Graveminder

Chapter 54

IT ONLY TOOK A FEW MINUTES. AFTERWARD, DAISHA CALLED OUT, “UNdertaker?”

On the sofa, Rebekkah closed her eyes. Her wound needed tending, but Daisha didn’t know how to help the Graveminder. All she knew was that she would do whatever she could so the Graveminder could get medical attention, get well, and survive.

“Let me out of here so we can get her to the doctor.” Daisha pointed at the salt line.

Silently, Byron grabbed the container of salt that he’d carried into the living room. He held it poised. “On the count of three. One, two”—he brushed away a salt line—“three.”

She ran forward, and he immediately replaced the line before the others could cross.

Byron stared into Daisha’s eyes and said, “Rebekkah might forget that you’re a monster, but I don’t. You’re still dead even if you aren’t like them,” he muttered, motioning toward the kitchen. “You’re a killer.”

“I am, but she needs to forgive us. It’s who she is.” Daisha lowered her voice. “And you ... I don’t think you are supposed to forgive.”

“I don’t really give a fuck about what we’re supposed to do,” he ground out.

She grinned. “Yeah? Me either ... because I suspect I’m not supposed to want to help either of you, but I do.”

His mouth opened, but he didn’t say anything.

“Help her up, Undertaker. We have a few dead folk that need taken to that abyss under your home.” Daisha frowned and then walked away. After a quick examination of the mostly barren bathroom, she grabbed a large towel, which she ripped into strips as she walked back to the sofa. She held the improvised bandage out to Byron. “Here.”

He said nothing as he accepted it and gently bound Rebekkah’s leg. Rebekkah, however, caught Daisha’s hand. “Thank you,” she said.

To that, Daisha had no words, so she nodded and watched the Undertaker. After a moment, she realized that she was still holding on to the Graveminder’s hand and immediately dropped it.

“Will you help me for a few more minutes?” Rebekkah asked.

“Yeah.”

“I need to get them to safety before I can do anything else.” Rebekkah pointed to the kitchen, where the dead were waiting. They mostly watched Rebekkah the way lions in a zoo watch small children, as if she were a meal they would consume if only they had a chance. The old man was different. He hadn’t participated in the attack on Cissy either.

“Bek, you need to get to the doctor.”

The Graveminder turned her gaze back to her Undertaker. “And I will, after they are taken home.”

The two live people stared at each other as if they could bend the other one by sheer will. Daisha opted to save some time. “I can bring one of them over to the salt line,” she said.

“No.” Byron sighed. “You can’t go across the line, and I’m not going to keep opening the barrier. Let’s get this over with so we can get you to help. I can go in and grab one.”

“You go in, and they’ll eat you alive.” Daisha glanced at him for a moment, and then she looked at Rebekkah. “I trust you not to trap me if you tell me you won’t.”

“I won’t,” Rebekkah promised.

“So he”—Daisha looked at Byron—“can put me in and then I’ll bring one over to the wall. There’s enough salt to draw new lines. I trust you.”

The Undertaker pursed his lips, but Daisha knew her plan made more sense. Byron removed the salt long enough for her to go in. Once she was in the kitchen, she grabbed the dead woman. Byron injected what seemed to be saline into her, and she went limp. While Daisha stood holding the dead woman, Byron walked over to the couch, lifted Rebekkah, and carried her to the doorway.

Cautiously, they removed the now-floating dead woman from the kitchen, and the four of them went to the truck.

Silently, they drove to the funeral home. Once he parked there, Byron carried Rebekkah into the building. The dead woman drifted alongside Rebekkah.

Daisha refused to even enter the place. She waited outside, watching for them to return.

When the Graveminder returned a short while later, she was limping, but she was walking on her own.

“What happened?” Daisha asked.

Byron said nothing, but Rebekkah said calmly, “It’s healing.”

At that, Daisha decided that it might be better to drop this line of questioning, so she simply nodded and climbed back into the truck. They repeated the process until each of the dead were escorted into the abyss. Each time, Rebekkah’s injury seemed to have healed more.

When they returned to the funeral home with the last of the Hungry Dead, Byron went inside. Still holding the last dead man’s hand, Rebekkah stayed outside. The Graveminder said nothing, and Daisha wasn’t eager to hasten the inevitable moment of confrontation.

Together they stood in the quiet. The rest of the town slept, unaware. They had no idea that Daisha existed, that she’d been murdered by a dead man, that she had taken lives. As she’d been tearing flesh from living bodies, they had looked away.

It could stay that way. If she let me, I could stay here.

Daisha crossed her arms over her chest as if that would stop the shivers that threatened to overwhelm her. She didn’t look at Rebekkah—but she didn’t vanish either. Rebekkah was exhausted, alone, and trusting.

Like Maylene had been.

“You know you need to go, too,” Rebekkah whispered.

Daisha said nothing. In some foolish part of her mind, she’d half hoped that Rebekkah would let her stay or that there would be some solution to her dilemma that the Graveminder knew. It didn’t make much sense, but neither did being dead and still walking around.

“If you didn’t know it was time, you would’ve left as I was taking the others. You could’ve; I know that, but”—Rebekkah gave her a thoroughly exhausted smile—“you waited.”

Daisha looked away. “It’s not fair. I wanted to live and now that I’m me ... I don’t want to kill people, but I don’t want to die.”

Gently, Rebekkah touched Daisha’s shoulder. “It’s a beautiful world there ... I wish ... if I were you, I’m not sure what I’d do, but I know that I want to go there. I want to stay there.”

It wasn’t the words but the hitch in Rebekkah’s voice that made Daisha look at her.

Rebekkah offered her a small smile. “I can’t stay there yet, but I would if I could. You can. There is no time there, no past or present. Every year exists all at once. No food here tastes as good. I don’t know why, but I swear to you that what I saw there is not a world to run from.”

“I’d be dead,” Daisha said.

Rebekkah smiled gently. “You already are.”

“I’m afraid.” Daisha felt a lot less like a monster when Rebekkah looked at her, but she also didn’t want to end. The idea of going to Heaven or Hell or wherever that abyss led wasn’t comforting.

“I know.” Rebekkah stepped up beside her and held out a hand. “I wish you were alive, but I can’t do anything about that. I can take you to a world that feels like this world, but where you aren’t condemned to eat flesh or blood.”

Silently Daisha took Rebekkah’s hand, and together they walked downstairs. In the storage room, Byron and the old man stood waiting. A cabinet had been slid back open, and a bright tunnel yawned open in front of them.

Daisha was terrified.

“How do we do this with two of them?” Byron asked.

“Lead us in,” Rebekkah said. “I will hold them, and you will lead us.”

Daisha’s grip on Rebekkah’s hand tightened. “If he’s not sure, why should we go?”

The smile Rebekkah offered curbed Daisha’s unease. “He worries over me. He usually holds my hand when we walk there, but it’ll be fine. You are going where you need to go, and”—she glanced back at the Undertaker—“so am I.”

She reached out to the old man and took his hand. The man looked confused, but he cooperated.

Rebekkah’s gaze took in all three of them as she said, “Trust me.”

“I do, but I think we need to trust your Undertaker, too.” Daisha released Rebekkah’s hand. Then she clasped the old man and the Graveminder’s entwined hands, so both she and the dead man were holding on to Rebekkah’s hand.

With a relieved sigh, the Undertaker stepped into the tunnel. He lifted a light from the wall, and then he reached back to take the Graveminder’s free hand. “Come.”

The Graveminder accepted his hand, and together they entered the tunnel.