Resurrection

Chapter Ten

At first, I’d thought about squeezing the snot out of my chatty roommate, but by the time I could move again, we’d come to a casual impasse. Besides, once I’d gotten to know him, he was pretty fun to be around. We even had the same taste in music.

He actually liked Death Metal.

How ironic is that?

Since I couldn’t get anything coherent out of him concerning Karra or Reven, we’d spent the majority of the night singing our way through the classics until I’d felt strong enough to get to work.

Not given a lot of options, I had to figure out how to move a ton of dirt without it crashing down on top of us. After a little while of banging my skull on the wall, I had an idea.

As the air pipe was by my head, and going straight up guaranteed my new buddy and I would be crushed, I decided to renovate the wall at my feet. Limited in space, it took me two hours to kick the concrete wall into pieces, the rebar reinforcement holding it together. It didn’t help my legs had deep, leaking gashes in them from Karra’s sword. They still felt a little weak, but I managed to get it done.

While some dirt spilled in through the hole I made, the moistness of the new ground held it mostly in place. I breathed a sigh of relief and moved on to the next part of the escape plan.

Contrary to the laws of physics, I bent myself into positions that would have made a Siamese cat jealous, and reversed my direction inside the liner. Once again I was glad I hadn’t shit myself, my nose way too close to my ass as I shifted; although it did give me ideas for later.

Don’t act like it’s above you.

Once facing the damaged wall, I pulled the concrete pieces loose from the rebar and tossed them behind me, making sure I didn’t damage or block the pipe. More dirt trickled in and I moved it to the side or pushed it under me to get it out of the way, dirt grinding into my wounds. Finished with that, I pulled the loose rebar webbing toward me, wedging it up against the wall so it wasn’t blocking the hole any longer. It moved aside with a grating screech. That done, I’d come to the fun part.

Fortunately, I’d learned the process of burying a body from Carlos and Javier so I knew what to expect above me. It also helped that Karra had the zombies dump the dirt into the hole by hand so, whether she’d intended to or not, she’d made my escape easier.

You see, when a cemetery worker buries someone, they usually use a backhoe, or another machine, to tamp the dirt down afterward, adding more until the grave is level with the surrounding ground. That packs the dirt and makes it so the grave doesn’t collapse once weather and gravity starts wearing on it.

So, without the tamping, pockets of air form, leaving open spaces. Since the zombies just pushed dirt over the liner, the weight nowhere near what a backhoe would shovel in each time, there would be a lot more pockets meaning there was a lot less dirt sitting over me.

Taking advantage of that, I dug at the dirt just outside the hole I’d made and shoveled it in underneath me and behind, always mindful of the air hole. I had Chatterbox-my pet zombie head-bite down on my shirt, near my shoulders so he could ride out with me, but I wouldn’t have to worry about him being buried. After he was situated, I tucked my gun into the back of my waistband and made my move.

Handful after handful, loose dirt running down into the liner, I moved the soft soil beneath me, raising me up toward the lid of the liner while the space in front and above opened up. Inch by inch I crawled forward as more room opened up, filling the space under me.

Another fortunate thing in my favor was Rest Land’s standing policy of sticking to the letter of the law and not going one iota further. By local health regulations, the lid of the liner only had to be eighteen inches from the surface. And since Karra had dumped me in a hole that had already been dug, intended for another funeral, I wasn’t anywhere near the mythical six feet depth.

By the time the liner was nearly full, the way above me was almost clear, gravity helping to siphon the dirt downward. The last foot was the worst as the airway behind me had been blocked off while the way ahead had yet to be cleared. I held my breath and tore at the dirt as the remainder caved in on me, its weight threatening to drag me down with it.

Throwing everything I had into it, my arms burst free of the sinkhole, latching on to the solid ground to the side of the grave. Leveraged, I pulled myself up and out, spitting out a mouthful of dirt. Once I could breathe, I drew in a deep gulp and collapsed on the soft, wet grass, reveling in the sun’s warmth. Chatterbox let go and rolled across my back to land beside me, careening into my armpit.

“Boots…oots…ssss,” he muttered.

I raised my head to see what he was rambling on about and spotted a pair of dirty work boots coming towards me. Following them up, I saw a pair of dirty work pants, a dirty work shirt, ending my visual climb at a dirty face.

“Hi Javier. Como Estas?” The grubby cemetery worker stared at me through wide eyes, his face ashen where the grime was lighter. Carlos stood about twenty feet behind him, crouched down and peeking out from behind a raised headstone.

“What the fuck, esse? You nearly gave us both heart attacks.” He gestured to his partner with a shaky hand. “We heard spooky voices, then you come popping up out the ground.”

He shook his head, little puffs of dirt billowing around him like a brown halo. Sad thing was I probably had less on me than he did. There’s no doubt I smelled better.

“We thought you were another one of the stiffs. We had like fifty disappear last night.” A hint of anger crept into his fearful appearance. “I thought you were handling this shit.”

Damn. Karra apparently had more reasons for being at the cemetery than just dropping me off. That didn’t bode well. It meant there’d be another zombie party popping up sometime soon.

“Sorry. I got sidetracked.” I ran through the warehouse full of sarcastic responses inside my head, but decided to just leave it alone.

“So you came out here to talk to yourself and play in the dirt? We knew you were crazy, vato, but we didn’t know you were this crazy.”I sat up, shaking the dirt off. “Oh, I wasn’t talking to myself.” I picked up Chatterbox and held him up. “I was talking to my buddy.”

“Hi…I…I…eeeeeeeeee.”

Javier froze, his body stiffening up, his eyes widening so much I thought they were gonna roll out of the sockets. His face went pale and he fell back unconscious, kicking up a cloud of unfriendly smelling dust when he landed.

Carlos ducked down behind his protective gravestone. I saw one eye and a fluff of black hair peeking out from the side. You’d figure guys who dug graves for a living would be used to seeing pieces of corpses. Though I’d imagine the ones they saw didn’t talk.

“I think he might be one of yours,” I told Carlos as I turned Chatterbox around, letting him see the park. He did his best to nod.

Carlos didn’t move. He didn’t even blink.

“He’s cool.” Carlos didn’t look convinced. Figuring low-key was the best way to go about things, I turned to the head. “Let me set you down for a minute while I deal with these guys. Your sexy ways are making them nervous.”

Chatterbox giggled as I carried him over to the nearest stand of trees and set him down. I angled him to give him the most interesting view possible, then went over to Carlos.

“There, he’s gone. It’s all good.” My hands were raised as I stood in the direct line of sight so he couldn’t see Chatterbox.

Carlos stood slowly, his whole body shaking, his forehead moist with sweat. He was seriously freaked out. Despite him and Javier knowing some small measure of the supernatural world that exists beyond theirs, they never had to deal with it face-to-face. Their information had always come through me and I imagine they took a lot of it with a grain of salt. Guess that wouldn’t be the case anymore.

“I’m gonna give you some time to work things out, okay?” I wiped at his chin. “You got a little something, dripping…” Anyway, yeah, moving on. “I need a phone. You got one on you?”

Carlos nodded, his twitching hand gesturing to the general vicinity of his front shirt pocket. Taking that as an invite, I dug in and pulled his cell phone out.

“Thanks.” I popped it open and dialed the number for DRAC. While the phone rang, I stepped away so Carlos couldn’t hear and passed on my message and location once the line picked up. Finished, not concerned with Carlos having the dummy DRAC number, I didn’t bother to clear the phone before dropping it back into his pocket. He couldn’t do anything with it, all of our conversations carried on in a complex code of misdirection.

“Thanks.”

He nodded, or did something that somewhat resembled nodding. Whatever it was, there was a lot of moisture involved.

“I’ve got some friends coming to check things out, so unless you’re looking to have your memory tampered with, I’d suggest you pack up Javier and beat feet for a little while.”

He started forward slowly, but once his mind kicked in he hurried over to Javier. I helped him pick his buddy up and got his still unconscious butt onto the quad-runner they used. As soon as he was situated, Carlos lit off, the sputtering engine being worked hard.

Once they were out of sight, I retrieved Chatterbox and found a shady place to wait. Bored, I broke into a rousing rendition of Bolt Thrower’s, “No Guts, No Glory” while Chatterbox grunted out the rhythm line.

I was a little disappointed with his accompaniment. I’d have thought a dead guy would have a better death metal voice.