Not Flesh Nor Feathers (Eden Moore 3)

“Agreed. But here’s what I was getting at before when you tried to shut me down for asking questions: what was he right about? What did the construction work over there turn up—the bodies? Some relics of what happened to them?”

“My money’s on the bodies, since we have to assume that whatever was dug up prompted all of this. The construction disturbed them, and here they come. Maybe it’s just coincidence that the construction here at the Read House disturbed Caroline too, and maybe it isn’t. We don’t believe in coincidences. ”

A splash just a heartbeat stronger than the drizzle hit my head, and yes, the rain was working itself back up again. We edged ourselves closer together, and into the crowd that was clotting up under the canopy. Nick wiped his hair back across his skull and coughed softly.

“It can’t be as simple as that,” he said, wrapping one hand around the metal pole that supported the overhang. “You think that these . . . things—you think they caused the flood and the problem at the locks?”

I had to think about that one before answering it. “No. No, I think it’s a combination of bad timing and opportunism. Cat-food Dude went missing first, and that was a couple of weeks ago. They had to wait for the water to rise in order to get any traction. And then—then I don’t know. Maybe it’s just nasty timing. Or maybe they’re more talented than we know. And at the end of the day, given how little we know about them, that’s entirely possible. Why does it matter?”

“It matters because, if we know why they’re here, we’ve got a chance of figuring out how to make them leave. ”

He was right in principle, but Caroline was more right than he was. They were dead but defying all the rules of death. There might not be a way to send them home, or back from whence they came. Maybe they didn’t want to go back. Who could blame them, with a grave like the river banks, in the earth beneath a housing development? It wasn’t like we could just offer them a Christian burial, sprinkle a little holy water, and call them satisfied.

That line of thinking brought me back around to the one Caroline had started. “You never did answer me about those explosives. Where might we procure such things, if we were to hypothetically need them?”

“You’re barking up the wrong tree, sweetheart. Do I look like a guy who works with dynamite for a living?”

“Right now you look like a guy who forages under bridges, fighting trolls for a living—but that makes two of us, I’m sure. I don’t know about you, but I’d throttle a puppy for a chance at a hot shower and a change of clothes right now. ”

“Maybe not a puppy. But definitely a dog of some sort. ” He tried to smile and I tried to encourage him by smiling back; but, like everything else in the world right then, it was watered down and cool.

“We can’t talk like this here,” I said.

“You’re right. Let’s go somewhere else. ”

“Where?”

“Where did you want to go? The old newspaper building? What say we run past the Red Cross station and grab a granola bar, then see about taking a walk. Even zombies need their beauty rest, right?”

“I doubt it. ”

“So do I,” he admitted. “But it beats standing here, waiting for the sky to fall or the water to rise, doesn’t it?”

He was right, and it did. I hadn’t realized how hungry I was until he mentioned it, and even though I’m not a huge fan of anything granola-based, it sounded like a three-course meal.

We waited our turn in line, in silence for the most part. It was weird how quiet everyone was—like we were all so exhausted by the noise, and panic, and running and swimming and frustration that standing in line waiting for snack food from the back of an ambulance looked like a good chance to take a break.

All the while I was thinking, trying to sort through my store of accumulated life-knowledge. Where do explosives come from? Construction companies, maybe. Demolition sites, obviously. Mining digs, more likely than not. None of these were within immediate walking distance.

Nick asked what was on my mind, so I went ahead and told him.

“Maybe you’re thinking about this too narrowly. What sorts of things might be used for explosive purposes, in a pinch?” He asked this between bites of the cereal bar, which he chewed hard because, my God, it was like eating the sole of a dried out sandal.

“I don’t know. Large machinery? Bulldozers, or cranes, or the like—they can be used to knock things down. A backhoe might work. We could fill the hole in or kick the building down on top of it. There you go, man. Thinking outside the box. Or better yet—oh man, it’s so obvious. ” I slapped him with the back of my hand. “Seriously. I’ve got an idea now. ”

“Oh God. ”

“No, it’s a good idea. ”

“I don’t believe you,” he said.

I took a swallow from the water bottle that came with the granola, and motioned for him to join me as I started a quick pace back around the side of the building. We were in the rain again, but it was becoming a mere condition of life and I was learning to ignore it.

“What’s today?” I asked him. “Sunday, right? No, Saturday. It’s got to be Saturday by now. ”

“I don’t know. Sure, let’s say Saturday. What of it?”

“All this started going down, what, Friday morning? Things went to hell and they never had the usual Lookouts baseball game this weekend. I’m betting the stadium over there is probably set up as another shelter too. ”