It’s not breaking and entering if the door’s open. Just entering.”

“I don’t think Jimmy will appreciate us just wandering into his closed place of business.”

“I’m a concerned citizen checking upon one of my peers. Maybe he’s inside and injured.
Maybe he needs help.”

“Maybe he’s got a shotgun and an aversion to people disturbing his privacy.”

But I’m already in the loading bay and reaching for the door handle. I don’t have
to look back; I know Charlie’s right behind me.

The back door’s not locked, either. I pull it open and look inside: nothing but a
shadowy room, stacked high with cardboard boxes on wooden pallets. I can smell traces
of rotting vegetation mixed with the syrupy sweetness of spilled pop. “Jimmy?”

Still no answer. But as I take a step inside, listening intently, I can tell there’s
someone here; I can feel the presence of another person close by, and it’s not Charlie.

“Jimmy?” I call out again.

And then I hear a ragged whisper from somewhere in the darkness: “
Jaaaaaace
…”

I look for a light switch but can’t find one. Charlie’s right beside me now. “I think
it came from over there. Jimmy? You okay?”

“Not … okay,” the voice says weakly.

I feel my way into the darkness, running one hand along the stacked boxes and taking
slow, careful steps. My foot encounters something sticky that tries to persuade my
shoe to stay and visit. “Jimmy? We’re coming, all right? Just hold on.”

“Over here,” the voice rasps. Either Jimmy has a nasty case of laryngitis or he doesn’t
have the strength to speak; I can barely hear him.

We find him in the far corner of the storeroom. Charlie’s dug out his cell phone,
and the glow of light shows us the body of Jimmy Zhang slumped against a crate of
bananas, the front of his shopkeeper’s apron soaked in crimson. I kneel beside him
and he moves an arm feebly, showing me he’s still alive. “Jimmy? My god, what happened?”

“Found me,” he murmurs. His eyes are slits, barely open. “So happy you found me. Everything …
fine now.”

“If that’s his blood, he’s in shock,” Charlie says. “I’m calling nine-one-one—”

“No, please,” Jimmy says. His voice is so quiet I have to lean in to hear him. “No
ambulance. Just need … just need—”

“What? What do you need, Jimmy?”

His eyes snap open. They look as if every capillary in them has exploded; the whites
are now bloodred. He opens his mouth wide, and I can see two long, very sharp fangs
jutting from under his pale lips.

“Just need a
drink,
” he says.

SIX

I have Charlie to thank for my life. He grabs me by the collar and yanks me backward
at the same instant that Jimmy lunges forward, and I go sprawling down the aisle on
my butt. I don’t have a real clear view of what happens next, but I can see the only
light source in the room, Charlie’s cell phone, go spinning wildly into the air. I
hear a loud smack followed immediately by a thud, and then I’m in the dark.