The Wrong Dead Guy

  Behind Coop, the floor rumbled. He allowed himself one quick glance over his shoulder. It was a terrible idea. While technically, knowing that you’re being pursued by a ravening horde is useful information, it isn’t all that helpful when you’re not sure you have a way out. As Coop considered running past the keypad and hiding again, a second monster troop dropped from the ceiling in front of him.

  “So, this is what it’s like to be actually doomed,” said Phil. “It was always very abstract before, but now that it’s here, you know what? It’s so much worse than I imagined. Do something, you ridiculous meat clown.”

  Coop looked from one group to the other. “I can make it,” he said.

  “No, you can’t. Hide somewhere.”

  “I can make it.”

  “No, you can’t.”

  “I can.”

  “No!”

  That’s when a third group of horrors dropped off to his left.

  “You’re right. I can’t,” he said.

  “It’s been nice knowing you, but I’m jumping ship.”

  “There’s nowhere for you to go. We’re trapped down here.”

  “What are we going to do?”

  “I have a plan.”

  “Then do it.”

  “I am.”

  “Do it faster.”

  Coop reached into the bag the techs had given him. He put the keypad code between his teeth and took out three little cylinders.

  “What are those?” said Phil.

  “Distraction grenades.”

  “Do you know how to use them?”

  “No.”

  “Good. For a minute there, I thought we were fucked.”

  Coop pulled the pin on the first one and threw it back over his shoulder. There was a loud whomp and something descended from the ceiling.

  “What is that?” said Phil.

  “I think a UFO is landing.”

  “Swell. Throw another one.”

  Coop tossed one grenade to his left and the third at the group directly in front of them.

  Snow floated gently from the ceiling over Santa and a group of graceful elves pirouetting and leaping over a pristine frozen rink.

  “It’s a goddamn Christmas ice show,” said Phil.

  Coop dashed for the keypad. “Did the third one go off?”

  “Yeah. It’s just a bunch of jugglers on unicycles.”

  “Are the monsters eating them?”

  “Yes.”

  “Good.”

  Coop slammed into the wall that contained the keypad.

  “Hurry. The jugglers and elves are almost gone.”

  Coop entered the override code and pressed himself against the wall. The doors didn’t open. Nothing happened.

  Phil said, “Did you press enter, fuck nuts?”

  Coop slammed his hand down on a red enter key. There was a series of metallic scrapes and thunks as bolts retracted and heavily armored doors slid open. The moment the closest door was up, what looked to Coop like the entire Marine Corps, Air Force, and maybe some Transformers, stormed into L Wing, guns blazing. Coop didn’t stick around to see who won the battle. He was alive, and better than that, the chili cheese fries had remained safely inside him. As far as victories went, it wasn’t exactly the liberation of France, but he’d take it.

  He went to the elevator, punched the button, and pulled off his hood.

  “Nice job,” said Phil.

  “You, too.”

  “And remember, we’re getting hazard pay. Time and a half,” said Phil.

  “I wanted double.”

  “What did I tell you?”

  “I know. I should have read the contract.”

  “Always read the contract.”

  “I need a drink,” said Coop.

  “Me, too. Would you think less of me if I wept hysterically for a while?”

  “I just might join you.”

  “On three, then. One. Two . . .”

  39

  The only place left in L Wing that wasn’t overrun with robots and monsters—or covered in blood, machine oil, and ichor—was thaumaturgic antiquities. It was a quiet island of peace in the middle of the biggest shit storm to ever hit the DOPS, aside from that one New Year’s Eve when a drunken mob of ghosts and robots stole a saucer from the aberrant aircraft department and mooned the secret CIA bunker in Disneyland.

  The antiquities staff was taking longer to find Shemetet than Harkhuf liked. To show his displeasure, he tossed a few of them out of the office and into the melee, where they were last seen running into the dark pursued by a group of cyborgs wielding Ping-Pong paddles and something that looked like a Caesar salad but had wings and breathed fire.

  Dr. Buehlman and Froehlich emerged from a back room in antiquities.

  “You are here, thrall,” said Harkhuf.

  “Which thrall?” said Froehlich. “Her or me?”

  “You, cur.”

  “Thanks for clearing that up. Yes, I’m here. Nina Hagen,” he said, pointing to Buehlman, “let me in through an emergency exit out back. It’s huge, Master. You could march a whole army through it.”

  “That is indeed good news. You shall be rewarded with long lives and only minor torments in the darkness to come.”

  “Try to stay on his good side,” Froehlich told Dr. Buehlman. “He’s big on torments, especially eternal ones.”

  “I noticed,” Dr. Buehlman said. “But our master is wise and will only do what’s best for us and all mankind.”

  Froehlich gave her a look. “Are you sucking up to him? Are you angling for my job? The master chose me first. I’m top thrall and don’t forget it, lady. I stuck one idiot in the Dumpster and I knew him. Think of what I’ll do to you.”

  “I only wish to serve the great Harkhuf.”

  “We all do.”

  “And as he completes his great work, I would never trouble him about rolled-up newspapers.”

  Froehlich looked at Harkhuf. “You told her about that? I thought we had an understanding. Who ran around Griffith Park killing pigeons for you, stole for you, and brought you porn-shop incense? Me. Not Angela Merkel. Me.”

  Harkhuf raised his hand. “Quiet, dogs. You weary me with your petty bickering. There is much to do and it will require the work of many thralls before it is complete.”

  “But I’m still slave number one, right, Master?” said Froehlich.

  “We shouldn’t trouble our master with these matters when there’s so much to do. It’s enough that he allows us to serve,” said Dr. Buehlman.

  Froehlich went to Harkhuf. “Let me hit her just once,” he said. “You want to know what to do with a rolled-up newspaper? Let me show you.”

  “That is enough. You will both be silent until the even-more-useless peons I enslaved earlier bring me my beloved.”

  “Shemetet really is here?” said Froehlich. “I kind of thought Minerva and Kellar were idiots like Gilbert. Sometimes it’s nice to be wrong.”

  Someone called to them from the door through which Harkhuf had recently jettisoned some of the antiquities staff. “Knock, knock,” the man said. “Is this a private party or can anyone join in?”

  Harkhuf, Froehlich, and Dr. Buehlman stared at the man as he entered the room. “I was just in the neighborhood and thought I’d pay my respects. I love what you’ve done with the area outside. Monsters and cyborgs wreaking havoc together. Very high concept.”

  “Want me to throw him out, Master?” said Froehlich.

  “Let me,” said Dr. Buehlman.

  “Quiet,” said Harkhuf. “We shall speak when this is over. Establish some clear boundaries.” Before either could say anything, he turned to the stranger. “How is it you were able to travel through such a sea of destruction? My beasts should have torn you asunder.”

  “Oh, that,” the man said lightly. “They ignored me for one simple reason. Like you, I’m dead.”

  Harkhuf gestured to the man. “Approach me.”

  The dead man came to Harkhuf and bowed. He had a book
under his arm and something small in his hand. “My name is Nelson,” he said.

  “Your name means nothing, cur. Be my thrall.”

  “I’m sorry. I didn’t quite catch that.”

  Harkhuf raised his hand and his voice. “Be my thrall, you wretched thing.”

  “I see the problem here,” said Nelson. “You think I’m like these other dimwits. I’m not. I’m protected. I have a charm that won’t let you take me over.”

  “All who resist must be destroyed. I will have my thralls kill you where you stand.”

  Nelson held up what he’d hidden in his hand. It was an amulet on a short metal chain. “Recognize this? I can do a lot more damage to you right now than you can do to me.”

  Froehlich lunged for Nelson, but Harkhuf threw an arm in front of him, knocking him across a table and onto the floor.

  “You have the amulet that gives you power over me, yet you do not use it,” said Harkhuf. “Why is that?”

  Froehlich got up off the floor and limped back to his master.

  Nelson approached Harkhuf. “We’re not like these other idiots. We’re dead as doornails. Coffin candy. Why be enemies? We should be pals. We should work together.”

  “And what would you have us do together? The world is already claimed by Shemetet with me by her side. What can a puny thing like you offer me?”

  “How about Miss Thang’s return to life?” said Nelson. He took the book from under his arm and held it up. “This, I believe, has the resurrection spells you need for your lady friend. All I want to do is set up a trade.”

  “A trade? What sort?” said Harkhuf. “And answer quickly. My patience grows short.”

  “Let it grow a tail and have puppies, for all I care. As long as I have this amulet, you’re going to listen to me, you walking pile of dirty laundry.”

  “Speak, then.”

  “You want this book. Fine. I’ll give it to you. All I want is another book in return.”

  “And what book is this?”

  “Don’t worry about that. I’d get it myself, only, as I mentioned, I’m dead and revenants like you and me can’t enter the ECIU. But one of your pet poodles can.”

  “The Extra-Confidential Inscrutabilis Unit!” said Dr. Buehlman. “It was right on the tip of my tongue.”

  Harkhuf turned to Dr. Buehlman. “You know of this place?”

  “Yes! It’s right downstairs. It’s very secret. No one is allowed. But, of course, who could refuse you, my gorgeous master?”

  “Dial it back, sister,” said Froehlich.

  Harkhuf went to Nelson and put his hand out to take the book. “Yes. I sense its power. This is indeed the text I require.”

  “Then we have a deal? A book for a book?” said Nelson.

  “Under one condition.”

  “Name it.”

  “Along with the book, you give me the amulet.”

  Nelson made a face. “There’s a problem with that. I don’t trust you any more than I’d trust month-old meat loaf. But I’ll make you this offer. We go to ECIU. One of your boobs gets me my book and I give you this book. Then one of them comes with me. When we’re far enough away that I feel safe, I’ll give the birdbrain the amulet and you and I can go on our separate ways. How’s that?”

  “Let me take if from him, Master,” said Dr. Buehlman.

  “No, me,” said Froehlich.

  “Quiet, both of you,” growled Harkhuf. To Nelson he said, “Your offer is acceptable. Can you lead us to ECIU?”

  “Sure, but what about Lucy and Ricky there? They’re alive. Those things you let loose outside will gobble them up like kettle corn.”

  “Not if they are with me. All of creation bows to me and my beloved—”

  “Yeah. I know her name. You keep saying it. It’s coming off as clingy.”

  Harkhuf leaned toward Dr. Buehlman. “What is this clingy?”

  “It means wise beyond measure and glorious to behold.”

  “Oh, come on,” said Froehlich. “She’s blowing smoke up your cartouche, Master.”

  “Silence,” Harkhuf said. “Your bargain is acceptable, dead man. Lead the way to ECIU.”

  “Step this way, ladies and gentlemen,” Nelson said. He went to the door and exited last, making sure none of the three got behind him.

  Neither Harkhuf nor Nelson was bothered by the walk through the abbatoir that was L Wing. True, DOPS security had the ravening hordes on the run, but there were still plenty of stray monsters around to menace both Dr. Buehlman and Froehlich. The two thralls clung to Harkhuf like ticks on a poodle. The walk to the elevators wasn’t far, but the sheer terror of it was more than Dr. Buehlman’s heart could take. She collapsed just a few yards from safety. Harkhuf pushed Froehlich onward. The last thing he saw of Dr. Buehlman was her body being dragged off by a blood-soaked plush unicorn wearing a tiara.

  A severed arm with a pistol still in its hand lay near the elevators. “Oh. Shiny,” said Nelson. He pried the gun loose and put it in his pocket.

  No one talked as they rode the elevator down to the ECIU; however, Nelson hummed the Star Wars “Imperial March” the whole way just because he saw how much it upset Froehlich.

  “Were you this much of a dick when you were alive?” said Froehlich.

  “Were you this much of a loser before you started sucking scarecrow’s dick?”

  “Say nothing, thrall,” said Harkhuf. “We will part ways with this uncouth creature shortly.”

  “The sooner the better,” said Nelson, who went right back to humming the march.

  Froehlich thought about all the lives he’d ruined over the last few days and tried to come up with a scheme to fuck over a dead asshole. He was rattled enough that he didn’t come up with anything right away, but as long as he was by Harkhuf’s side, he knew he’d have time to come up with something. Something a lot worse than framing a rich lady, turning a detective into a baby-oil-stinking hippie, or getting body-cavity searches for an entire fraternity. This Nelson prick had something big and bad coming to him, and with just a little time and, of course, his master’s permission, he’d make him cry buckets of baby-doll tears.

  When they reached the ECIU level, Nelson led the way to the unassuming entrance. He kept back well away from the door. Seeing this, so did Harkhuf.

  Nelson looked at Froehlich. “You’re up. The two nimrods inside are Vargas and Zulawski. Tell them you want the Mysteriis Ex Mortuis, and if they don’t give it to you, there’s a man outside with a gun who’ll shoot them so many times you can play them like an ocarina.”

  Froehlich looked at his master and Harkhuf nodded. Cautiously, Froehlich went to the door and turned the knob.

  “It’s locked,” he said.

  “It’s not supposed to be,” said Nelson. “Give it a knock.”

  Froehlich pounded on the door a few times. “Nothing,” he said. “Great plan. Now what?”

  Nelson walked up a few steps and pulled out the pistol. Froehlich scrambled out of the way as three shots flew past him, splintering the lock. “Try it now, princess,” Nelson said.

  Again, Froehlich approached the door cautiously, not so much worried about what lay behind it as how soon it would be before Nelson started shooting again. When he reached the door, he gave it a light push. It swung open silently.

  “It’s open,” he said.

  “We’re not blind,” called Nelson. “Now scoot in there and get me my book.”

  “The lights are off.”

  “Here,” Nelson said, and he tossed Froehlich a flashlight.

  “What does it look like?” Froehlich said.

  “The book? It looks like a book, you idiot. Look around. They might have it in a box or something.”

  “Okay. I’m going in.”

  “Chop chop, pal. Your boss and me have dead-guy stuff to do.” Nelson looked at Harkhuf. “It’s just so hard to get good slaves these days.”

  “Indeed. In the old days, worthy vassals clamored to serve.”

  “Now you have to mak
e do with Mr. Chicken and . . . what was the lady’s name?”

  “I do not know. She was a thrall. That was enough.”

  “Sure,” said Nelson. “It’s not like you were going to send her a birthday card.”

  “No. I was not. Still, she possessed intelligence.”

  “More than this clown? I’ve eaten buffalo wings with more potential.”

  “Found it,” shouted Froehlich.

  “Good boy, rover,” said Nelson. “Now bring the ball to Daddy.”

  Froehlich sauntered out of the ECIU office with a wooden box under his arm. He started for Nelson, but stepped back into the doorway. “You want the book so bad, why don’t you come and get it?”

  “Very funny. Bring it to me or the deal is off.”

  “What? I can’t hear you? Us buffalo wings are funny that way.”

  “First off, it should be we buffalo wings, you illiterate gnat. And second,” said Nelson, pulling the pistol from his pocket, “bring me the goddamn book or kiss your balls good-bye.”

  “Do as he says, cur. I want his business concluded,” said Harkhuf.

  “Fine,” said Froehlich in a tone more suited to a six-year-old who’d just been ordered to eat his lima beans. “Coming.”

  From somewhere in the distance came a sound. It wasn’t quite a slither. It was more like someone dragging a fifty-pound sack of wet oatmeal over a tile floor. There was a crash. Froehlich turned around and peered into the ECIU office.

  Ten-foot-long tentacles shot through the doorway, wrapped around him, and pulled. Froehlich grabbed the doorframe with his free hand.

  “Toss the book here,” shouted Nelson. Froehlich didn’t. He was too occupied with being dragged into the office’s cavernous darkness.

  “Throw me the damned book!” screamed Nelson.

  With one last jerk, Froehlich disappeared. The box with the book spun in the air and fell, sliding into a shadow just inside the doorway.

  “You asshole,” said Nelson. “You were so close to not being useless.”

  “Can you not simply reach in and remove the book?” said Harkhuf.

  “I can’t cross the threshold,” said Nelson. “This is completely fucked.”

  “For some perhaps.”

  Harkhuf swung an arm with surprising speed, hitting Nelson squarely on the side of the head. Nelson spun and hit a wall. Both the cookbook and the amulet slipped from his hands and slid across the hall. By the time he came to his senses, Harkhuf stood above him, the book and amulet in his grasp.