sick.”
“Just adjusting. The atmosphere’s a little . . . heavy here,” I panted, getting my equilibrium back.
Then I whispered to him, “Have you ever . . . seen any zombies . . . down here?”
He looked at me and blinked. Then he answered slowly. “If by zombie you mean ambulatory dead, then yes. I have.” He fell into a wary silence, as if he wasn’t sure what I was going to make of the answer.
“That sounds like a nutty question, doesn’t it?”
“From most people, I guess. From you, I think it means there’s something more going on. So, what is it?”
I shrugged. “I don’t know yet. Sandy—the woman I was talking to at the Union Gospel Mission—said she’d seen zombies and found body parts around Pioneer Square since the storms, and I had a . . . run-in with a zombie last night. A walking corpse, to be more precise. Just before I saw it, I saw a fox—just like Jay did and in the same area. Probably the same fox.”
“I thought that spooked you.”
I nodded. “Here was the strange thing—well, one of several strange things. . . .” I felt myself frowning about that and shook it off.
“What strange things—stranger than zombies, that is?”
“This zombie was animated by its own spirit—or two spirits— which was trapped in the corpse by a—a kind of web.” I was having a little difficulty with a more precise description without going into ridiculous detail that wasn’t relevant. “Magic energy—one of those things I can see and touch. But the important point was that I found the same sort of material on the hole in the tunnel wall where you found Go-cart yesterday. I’ve never seen anything quite like it elsewhere, so I think it’s the same thing in both cases, which would imply a connection to a common source or cause between the dead man and the zombie. And Sandy’s talking about missing people and zombies made me wonder. . . .”
Jay had moved farther down the buried alley and whispered back to us from the dark. “Up here. There’s people in here. They took Bear’s stuff.”
Quinton linked one of my arms with his free one and tugged me gently forward. “C ’mon. We’ll talk about this later.”
I nodded and took a deep breath before falling in beside him. Moving helped, but I was thinking as we went. If Go-cart was part of a pattern of death and disappearance, were the strands of soft, neutral Grey part of that pattern? If so, then the pattern would link him to the zombie I’d had thrust upon me the night before, and that man had been dead quite a while. Who was he before he became a walking, rotting prison for his soul, and who had been along for the ride? I shuddered and carried on beside Quinton through the unseen throng of burning ghosts.
We caught up to Blue Jay at an underground corner, where the alley met an old sunken sidewalk of rotted boards and disrupted cement. Down the sidewalk to our left there was a light and gathered around it were three people.
Jay pointed into the dark at the near corner and spoke in a raw whisper. “I found the blanket there a couple days ago. Bear’s hat was there, too, but it didn’t fit me, so I left it. Now it’s gone. You see the man with the braids? Tall Grass.”
“Did he take Bear’s hat?” Quinton asked.
“I don’t see it on him.”
“Do you see Lass or Tanker?”
“No. Just Tall Grass and his girlfriend and . . . looks like one of the People.”
I shot a questioning look at Quinton, who whispered back, “He means another Indian.” Quinton peeked around Jay’s shoulder and studied the group. “They look OK. Let’s go ask them what they’ve seen. If they’ve seen Bear or his stuff. Or Lass or Tanker.”
Jay dug in his heels. “I won’t go.”
“Why not?” Quinton asked.
“Moths. And that bird. There
“Just adjusting. The atmosphere’s a little . . . heavy here,” I panted, getting my equilibrium back.
Then I whispered to him, “Have you ever . . . seen any zombies . . . down here?”
He looked at me and blinked. Then he answered slowly. “If by zombie you mean ambulatory dead, then yes. I have.” He fell into a wary silence, as if he wasn’t sure what I was going to make of the answer.
“That sounds like a nutty question, doesn’t it?”
“From most people, I guess. From you, I think it means there’s something more going on. So, what is it?”
I shrugged. “I don’t know yet. Sandy—the woman I was talking to at the Union Gospel Mission—said she’d seen zombies and found body parts around Pioneer Square since the storms, and I had a . . . run-in with a zombie last night. A walking corpse, to be more precise. Just before I saw it, I saw a fox—just like Jay did and in the same area. Probably the same fox.”
“I thought that spooked you.”
I nodded. “Here was the strange thing—well, one of several strange things. . . .” I felt myself frowning about that and shook it off.
“What strange things—stranger than zombies, that is?”
“This zombie was animated by its own spirit—or two spirits— which was trapped in the corpse by a—a kind of web.” I was having a little difficulty with a more precise description without going into ridiculous detail that wasn’t relevant. “Magic energy—one of those things I can see and touch. But the important point was that I found the same sort of material on the hole in the tunnel wall where you found Go-cart yesterday. I’ve never seen anything quite like it elsewhere, so I think it’s the same thing in both cases, which would imply a connection to a common source or cause between the dead man and the zombie. And Sandy’s talking about missing people and zombies made me wonder. . . .”
Jay had moved farther down the buried alley and whispered back to us from the dark. “Up here. There’s people in here. They took Bear’s stuff.”
Quinton linked one of my arms with his free one and tugged me gently forward. “C ’mon. We’ll talk about this later.”
I nodded and took a deep breath before falling in beside him. Moving helped, but I was thinking as we went. If Go-cart was part of a pattern of death and disappearance, were the strands of soft, neutral Grey part of that pattern? If so, then the pattern would link him to the zombie I’d had thrust upon me the night before, and that man had been dead quite a while. Who was he before he became a walking, rotting prison for his soul, and who had been along for the ride? I shuddered and carried on beside Quinton through the unseen throng of burning ghosts.
We caught up to Blue Jay at an underground corner, where the alley met an old sunken sidewalk of rotted boards and disrupted cement. Down the sidewalk to our left there was a light and gathered around it were three people.
Jay pointed into the dark at the near corner and spoke in a raw whisper. “I found the blanket there a couple days ago. Bear’s hat was there, too, but it didn’t fit me, so I left it. Now it’s gone. You see the man with the braids? Tall Grass.”
“Did he take Bear’s hat?” Quinton asked.
“I don’t see it on him.”
“Do you see Lass or Tanker?”
“No. Just Tall Grass and his girlfriend and . . . looks like one of the People.”
I shot a questioning look at Quinton, who whispered back, “He means another Indian.” Quinton peeked around Jay’s shoulder and studied the group. “They look OK. Let’s go ask them what they’ve seen. If they’ve seen Bear or his stuff. Or Lass or Tanker.”
Jay dug in his heels. “I won’t go.”
“Why not?” Quinton asked.
“Moths. And that bird. There
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