Deader Still

“Nooo,” he screamed again, and cowered toward the needle, backing through the railing that surrounded it. Although the jogger was immaterial, he fell back like he had tripped on something, and phased into the base of the monolith, disappearing altogether. The park fell silent around us. Co

“That could have gone better,” he said, looking around with caution on his face.

“Better how?”

“We could have not failed completely,” he said with optimism.

“That’s not terribly mentor-y,” I said, turning to head back down the stairs. “I’m going to . . .”

I was interrupted by something akin to the screech of Godzilla coming from behind Co

I shoved the blaster into my coat pocket, threw back the other side of my coat, and pulled out my retractable bat. I thumbed the switch and the bat jumped to full size.

Co

Not sure of what the hell they were or what to call them, I screamed over the sound of the crabs tearing free. “Umm . . . mecha-crabs behind you . . .”

Co

The crabs hit the ground with an immensely solid clang.

“What was it you said?” I asked. “Nine hundred pounds of bronze? That makes each of the crabs roughly two hundred pounds!”

I looked at the thi

“I say we err on the side of actually living and run,” I said. “Not that I’m ordering you.”

“No, that’s an order I can take,” Co

The tiny legs of the bronze crabs clacked across the cobblestones while their claws snapped like sharp, tiny vises. That was all I needed to get ru

Co

Even with my eyes somewhat adjusted to the light, it was tough following Co

“Don’t slow down, kid,” Co

I wanted to go faster, but all I could think of was a jagged branch skewering my eyeball or that, like in some movie cliché, I’d trip on an unearthed root that would be my undoing. I shielded my eyes, picked my feet up high, and ran faster. Off to either side of the path, I noticed thousands of tiny lights flickering off in the trees like I was ru

“What the hell are those?” I shouted.

Co

“Beats me, kid. Probably one of the million reasons I hate fucking being in the park at night.”

For a short while they brightened, and I swore I could see a city among them, one much different from Manhattan. It looked part Blade Ru

I caught up with him as he came to a stop, wrapped his arms around a tree, and shimmied up it.

I had no idea why Co

Until I saw nothing but lake spread out before me.

19

“Dive in, kid,” Co

I dove.

As the ice-cold water nearly sent my body into shock, I propelled myself underwater and out across the lake. When I surfaced, I twisted myself around and looked back to shore. The crabs had left Co

I swam back to shore. When I crawled back onto dry land, Co

“Son of a bitch,” I said, trying to wring it out as best I could. “What the hell just happened?”

I looked at Co

“Kolb,” he said, “just possessed those things. And here he comes again . . .”

I stood there soaking wet, shivering, and turned myself around. Beneath the water, a faint white light started to form, growing like a searchlight rising to the surface. The water bubbled like it was a giant stew pot of WTF, and out of it rose glowing bubbles full of swirling mist, some as large as basketballs. With an alarming pop, the mist broke free and swirled together until I recognized a distinct shape forming. It was the jogger, gasping for air and clawing his way toward the shore. He still acted like he was human and that breathing was an issue for him.

The jogger pulled himself up onto shore and collapsed. His dark wreath of hair was wet, hanging down on one side at least half a foot from a bad comb-over. Everything else on him was wet, too—ru

“Why is he wet?” I whispered to Co

Co

“I don’t think he understands that he’s dead,” he said. “Mr. Kolb here thinks he’s alive so his spirit is reacting somewhat accordingly. He expected to get wet being in a lake, therefore he’s wet. Didn’t they teach you anything as a F.O.G.gie yet?”

“I am too alive,” the jogger said, forcing himself up onto his knees, “and it’s Doctor Kolb to you. I didn’t go to MIT just for the parties, I’ll have you know.”

He snickered at what he must have thought was some great private joke, then stood up. With care, he scooped the hanging section of his comb-over back onto the top of his head and arranged it. It was a futile attempt at best, looking nothing more than someone with a wet cat sitting up there, but he looked happy with it.

“Sorry, about that, Dr. Kolb,” I said. Politeness was the cornerstone of the D.E.A.’s training manual Deadside Ma