The Laughing Corpse

“Do you think I am foolish enough to attack you with the police all around? You must think me a fool.”

“It was worth a try,” I said.

“You should have joined with me in my zombie enterprises. We could have been rich together.”

“The only thing we’re likely to do together is kill each other,” I said.

“So be it. Let it be war between us.”

“It always was,” I said.

She nodded and smiled some more.

Zerbrowski came out of the kitchen. He was gri

“The grandson just spilled the beans.”

Everyone in the room stared at him. Dolph said, “Spilled what?”

“Human sacrifice. How he was supposed to get the gris-gris back from Peter Burke after he killed him, on his grandmother’s orders, but some joggers came by and he panicked. He’s so afraid of her”--he motioned to Dominga--”he wants her behind bars. He’s terrified of what she’ll do to him for forgetting the charm.”

The charm that we didn’t have anymore. But we had the video and now we had Antonio’s confession. The day was looking up.

I turned back to Dominga Salvador. She looked tall and proud and terrifying. Her black eyes blazed with some i

I said softly, “Gotcha.”

She spit at me. It landed on my hand and burned like acid. “Shit!”

“Do that again and we’ll shoot you, and save the taxpayers some money,” Dolph said. He had his gun out.

I went in search of the bathroom to wash her spit off my hand. A blister had formed where it had hit. Second fucking degree burns from her spit. Dear God.

I was glad Antonio had broken. I was glad she was going to be locked away. I was glad she was going to die. Better her than me.

Chapter 32

Riverridge was a modern housing development. Which meant that there were three models to choose from. You could end up with four identical houses in a row, like cookies on a baking sheet. There was also no river within sight. No ridge either.

The house that was the center of the police search area was identical to its neighbor, except for color. The murder house, which is what the news was calling it, was grey with white shutters. The house that had been passed safely by was blue with white shutters. Neither’s shutters worked. They were just for show. Modern architecture is full of perks that are just for show; balcony railings without a balcony, peaked roofs that make it look like you have an extra room that you don’t have, porches so narrow that only Santa’s elves could sit on them. It makes me nostalgic for Victorian architecture. It might have been overdone, but everything worked.

The entire housing project had been evacuated. Dolph had been forced to give a statement to the press. More’s the pity. But you can’t evacuate a housing development the size of a small town and keep it quiet. The cat was out of the bag. They were calling them the zombie massacres. Geez.

The sun was going down in a sea of scarlet and orange. It looked like someone had melted two giant crayons and smeared them across the sky. There wasn’t a shed, garage, basement, tree house, playhouse, or anything else we could think of that had been left unsearched. Still, we had found nothing.

The newshounds were prowling restlessly at the edge of the search area. If we had evacuated hundreds of people and searched their premises without a warrant and found no zombie...we were going to be in deep fucking shit.

But it was here. I knew it was here. Alright, I was almost sure it was here.

John Burke was standing next to one of those giant trash cans. Dolph had surprised me by allowing John to come on the zombie hunt. As Dolph said, we needed all the help we could get.

“Where is it, Anita?” Dolph asked.

I wanted to say something brilliant. My God, Holmes, how did you know the zombie was hiding in the flower pot? But I couldn’t lie. “I don’t know, Dolph. I just don’t know.”

“If we don’t find this thing...” He let the thought trail off, but I knew what he meant.

My job was secure if this fell apart. Dolph’s was not. Shit. How could I help him? What were we missing? What?

I stared at the quiet street. It was eerily quiet. The windows were all dark. Only the streetlights pushed back the coming dark. Soft halos of light.

Every house had a mailbox on a post near the sidewalk that edged the curb. Some of the mailboxes were unbelievably cute. One had been shaped like a sitting cat. Its paw went up if there was mail in its tummy. The family name was Catt. It was too precious.

Every house had at least one large super duper trash can in front of it. Some of them were bigger than I was. Surely, Sunday couldn’t be trash day. Or had today been trash day, and the police line had stopped it?

“Trash cans,” I said aloud.

“What?” Dolph asked.

“Trash cans.” I grabbed his arm, feeling almost lightheaded. “We’ve stared at those fucking trash cans all day. That’s it.”

John Burke stood quietly beside me, frowning.

“Are you feeling okay, Blake?” Zerbrowski came up behind us, smoking. The end of his cigarette looked like a bloated firefly.

“The cans are big enough for a large person to hide in.”

“Wouldn’t your arms and legs fall asleep?” Zerbrowski asked.

“Zombies don’t have circulation, not like we do.”

Dolph yelled, “Everybody check the trash cans. The zombie is in one of them. Move it!”

Everyone scattered like an anthill stirred with a stick, but we had a purpose now. I ended up with two uniformed officers. Their nameplates said “Ki” and “Roberts.” Ki was Asian and male. Roberts was blond and female. A nicely mixed team.

We fell into a rhythm without discussing it. Officer Ki would move up and dump the trash can. Roberts and I would cover him with guns. We were all set to yell like hell if a zombie came tumbling out. It would probably be the right zombie. Life is seldom that cruel.

We’d yell and an exterminator team would come ru

We were the only team working on the street. There was no sound but our footsteps, the rubber crunch of trash cans overturning, the rattle of cans and bottles as the trash spilled. Didn’t anybody tie their bags up anymore?

Darkness had fallen in a solid blackness. I knew there were stars and a moon up there somewhere, but you couldn’t prove it from where we stood. Clouds as thick and dark as velvet had come in from the west. Only the streetlights made it bearable.

I didn’t know how Roberts was doing, but the muscles in my shoulders and neck were screaming. Every time Ki put his hands to the can and pushed, I was ready. Ready to fire, ready to save him before the zombie leapt up and ripped his throat out. A trickle of sweat dripped down his high-cheekboned face. Even in the dim light it glimmered.

Glad to know I wasn’t the only one feeling the effort. Of course, I wasn’t the one putting my face over the possible hiding place of a berserk zombie. Trouble was, I didn’t know how good a shot Ki was, or Roberts either for that matter. I knew I was a good shot. I knew I could slow the thing down until help arrived. I had to stay on shooting detail. It was the best division of labor. Honest.

Screams. To the left. The three of us froze. I whirled towards the screaming. There was nothing to see, nothing but dark houses and pools of streetlight. Nothing moved. But the screams continued high and horrified.

I started ru