Dead Highways (Book 2): Passage (18 page)

“When are we leaving?” Aamod asked.

“When it stops raining,” Robinson replied.

Aamod said nothing and went back inside. The rest of us watched the lightning for a few minutes longer, until it got too close for comfort, and then we went into the house as well.

Sam’s house was small but well lived in. It smelled of dust, and a quick glance around revealed thick coats of it to be on just about everything. The living room contained more furniture than it could comfortably hold, most with designs straight out of the 1970’s. All sorts of little knick knacks sat behind glass cabinets and atop wooden shelves. Everything from snow globes and small animals carved out of ivory, to an extensive collection of lifelike figurines numbering in the hundreds. Sam and his wife had amassed a ton of tiny treasures during their time together, and proudly showcased them.

“I got food in the kitchen if you’re hungry,” Sam said.

Food in the kitchen? As opposed to having food in the bathroom, which would be unsanitary. Particularly since Naima had just fired off a missile in there.

While most of the others followed Sam into the kitchen, I pulled Robinson into one of the spare bedrooms and gave him the talk. No, not about sex—of which I still knew very little—about the living dead. Even though we were in another room, I kept my voice down. The last thing I wanted was Sam to overhear our conversation.

I had originally planned on telling him once we were back on the road, but the rain had swooped in and locked us down, with no sign as to when it would let us free. And the more I thought about it, the more I started to worry. What if Sam’s wife came back from the dead while we were here? How would Sam react? How would Robinson react? It was easy to imagine him making the mistake of getting too close, believing he’s immune, not realizing one bite from her would mean certain death. I couldn’t allow that to happen. I couldn’t go one moment longer withholding information that would be vital to our survival as individuals, and as a group. He needed to know. So I told him about the bodies in the road. I told him about Nicole’s husband in the shed. About the little girl in the woods, who despite missing half a leg, managed to drag herself across the ground and latch on to Nicole’s leg with her teeth. I told him how Nicole had come back as a rotting, pale faced, hazy-eyed, foul smelling zombie.

And what did Robinson do?

He laughed at me.

“You don’t believe me, do you? You think I’m just making this up?”

“Maybe you’re trying to get one over on me,” he said.

Now it was me who started laughing. “I swear I’m not. It’s all true.”

“Really?”

“Really,” I said. “With all that’s happened, why is that so hard to believe?”

“I don’t know. Maybe there is something to what you’re saying. But it just sounds crazy. I can accept a virus getting into people’s minds, making them different. Changing them. Sure. But the dead coming back to life? … zombies? ... that’s just ridiculous.”

“I’ve seen it with my own eyes.”

“I don’t doubt you believe that. But I guess I’d have to see it with my eyes before
I
could believe it. Sorry, Jimmy.”

I shook my head in disbelief.

Yes. Sorry me.

We rejoined the others in the living room, already engaged in conversation. Sam told us all about his wife Edith, about all the trophies she’d won riding horses, about her time spent helping out at the local animal shelter. Then we got to hear about the forty years Sam spent working on the railroad. The sound of the wind and rain outside, as well as Sam’s super interesting stories, were beginning to put me to sleep.

I went into the kitchen and got a glass of water. Then I stood at the sink and stared out a window at the side yard. The rain was still coming down hard, accompanied by an occasional flash of lightning. Big gusts of wind swept through the trees, ripping off a few small branches. Between the house and the trees lay old Edith herself, three feet under, her final resting place pounded by fresh water, turning the dirt we’d dug to mud. But would it really be her
final
resting place? I was conflicted. A part of me hoped not, just so I could prove to Robinson I wasn’t lying. While another part of me hoped she’d stay in the ground, for Sam’s sake. My gut told me she wasn’t coming back—that Robinson would have to find out the truth another time.

Out in the living room, I could hear the group explaining to Sam why we were going to New Orleans. I refilled my glass of water and was about to go back into the living room, when something caught my eye. I inched closer to the kitchen window above the sink, adjusted my glasses. Ice cold chills suddenly ran all down my body.

I saw a hand.

A hand coming out of the wet soil.

A hand coming out of the wet soil right where we had buried Edith.

Ever so slowly an arm sprouted from the ground and twisted upward like a fast growing plant. Then a second arm appeared, slipping through the surface. Together they flailed, clawing at the ground, frantically trying to push the dirt and mud away.

Here was the proof Robinson needed, happening right before my eyes. Edith, who an hour ago was as dead as Lindsay Lohan’s brain cells, was alive. If by instinct, my hand slipped down and fell upon Sally by my side.

“Oh, Robinson,” I hollered.

“Yeah,” he yelled back from the other room.

“Could you come in here for a moment?”

A moment later, Robinson came up and stood beside me. I didn’t have to tell him what I called him for. He followed my gaze, gradually leaning closer to the window, his jaw slowly falling open in shock.

“I-I don’t understand,” Robinson finally said. “But … she was dead.”

“She still is,” I said. “Well, sort of.”

Neither one of us could take our eyes off the miracle of birth happening just outside the window. The rain poured down, washing the mud away from the old dead woman as she climbed from the grave, refreshed, renewed, and ready for her new lease on life. It’s a shame it wouldn’t last long.

Robinson sighed. “What the hell is going on?”

Wasn’t it obvious? She’s alive.

Alive!

However, the real question was which one of us was gonna sneak outside in the rain and take care of her before Sam found out?

“What’re you lookin’ at?” a voice said from behind us.

It was Sam, of course.

Robinson and I turned to look at each other, and through the flicker and flash of lightning, I saw the slightest hint of a smile creep on to his face. Not that anything was funny, certainly not the thought of Sam seeing his wife stumbling around the yard, zombified. Okay, maybe that was a
little
funny. But the smile was Robinson’s way of saying, without words, you told me so.

You got that right, buddy.

I told you so.

We both turned on a dime, stood shoulder to shoulder, blocking the window.

Sam walked up and stopped in front of us, put his hands on his hips. “Well…?”

*

I tried to tell him, didn’t I?

I pulled him aside, sat him down, one on one, man to man, and told him the truth. I told Robinson, the dead don’t stay dead. No, sorry to say, they come back. They awake. They arise. They stumble down the dark halls of death and back out into the bright light of life. Sure their flesh might be rotting. Sure they smell worse than a porter potty. Sure they might moan more than a rich whore after a long night of partying away daddy’s money. But unlike Paris Hilton, they weren’t something to laugh about. Dagnabbit, this was serious.

I stood shoulder to shoulder with Robinson, helping to block the kitchen window. Sam was in front of us, hands on his hips, wondering what we had been looking at. Outside, there were things he didn’t need to see—like the grave we’d wasted a good twenty minutes digging, and his dead wife crawling out of it.

Oh Lord, what had we gotten ourselves into this time?

We should have left when we had the chance. We should have driven a few miles down the road, found some gas elsewhere. But we had felt bad for Sam, bad that he had caught us attempting to rob him, bad that he had a bad back.
Bad bad bad.
It was all bad. And Sam had laid the sympathy routine on us like a real pro.

“Why y’all look so nervous?” Sam asked.

Robinson glanced at me, and then back at Sam. Then he faked a laugh. It was about as reassuring as a lawyers handshake. “I’m not nervous.”

The look on Sam’s face said his bullshit detector wasn’t buying it. I thought I was doing an admirable job holding it together, but Robinson definitely looked nervous. Maybe it was just the heat inside the house, but he was sweating like a pig. A pig dressed up as a cop.

“You look like you just seen a ghost,” Sam said.

There was a flash of lightning dangerously close by, followed by the immediate crackling sound of thunder. It made Robinson and I flinch, but it was perfect timing. Mother Nature provided Robinson the excuse he needed.

Robinson relaxed his posture. “Okay. Honestly, I’m afraid of lightning. It’s been a fear of mine ever since I was a little kid.”

The words came out so effortlessly, I wondered if they were actually true. He did say honestly, after all.

Sam dropped his hands. The concerned look fled from his face, replaced by a crooked smile. “Oh, that’s too bad,” he said, chuckling. “Lightning don’t bother me. You’re a lot like Edith. She didn’t like it much either.”

Robinson was a lot like Edith? Oh yeah, that made me smile. I looked over at Robinson. He didn’t look like an old dead white woman to me. Maybe in a previous life. Nor did Edith seem to mind the lightning much. If anything, it got her up and out of the ground.

“It’s not something I like to talk about,” Robinson said. “It’s … you know … kind of embarrassing.”

More lightning. More thunder.

“Woo, that was a good one,” Sam said. “Right in our backyard.” He looked at me. “You afraid of lightning too, son?”

I shook my head. “No, not really.”

“What’re you afraid of?”

Let’s see. Aamod the Destroyer. Empty swing sets. Dusty attics or basements. Opera singers. Butt chins. Skeletor from the Masters of the Universe movie. And spiders. Tricky bastards always spin their webs right where they know you’ll walk into them, causing you to freak out and start ripping your clothes off.

But I didn’t get the chance to unveil my list, as something slammed hard against the window behind Robinson and I. Thankfully, the glass didn’t break. But it did cause all three of us to flinch this time.

“What in the hell was that?” Sam asked, stepping forward. “Sounded like—”

“It was probably nothing,” I interrupted. “Just a tree branch or something.”

The second sound was half as loud but twice as chilling. The sound of fingernails scratching against the glass. Unlike Mother Nature who had provided lightning at the perfect time, providing Robinson with the excuse he needed, Edith had not so perfect timing. She wanted through the window. Now! She was ready to eat, and it wasn’t even dinnertime yet.

Sam took another step forward, tried to peer around us. Robinson and I strategically placed ourselves in his path.

“Stop it, dammit!” Sam yelled, trying to wedge his body between us and the small kitchen window. “This is my house! Get outta my way! What’s your problem?”

“Just relax,” Robinson said.

“Heck no I ain’t gonna relax!”

While Sam yelled, the sound of scratching continued, with the occasional thump of an open hand against the glass.

“Is everything okay in here?” Ted asked, stepping in from the living room. Aamod came up behind him, followed slowly by the rest of the group.

“These two here are playin’ games,” Sam said. “They’re hidin’ something. They keep protecting this window.”

“Robinson,” Ted said softly. “What’s going on?”

“Yeah, what’s going on?” Sam echoed. “You looking at my shed? You see somethin’ else you might like to steal?”

“What’s that noise?” Ted asked.

Sam wouldn’t allow us to answer. Not that he’d like the answer we’d give. “Something flew into the window, and now it’s stuck there, probably ruining the glass. But I wouldn’t know
what
because these two won’t get out of my
damn
way.” Sam stormed off toward the patio door. “I’m gonna go outside and see for myself.”