The Undead Uproar Page 4

  “Weren’t you in the military?”

  “I was.”

  “I hear the food isn’t exactly fine cuisine. Why is it different for you?”

  “Because I knew what I was signing up for. You were a traumatized kid. I don’t like it. And, before you think of something else smart to say, I’m never going to like it. You can’t change my mind on that.”

  He was almost belligerent, which made me smile. “I guarantee I’ll find something I like here. I promise.”

  His expression softened. “I know.” He squeezed my hand and then reluctantly tugged me back toward the hotel. “We need to start back. Chris wants to head to the cemetery right away. We need to get that out of the way. I promise to take you around again later.”

  “It’s okay.” I meant it. “I’m anxious to learn about the zombies.”

  “It’s not zombies.”

  “You don’t know that.”

  “I know zombies aren’t real.”

  He probably figured psychics and telekinesis weren’t real either. “Do you believe in anything?”

  He obviously wasn’t expecting the question because he tilted his head to the side and furrowed his brow. “I don’t know. I guess I believe in witches, but only up to a point. I think it’s more that people convince themselves they’re witches and try to cast spells that might sometimes work but only because it’s a self-fulfilling prophecy.”

  That wasn’t what I wanted to hear. “What about psychics?”

  He shrugged, noncommittal. “I know people who swear by psychics. I’m not sure I believe in them. That’s one of the personas that grifters take on for a reason. I mean ... it’s easy to convince someone of something they really want to believe.”

  “Right.” I couldn’t help being down.

  “And now I’ve upset you,” he muttered, frustration evident. “I don’t want you to stop believing, Charlie. If that’s what you’re worried about, don’t. One of the things I like best about you is your enthusiasm.”

  It was a nice thing to say, but it didn’t necessarily make me feel better. “It’s okay. I guess we’re just never going to see eye-to-eye on that stuff.”

  “Probably not,” he agreed. “That doesn’t mean you’re not allowed to believe what you want.”

  “That’s not what you said when I thought there was a sixty-foot shark hunting the waters off Florida.”

  “Yes, but that was different. I mean ... a sixty-foot shark can’t hide in this day and age with all the technology we have.”

  I didn’t believe that, but it ultimately didn’t matter. We were looking for zombies, not prehistoric sharks. “We should head back. I want to see this cemetery. You never know, we might stumble across a zombie.”

  “We’re not going to stumble across a zombie.”

  “We might.”

  “We won’t.”

  I refused to let it go. “We might.”

  He heaved out a sigh as he met my gaze. “You’re lucky you’re cute.”

  I felt pretty lucky ... at least for today.

  ST. LOUIS CEMETERY NO. 3 WAS exactly what I’d hoped for. Because New Orleans was located so close to the water and the water table was so high, most graves are above ground. We’re talking mausoleums and elaborate sarcophagi. It was like walking into the middle of an artistic rendering.

  “This cemetery is two miles from the French Quarter and thirty blocks from the Mississippi,” Hannah read from her phone as she followed Chris. “It opened in 1854 and the crypts are considered more elaborate. There are even a few marble tombs.

  “It was flooded by Katrina in 2005 but it escaped relatively unscathed, which the other cemeteries couldn’t claim,” she continued. “Because of its location, it’s less visited than the two other St. Louis cemeteries.”

  “It’s fantastic.” I was almost breathless when I stepped forward. Because I wasn’t paying close enough attention, I almost tripped over my own feet.

  “Hello.” Jack grabbed my arm before I could topple to the ground, hauling me up and pinning me to his side. “Do you want to crack open your head? Be careful.”

  “I think it would be awesome if she cracked open her head,” Laura cackled from behind us.

  “And I think it would be awesome if we could find a mausoleum to lock you in,” Jack shot back.

  “Just ignore her,” Millie instructed, her eyes landing on Jack. “You’re playing right into her hands when you respond that way.”

  Jack made a face. “She bugs me.”

  “She bugs all of us. She likes bugging us. Don’t give her power.”

  A quick look at Jack told me he agreed with what Millie said. He didn’t want to encourage Laura.

  “We should look around,” I suggested, hoping to break the tension. “Were the bodies all stolen from the same area?”

  Chris shook his head. “Four different locations.”

  “I suggest we break up into groups and search each location separately,” Laura offered. “I’ll go with Jack, and Charlie can be on her own.”

  Jack’s expression was withering. “Don’t push it.”

  “The cemetery isn’t so big we can’t all go together,” Chris argued. “I think that’s probably the best way to go about things. I want to see each location with my own eyes.”

  “I’m fine with that.” Jack pulled out his phone and engaged his GPS. “I programmed all four burial locations. Let’s tackle them in an orderly fashion.”

  “That’s a fantastic idea.” Chris beamed at him. “Which way first?”

  Jack pointed before taking the lead. He gave me a serious look, which told me exactly what he expected. He wanted me to keep up. For some reason he was even more worked up than usual, but I couldn’t understand why.

  “How many times have you been here?” I asked, hoping to change the subject. I much preferred his company when he wasn’t completely worked up and attempting to give himself high blood pressure.

  “Four or five times,” he replied after a beat, his gaze on the GPS. “I visited twice when I was on leave from the military. I’ve been here two or three times since joining the Legacy Foundation.”

  “Really?” I was officially intrigued. “Do you guys come here often?”

  He smirked. “It’s New Orleans, Charlie. When you think of the most haunted place in the world, where is it?”

  That was a good question. “Salem.”

  “Massachusetts?”

  “Is there another Salem?”

  “Yeah. Oregon.”

  “Oh.” I felt like an idiot. “Then definitely Massachusetts.”

  “I guess I can see that,” he said after a beat. “New Orleans is bigger, though. It has more mystique.”

  “Bigger isn’t always better.”

  His eyes gleamed with flirtatious intent. “Oh, yeah?”

  “Don’t be gross,” I chided, causing him to chuckle. “Also, the Lizzie Borden Bed and Breakfast is supposed to be haunted. So is some prison in Philadelphia and an ocean liner in California. I can’t remember their names, but I’ve read about them.”

  “Haven’t you ever wondered who actually wants to stay at the Lizzie Borden Bed and Breakfast? I mean ... how does that even come up?”

  “I would totally like to stay there. I love the idea of ghosts ... even ones carrying axes.”

  Jack didn’t look convinced. “I have every intention of taking you away once you have some vacation time accrued. We’re not going there, though.”

  I tamped down the sudden agitation rolling through me at the mention of an overnight trip with just Jack and me to anchor the conversation. “Can we go to the Stanley Hotel in Estes Park?”

  “That’s the hotel where The Shining was filmed, right?”

  I nodded. “It’s supposed to be haunted.”

  “Don’t you want to go somewhere that isn’t haunted?”

  “Disney World. I always wanted to go there as a kid. But you don’t strike me as a Disney World sort of guy.”

  “That shows what yo
u know. I would love to go to Disney World.”

  His answer surprised me. “Really?”

  “Yup. I also wouldn’t mind seeing The Shining hotel. See, I can compromise. That means you’ll have to visit places I want to see, too.”

  “I can live with that. Where do you want to visit?”

  “The Alamo.”

  “I believe that’s supposed to be haunted, too.”

  “Gettysburg.”

  I made a face. “Are all the places you want to visit old battlegrounds?”

  He shrugged. “Maybe.”

  “We’re going to need to compromise.”

  “Sure. We’ll spend half the week at the Alamo and the other half at the Stanley Hotel.”

  “I can live with that.”

  This time the smile he let loose was legitimate. “So can I.”

  Laura cleared her throat behind us and wedged herself between us. She’d obviously been listening. Because I was in no mood to deal with her, I willingly moved to my left when Jack pointed toward a specific location and walked with Chris and Hannah in that direction, leaving him to deal with the viper on his own.

  “This is it,” Chris noted, jutting out his chin. “Look here. The top was moved off. There are markings where the vault was damaged.”

  It was easy to make out what he was pointing at. “I see it.” I hunkered down so I could get a better look, holding out my hands as I tried to imagine what I would do if I woke trapped inside the huge cement box. The thought was enough to cause my heart rate to increase. I’d always been a teensy bit claustrophobic. “Do you think someone could move the top from the inside?”

  Chris’s eyes gleamed at the question. “I don’t know. We can certainly perform an experiment to find out. Whose grave was this?”

  “I don’t have a name,” Jack replied, glaring at Laura as she eagerly trailed him toward us. “I just know this was the twenty-nine-year-old woman.”

  “Then it wouldn’t be a proper test for me to climb in to see if I can move the lid,” Chris noted. “It needs to be one of the women. Charlie, Hannah and Laura are the only ones who fit the age window.”

  My mouth went dry.

  “There’s no amount of money you could pay me to get in there,” Laura countered. “I mean ... absolutely none. It’s not going to happen.”

  Hannah looked doubtful as she regarded the grave. “I guess I could do it, but ... I don’t want to damage my hands in an escape attempt. I might need to perform an autopsy or two before this is all said and done if we manage to find one of the missing bodies. I don’t want to risk it.”

  “That leaves Charlie.” Chris turned to me expectantly. “You won’t be in there long. Just see if you can move the lid. If not, I would think that means someone from the outside removed the body.”

  “You’re not putting her in there.” Jack was vehement. “I’m serious. It’s not going to happen.”

  “She’ll be perfectly fine,” Chris countered. “She won’t be in there more than a minute. Two tops.”

  “No.” Jack emphatically shook his head. “I’m not letting you put her in there. What if something happens and she’s trapped?”

  “What could happen?” Chris’s expression was blank. “We’re all here. You and I will move the lid if she can’t move it herself.”

  “No.”

  “I believe it’s up to her,” Chris pressed. His smile was benign when he locked gazes with me. “What do you say?”

  “Oh, well ... .” I felt put on the spot ... and vaguely sick to my stomach. “I’m not sure that I think that’s a good idea.”

  “You’ll be fine.” Chris wasn’t backing down. “We’ll be right here.”

  “No.” Jack extended his hand and looked at me. “Be truthful. Do you want to go in there? Do you?”

  It was almost as if he could feel my fear. “No.”

  “Then she’s not going in,” Millie said simply, pushing her way to the front of the group. “It doesn’t really matter, Chris. Even if she could move the lid — which is doubtful — you could argue that zombies are stronger because they’ve been reanimated. There’s no proof to be found in this.”

  “I guess.” Chris didn’t look happy about losing the argument, but he forced a smile for my benefit. “You don’t have to go in.”

  “She doesn’t,” Jack muttered, moving me to his right so I was out of Chris’s immediate line of sight. “This zombie crap is nonsense anyway. Zombies aren’t real.”

  “Then why do the stories persist throughout history?” Chris challenged.

  “There are stories about the Loch Ness Monster, too, and it’s not real.”

  “Oh, it’s real.”

  Jack pressed the heel of his hand to his forehead. “Sometimes I think you’re purposely trying to kill me.”

  “I often feel the same about you,” Chris admitted. “I think we’re looking for a voodoo practitioner. It could be a priest or priestess. Someone familiar with this cemetery decided to raise the dead. We need to figure out why.”

  “We don’t know that the bodies weren’t stolen for medical experiments,” Jack shot back. “That’s the most common reason for crypts to go empty in this day and age. Well, that and sexual molestation, but we’ve all agreed we don’t want to go there.”

  “Definitely not,” Millie said.

  “I like a good molestation every now and again,” Laura offered, winking at Jack.

  “Ugh.” He screwed up his face in disgust. “Stop talking to me. I don’t want to hear another word from your mouth.”

  I tuned out the argument. It wasn’t important to me. Jack would always be the naysayer when it came to the paranormal. He couldn’t stop himself. Chris would always be the believer. That’s simply how he was built. And me? I would err on the side of believing, too. I was magical, so it was easier for me to believe others suffered from similar issues. If I didn’t have that to cling to, I would feel like a weirdo alone in a vast ocean of “normal” people ... and nobody wants that.

  As the argument between Jack and Chris ratcheted up, I focused on the sarcophagus. Suddenly, I had an overwhelming urge to touch it. I couldn’t stop myself.

  I extended my hand until my fingers brushed against the cool hardness of the cement and closed my eyes, a series of flashes invading so fast I almost couldn’t comprehend what I was seeing.

  I heard a noise. It sounded like someone gasping for breath as he or she was running out of oxygen.

  I heard scratching, like fingers clawing against a heavy surface as someone tried to escape.

  I heard an inhuman whine, like an animal begging for reprieve.

  And then, very briefly, I saw a hint of light as a large sheet of rock was moved to reveal an opening.

  There was relief ... and fear.

  “Charlie?” Millie moved to my side, her voice low.

  I shook myself out of my reverie and snatched back my hand. “I’m fine.”

  “You saw something,” she corrected.

  “I ... don’t know what I saw.” I glanced around to make sure no one was paying attention to us. Thankfully, everyone else was too busy watching Jack and Chris go at each other to worry about me.

  “Did you see a zombie?” Millie asked with a straight face.

  I thought about the scratching ... and whining. “I don’t know,” I said finally. “It was weird. I’m not sure what I saw.”

  “You need to be careful when doing this out in the open,” she admonished. “Until you tell Jack ... .” She left the rest of it hanging, but I knew what she meant. Until I told Jack my secret, I was vulnerable to being outed before I was ready. That could be disastrous.

  “It will be fine,” I said after a beat. I hoped I sounded more certain than I felt. “There’s nothing to worry about. I’ll be perfectly fine.”

  “If you say so.”

  “I know so.”

  Five

  It took us an hour to finish our sweep of the cemetery. While I still found it beautiful, I was unnerved by the visi
on from the first burial place and wisely opted to refrain from touching the others. I wasn’t sure I wanted to see anything. Instead, I spent my time studying the shadows for hints of movement, perhaps a malevolent force watching us.

  I came up empty and was happy when it was time to leave.

  We returned to the French Quarter for lunch. Chris selected a restaurant about two blocks from our hotel. He’d set up a meeting with a local detective who was supposed to meet us after we’d finished chowing down.

  Once seated, menu in hand, I struggled to decide what I wanted to sample for my first meal in New Orleans. Jack seemed determined to make sure I would like whatever I chose, so I wanted to make it good.

  “I think you’ll like the gumbo,” he said as he watched me pore over the laminated sheet. “It’s shrimp and rice. Okra. If there’s an option, try the mild version.”

  “Is that authentic?” I had no idea why that was so important, but I didn’t want to be the jerk who couldn’t handle the local cuisine. “I’m getting it the normal way.”

  “You’ll set your mouth on fire if you’re not careful.”

  “Yeah, well ... I’m still giving it a shot.” I offered him a bright smile. “What are you getting?”

  “A catfish po' boy.”

  “And what is that?”

  “It’s basically a sandwich. Kind of like a regular chicken sandwich with lettuce, pickles and tomatoes. Except I’m getting mine with catfish, because I love catfish.”

  That sounded interesting. “I’ve never had catfish before. Maybe I should get that.”

  “Or maybe I’ll let you have a bite of my sandwich to see if you like it first. We know you like shrimp and rice.”

  He had a point. “Okay.” I wasn’t in the mood to argue about food. “Tell me about this detective, Chris. Is there a reason he’s meeting us here instead of at the local precinct?”

  “Now that right there is an excellent question,” Jack pronounced. “I would like to hear the answer to that myself.”

  “His name is Henri Thibodeaux,” Chris replied, his attention on the menu. “I’m not sure why we’re meeting him here. Uncle Myron had to pull a few strings to make it happen. Local law enforcement was not keen on us being involved.”