A headache banged against the inside of my skull.
I stole a look at my wristwatch. My vision was blurry and I had to study the watch face to read the time. Almost eight. The morning after. The blow to my head had knocked me out all night.
Rain plopped through the leaves overhead. Then more rain. The downpour smothered the sunlight. The worms and beetles vanished as if they’d melted into the mud.
Rain channeled through the tree and came out in a spout from a fork in the trunk. I knelt under the spout to wash away the filth. I relished the cleansing and the reprieve from death. The water poured over me like a baptism.
Why hadn’t the zombies finished me off?
Couldn’t they find me?
I peered into the ravine. Flattened grass and dislodged rocks marked my path down the slope. Soggy cardboard and paper trash littered the rocky puddle I’d fallen into. No, I had been lying in plain sight.
Maybe the zombies thought they had killed me.
Or maybe they had a more pressing task.
As the rain beat down, I picked my way out of the ravine. I looked for my pistol, which I found in a patch of dandelions. A quick check of the magazine showed I had three rounds left. The muzzle bore was clear but gritty mud remained in the recesses of the pistol. Letting a gun get this dirty-for any reason-was as bad as stealing from your mother.
I scrambled up the ravine and kneeled at the edge. I parted the brush with the barrel of my.45.
No zombies.
Spent cartridge casings glittered in the mud under the oak. Some fight I had put up. I went down making a lot of noise but that was it.
Carefully, I made my way back to my Toyota.
The doors were open and my belongings were scattered over mud torn up by footprints.
If my kundalini noir had a mouth, it would’ve groaned.
My clothes lay in soaked lumps. The cooler sat empty with the lid open and gaping at the rain. The bags of blood looked like silver hamsters where they rested in the mud.
Had the zombies taken anything?
They had.
Now I understood why the zombies had left me alone.
They had found a prize too valuable to waste time killing me.
The psychotronic diviner.
When the Araneum learned that I had lost the diviner, they were going to skin me for sure. My head throbbed harder. My kundalini noir sank to the pit of my belly.
Why did the zombies take the diviner? Were they attracted to shiny pretty objects?
Or did they recognize the diviner for what it was? In that case, what did the zombies and their reanimator know about psychic energy and the astral plane? Was he responsible for the psychic attacks? And my hallucinations?
Not all my clothes and belongings had been gone through-my overnight bag and backpack remained unopened. When the zombies found the diviner, they must have lost interest in everything else and hurried away.
The rain let up but the clouds remained low and threatening. Much like my recent bad fortune.
I felt clammy in my wet clothes and had to change. I was miserable enough on the inside. Might as well be comfortable on the outside.
I gathered my belongings, drove back to town, and found a Laundromat next to a truck stop. My first priority was to wash up and change. With customers wandering in and out of the men’s room, for privacy I locked myself in a utility closest. I gave myself a sponge bath, shaved in the mop sink, applied makeup, and put on clean dry clothes.
While my dirty clothes churned in a washing machine, I sat in my Toyota, cleaned my H&K, and inserted a fresh magazine.
This pistol was one of the most powerful in the world but wouldn’t do much good if I walked around with my head up my ass.
I’d made one huge mistake as a human-when I’d accidentally killed the Iraqi girl and her family-and that has led me to the path of the undead.
Later I’d made one huge mistake as a vampire-I had let Carmen get kidnapped by the aliens.
The stakes in this investigation were too high for more screwups. The Araneum depended on me. The zombies were a big enough threat in the physical world. What would happen if they got into the astral plane?
But that was speculation about the future. I had to focus on what I could control, the here and now.
I checked my cell phone for messages. Only one. From Gino. The time stamp showed that he had called yesterday evening. About the time I was taking a snooze in a mud puddle courtesy of the zombies.
Gino wanted to meet again, at a restaurant called Humphreys. He gave directions and emphasized the time, noon sharp.
I called back. His voice mail answered. I didn’t leave a message.
I clipped a holster to the inside of my waistband. I racked the slide of the H&K to chamber one of the fat.45 rounds.
I reviewed my plan. Question Gino. Under hypnosis. Interrogate Vinny and their uncle Sal. They might know enough to add another piece to the puzzle. Find the creator of the zombies and destroy him and every one of his creatures. Get to the bottom of the psychic energy signals and the hallucinations. Retrieve the psychotronic diviner.
I holstered the pistol.
I was ready for anything.
I had to be.
Humphrey’s Kountry Kitchen was on the west end of town, past a Shell station minimart. There were two vehicles in the restaurant parking lot, a Buick LeSabre and a Ford pickup hauling a trailer with a pair of camouflaged quad bikes. I didn’t see Gino’s silver Nissan Titan.
I was deliberately ten minutes late. Where was he?
I went down a block and turned around. I parked on the shoulder where I could check out the restaurant and the neighborhood.
The rain started again. I looked through the arcs my wipers swished across the windshield. People wandered around the Shell station across the street, moving about the cars and gas pumps, or in or out of the minimart. I studied the dark windows of the buildings facing me, a real estate office and a honey wholesaler.
Maybe Gino had been dropped off at Humphrey’s. Either the Buick or the Ford could be his wheels. I flipped open my cell phone and punched his number. His voice mail picked up again.
Where the hell was Gino? He might be sleeping off a hangover, playing errand boy to Uncle Sal, drilling some tail…or had the zombies gotten him?
Frustrated and more than a little paranoid, I snapped the phone closed and dropped it into my coat pocket.
Without Gino, I’d be playing Whac-A-Mole looking for clues.
Then again, Gino might be in Humphrey’s waiting for me.
I drove to the restaurant and parked beside the Ford pickup. I got out of my Toyota and stepped into a muddy puddle. Goddamn weather. I pulled the collar of my barn coat tight around my neck. Fighting zombies was trouble enough without the misery of getting soaked and cold. This was too much like being back in the army.
A For Sale sign sat in the front window of the restaurant. Guess even mountain views and country living get old.
I started through the front door of the restaurant when the hallucination of the girl came to me, the apparition so real I could almost feel the heat of her body.
If this was a psychic attack, I wouldn’t give in.
I planted my feet and stood strong. I imagined swatting the image out of my head. But the hallucination tore into my thoughts.
She called my name. Her voice filled my head, drowning out all other sounds. Its echo bounced inside my skull, gathering volume until her voice became a deafening shriek as loud as a fire alarm.