The Dead Ones (Death Herself Book 3) Page 16

  “Are you...” I pause, not really sure whether I want to know the answer to my next question. “Are you, like... Are you God, or something like that?”

  She turns to me, and after a moment she smiles. “No,” she says with a renewed sense of calmness, “I'm not God, or anything like that. I'm just someone who works behind the scenes. Someone who should have known better. And now a whole bunch of people are dead, and worse than that, their souls were consumed by that Flesh Weaver so they could be passed on to Dyson. I didn't cause the shooting to happen, but I damn well should have prevented it. There shouldn't be any limits to what I can do.”

  “We all feel like that sometimes,” I point out.

  She opens her mouth to reply, before smiling again. “Don't.”

  “Don't what?”

  “Don't be smarter than me,” she continues. “I don't like it.”

  Turning, I look back down at my comatose body. “Maybe you can't save me,” I point out. “Maybe this is another limitation.”

  “Oh, I'm definitely going to save you,” Hannah replies. “I don't know how, but I am damn well not going to fail again. I've been watching you for a while, Bonnie. I pretended to be a student at the school, I hid my true identity from Dyson so I could get closer to him and work out what he really wanted. I've invested a lot of time and effort here, and I am not going to walk away until I've salvaged something.”

  “So you only care about yourself?” I ask, turning to her. “Is that what this is about? Pride?”

  “I'm not proud,” she scoffs, heading to another window and peering out. “I've never had a problem with pride, thank you very much. I'm far too honest with myself, almost to a fault.”

  “I had a bird in a box,” I tell her. “I thought it was dead, but then it was alive and then... It seemed to constantly switch from one to the other.”

  “Of course it did,” she replies. “It was being looked after by someone whose energy was doing the same thing.”

  I want to ask what she means, but I get the feeling that none of her explanations are going to make too much sense. In fact, the more I try to understand, the more I feel as if I'm getting a headache.

  “So what are we doing here?” I continue, looking around at the abandoned factory. “Are you hoping that I'll just miraculously wake up?”

  “Maybe we should get Prince Charming to come and give you a kiss,” she mutters, staring at my body on the floor. “Then again, I guess he tried that himself at the hospital. This isn't a fairytale. True love never won the day, not in my experience. We need something more solid, something that'll give you one hell of a jolt.”

  We stand in silence for a moment.

  “Electricity?” I suggest finally.

  “Stop being so literal.”

  “Sorry.”

  “Maybe we should binge-watch some TV movies,” she continues. “This seems like something that probably comes up in those quite regularly.” Stepping around my prostrate body, she seems lost in thought for a moment. “Bumping your head didn't work. Having people talk to you at the hospital didn't work. Dropping you in mud didn't work. We need to find some way to force your body to wake up, we need to make it understand that it has no choice. Once that happens, your soul will instantly snap back into place.”

  “So I guess you've never done something like this before?”

  “Not that I remember,” she mutters. “You're not ticklish, are you?”

  I shake my head.

  “Not even a little?” Crouching down, she tickles my body's bare, dirty feet.

  “Maybe there's too much damage,” I point out. “Like, something's wrong in my head, something that means I can't wake up.”

  “That's not what the doctors thought at the hospital,” she replies, before frowning. “I think I know what to do.”

  “What?” I ask.

  “Turn around.” She glances at me, with the faintest of smiles on her lips. “Seriously, I know how to wake you up, but you have to turn your back to us. You can't see what I do.”

  “I...” After pausing for a moment, finally I do as I'm told, and I immediately hear her shuffling about, as if she's getting into position for something. “What are you doing?” I ask cautiously, resisting the temptation to turn and see for myself.

  “Whatever you do,” she replies, “don't turn around.”

  “Why not?”

  “Just promise you won't.”

  I wait, but I don't hear anything.

  “You're not...” Feeling a little breathless, I remind myself that I shouldn't panic. I have to learn to trust Hannah, no matter how crazy she might seem. “Don't take this the wrong way,” I continue, “but you're not going to, like... violate me in some way, are you?”

  “You wish,” she mutters, clearly not impressed.

  “Then what are -”

  “It'll take a few minutes,” she adds, and this time she sounds a little tense, as if she's struggling with something.

  I start to turn around so I can see what's happening, but I force myself to keep my back to her.

  “Come on,” she hisses under her breath. “Just a little longer...”

  “Can't you just tell me what you're doing?” I ask.

  “A little more. It should start working soon.”

  I take a deep breath, but my throat is starting to feel a tight and my legs are getting weak. Worrying that I might faint, I reach out and lean against a nearby workbench, but the uncomfortable sensation is really filling my throat now and I feel kind of light-headed.

  “What are you doing?” I gasp.

  No reply.

  I try to ask again, but my whole body feels tense and stiff now. Finally, even though I know she told me not to, I turn and look back across the room, and to my horror I see what's happening.

  Hannah is straddling my body, with her hands gripping my throat.

  She's strangling me.

  “Hey!” I gasp, lunging toward her but quickly dropping to my knees. I can't breathe at all, and I can see that my body's face is starting to turn a distinct shade of red. “Stop!”

  “Nearly there,” Hannah says with an excited grin, and I can see that she's squeezing extra tight now, as if she's determined to finish me off. She actually seems to be enjoying this.

  “Why?” I stammer, shuffling forward on my knees, reaching out in a vain attempt to stop her. “I thought you... wanted to... help...”

  Tumbling down onto the dusty concrete ground, I use the last of my strength to reach out and grab Hannah, but I only manage to brush my fingertips against the side of her leg. I want to pull her hands away my throat, but I'm far too weak and now my vision is starting to fade, as if the end is coming.

  “Please,” I whisper, feeling myself slipping into unconsciousness. Everything goes black. “Don't do this to me... Please... I don't want to -”

  Suddenly I let out a loud, angry gasp and I instinctively sit up. I push Hannah away with enough force to slam her into the wall, and then I reach up and feel my sore neck. Desperately gasping for breath, I look around and realize that something feels different this time. It takes a moment before I realize that I'm back in my own body

  “That took long enough,” Hannah mutters, getting to her feet. “For a moment there, I was worried I might actually end up throttling you to death.”

  “Are you insane?” I ask, still trying to get more air into my lungs. “You almost killed me!”

  “But I knew I wouldn't,” she replies. “Well, actually I hoped I wouldn't. There was a definite risk, but I figured I needed to force the issue.”

  She reaches out and takes my hand, helping me to my feet.

  “I had to make it a life or death choice,” she continues. “I figured you were just a little too comfortable in your ghost form. I needed to shock you and force a decision.”

  “By choking me?”

  “It worked, didn't it?”

  “Never do that again,” I gasp, leaning back against the wall. “Never, ever do anything like that
to me again, at least not without warning me first.”

  “Sorry,” she replies with a self-satisfied smile, “I can't make that promise. Obviously chocking the average coma patient wouldn't work, but since you were out of your body and able to see what was happening, I thought there was a chance you'd be shocked into returning to your body. How do you feel, anyway?”

  “My legs,” I stammer, as I realize that I feel extremely weak.

  “The hospital had a physio come in and do some muscle exercises with you,” she explains, “but that was just to stave off atrophy. You've still spent a long time in bed, so your body's gonna feel a little funky for a while. By the way, I walked into your room once when they were washing you with a sponge on a stick.” She pats my shoulder. “There is no dignity in that procedure, my friend.”

  “So I'm cured?” I ask, finally getting my breath back. I hold my hands out and look at them, and I take a moment to clench and un-clench my fists. “I'm really back in my body again?”

  “You can thank me later,” she replies, “but right now we need to get out of here. The delightful Mr. Dyson is still going to be looking for you.”

  “But we can stop him now, right?” I ask. “Or will he just give up, now I'm not a ghost anymore?”

  “There's no way he'll give up,” she mutters, leading me across the abandoned factory, heading toward the door at the far end. “I told you, he's an addict. He craves the souls of dead people, and as far as he's concerned, you were promised to him a long time ago.”

  “But there's nothing special about me, is there?” I continue. “I'm just like everyone else.”

  “Except that he's become fixated on you,” she explains. “It's pretty immature of him, really. He thought he'd get to consume your soul, then he found he couldn't, and now he's filled with the need to take you. He just can't let -”

  “Wait!” I hiss suddenly, struggling slightly to keep up with her. My entire body feels stiff and weak, and after a moment Hannah reaches out and gives me a little support. “I don't feel so good,” I tell her.

  “No kidding,” she replies as she helps me across the room. “Don't worry, it'll take time but eventually -”

  “What was that?” I ask suddenly, turning and looking back toward the windows. I swear I heard voices, lots of voices, but they seemed to be rustling in the distance and whispering all at once.

  “Are you going loopy on me?” Hannah asks.

  Before I can answer, I hear the voices again, and this time there are footsteps as well, heading straight toward us. I look around, convinced that I'll see someone at any moment, but there's no sign of anyone else here. I can sense something nearby, however, and finally I pull away from Hannah.

  “What's wrong?” she asks. “Is -”

  Suddenly the tall, dark creature looms above me, roaring as it appears from out of nowhere an reaches down to grab my shoulder. The air ripples, as if pure energy is crackling across the creature's body. I freeze for a moment, but Hannah grabs me and pulls me out of the way just as a large, bony hand swipes at me.

  “You need to learn to duck better!” Hannah hisses, bundling me across the room until we hit the far wall.

  Turning, I see to my horror that the creature is lumbering this way.

  “It wants me,” I whisper. “It's my turn.”

  “Flesh Weavers are renowned for two things,” Hannah replies. “First, they're extremely powerful. And second, they're pretty much impossible to kill.”

  “So what's the good news?” I ask.

  “I have no idea. Maybe there isn't any.”

  We duck in different directions as the creature reaches us. I feel something bump against my back, sending me clattering to the ground, but I'm able to scramble to my feet and hurry behind an old workbench. My body is far too weak for this, but pure fear keeps me going as I stumble to the wall and glance back again. The Flesh Weaver is still coming for me, ignoring Hannah completely. When it reaches the workbench, it grabs the edge and tosses the entire thing aside with one shove, sending it crashing into the wall.

  “I've never seen an enslaved Flesh Weaver before,” Hannah says as I hurry over to join her. Splintered pieces of the broken workbench come raining down on us. “I didn't even think that was possible. I can't even begin to imagine how Dyson managed to get this one on his side. Flesh Weavers are usually solitary creatures, they place no value on material wealth. What the hell could he have done to persuade this one to be his bitch?”

  The creature roars again, revealing rows of hook-like teeth as it reaches out and tries yet again to grab me. This time its hand briefly ripples with fire, missing me by just an inch or two as Hannah grabs my arm and yanks me out of the way. We crash together into another workbench, knocking it over, but I stumble to the ground and have to be helped up. As I turn and look toward the door, however, I spot a figure watching us, and I realize with a flash of anger that it's Mr. Dyson.

  “We've got company,” I gasp.

  “I want what's mine,” he announces calmly, with a faint smile. “Nothing more and nothing less.”

  “I'm not yours!” I shout.

  “Don't worry, Bonnie,” he continues. “Once I have your soul, I'll get out of town. I've got far better things to be doing than hanging around this dump.” He takes a step forward. “I just want what's owed to me.”

  “Is he always this annoying?” I ask as Hannah and I duck out of the Flesh Weaver's way yet again.

  “Oh, he can be way worse,” she replies. “So how did you manage it?” she calls out to him. “I've got to admit, I'm mildly impressed that you've got a real, live Flesh Weaver to do your dirty work.”

  “I can hardly give away my secrets,” he continues. “It is a magnificent beast, though, isn't it? I found it wandering the plains of the Underworld, exhausted and close to death. Perhaps it just feels it owes me a life debt, after I saved it from its own misery.”

  “No Flesh Weaver would work for you,” Hannah tells him. “Not unless it had lost its mind.”

  As if angered by those words, the Flesh Weaver lunges at her, grabbing her by the neck and slamming her into the brick wall. Flames ripple from its hands and Hannah lets out a gasp, but after a moment she manages to slip free and jump out of the way as the creature reaches for her again.

  “Focus!” Dyson shouts, with anger leaking into his voice for the first time. “Ignore her! It's the mortal girl I want!”

  The Flesh Weaver lets out a low growl as it turns away from Hannah and lumbers toward me. Again, I'm able to limp out of the way just in time, but my body is aching now and I know it's just a matter of time before I'm too slow and this creature gets its claws into me, and then I guess I'll go up in flames just like Mom and Molly and all the rest. My heart is pounding as I back toward the wall, but the creature is already crashing toward me, its heavy feet cracking the concrete floor with each step.

  “Get out of the way!” Hannah yells.

  I try, but this time I trip and drop to the ground. As I try to get up, the Flesh Weaver grabs my neck and I feel a flash of heat as I'm lifted high. I grab the creature's burning hand and try to pull it away, but the flames are getting stronger and I'm several feet above the ground now, unable to get free.

  “Leave her alone!” Hannah shouts, her voice barely audible over the sound of the Flesh Weaver's growls as it leans closer to me.

  Staring into the creature's face, I see two large, black eyes looking back at me. I expected the Flesh Weaver to be angry and filled with rage, but instead I see a hint of sadness, almost as if it doesn't want to hurt me but thinks it has no choice. When it took the souls of the others, it acted quickly, burning them with no apparent remorse, but now it almost seems to be reconsidering my fate. I guess the difference might be that whereas the others were already dead, I'm technically still alive.

  “Stop wasting time,” Dyson says firmly. “You know what you have to do.”

  The creature tilts its head slightly, still keeping its eyes focused on me.

&nb
sp; “You don't have to,” I gasp, as I feel its grip starting to burn my neck. “Please...”

  Nearby, Hannah is using a wrench from one of the workbenches to attack the Flesh Weaver's flank, but the creature doesn't even seem to have noticed.

  “Please,” I whisper again, “let me go...”

  “Kill her!” Dyson shouts. “Do I have to remind you how this works?”

  The creature lets out a gasp of pain, tilting its head back as if suddenly its body is filled with agony. As it does so, I spot what looks like a metal ring around its neck, with several spikes buried deep into its dark, knotted flesh.

  “He's torturing you,” I whisper, as I realize how Dyson has managed to get the Flesh Weaver under control. Reaching out, I grab the ring and try to pull it away, but it seems to be fixed too tightly. Tugging on the side, I see the spikes digging through the creature's flesh, drawing fresh blood, and a roar of pain emerges from its mouth. At the same time, more flames erupt from its hands, burning the side of my neck until I let out a scream.

  “Hang on!” Hannah shouts. “I'm going to look for a chainsaw!”

  I grab the ring around the Flesh Weaver's neck with both hands and try to force it apart, and finally I feel the metal starting to bend. Just when I think it might be too strong to break, the ring suddenly snaps and comes away in my hands. I grab the creature's wrist, but instead of letting me go it leans closer and roars again, causing the flames to burst across my face.

  “It's gone!” I scream. “I stopped it!”

  Suddenly I feel myself drop to the ground, landing hard on the concrete floor. I roll to one side, reaching up to feel the charred, bleeding skin around my neck and jaw, but the Flesh Weaver is already turning away. I try to get to my feet, but my body is too weak.

  “Don't even think about disobeying me!” Dyson sneers nearby. “Kneel! I'll fix that thing back around your neck, and this time you will finish the work you've started! Do you not remember what happened the last time you tried to challenge me?”

  Turning, I see that Dyson is standing his ground as the Flesh Weaver lumbers toward him. There's fear in his eyes, but he seemed determined to make the creature bend to his will.