“Put that away,” I said. “You can’t hurt me with it. I’m immune.”
“True,” Pryce said. “But I’m not.” He turned the can toward himself and blasted its spray into his own face. Blood erupted from his eyes and mouth as he fell backward on the Devil’s Coffin.
I reached down and felt his neck for a pulse.
There was none. Pryce was dead.
Damn it! I kicked his limp corpse.
“Keep away!” I shouted into the woods. “It’s the plague. At the Devil’s Coffin.”
I’d wanted him dead, yes, but not like this. This was a temporary death. Pryce had wanted to follow the hooded figure into the Darklands, the realm of the dead. When the figure left him behind, Pryce used the stolen virus to get there on his own. The virus was his round-trip ticket into the Darklands. In three days, he’d be back. If he managed to re-create his shadow demon, he wouldn’t awaken as a zombie. He’d be a demi-demon again.
“How do you know?” the bullhorn voice boomed out of the dark.
“Because this idiot”—I kicked Pryce’s body again—“just killed himself with it. I’m paranormal. That’s why I’m still alive. But don’t come any closer—I mean it. You’ll be dead in ten seconds. Call in a biohazard team.”
Silence. The cops must be conferring.
“Making a false report of this nature is a felony.”
Add it to the list. “And when you get a report, you have to call in the biohazard guys. I know the law, too. So do your damn job.”
Sirens wailed in the distance. Too quick to be the biohazard team. The cops must have sent for backup. The new guys would be thrilled to learn they were walking into a plague zone. Overhead, another sound joined in, the thwack-thwack-thwack of helicopter blades. A glaring white floodlight lit up the chasm, roving along the walls and floor. Trees bowed from the force of the downdraft. The wind and light both moved in my direction. I set my pistol down on a rock and moved away from it, raising both hands. I couldn’t lift my right arm very high, thanks to my injured shoulder.
The light blinded me a second before the wind made me stagger back a step. I squinted upward, spreading my fingers wide to show my hands were empty. I gestured toward the gun so they could see it, see that it was out of reach. The light moved to illuminate Pryce’s prone body. I stayed as still as the chasm’s ancient boulders.
An amplified voice boomed downward. “A team is on the way. The park is surrounded. Stay where you are. Do not try to leave. I repeat: Do not attempt to leave the park.”
With my good hand, I made a thumbs-up to show I understood.
The helicopter ascended some, and the wind diminished. The floodlight continued to light up the chasm.
I looked at Pryce’s slumped-over body, at the solid rock wall through which the figure and cauldron had disappeared. Pryce had escaped me, damn him. He’d gone to a place where I couldn’t follow. I wasn’t going anywhere; I didn’t have anywhere to go.
16
IT TOOK HALF AN HOUR FOR THE BIOHAZARD TEAM TO arrive. After the first few minutes of waiting, I’d slowly lowered my arms, then sat down on the edge of the Devil’s Coffin stone. No voice from on high ordered me to resume my former position. That was a relief. My shoulder was killing me.
The helicopter hovered overhead for about ten minutes, lighting up the chasm like it was noontime, then took off. I sat in darkness, the sudden silence roaring in my ears. Beside me lay Pryce’s corpse. Dead—for now, anyway. I couldn’t believe he’d pulled this trick. I wanted to kick him again, but what good would it do? I wanted to use one of my knives to dismember him. See how he’d like returning from the Darklands to a body that was chopped up into a dozen pieces.
If he recovered his demonic power, that wouldn’t matter. With a shadow demon, his body would re-form itself, no matter what I did to it now. And I was already in enough trouble without mutilating any corpses.
While I waited, I thought about what to tell the police. There was that outstanding warrant for Pryce’s attack on the Paranormal Appreciation Day concert. Given that charge, the authorities would be ready and willing to believe he’d come here to commit another terrorist act. Okay, that’s what I’d work with. I wouldn’t say anything to make the situation more complex than it appeared. Nothing about a cauldron full of demons or a hidden doorway into another realm. No one would believe me, anyway.
I got up to inspect the back of the Devil’s Coffin cave. If only I could figure out how to make the portal open.
It was the third time I’d scrutinized the cave’s granite walls. As before, I opened my senses to the demon plane. And as before, all was quiet. No red glow, no wails of trapped demons. I moved my hand over the stone, feeling for a crack that might open to a doorway. I rapped with my knuckles, listening for hollow places. But there was nothing. Just solid rock.
Thwack-thwack-thwack! The helicopter was returning. I left the cave and sat down in my former spot. Again, the floodlight lit up the chasm floor. I shielded my eyes against the glare. The downdraft swept toward me, tossing tree branches and ruffling my hair. It whipped Pryce’s black hair back from his face. His skin was already turning green.
A voice came over the loudspeaker. “This is the police.” Yeah, well, I didn’t think it was the Easter Bunny dropping by with some colored eggs. The voice instructed me to lie facedown on the ground in a spread-eagle position. Yay. A faceful of mud was just what I needed to make this the perfect night.
Moving slowly, I complied, because I didn’t have a choice. As I dropped to my knees, a ladder unfurled from above. It dangled several feet above the ground.
Cold, gooey mud squished against my cheek. It smelled like rotted leaves. Icy water ran down my neck and inside my collar. Pain screamed through my shoulder as I moved my right arm as far from my body as I could. There was a thump and a splash. More cold, dirty water hit my face as someone jumped from the ladder to the ground.
Hands frisked me, patting lightly and quickly along each limb.
“My right shoulder is dislocated,” I said, before whoever was searching me decided to yank that arm into position.
There was a pause. Then the hands moved along that arm where it lay.
The frisker paused again upon discovering the dagger in one of my thigh sheaths. I’d laid my other weapons on the rock next to my pistol, but I kept that one back because it didn’t seem like a good idea to be completely unarmed sitting on the Devil’s Coffin in the middle of the night. The dagger was removed and handed to someone else.
Hands grasped my left wrist and pulled it behind my back, locking a cuff around it.
“My shoulder!” I shouted, bracing for a jolt of pain.
Instead of yanking my right arm backward, the hands went around my waist and, as gently as possible, lifted me out of the mud.
Once I had my feet under me, I lifted my head to find myself staring at a space-suited alien. Or else, and this was only a little less unlikely, it was a zombie in a biohazard suit. But that’s what it was. A greenish face peered through the clear visor.
“Want me to pop that shoulder back into place for you?” a muffled female voice asked.
I peered closer at the face inside the suit. I knew this zombie. Pam McFarren. She was one of the few female zombies on the Goon Squad; I’d run into her before in Deadtown. She was all right for a Goon.
“Okay.” I ground my teeth as McFarren felt along my shoulder. She grasped my forearm and bent my elbow at a ninety-degree angle. Slowly, but with steady pressure, she rotated my arm outward, away from my body.
“Make a fist,” she said. I did. She held my wrist and kept pushing my arm. The pain intensified, and I bit the inside of my cheek to keep from crying out.
Another gentle push, just a little farther, and the joint snapped into place with a pop. A starburst of pain—I tasted blood from biting my cheek—then blessed relief.
“I heard that,” McFarren said. “How does it feel?”
“Like new.” I moved my arm in big circles. I had the full range of motion back. “Thanks,” I said.
“You’re welcome. Now I need to finish cuffing you.”
I sighed. “Is that necessary?”
“Until we know what the situation is, yes. Please put your hands behind you.”
Once she’d locked the cuffs on me, I looked around the chasm. The biohazard team had five members. Three others wore the same kind of suit McFarren had on, so they were probably zombies, too. Judging from the environment suit that made the fifth look like the Michelin Man’s chubbier cousin, I’d guess that one was a human. The human seemed to be in charge. He gestured while the others set up lights and bustled around the site.
“Why do you need a hazmat suit?” I asked McFarren. “You’ve already had the virus.”
“That’s why they send PDHs on these calls. The suits are to avoid infecting others, in case an outbreak report turns out to be positive. Otherwise, we’d have to go into quarantine.”
Like I will, I thought glumly. I’d sit around some boring, secure room while Pryce wreaked havoc in the Darklands.
“But it’s always a false alarm,” she added.
“This one isn’t. Take a look at the corpse.” I nodded toward Pryce.
Classic plague victim. The skin color, the blood from the eyes and mouth streaking the skin. The human, awkward in the bulky suit, bent over Pryce, obscuring him.
“Let’s give them room to work.” McFarren took my arm and led me several yards away. One of the zombies assisted the human with Pryce. The other two stood, arms folded, guarding the site. McFarren kept her hand around my arm. “So what happened here?” she asked.
“Do you know who Pryce Maddox is?” Maybe I should have said was, given his current condition.
Behind her visor, McFarren scowled. “Of course I do. He’s the guy who launched a demon attack on the Paranormal Appreciation Day concert.” Strictly speaking, what Pryce had sicced on the zombies that night wasn’t a demon—it was demon essence, a spirit of destruction that materialized in the form of giant crows. Crows with an insatiable hunger for zombie flesh. “Maddox is responsible for a dozen PDH deaths. Every zombie officer on the Squad would like to use his head at our next volleyball tournament.”