The Paupers' Crypt (22 page)

They just hoped it wouldn’t cost them their lives.

Silently, they walked to the door. Jacob grabbed hold of the handle and looked at Gary.

Gary shifted his grip on the shotgun, swallowed once and nodded.

With a quick twist and a shove, Jacob threw the door wide and pressed himself against the door frame. He had two shells in his hand and was ready when Gary fired two quick shots, broke the weapon open and tossed it to him.

Jacob caught it easily, ignored the heat of the barrel and the spent shells as Gary sprinted past him.

In a heartbeat, Jacob had the weapon loaded, ready and aimed, taking out a young man and a middle-aged matron who had been closing in on Gary. When Gary heard the second blast, he dug out a pair of shells and was ready when Jacob tossed it to him.

But the dead were not standing idly by.

They were racing towards the men.

Dozens had taken up positions along the fence and called out cheerfully to the men. The little boy who had peeked through the window was among them, and he jumped up and down excitedly.

“This isn’t going to work,” Jacob said as Gary fired off two quick shots and threw the weapon back, the two of them coming to a stop.

“No,” Gary agreed, looking around quickly. “The crypt. Follow me.”

He sprinted away, and Jacob got off two more shots before he ran after him.

Jacob’s breath came in great gasps. He was no longer conditioned, he left all of it behind when he left the service.

And he was paying for it.

He followed close on Gary’s heels, avoiding the grasping hands of the dead.

Laughter chased along after them, the dead gleeful in their pursuit.

Gary rounded the hill and let out a horrific scream as he ran into the embrace of a large, fat dead man. The man wrapped his large arms around Gary, who shrieked and writhed in agony.

Jacob reloaded and fired.

Part of the shot ripped off Gary’s right ear, but the dead man vanished, and Gary fell to his knees. Jacob quickly replaced the shells, and got ready to fire again.

But the dead had backed off.

Their mocking laughter filled the suddenly cool air of the cemetery, the sound echoing off the fog.

Jacob dropped to a knee and put his hand on Gary’s back as the man vomited into the grass. Gary was cold to the touch, even through his work shirt.

“Gary?” Jacob said.

Gary collapsed onto the ground, rolling away from his own vomit.

“Oh, Jesus, Gary,” Jacob said softly.

Gary’s neck was a bluish gray, as was his left cheek and part of his forehead. The left eye was black. Gary shivered and looked at Jacob. “I am freezing right now.”

Jacob could only nod. He watched as the strange color spread slowly. A quarter of an inch at a time. Gary lay on his back, staring up at the clouds. His breath became labored. His lips turned a light blue.

Jacob knew Gary was dying. He had seen plenty of men do it before.

Within a short time Gary began to wheeze. A rattle filled each breath, his chest rising and falling weakly.

Gary clutched at the grass, his body going into spasms.

Jacob could only sit by him.

The dead had remained away, and Jacob couldn’t imagine why.

Then, from around the small hill, the little boy with the white hair appeared.

For the first time, Jacob noticed the boy wore an elegant three-piece black suit. There was darker embroidery on the waistcoat and the labels of the coat. The boy’s shoes were highly polished and black with small buttons on the outside of each.

Jacob did not point the shotgun at him.

“Hello,” he said, giving the boy a small wave. It was curious, for even though the boy was dead, and he knew the boy wished to kill him, Jacob felt no malice towards him.

“Hello,” the boy replied. He came to a stop twenty feet away. “I haven’t asked you your name.”

“I’m Jacob,” he said. “I’d shake your hand, but I don’t want to die.”

“We all die, Jacob,” the boy said seriously. “But my name is Randy.”

“A pleasure, Randy,” Jacob said. He looked down at Gary, who lay with his eyes closed. His chest barely moved. The rattling, wheezing cough which heralded death filled the air.

“It won’t be much longer now,” Randy said.

“I know,” Jacob replied. “He was a good man.”

“We were curious about what you would do,” Randy said after a moment.

Jacob frowned. “What do you mean?”

“Whether you would leave your friend, or stay with him,” Randy answered. “There have been others who, when presented with this situation, have left their fallen friends.”

“I wouldn’t do it,” Jacob said.

“Evidently,” Randy said, grinning. “Remember my promise?”

“You’ll kill me quickly?” Jacob asked.

Randy nodded happily. “It will be soon.”

Jacob glanced down at Gary. “I know.”

Randy turned and walked away.

Within a few minutes, Gary shuddered, struggled for a last breath, and then he went still.

The man was dead.

Silently Jacob went through Gary’s pockets and took out the last half a dozen shotgun shells, stuffing them into his own pockets.

Jacob got up to his feet, his legs aching from the running. He looked around and saw the dead.

They stood in a wide arch with little space between them. It was as if they sought to keep him enclosed by the crypt.

Too many of them
, Jacob realized,
I’ll have no chance to shoot my way out
.

The grass rustled beside him.

Jacob turned in surprise and looked down.

A woman was pulling herself up and out of the ground beside Gary’s corpse. She turned her head from left to right, stretched and stifled a yawn.

“Hello,” she said, smiling.

Jacob stepped out of reach and looked in horror at her.

She climbed to her feet, her smile shifting into a grin. “I think it’s your turn now.”

“For what?” Jacob asked, leveling the shotgun at her gut.

“To die, of course,” she said.

Jacob pulled both triggers and blasted her.

The woman vanished before his eyes and an enraged scream tore through the air.

Jacob threw the shotgun down as he turned and sprinted for the fence.

A howl of anger rose up from the throats of the dead and Jacob knew they pursued him.

He reached the wrought iron fence first, leaped and caught the cross piece. Old, jagged and rusted edges cut into his palms, but he ignored the pain as he pulled himself up. The wounds on his right arm opened, and fresh blood spilled down onto the iron. The fence’s sharpened points scraped along his chest, digging in deep and drawing blood.

As he thrust himself over the top, he had a chance to see Woods Cemetery spread out before him.

The dead were nearly at the fence, and the pure rage and hatred in their faces made him nauseous with fear.

For a moment, he teetered on the top, bleeding and frightened.

Finally, he realized they could pull him back in, and Jacob swung his legs all the way over. He couldn’t steady himself, or slow his fall, so he landed with a harsh thud onto the ground. Without hesitation, he rolled a few feet away, just out of the reach of the dead. They came to a stop at the fence and stood silently, impotently on the other side of the iron bars.

They seethed with rage, and Jacob knew they would tear him to pieces if he were any closer.

Yet not all of them were angry.

Randy stood near the front, a smile on his small face.

Jacob couldn’t help himself as he smiled back.

With a great deal of difficulty, Jacob got to his feet. The fog was cold around him. A terrible feeling. His wounds continued to bleed, but he knew he couldn’t stay where he was. He had to move.

He had to see if he could get home.

Jacob turned his back to the cemetery, to the dead and wandered out into the dense, white nothingness.

*  *  *

Brian Roy will be back in another adventure in August 2016:
The Academy

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