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Lynche stole a Porsche parked nearby, and the three of them rocketed down the empty Highway 10 with the bomb in the back seat next to Karla.
Waterford nuclear power plant was a perilous thirty mile trip to St. Charles Parish, but they made it in less than twenty minutes, passing hundreds of moldering bodies along the highway, sickening reminders of that first devastating night months ago.
Lynche lugged the heavy ecto-nuke in through the front gates, the awkward device banging him in the shins as he toted it toward the entrance. Morphy spotted a wall of spirits in the distance closing fast – a massive hoard of thousands of angry, bloodthirsty ghosts descending for the kill.
“We need to move!” Morphy yelled.
They hurried inside through the main doors, right into an obvious problem.
No power.
“You expected this,” said Morphy.
“Yes,” said Lynche. “Why do you think I brought you along?”
Morphy smiled. “You are a wise man, Mr. Lynche.”
Within minutes, the brilliant ghost had transfused himself into the mainframe and restarted the system. Lights came on and the reactor came to life with a deep hum.
Lynche smiled at Karla and the three of them rushed through the corridors to the nuclear facility’s control room.
A pair of rotting corpses sat at the fission control console, their bodies decaying for months since the initial attack. Swarms of flies buzzed around, and the air smelled putrid.
Karla glanced back down the hall to see a swarm of snarling spirits bearing down on the control room.
“Go!” Morphy yelled, stepping down the corridor toward the other ghosts. “I’ll try to hold them off!”
“Hold them off – are you crazy?” Lynche said, staring at the dense army of hexed souls.
“In order to win the game,” said Morphy, “you must be unpredictable – and be willing to sacrifice. You are the king, Mr. Lynche. Do not let this game end in a stalemate.”
“Come on!” screamed the ghostly Karla, terrified.
Lynche turned away from the resolute Morphy and slammed the control room door.
Morphy bought them a little time – just enough to set up a portable shield around the reactor’s control room.
Lynche looked out the little tempered glass window as the swarm of ghosts fell upon Morphy. The ghost screwed up his face, focusing his considerable mental power on the nearest ghosts, who seemed to bounce back a little. But as more piled on, he was overcome by the countless raging spirits.
Lynche and Karla watched as Morphy evaporated, crushed by the hundreds of clawing ghost hands.
Destroyed forever into oblivion.
Lynche shuddered, then ducked under a panel and connected the bomb to the main power supply. Outside the room, they could hear the furious crowd of the dead banging up against the shield, pounding madly.
“I’m going to need to disengage the shield generator,” he said. “The bomb needs to use its shadow coil. This may get rough. Here goes nothing.”
He switched the coils out, and as he reached for the detonator, a stream of rabid ghosts flooded through the walls and ceiling, charging at Lynche and Karla.
The spirits quickly enveloped Karla in a frenzy of shimmering white fluidity.
Lynche was pulled away from the ecto-nuke by his feet. As his head smashed against the hard floor, his fingers scraped across the detonator board, hammering blindly at the buttons.
He felt an ice cold hand reach into his abdomen.
He stretched himself toward the detonator with all his might, the ghost tearing at his innards like a bad case of food poisoning.
And then he hit the button.
A massive wave of red energy emanated from the device, passing right through Lynche with no effect, but knocking the ghosts off their ethereal feet and sweeping them across the room.
A moment later, all the ghosts changed.
They stopped fighting, ceased growling and spitting, relaxed. They released Lynche and Karla. Many of them shook their heads, blinking hard.
A moment later, they all closed their eyes, smiling gently. They each breathed deeply and exhaled, then shrunk to become tiny, bright lights, which quickly disappeared into the floor.
Karla floated over to Lynche, and they looked out the window across the Louisiana landscape. In an ever expanding circle in all directions, tens of thousands of tiny pinpricks of light formed against the darkening purple of the evening sky, then faded silently into the ground.
As Lynche and Karla drove home slowly in the pilfered Porsche, they saw the Living beginning to emerge from their churches and other holy sanctuaries, ready to rebuild their decimated world once more.
In safety.
“Ty,” whispered Karla, sniffling slightly as they passed a group of cheering Living, “What about Morphy?”
Lynche looked at Karla. “Maybe I can figure out a way to bring him back from the second death. You know, like a pawn can bring back a captured piece.” He stared at the deserted road ahead. “We all owe it to him.”
“I’d like to stick around for a while and help you.”
“You gonna haunt me, eh?”
“Yeah, you know – unfinished business.”
THE END
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