The Temple of the Dead Page 3

  Against his better judgment, Harlan felt around the broken rib and hissed at the slightest touch. The Professor appeared before him, worry flitting in the darkness of his features.

  Angry at nothing, yet everything, Harlan snapped. “I know, I know.”

  His spirit guardian shook his ghostly head and drifted closer, his ethereal voice in Harlan’s head.

  “Go ahead. It’s not like more bad news can make things worse.”

  Ignoring his outburst, The Professor ducked his head and buried it in Harlan’s unwounded side. His ghostly form slipped inside without resistance.

  Harlan twitched. Though he felt nothing, the sight of the ghost’s head disappearing into his torso was disturbing at best. He looked away and counted the rafters, waiting until the spirit at last pulled away.

  “Well, Doc, what did you see?” he asked, though he was sure he already knew.

  Gentle whispers answered.

  Harlan sighed and began to wrap his ribs back up with the dirty shirt. The cold made it hard to get his fingers working. “We don’t have the time to wait it out, Professor. We’ll just have to hope we can make it to the Temple without it going into my lung.”

  Neither said another word about it. Both knew the likelihood of Harlan making it two hundred miles without running into a fight was too laughable to mention. Optimism was a bet neither was willing to take.

  His ribs tied, Harlan went over and plucked the clean clothes from the pile. Grateful for the button-up shirt, he eased it on to find it fit fairly well. Buttoned at last, he picked up the flask and took a small sip to warm his joints.

  The Professor turned to look as Walter shambled into the room. Harlan took another sip.

  “Cornelius and I discussed your dilemma last night, once you’d gone to bed. After looking into it, we believe that perhaps it might be best if you were given a few moments with the Oracle.”

  Harlan glanced between the two. His eyes narrowed. “What did you see?”

  Walter turned away and ambled off, waving as he did. “Come.”

  The Professor drifted at the corpse’s back, not meeting Harlan’s gaze.

  His stomach roiling, Harlan followed the odd pair as they wound their way through the halls. Up an indeterminable number of stairs, the rhythmic movement of Walter a metronome of creaks and pops, Harlan lost count after the first four flights. Several shots of whiskey fortifying him, he followed without question, though plenty swirled within his head.

  Their sudden change of mind disturbed him. Before he went to bed, they’d believed he’d lose his will to pursue the breach were he to see his family in the other world. Now, they were encouraging him to look. That didn’t bode well.

  At last, the stairs came to an end and they stepped into a cavernous room. The ceiling arched way overhead. Chromed rafters and mirrored panels filled the room with reflected light, the shine of Heaven glimmering down upon them. The quiet hum of machinery vibrated through him, closed electronic cabinets covering the walls up to ten feet high.

  In the center of the room, spindly robotic arms held what looked like video cameras. Sparkling beams of light emanated from them to converge upon a glistening orb that hovered in the center of them. The white bone of the Oracle’s frame was sickly pale under the lights, the skulls decorating it a morbid sign of its intended use. The orb shimmered and rippled with waves of green fog, its lustrous face swimming like the turbulent ocean before his eyes.

  Solemn sounds filled his head as he neared the Oracle, the voices of the dead drifting to him through the weakened dimensional wall. Their sorrow was palpable, prickling his skin and plucking a despairing melody upon the strings of his heart. Through the maddening murmurs, he heard The Professor.

  Harlan shook his head, reluctant to move closer, never having heard such mournful entreaties in all his years. He wished now he hadn’t seen the Oracle or heard the voices that called to him, the ghosts of lifetimes sensing his presence. His own spirit wailed inside, torn between the need to find his family amongst the crowing dead and fleeing before he fell victim to the plague of sadness that assailed him.

  The Professor gave him a gentle shove as Walter waved him forward. On numb legs, he stumbled to the Oracle as though in a dream. The glistening eye reflected his haggard face. On instinct, Harlan looked into the sea of green. Swirling souls, like fish within a tank, swam before his eyes. They called to him, their ethereal voices fluttering with spiritual agony.

  Unlike the dead who’d been gone long enough to have lost all sense of their former lives, these spirits had been killed after the rising—or during it. They’d never known the peace of the truly passed, the embrace of emptiness that washed away the memories and eased a soul into true nothingness.

  The breach held them captive to emotion, their spirits unable to move on. The fears and worries of life had never left them. Death had only driven them home more sharply, more distinct. These souls cried out to Harlan, begging for an end, a release from the torture of continued existence. They begged for oblivion.

  Through this wall of voices, another pierced through the chaos to reach his mind, his heart. Its tones gentle and certain, Harlan focused on the quiet song of it. The voice grew inside his head. Its formless voice took shape in gradual steps, a sound, a syllable; a word.

  Daddy.

  Harlan’s heart broke. His legs wobbled, then gave out. He fell to his knees, his breath frozen in his lungs. He stared up at the Oracle with tears blurring his vision, his hands outstretched toward it. Again, the voice called out to him as a shimmering face appeared in the ripples of the eye.

  “Kiri.” Little more than a whisper, Harlan forced the word out. It was the first time he’d spoken her name since the horrible night she’d been taken from him.

  His daughter’s image, formed by her inner turmoil, was frightening. Wide, cat-like eyes stretched across her face while feral, ghostly teeth sprung piranha-like from her mouth. But her essence washed over Harlan, pure and bright, her presence a shining beacon through the horror.

  Her ethereal voice came to him in rhyme, the sing-song pattern of Seuss, like the books he’d read to her every night before bed.

  His tears turned to sobs as he poured his heart out in gasping stutters, the world around him forgotten. The intervening years were washed away in the moment. He felt numb from the closeness, a spiritual hug that squeezed all the feeling from his limbs. A puddle of weakness, he quavered as he held his hands out, wishing he could hold her in his arms one last time.

  After several moments, he at last took a breath. Its bitter reek was a poor substitute for the life he’d drawn from his daughter’s drifting presence. Her form shifted as they spoke, resolving into a closer representation of the beautiful little girl she’d been when alive. It only deepened his despair. He couldn’t look away from her; her spirit so close and yet so far. It was a beautiful torture.

  When at last the words slowed, his heart settling the thunder in his chest, Harlan could once again muster a coherent thought. He looked to his daughter and it struck him as odd that his wife was not with her, that she hadn’t shown herself.

  That’s when it hit him; the reason Walter and The Professor had insisted he come. “Where’s your mother?” he asked, dreading the question as it oozed between his dry lips.

  The semblance of happiness slid from Kiri’s ghostly face, her form once more slipping into its monstrous reflection. Her voice was a dirge.

  His almost-dried eyes began to spill tears once more as he listened to his daughter’s words. Fury strengthened him. He got to his feet and spun about to glare at the undead pair. “Alejandra has her. Why didn’t you tell me?” Jagged razor-laced words spewed from his mouth.

  Walter spoke first. “We only learned it was so last night.”

  Harlan looked to The Professor, who nodded and floated whispered apologies to Harla
n’s ears. Harlan hardened his expression as the spirit continued. After a moment it lessened by degrees, settling into steely resolve.

  “You’re right, I did ask for this.” He looked back to the eye, to his daughter. “I’ll find Mom and we’ll be together again.” He choked back a sob as he saw his daughter’s form waver, new deformities taking hold in her distress. “I love you, more than anything, Kiri.” He drew in an icy breath. “I’ll be with you soon.”

  Her quiet voice wafted over him in gentle wisps. Silver waterfalls ran from his eyes as Kiri slid away from the Oracle and melted into the swirl of spirits behind her.

  Sickened that he was losing her again, Harlan felt a cold, destructive impulse growing hard in his belly. Its name was murder.

  “I’m going to kill that bitch.” Harlan glared at the undead. “But you knew how I’d feel, that’s why you let me up here.” He stared at The Professor for a moment longer and loosed a deep, ragged sigh as his guardian floated stoic. “She knows I’m headed for the Temple.” It wasn’t a question.

  Walter nodded. “There’s no doubt of that.”

  “Then I guess I’d better get going.” Harlan spun and stomped toward the door. Cam stood in the threshold.

  His eyes moist, he stared at Harlan, soft touches of sympathy staining his face. “Let me help.”

  Harlan met his solid gaze. “You don’t know what you’re asking.”

  Cam nodded his head. “I know, believe me.” He motioned to the Oracle. “I ain’t got nothing like that waiting for me here, no purpose. All I have is food and the relative safety of the eye until it falls down around me. That ain’t living. Let me help you.”

  Harlan stared at him for a moment, but Cam held his ground. Against his better judgment, Harlan knew deep down he would give in. “You’re taking your life in your own hands by going with me, Cam.” He felt obligated to talk him out of it.

  Cam smiled, his face splitting wide. “You mean as opposed to my life being in someone else’s—something else’s—hands like it is here?” He chuckled. “I’m just waiting to die, Harlan. I’m just doing it better than everyone out there, but it’s all the same.” He motioned toward the walls. “If I go with you, at least I’m working toward a future. Maybe I can do some good, help you put a stop to the breach. I can die for that, you know.”

  From the moment he’d met Cam, Harlan liked him. He couldn’t help it. That made saying yes even harder, but the bones grinding at his side trumped his conscience. He needed the help if there was any chance for him to succeed. Besides, two years on the road with nothing for company but the ghosts of his past and the dead, or soon to be, having Cam along would be a nice change. He needed to be human for a while.

  “All right, you’re in, but I can’t guarantee your safety.”

  Cam grinned. “I’ll watch my back. I ain’t comin’ along just to die.”

  Harlan met Cam’s grin with one of resignation. “Then let’s get to it. You got any backpacks hanging around? We’re going to need something to lug some food and gear in. We’ve got a long walk ahead of us.”

  “Ain’t got no packs, but I’ve got something better.”

  * * * *

  Harlan stared at the big 4x4 pickup and grinned like a kid at Christmas. Painted a hideous mixture of orange, black, and red, the Chevy looked like the after-effects of a bad Halloween morning. Round-eyed lights sat atop the roof and the extended bumper bars up front had been crudely modified to cover the entire grill, circling around the headlights to end just a few inches on each side.

  Not daring to hope, he asked, “Does it run?”

  “Yes, sir,” Cam answered with a chortling laugh. “I come down here every day and start her up. She’s a beast, but she’ll hold up for the ride to the Temple.” He walked around the back and pointed into the bed where several large, red plastic fuel containers sat, surrounded by sealed cardboard boxes. “Got plenty of gas to get us there without stopping, too. I’ve already loaded her up with food and supplies—some tools, batteries, rope, a couple of tarps and flashlights—so all we gotta do is toss Walter in back, and we’re good to go.”

  Not as optimistic as Cam that it’d be that easy, Harlan still felt some of the kid’s enthusiasm rubbing off on him. “This being a secure complex, you wouldn’t happen to have any firearms stashed about, do you?”

  “As a matter of fact,” he answered with a laugh.

  Cam opened the driver side door and popped the seat forward. Harlan peered past him and grinned when he saw two pump-action shotguns stashed behind the seat along with a handful of 9mm pistols.

  “Looks like you were ready to go to war.” Harlan glanced over at Cam. “Packed up and ready, what were you looking to do?”

  “To tell the truth, I was gettin’ a little cagey in here. If it hadn’t been for Walter showin’ back up, telling me there was a chance things’d get straightened out, I was fixin’ to head for the hills.”

  “You’d have really given up all this?”

  “Ain’t nothing to give up, like I said. It’s a prison sentence staying here. Yeah, I got three squares a day, lights, and cool air, but the rest of the inmates are dead folk. We’re all just waiting for me to join them.”

  Harlan nodded and glanced around the garage. The rolling doors had been barricaded some time in the past and remained so, with one exception: the door directly in front of the truck. Random building materials lay in haphazard piles off to the side, the door cleared in preparation for a quick exit. Cam had been busy.

  Harlan reached into the truck and pulled out one of the pump-actions. “Since I presume you’re driving, I’ve got shotgun.”

  Cam chuckled and pointed to the passenger seat. “There’s extra shells under the seat. Ain’t but a couple of boxes, but it should do for a spell.”

  “If we need more than that...” Harlan let the thought drift away. He didn’t want to think too much about what lay ahead.

  His daughter’s twisted face popping up over and over in his mind’s eye, he took a deep breath in an effort to push it away. Gentle spasms flickered at his side, pinpricks of pain dancing about the wound. Despite the truck, weapons, and Cam’s help, he knew the road ahead would be hard. The streets cluttered with abandoned vehicles, the undead clustered thick along their path, and Alejandra waiting out there somewhere knowing where he was headed, there was nothing easy about what they had to do.

  He looked at the truck, then from Cam to Walter, The Professor hovering silent in the background. “There’s no point in waiting, I guess. We’ve already missed the dawn window so there’s going to be walkers in the yard.”

  “Unfortunately, the garage leads out right into their path, but once we get past them, it’s relatively clear sailing to the highway.”

  Full of nervous energy, Harlan popped open the passenger door and dropped the shotgun in the seat. He and Cam got together and helped get Walter situated into the bed of the truck. The Professor disappeared behind them as they worked. Once the corpse was settled, Cam climbed into the driver’s seat and Harlan went around to the passenger side. He stopped at the door.

  “Shit. I need to—”

  Cam reached between the seats and lifted the bottle of whiskey he’d stashed there. “Got you covered,” he said flashing a smile. “Wouldn’t be a road trip without refreshments, right?”

  Harlan snatched up the shotgun and climbed inside with a laugh. “You thought of everything.”

  “I was a Boy Scout once upon a time,” Cam said as he turned the key in the ignition. Without hesitation, the truck roared to life. He held up a small remote labeled with the number 3 that corresponded with the number painted over the garage door in front of them.

  The truck warming up, Harlan met Cam’s eyes, his face serious. “Last chance to stay put.”

  Cam shook his head, shifting into first. Harlan nodded, then reache
d under the seat to grab a box of shells. He dumped them into his lap before rolling the window down and propping the shotgun against the frame to minimize the weapon’s recoil. He checked the safety and made sure he had rounds in the chamber. As ready as he could be, he muttered a go.

  Cam hit the remote button and the garage door jumped in response, inching upward with a shuddering squeal. As it crept open, a number of decayed feet appeared in the bright morning light beyond. Cam revved the engine as if in a challenge, walker legs coming into view.

  Ethereal voices wafted to Harlan’s ears as the door steadily rose, their pitch and eagerness paced accordingly. At last, the metal rolled up to reveal the corpses, frothing to come inside.

  The door out of the way at last, Cam gunned it and the truck shot forward. The undead stared straight ahead without fear. Metal met rotten bodies head on, the truck the easy victor.

  Chunks of meat bounced over the hood. A walker’s snarling face slapped into the windshield, the disembodied skull rolling over the roof to disappear. Wet red ran down the window as the truck shuddered, bouncing over the fleshy speed bumps sucked beneath the wheels.

  Cam mowed down another two walkers as he shot up the ramp that led to the yard. The shrieks of their possessive spirits pierced Harlan’s skull as Cam slowed near the end of the drive.

  Drawn by the furious summons of their brethren, a dozen more walkers filed along the driveway and shambled toward them. Dogs launched themselves at the wheels, tiny bumps in the ride signaling their failure. Cam veered right toward the thinner congregation and sped up as he hurtled toward the line of corpses.

  Harlan braced the shotgun and fired as they approached, catching the closest corpse in its chest and knocking it backward toward its companions. Harlan’s side vibrated with the shot and he expelled a coughing breath. He set his jaw and prepared to fire again.

  Cam slammed into the gathered walkers without mercy. Once more, the metal ram of the truck tore through them without slowing. Bodies and severed parts exploded like a morbid piñata. Yellow bile splashed across the hood. It did nothing to better the aesthetics of the original paint job.