LNH/ACRA: Net.heroes on Parade # 26

Tom Russell presents

NET.HEROES ON

PARADE No. 26

"The Taste of Death" 



ARLIE FERTULUS ROSE FROM THE dead and was put down by
Cookie Crumple. Cookie's superiors in the Net.ropolis
Heights Police Department doubt her story, and her
claims that the recent rash of cannibal killings are
the work of the living dead. She turned to our six
favourite net.heroes for help, splitting into two
groups (and leaving Yeaworth Lass behind to
manufacture an information campaign to warn the public
of the upcoming zombie attack), each investigating a
different cemetery. The second group, comprised of
Tyler Bridge, Lunchbox Lass, and Groundswell, found a
tomb full of newly-dead infants. In the midst of their
investigation, they discovered a horde of the undead
waiting outside... 



THEY WERE CAUGHT BY SURPRISE.

There was no excuse for it; the smell should have gave
them away before they even neared the mortuary where
Tyler, Michette, and Lily stood amongst a pile of
infant corpses. It was an ugly, rotting smell,
sublimely stronger than the dead stench that already
wafted through the tomb. It was such a pungent smell,
in fact, that it flooded the senses like a living
smell, the smell of piss or shit or musk or sweat. The
fact that the dead flesh stunk with life should have
alerted the three of them that the zombies were
coming. It didn't; and so without excuse Tyler, Lily,
and Michette were caught by surprise.

There were six or seven of them, Michette figured;
they were still outside, huddled together before the
little doorway, so close together that if not for the
number of eyes Michette might not have been able to
discern that they were separate entities (or things:
entities were alive and these were dead things, the
living dead, dead as a living force, an energy,
instead of merely its absence; things was the proper
word, not people or creatures or entities: things) and
not the same, a shapeless, leering mass. The multitude
was confirmed (there were eight, as a matter of fact)
when they started moving into the quiet of the tomb.
Their skin was not the prerequisite sheet white, old
newspaper yellow, or rapturous flora green; they were
flesh tones, black flesh and white flesh, but faded,
pallid, diluted and soft pastels: it would have been
beautiful if they weren't so ugly (missing teeth,
peeling flesh, ratty hair, sleepy dull lifeless
eyes--an unmoving, steady gaze but not fixed on any one
thing): it was surreal.

They shuffled into the room with unsteady, quiet,
sliding footsteps, like the scraping of insects across
a tiled kitchen counter. The cement floor and walls of
the tomb made the footsteps echo, and the faint groans
that they let out (a paradoxical dry, gurgling noise)
bounced about the place. But the echo effect did not
make it any louder; the shuffling and moaning was
quiet and barely audible even in the stillness of the
tomb. Even though Lily and Tyler were moving about and
shouting for Michette to do the same, "quiet" and
"stillness" were still the correct words because
Michette didn't hear her friends and she remained
transfixed and unmoving. She was hypnotized, not by
any sight but by aural means, the chaotic, rhythmless
shuffle of feet acquiring a lulling, musical beat in
the confines of her skull. She stared at them but she
did not see them; she heard them growing closer, the
sound becoming louder by a few barely perceptible
decimals of a decibel. And then, suddenly, she heard
Lily screeching something in her ear, the sound
kicking in vibrantly in mid-sentence: "...Mimi? You
got to move, please, oh god, what's wrong? Oh god!"

These last two precious, piercing syllables that made
Michette's ears ring dully and achingly were too
little, too late to rouse her from her trance. The
thing that did rouse her, the same instant as Lily's
insignificant blasphemy, was the very thing that
prompted its utterance: one of the dead things had
grabbed Michette's arm. This shook her awake, and she
felt herself screaming, far louder than Lily, her
vocal chords inflamed. Through the polymer fabric she
felt the dry, crumbly flesh of its palm as he squeezed
her arm in an impossibly strong grip: its thumb and
fingers were two cars her arm was pinned between. But
that was nothing; the real pain was in her head: the
pounding, steady beat of a too-sudden pulsating
migraine. She was getting dizzy, and sweaty; she felt
herself growing slack around her knees and she became
aware of the fact that though her throat was still
sore and scratchy, no sound was issuing forth. Still
her mouth hung open (the jaw aching and heavy but
being a frivolous concern compared to the headache--
god fucking damn it why won't it stop god damn) and
her sweating brain tried to get her mouth to close
before-- but it was too late.

The thing had thrust its hand, the whole fist, into
her mouth; she thought to bite down on it but her
brain was slowing down, crawling, and now she was
gagging on it, this ugly, nasty behemoth of a fist:
the fingers tasting of blood, dry and pasty and barely
worth noticing compared to the dry, salty taste of its
rancid flesh. She started to vomit, the hand keeping
most of it down her throat; little bits of it managed
to work its way up, and still the taste of vomit was a
paltry thing compared to the taste of death.

Before her eyes began to roll back in her head, her
tired and overtaxed body threatening to pass out, she
looked at the dead thing; not at the teeth about to
rip skin and sinew from blood and bone, but at its
cold, dead eyes, the only part of it that truly was
dead. For a moment something flickered in those black
pupils; for a moment the eyes were infused with life,
intelligence: thought. And the single thought that
flickered in those dead eyes was, I hate you. It was
not just an animal, a mindless thing. It had a purpose
and its sole purpose was the hatred and destruction of
Michette Duclos.

A pillar of earth shot up from the ground, topped off
by the surface cement, and crushed the dead thing
against the ceiling, ripping its fist and a couple of
teeth out of Michette's mouth. As she fell backwards
she craned her neck towards the right to see that
Lily's hands were pointed at the base of the pillar:
Lily had made the earth move. Of course. That was what
Lily did, after all; that was why she was called
Groundswell. Michette took some comfort in this before
she hit the ground, belly up, her head impacting with
the gold watch that lay on the floor.

Her eyes squinted shut in an involuntary reaction to
the pain, and while they were closed, everything
seemed to stop. No sounds, no pain, no illness. Calm.
Peace. Tranquility. She knew it couldn't last, and so
she opened her eyes.

The dead things were dead once more; they had fallen
into a heap and lay there, still, not breathing, their
eyes closed. Michette sat bolt up right, and she
feared it was too sudden a movement. Lily came up
behind her to steady her and help her to her feet. She
then looked at the back of Michette's head for any
bruises that her fall might have caused. There were
none, and still no pain from it.

Michette looked from Lily to Tyler and back to Lily
again before all three gazed at the pile of corpses in
unison. Silence pervaded once more over the tomb,
sticking to them like the death-stench did to the dead
things and the place they occupied. The silence was a
dangerous one, a frightening respite; none of them
knew quite why all the dead things had collapsed and
none of them wanted to ask, for fear of awakening them
again. None of them wanted to move, either. Or,
rather, they did want to move, they wanted to get out
of this place as soon as possible, they were scared to
death of it; but they were more scared about what
might happen should they attempt to leave the tomb.
Would the dead things spring back to life the moment
they made good their mistake? Or would the babies
rise, like that hideous Neverborn, and attack them?
But what would happen if they just stayed here? Were
there more zombies on the way? What it all really
boiled down to was, what the fuck were they going to
do?

Typical of Tyler, he broke the silence, albeit in a
whisper. "Lily Paschall. Perhaps you could move the
corpses."

"I'm not touching them," she said.

She was a little too loud for Michette's taste, and so
the latter shushed her.

"I meant with the earth. Move the earth, it's what you
do."

"I can't do it when I'm not transformed."

"What was that, then?" said Tyler, pointing to the
pillar of earth and pavement.

"That was a fluke. I was in danger and so it..."

"We certainly aren't out of danger," said Tyler.

"That's not the way it works."

"Michette Duclos," said Tyler. "Hit her on the head
with your lunchbox."

"What?" said Michette.

Now it was Lily's turn to shush her.

"I mean, threaten to do so. Start to swing it towards
her head and she'll start moving the earth again."

"But I know there's no danger," said Lily. "She won't
really hit me on the head."

"Yes, she will," said Tyler. "Don't start swinging and
then stop abruptly before she does anything. Just keep
swinging until either, a, you hit her, or b, she moves
the earth."

"If she hits me," said Lily, "then you're going to be
the victim of either, a, castration, or b, peotomy."

"I'll keep that in mind. Go on, Michette Duclos."

"Well..."

"Go ahead, Mimi," said Lily. "Let's see if this
works."

Michette started swinging her lunchbox and hit Lily
squarely in the back of her head, causing her to fall
flat on her face.

"I was sure that would work," said Tyler.

"You are a dickless ghost," warned Lily.

"I'm sorry," said Tyler. "But we've got to get out of
here."

"I know that," said Lily.

"But maybe they'll stay dead. We can just wait for the
others," said Michette.

"Don't you see?" said Tyler. "They just weren't in the
neighborhood. It's not like they dropped the kids off
at the rec center and they're coming to check up on
them."

"What are you saying?" said Lily.

"They're here for a reason." He looked at both of
them, trying to communicate something through the
silence. When no light bulbs went off over their
heads, he spoke again, as if explaining something that
was obvious: "Michette Duclos!"

"What?" she said.

"They're after you," said Tyler.

"They're...?" The hatred of the dead thing flashed
before her eyes.

"It was you they attacked. They just brushed us aside.
And you were in some kind of trance, you became
physically ill. There's some kind of link between them
and you."

"The Terrible Ones," she said. "Not again."

"And so there's going to be more on the way. We have
to get you out of here."

"They're after me," she said.

"They're after Mimi...?" Lily's words were drowned out
by the sound of the rumbling earth. It rose up like
pliable dough being pulled from the ground, forming a
large hole in the ground. The corpses fell into the
ground and then the earth wrapped itself around them.
The sound died, and the earth settled, a layer of dust
smoothing over the surface in a subtle and masterful
finish. The ground seemed no different than it had
been a few minutes ago-- with the exception of the
missing corpses. Lily seemed as surprised as they by
the sudden display of power.

"Well, then," said Tyler. "That explains a few
things." 



"THE ZOMBIES ARE AFTER MIMI," Lily said.

Tyler took this as his cue to explain to Cookie, Gary,
and Alicia the afternoon's events.

"That's so strange," said Cookie. "What could make
them stop dead in their tracks like that?"

"This," said Tyler.

>From his pocket he produced the gold pocket watch that
had been in the mortuary.

"I don't understand," said Michette.

"You fell on the watch," said Tyler. "The instant you
did, the living dead were less living than they were
before."

"But how would that watch do that?" said Lily.

"Come now, Lily Paschall. Don't tell me you can't
recognize it."

He handed the watch to her. Her jaw dropped. "Son of a
bitch! This is the watch from that pawn shop."

"What pawn shop?" said Gary.

"The one we found Larry Tablet in," said Lily. "Tyler
was spinning it around, and he lost his grip on it..."

"Ah, ah, ah. I let it go. It was on purpose."

"Sure, whatever you say."

"But I did."

"He lost his grip on it and it hit the wall, it broke.
When we stepped out of the pawn shop, we had traveled
back in time a full day."

"And that gave us time to try and save Larry Tablet's
life," said Alicia. [*]

[*-- See NET.HEROES ON PARADE no. 7-11 for a less
truncated (and far more confusing) narrative of these
events.]

"That's funny, that it would show up again like that,"
said Lily.

"No, it's not." It was Michette.

"What?"

"I said, it's not funny," she said, her voice even and
lifeless. "This is no coincidence."

"When we went to save Larry Tablet," Tyler said,
reasoning it out, "we crossed paths with the Terrible
Ones again. Or at least their lackeys: Tex Waggner and
those werewolves."

"Tex Waggner was Chatillon's," said Michette.
"Remember, that night at the hospital he said he was
the master of Dr. Pain. [*] Dr. Pain had the same
powers as Tex. It follows."

[*--For the fateful night at the hospital, see NHOP
no. 18; for Dr. Pain, see NHOP no. 14.]

That could be a coincidence," said Alicia sharply.
Their powers were her powers, too.

"And the werewolves were Chatillon's," said Gary.

"How do you know?" said Lily.

"Well... I just..."

"Chatillon's cult was responsible for the rash of
soul-ripping murders," said Cookie, saving him. "Gary
helped me on that case. There were werewolves there,
too." [*]

[*--NHOP no. 15 & 16.]

"But Chatillon's dead. If this was his watch...." said
Michette.

"I don't think it was," said Tyler. "Think about it:
what would Chatillon gain by allowing us to bring
Larry Tablet back? Why would he give us that chance?
It doesn't make any sense."

"He was too smart for that," said Lily. She ran her
thumb along the cracked lines of the watch's glass
before handing the watch to Tyler.

"Who were Chatillon's enemies, then?" said Cookie.

"The Terrible Ones," said Michette. "It must be their
watch."

"Must be their zombies," reasoned Tyler further. "But
I think it's safe to assume that they're again working
through an intermediary. Like Dennis Marker. [*] But
not him, of course."

[*--NHOP no. 1-6.]

"The watch has some kind of weird time control thing,
right?" said Cookie. "So, maybe this is just an
extension of that. It reverses the flow of time or
energy or whatever for these corpses, returns them
back to a previous state, a state of life."

"It brought Larry Tablet back from the dead," said
Lily.

"So maybe it brought them back," said Gary.

"It's safe to assume, though, that the effect that its
collision with Michette Duclos's skull was temporary,"
said Tyler. "Come nightfall, I suspect that we'll be
wading through zombies, waist-high."

"Then we've got no time to lose, then," said Cookie,
taking the watch. She held it up to invest it with
some sort of importance. Alicia thought this was too
dramatic a gesture, but said nothing. "We've got to
find whoever had this... son of a bitch!"

"That's my line," said Lily.

"Leave the jokes to me, Lily Paschall," said Tyler
with a roll of the eyes. "What is it, Cookie Crumple?"

"The back of the watch. There's an inscription. I know
who this belongs to."

"Who's that?"

"My boss." 



THE CHIEF OF POLICE LAUGHED.

"What is this horseshit?"

"This is your watch, isn't it, sir?" said Tyler,
handing to him.

"Sure, it's mine," said the chief. "I don't know how
you got it, but..."

"We found it at the graveyard, like we said," said
Michette testily. Lily put her hand on Michette's arm
to cool her down.

"They found it in the cemetery, in the mortuary. With
all the babies."

"Right. The pile of dead infants. And how many were
there?"

"We didn't count," said Michette.

"But I bet you would've, wouldn't you?" said Cookie.
"You would sit there and count baby corpses."

"You trying to imply something?"

"Imply? Hell, it's explicit."

"Funny word for you to use. Hanging out with porn
stars and net.heroes..."

"I don't like the way you said both of those words
together," said Alicia.

"And I don't like the way you six came barging in my
office accusing me of preying on the citizens of
Net.ropolis Heights!" He stood up and he threw the
watch towards them. Lily caught it deftly. "You know
what I think?"

"Sure I do," said Cookie coolly.

"Enlighten me, Crumble."

She decided to let the crack slide. "I think that you
know exactly what we're talking about. I think you
know what we know and some things we'd like to know. I
think that you are behind all this. And I think that
you're arrogant enough to think you can get away with
it. And, also, I think that you're smart enough to
know that you won't. Because arrogance always undoes
the arrogant, and you know that, you've worked on the
force long enough to know that, and to know that I
know that. You knew that I was going to find you out
and bring you down, you knew it, because you know that
I'm good at what I do, and that I always find the
answer, I persevere and I find it, and so you knew I
would find the solution to this, that I would trace it
all back to you. And so you labeled me a suspect. Had
me interrogated. Said that I was full of horseshit,
that my story stunk of it. You refused to believe
anything I said, you said it was impossible. You live
in Net.ropolis Heights, you stupid asshole. You know
these things happen. You're right next door to
Net.ropolis, the biggest manufacturer of weird
phenomenon there is. But you refuse to believe it, or
rather you say you refuse to believe it, because you
think you can talk your way out of it, you think that
you can get away because you're arrogant. But you've
been caught. And so you know what I think you know? I
think you know that you're trapped. I think you're
scared. And there's every reason you should be. In
fact, there's five." With a wave of her hand, she
indicated the net.heroes.

He just laughed and clapped his hands. "Good speech,
Crumple. Good speech. But you're wrong, though. You
get an A for effort, but you're wrong. Last things
first: I'm not scared. And you know why?"

Behind them, several shotguns clicked. They turned
around to find a couple dozen officers in riot gear.

"That's why."

"You can't threaten us. We're net.heroes," said Gary.

"And you can't threaten me. Because I'm a police
officer. And the way I understand the law, whether
you're registered with the government or not, the
police still outweigh vigilantes, in the greater
scheme of things. Net.heroes might get to beat the
shit out of people without getting a second glance,
but we still have more power in the long run. You
trying to detain me would be like me trying to detain
the President. You might have certain privileges in
carrying out your job, but arresting a man of the law,
a member of the law enforcement community, without a
warrant and without proof is certainly not one of
those privileges. You need a warrant, ladies and
gentlemen, and you don't have one."

"But we have proof! We have your watch," said
Michette.

"I haven't seen that watch for over a year," he said.
"I buried it. With my daughter. She was so proud to
have a police officer for a father, a chief of police.
And so when she... well, I just thought it would be
fitting to give it to her, to let her have it with her
when she went to heaven."

"Now that," said Alicia, pointing at him, "is
horseshit. And I should know. I was an actress. That
was my stock and trade."

"Fuck you, lady," he said. "It's the truth, the
god-damn truth. How dare you? How dare you say that to
me? Have you known it, have you? Have you known death,
have you tasted it?"

"And now we're into melodrama. Have you known death,
have you tasted it? Jesus Christ."

"I held that girl in my arms. She was nineteen years
old. Nineteen! No reason why anyone should die that
young. No reason at all. How dare you act so superior
to me? How dare you come into my office and threaten
me, when you're the ones that took her away!" He
pointed at the group; Gary felt he was pointing right
at him. 

 "Big fucking net.heroes, flying around the city,
brave as can be. Glory hounds, that's all. Fucking
glory hounds, not looking what they're doing, not
doing what they're supposed to be doing, just having a
good old time and then, because they're negligent, she
dies, my little girl gets taken away from me because
Mr. Fucking Net.hero is too busy striking a pose for
his double-splash page to protect the innocent people
that he's supposed to be protecting. And because he's
a net.hero, oh, it's just a mistake. Sorry. My bad.
Oh, oh, he's just one of the good old boys, he won't
do it again. He'll be more careful. Meanwhile, one of
my men screw up, one of my men get someone killed,
they get canned or go to jail. And Mr. Fucking
Net.hero is still flying around and still screwing up,
and when someone else's little girl gets killed, when
someone else dies because of his stupidity, well,
it'll be the same thing all over again because who
wants to rock the boat, who wants to put Captain
America behind bars? That would be damn right
unpatriotic of you. And who are you, anyway? You're
just a regular person, you don't have any powers, you
aren't as important or useful as Mr. Fucking Net.hero,
he flies around in tights and averts alien invasions
and protects you from other net.ahumans and freaks, he
fights the good fight and if it wasn't for him, you
wouldn't be alive, you wouldn't have any earth to sit
on, you'd be on some slave ship or some zoo wishing
you had just bowed down gracefully when Mr. Fucking
Net.hero killed your fucking baby girl. So, don't do
anything about it. Just grin and smile and shrug your
shoulders, say, so what? So my baby is dead, the one
thing I care about in the world is cold in the ground,
mutilated so you can't even see which end is up, where
her face is, when you're holding her dead fucking body
in your arms and crying, for the first time in years,
you're a grown man and you're crying. And you want
justice, yes, justice and revenge and so you try to
get it, and so you go to the FBI or the CIA or
whatever it is for it, for justice, and they sit down
and talk with the Ultimate Ninja, and they're his
biggest fans. They discuss it over coffee or tea or
whatever the shit and laugh and tell a few jokes and
he signs a few autographs and he says, hey, you guys
aren't really going to do anything about this, huh?
He's one of the good old boys, he just screwed up,
etc., etc., etc., blah, blah, blah and so on, see
above for more of the same, he smiles and they smile
back and say, oh, no, sir, we wouldn't think of it.
And they have a good laugh on me, because I'm just
some suburban police officer who is trying to hurt the
reputation of a brave and noble capes-and-tights hero,
I must be some crackpot because everyone else would be
honoured to have the one god-damn thing you care about
torn from you because Mr. Fucking Net.hero got lazy
and stupid and screwed up, oops, sorry. Sorry. I was
too busy fighting the bad guys because I love to beat
things up because I'm allowed to be a vicious asshole,
because I'm always right, I'm a hero, so, hey, sorry.
It's just more important that I beat them up and look
good and have a story to tell the other heroes, and to
tell young kids about my great battle with Judge
Waffle Iron or whatever, too busy doing that to
protect the innocent, what I'm supposed to be doing.
Sorry about that, man. Won't happen again. And you can
trust me. I'm a member of the LNH. And you? You're a
police officer for Net.ropolis Heights. That's right,
you're just a cop, just a chief of police, and you
don't matter in the big scheme of things. But I
mattered to her, god-damn it. I mattered to that
little girl, it mattered that I was somebody and she
was proud of me, so proud that I buried that watch
with her, that I slid it between what was left of her
cold, hard fingers, the fingers that were chewed up by
some big demon thing that you, Mr. Fucking Net.hero,
were supposed to protect her from. But she's dead. And
the last time I saw that watch, it was with her. Now
you have the watch, and you say that I'm responsible
for more otherworldly shit? That I'm trying to unleash
something else for you to try to protect us from, so
you can fail and someone else can bury his little
girl, barely a child, just married but still a child,
so that her blonde hair can rot and her blue eyes can
be plucked out and her soft, white cheeks turn red and
twisted and gnarled? You're standing here in my office
telling me that? Well, Mr. and Mrs. Big Fucking
Net.hero, now that is horseshit. That is the biggest
and most vile fucking repugnant horseshit I ever been
witness to, and I can't stand the smell of it, or the
sight of you. You get the fuck out of my office. Or, I
swear to god, I'll make each and every one of you pay
for what you did to my baby."

The group exchanged glances, and peered behind them
towards the men in the riot gear. Lily walked away,
and the others followed. 



"HE'S RIGHT," SAID THE NINJA. "Without strong evidence
or a warrant, we can't touch him."

"What are we going to do, then?" said Alicia. "We
can't let him get away with it. It has to be him."

"We do what Mr. I Hate Net.heroes told us to do," said
Tyler. "We protect the innocent."

"So we just wait and respond," said Gary in
frustration.

"Look, I had an idea about that," said Michette.

"What?" said the Ninja.

"If they're after me... well. Instead of sitting here
in LNHQ in the middle of Net.ropolis and waiting for
them to come after me, wouldn't it make more sense for
me to be closer to where they are? I mean, let's
assume that their general base of operations are those
two cemeteries. I go to one of them, the one with the
baby shrine, and we just wait, in the caretaker's
house or something."

"That's not safe," said Lily.

"But it is smart," said the Ninja. "You four wait in
the house with her..."

"Five," said Cookie insistently.

Though this was the first time he met her, the Ninja
could sense that it was futile to argue. "Five. You
wait with her in the house. I'll have some other
Legionnaires patrolling the two graveyards and a whole
bunch of the rest of us responding to any calls that
might arise."

"What if they call the police?" said Cookie. "The
chief in Net.ropolis is the brother of the chief
in..."

"We already thought of that. Or rather, Maggie did,"
said the Ninja. "It's all in her pamphlet."

"She's done, then?"

"Done? There's Legionnaires out there right now
distributing them. It's our number on the pamphlet. At
any rate, now that the public's informed we'll
minimize on the number of calls. That way if you need
more back-up, you call headquarters."

"And so what do we do once the zombies get there?"
said Alicia. "Just try to kill them all off?"

"What can we do?" said the Ninja.

"Sounds as good a plan as any," remarked Lily.

"Good. Now, get some rest. We still have three more
hours before dusk. And with the dusk, comes the dead."




BEFORE THEY LEFT, TYLER STOPPED by the infirmary to
tell Maggie Bernard what the deal was.

"I've got a bad feeling about this," she said. "I
should go with you guys."

Tyler rolled his eyes and let loose an exasperated
sigh.

"What?"

"Maggie Bernard, I have a very high opinion of you.
Don't lower it by engaging me in this obligatory, I
should go with you, no you can't because you're in a
wheelchair, I know but I still want to be there I
might be able to help, the best way you can help us is
by remaining here, I guess you're right but still I
wish I could go exchange. I have too much respect for
you to go and do something like that. Just stay put.
She'll be fine, I assure you."

"Okay. Well, take care."

"You, too."

As Tyler turned to make his exit, Mipource Chayefsky
walked in. He strolled out and said, in his loudest
stage whisper: "Twenty-six days, Mipource Chayefsky."
[*]

Mipource rolled her eyes.

"Don't ask," she said. "Don't even ask."

[*--A lot of footnotes this time around. See
NET.HEROES ON PARADE no. 24 for more on this cryptic
warning *and* for more on the background for this
scene in general.]

"I won't." Maggie smiled warmly at her chum and then
said: "So, to what do I owe the pleasure?"

"Hmm?"

"I mean, why did you stop by?"

"Just in the neighborhood, you know. On my way to work
and I thought, hey, I'll see how Margaret's doing."

"You shouldn't go."

"Well, I'd love to stay, but..."

"But the zombies. Haven't you heard?"

"On my way in one of your colleagues gave me an
excellently designed pamphlet."

"Thank you."

"Don't blush."

"But it was mine."

"I know. Who else would use a word like willy-nilly?"

"I think it's a great word."

"I think you could have done without it. But. Too late
now."

"Well, did you read it?"

"Of course I read it. How else would I have come
across willy-nilly?"

"Well, you should know it's all true. Net.ropolis is
under attack. And Net.ropolis Heights. All these
zombies are after Mimi. It won't be safe out there
tonight. You should stay here."

"They need me at the hospital, Margaret."

"I think they can do without you tonight."

"I think I'll be all right. Besides, there's little
chance Mimi will be at the hospital. And so little
chance the zombies will be at the hospital. I mean,
where are they coming from?"

"Cemetery. And that's where Mimi is now. With Tyler
and the others to protect her."

"There you go. I'll be fine. I won't be wandering the
streets, I'll be in the safe confines of the hospital.
We can lock all the doors, electronically and
instantaneously, at first sight of the undead."

"I'd feel better if you just called in tonight. Come
on. You and me, let's play some board games or
something."

"I'll be fine, Margaret. Really."

"Well then, here." Maggie rolled her wheelchair over
to her nightstand and fished something out of her
wallet. "Take this."

"What's this, then?"

"My LNH ID card. If you press the button in the center
there, it'll patch you through to the Ninja. I've got
it preprogrammed for his frequency."

"And he'll be okay with me calling him specifically?"

"You don't need to tell him that it's my card or that
I told you to call him. Just tell him you're at the
hospital and there's zombies getting in."

"If they get in."

"If they do. You'll have some protection then. And as
long as you're safe..."

"Sure." She pocketed the card. "Well, I've got to go.
It was nice visiting." She turned to exit.

"Wait?"

"What?"

"Did you... did you find anything out yet? About that
thing?"

"That thing?"

"You know. The thing I asked you to check up on for
me."

"You mean their alibi."

"Yeah. Well?"

"Yeah, I did."

"And?"

"And, nothing. It checks out."

"Are you sure?"

"Sure I'm sure, Margaret. I tried my best to find
holes in the story. And I couldn't. Sorry."

"That's all right. Something will turn up eventually."

"Maybe you're taking the wrong track here."

"What do you mean?"

"I mean," Mipource said gently and slowly, as if
explaining something to a slow learner, "maybe you
should just leave this thing alone. If it turns out
they're traitors, especially with all the power
they've got, they could be very angry when they find
out and some people might get hurt."

"By that same criteria, we should just let
net.villains get away with their crimes because
they're more powerful than us. Don't you see? It's
because that they're more powerful than us that we
have to stop them, protect the weak and innocent from
them. If we just let them get away with it..."

"I don't think that if they are traitors, and I don't
think they are mind you, but I don't think that if
they are that they would do it again. Maybe they just
made a mistake, you know? Forgive them. You forgave
Speed."

"Speed came clean. Speed was the only one of the four
of them that came clean and he was the only one that
was punished. That's not right."

"And that's not right either."

"What isn't?"

"You're not acting heroically, to protect people from
them. You're acting out of revenge for Speed. And
that's going to cloud your thinking, Margaret. You'll
end up building a case of circumstantial evidence,
twisting things to fit the theory, until you make them
pay for what you think they did to Speed. You have to
approach things objectively."

"I guess so."

"You know so. That's why you had me do it. Not just
because you were in a wheelchair. But because I would
be objective, I wouldn't be biased. So, trust me on
this. They're not traitors. Just leave well enough
alone before someone gets hurts."

"I guess you're right."

"I'm giving you good advice, Margaret."

"I know."

"I mean, would I lie to you?" 



THE ORANGE SUN DIED SLOWLY.

Its light, brilliant and expressive Technicolor light
filtered through the old rickety window bathed
Michette's face in its beauty and then gently dried
up, eventually, she knew, leaving her face dry in
darkness, not clean and orange but pale, sickly,
frightened: for she knew that with the sun's death,
with the fall of dusk, the dead would come, and they
would be coming for her.

There was a distant crack of thunder, and though there
was no rain yet or any visible lightning, nor any
clouds to mask the sun's death, to hide it away
beneath its sluggish and billowy obscurement, Michette
knew that all this would come, like the dead, at dusk,
and she was not surprised when the thunder-crack
preceded a loss of electricity in the old crickety
wooden house.

Tyler lit a number of candles, handing one to each of
them in the room, as a way of counter-acting the loss
of power and, perhaps, in an admittedly futile attempt
to rage against the dying of the light. Tyler even
thought that, with a knowing tip of the hat to Dylan
Thomas that brought a smile to his face. Good. He
needed to smile, now. Even he, the ghost, the teller
of tales and keeper of ribald jokes, was frightened of
the hellish night that they all knew lay ahead of
them.

They all knew it, and they were all quiet, watching
the orange light become fainter, and fainter, and
fainter... not a dramatic death, not a sudden thing,
but a slow and unnerving process, each second
stretching and blurring into the next, each miniscule
nuance of light remaining imperceptible until
suddenly, it had become much darker, and than darker
than that, and they just hadn't realized it... darker
and darker and darker...

And now it was pitch black outside, the only light
inside being the puny candles that they held furtively
in their hands. So dark they couldn't even see the wax
dripping and then, ouch, it would burn their hands and
they would shake and squint and no, it wasn't any
better.

Darkness: absence of light, nothing; silence: absence
of sound, nothing; fear: absence of hope, nothing:
they all went hand in hand like blushing virgins and
the corrupting young ne'er-do-wells that steal their
cherries in the back-seat of father's automobile,
grunting softly as the storm clouds break ahead. And
afterwards, they catch their breaths and sweat and
look at the bright redness in each other's cheeks as
the storm dies down to a slight and insignificant
pitter-patter, pitter-patter.

The thunder cracked again, and the rain came down like
blood, in thick streams from one great menstruating
cloud, washing the earth in its bright red death. But
they didn't hear it, they didn't see or hear anything
until Michette began wheezing and coughing and they
all turned to her and then, they realized, it's
raining.

"Are you okay?" Lily stood behind her, and embraced
her by her waist, drawing her close.

"I'm fine," she lied.

Lily was ready to believe the lie, but then she
pressed her cheek against Michette's and felt the
thick slimy sweat that blanketed her cheek like heavy
snow. "You're all sweaty."

"And I'm dizzy. And I feel like I'm about to puke.
But. What does it matter? What can be done? So I'm
fine."

"Maybe..." Lily began, but Michette was right. There
was really nothing they could do about it. Then, "Why
don't you lie down?"

"I'm fine, really. Just. Just hold me, okay?"

"Okay," Lily said, and she held her tighter, kissing
her ear affectionately.

"I love you," Michette said.

"I know. And I love you."

"Jesus," said Alicia. Everyone turned to her just as
she lit a cigarette, a thin red dot that drew their
eyes away from the _expression on her face, which
could barely be made out in the dark anyway. "You
better not launch into this sappy shit when the
zombies come."

"Shut up," said Lily.

"Funny. You weren't so god-damn concerned about her
when you sold out to Chatillon."

"Alicia," said Gary, and then he wished he had let
someone else say it. It might be a little too obvious,
might have shown his concern a little too much, they
might read into it and they might read into what
Alicia had said and then they would know, fuck,
Christ, they would know.

"You cunt," said Lily.

"Now, now," said Tyler. "Please."

"She had no right to say that," said Lily, tears
welling up.

"She had no right to say that," said Alicia, mimicking
and producing big, fat melodramatic tears.

"The both of you are acting out of place. Let's calm
down. This isn't helping anyone."

"I'm sorry," said Lily.

"You should be," said Alicia. "You call me that again
and I'll rip yours out."

"You say that like you mean it," said Cookie. It was
the first time since they had taken refuge in the
caretaker's house that she had spoken.

"Butt out," said Alicia, flicking her cigarette away
and then snuffing it out with a flash of green light.
She smiled, taking a moment to be immensely satisfied
with her visual pun, and then continued: "You're not
one of us, Crumble. And as far as I know, you ain't a
cop anymore either. So just sit on your hands and keep
your mouth shut."

"Will you stop insulting everyone?" said Lily.

"Don't tell me what to do," said Alicia. "Cunt."

"Don't you dare call her that!" said Michette,
breaking free from Lily's embrace and rushing forward.
She grew dizzy at the same instant and fell backwards.
Lily and Tyler rushed up behind her and caught her.

"She's passed out," said Tyler.

"I've got a bad feeling about this," said Lily.

"Thank you Miss Cleo," said Alicia. "None of the rest
of us have a bad feeling about this and so without you
to tell the future, we would have no fucking idea that
we should be wary."

"Why don't you leave the withering sarcasm to me,
huh?" said Tyler.

"Why don't you stick..." Alicia began, but she was cut
off by a sudden knock at the door.

They all turned to the door as it flung open with such
force and speed that no human hand could have done it.

A figure stood framed in the doorway, the storm raging
behind her. "Hello," she said, and then she stepped
into the candle light.

Gary gasped and fell backwards.

And Madeline Frost smiled. 



NEXT TIME: Ten Floors of Terror 



The Ultimate Ninja is the creation of wReam, and
public domain-- sort of. Everyone else is mine-- and
useable with permission. 



© 2003 Tom Russell 7036


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