Death Screams
Page 15

Jade came to stand beside me. "I tried to tell ya!" she whispered in a hiss.
"Yeah, sorry," I said.
The Skopamish turned to Jade and nodded. She jumped a little then said, "Hi."
"Greetings, female of the tribe," the Chief said.
Jade gulped and Gramps said, "Enough with the pleasantries. I can't understand with their injun gibberish."
Oh My God.
The Chief frowned at Gramps, his brows dropping like an angry line above eyes that glittered black in the LED lights glaring from the front porch.
A gaggle of trick-or-treaters ran up.
Holy hell.
There were witches, goblins...
And a partridge in a pear tree. That's no shit.
The pear tree took a look at the assembled group, frowned at the losers in the masks and decided the Indians were the safest bet.
No way.
Gramps lurched forward to grab the kid, but too late, his hand passed through a branch that wiggled on the kids back, duct-taped like glue.
"Trick-or-treat!" he shouted up in the Chief's face.
The zombie turned to me, his feather swinging slightly.
Jade handed the candy over and I gave it to the Chief.
The kid pushed his bucket forward and the Skopamish Chief dropped a Snickers in there. We were just about out of the mess when he did something unexpected.
He grinned. The rot of his mouth was a gaping hole of death, the tongue a blackened wick like a candle, burnt down to nothing.
Huh, I always miss the mouth.
The kid screamed. Realizing too late that he was not dressed up.
He really was the walking dead.
My dead.
The kids ran in a wailing, screaming pack out the gate and tore down the road.
Archer looked at the Indian zombies, then his eyes landed on Gramp's. "You have a contingency plan with the neighbors for this?"
Gramps hesitated, palming his chin thoughtfully. "Not yet."
"Humph!" Dad said.
Archer grinned and the rest of us put our attention back where it belonged.
On the masked posse.
"I'll ask again. What are you doing here?" Gramps reiterated.
Carson turned to Buddy, shoving his mask up. "You ready?"
All eyes went to Buddy, Gramps' disappointment in Buddy riding them like glasses.
Buddy didn't look uncomfortable under the scrutiny. Sophie did. It was beyond awkward. Here were the jerks that had caused us trouble for almost two years, their latest a gang-bang beating on a perfectly good guy just because. Because they could. They really didn't need a good reason. And her boyfriend hung with them.
Not cool.
He turned to Gramps. "Thanks for having me but I promised the guys here that we'd go out and trick-or-treat." He shrugged and Gramps just stared at him.
"Fine. But next time," he held up a finger, "if there's a next time, you can meet them out there." Gramps pointed to outside his gate. On the street. "Now, Mr....?" Gramps cocked a brow.
"Hughes," Buddy responded.
"You may think long and hard about the company you keep. Just a thought."
Duh.
Buddy didn't say anything. He turned to Sophie and laid a kiss on her cheek. She didn't flinch but all of us could tell that she felt terrible about the scene.
Carson watched Buddy walk over to the 'vette and get in, Brett and Brody getting in with him. Carson, Christi and Diego remained behind.
I just knew that Carson was going to say something stupid.
Count me clueless.
His eyes narrowed in on Gramps. "You're not gonna tell me what to do old man."
Gramps asked me without looking away from Carson, "Is he emancipated, Caleb?"
Oh shit.
"Yeah," I said out loud and Gramps grinned.
"Ya know, I've been dying," and he looked at the zombie tribe standing nearby and guffawed, "to show you your ass. Ever since that middle finger salute you flipped me last summer."
Mom said, "Pops.... I don't think. He's a teenager... "
"No Peanut, he's a ruffian. And until he has his clock cleaned he's going to continue until there is a consequence that will get his full attention."
The Chief turned to me. "Does the elder necromancer need our assistance?" he asked, his breath some of the foulest I had raised. It was like his morning breath was compounded by his age.
I leaned backwards a little and Gramps flicked his eyes to me. "What's that injun saying?"
Carson took that opportunity when Gramps was turned looking at me to move in.
On my grandfather, the putz.
The Chief let out a shrill war cry of warning that about had me pissing my pants. The other two surged forward as the alarm sounded.
I knew the fist would land on Gramps before the Chief could get there. But to compound the problems Diego went for Tiff, which I think was a move to scare the bejesus out of her, no more.
I really did.
It worked tremendously well, she screamed like a girl for the first time ever. It shocked the boys into halting our progress as we waded into the group in front of us.
With the bruises riding underneath Christi's eyes she came with Diego as everyone tumbled out of Buddy's car, the redness of the paint job looking like blood in the gloom of the night.
Christi used Tiff's hesitation like a weapon and wrapped her beautifully manicured hands in Tiff's hair that was not in a ponytail for once. She cranked her head back, slapping her face so hard Tiff staggered back, falling on her butt.
And woke up one pissed-off chick.
She sprung to her feet and fly tackled Christi, both girls hitting the concrete hard.
Archer had backed up by my parents, his skin drained of color. He could have passed for one of my zombies. I took stock of where Jade was and noticed a Skopamish was standing point beside her.
Guarding.
Not so dumb after all, the Tribe. It was starting to make an argument for postmortem IQ. Uh-huh.
Gramps had recovered and was fingering his jaw even as he had somehow grabbed a hold of Carson's arm and jacked it up between his shoulder blades. "Say uncle, ya punk, or I'll tear your wing outta its socket." Carson began screaming like a girl and I grinned. Shaping up to be a primo night at Gramps'.
The sirens silenced my good mood immediately and I looked up just in time to get bashed in the face. Jonesy missed grabbing Brett's arm by a millisecond.
It was a good one too, rattled my teeth. Mom screamed and I hoped in my stupor Dad would keep her outta the fray.
"Caleb!" Jade screamed. Then I heard her say to the Indian. "Help him!"
Oh no.
I wasn't down and out but my thought processes were slow. The zombie hesitated, thinking about splitting his duties.
I didn't want him to leave Jade, but his primary duty was to protect me.
The zombies weren't big Shirkers of Duties. He barreled into Brett like a bowling ball with a pin in sight. I sprung up and gave my jaw an experimental swing left and right as the cop car pulled up.
Guess who?
My gaze swung to Archer and he looked back. "Guilty." He shrugged, holding up his pulse.
Effing swell.
Garcia and Gale came at a jog, Garcia taking in Gramps holding Carson and the zombies rolling on the ground with the teens.
It was Christi and Tiff that were the exciting ones. Tiff had straddled the taller girl and was whaling on her face.
With her fists. She was doing a pretty good job of it too, based on her words. "Stay down you stupid bitch!" Whack-thunk-jab. "Don't you take a cheap shot like that again!" Swing, punch... hair-pull.
Okay, that last was kinda all-girl, even I had to admit.
Gale tore a screaming Tiff off of Christi who lay dazed and bleeding, her face rearranged.
Again.
Diego came at Gale from behind and shoved her, which loosened the hold on Tiff, who didn't have time to defend herself against the two hundred pound Diego, his fist raised in an arc.
Aimed at her face.
Violent intent screamed in my brain like a match ignited and the zombie that had been head-banging Brett, went from a spider's crouch to leaping in the pathway of Diego's fist. The momentum of the jump had looked like the best basketball lay up ever. Garcia watched, breathless, as my zombie plowed into Diego, his blade raising above his head with uncanny aim.
I missed my opportunity to stop him, my slowness fueled by my indifference.
Dad screamed, "Caleb!" Garcia's face turned toward me with a comical expression of disbelief and unreality.
Join the crowd, he oughta be immune by now.
Like the rest of us.
"Oh heck, this whole thing is going to wake the baby," Helen mourned and Bill looked at her.
Yeah, that is what all this was about, the baby waking.
Really?
Gale took a swinging jab at the zombie's arm as it was descending. She gave it everything she had but the zombie was strong.
And determined.
It was enough of a deflection that the blade sunk into the meaty part of Diego's shoulder, directly underneath his collarbone. It was a far cry from where it had been headed.
The heart.
The zombie dumped Diego, his wailing causing Helen to scowl.
That was the funniest part of the night. Helen was definitely immune.
He turned on Gale with a hiss, obviously pissed at his foiled stabbing. "Necromancer, you have caused my strike to not be true," his breath rattled out, death fumes vaporizing anyone within three feet.
Gale was probably scared but she was coughing and doing the pre-retch because of the smell.
A gun went off in the air and everyone jumped but the zombies. They turned their death glare on Garcia with menace and new focus. The Chief turned to me with a questioning look and I gave a slight shake of my head.
Inside the house, Micah began wailing.
Great.
Helen huffed and shaking her head, rushed inside.
Gale turned to me for a translation of... injun.
I opened my mouth to answer when Gramps interpreted for me, "You queered his aim."
The Chief looked at Gramps with something like appreciation.
He understood Gramps. Interesting.
Garcia shook his head, his gun smoking. He looked at each of our faces, then scowled at Gale. "Okay. Maybe it's just me, but I'm starting to think that my life would be easier if I just hung out with you, Caleb."
Jonesy said, "Can't beat that logic, my man."
Garcia threw up his hands and walked it off.
The zombies stood still. And believe me, when they wanted to be, they could be like statues.
Gale slunk out of the way of the closest zombie and walked over to me, her thumb jammed into her pulse pad.
Meanwhile, Archer was on his knees by Diego playing medic. Now that was true irony. Bet Diego never thought that the guy he'd beat up was going to save him.
Tiff strolled over there and yelled at Diego on the ground, her foot crushing the mask he'd worn with a viciously placed jab underneath her heel, "You'll be okay, Diego." The hilt of the blade stuck out of his body like a rude exclamation mark. The mask broke into pieces and as she turned Gramps looked at her, then looked at Christi. "Stand up job there, Missy."
Tiff grinned, shoving a fresh stick of gum in a mouth that was bloody from the sucker punch delivered by Barbie. "Thanks."
Mom said, "I want a birthday for our son that is zombie and hoodlum-free. Why is that not possible?" Dad put his arm around her, saying nothing.
Helen came outside with Micah and scowled at everyone. "She was sleeping so peacefully!"
Garcia blinked at her once. Then came to himself, flipping open his notepad just as the medics arrived, then looked at me and my zombies. "I think, they can... " he trailed off.
"Okay," I said. He wanted me to make the zombies disappear.
They were really tuned in and came over to me, bodies straight, quivers slung over shoulders and torsos decorated with warpaint. Their feathers and beads, level and tight in their bindings.
"Master," the Chief intoned, his cadence clipped and formal.
"Thank you again for coming to my call, Tribe of the Skopamish," I said, even as I knew I hadn't called them. Once raised, it was lookin' like the second time was a cup running over, the power its own beast, running amok while I wasn't looking. Leaking out in search of what it sought.
The Dead.
His head titled, the feather that sat up at attention on the back of his head doing the lean. "We knew you were here, Master."
That was interesting. "You knew?"
He nodded. "We can feel you... above the place where we dwell in slumber."
I looked over at Gramps to see if he was catching this and he nodded. He was listening.
I shifted my weight. "You need to go back now... to your resting place."
He frowned, giving me his solemn regard. "We await your return."
"Thank you," I said and he inclined his head. These zombies were not the most chatty I'd raised. I gave his shoulder a man-clap and he gave me the barest of Mona Lisa smiles, a sliver of that rotting mouth showing, then it was gone.