We caught glimpses of movement out of the corner of our eyes, flashes of darting wraith-like shapes that disappeared when you tried to look at them directly. I seemed to be more aware of them than either Devona or Lazlo, maybe because I was dead myself. Not for the first time I wondered just how many spirits inhabited the Boneyard. If we could see them clearly, would we find the streets full of people, perhaps celebrating the Descension along with the rest of the city? Were we even now walking among-walking through-throngs of laughing, shouting merrymakers, oblivious to their presence?
The Boneyard isn’t strictly the Dominion of the dead, though. Many living beings-warm ones, as the dead refer to them-also live there. Those who for whatever reasons feel more comfortable living in the presence of death. Some simply like the quiet and solitude, while others go there only for the sake of morbid fashion. And then there are those disturbed individuals who are drawn to death like moths to a cold dark flame, such as the Suicide King and Overkill, who can only truly feel alive when they come as close to death as possible.
Me, I feel more alive around the living. Weird, huh?
Ghosts aren’t the only supernatural inhabitants of the Boneyard. Anything dead falls under the rule of Lord Edrigu: poltergeists, skeletons, liches, mummies, wights, wraiths, and others dwelled within his Dominion. Most of these creatures preferred keeping to the shadows or haunting their lairs, waiting for those curious or foolish enough to seek them out or stumble blindly across them. As the three of us walked, we caught the occasional glimpse of a shambling thing lurking in an alley or dark eyes peering through broken shutters in an abandoned building, but we made sure not to disturb them and they in turn didn’t seek to devour our souls. A good arrangement all the way around, as far as I was concerned.
Unfortunately, there was one type of dead creature more aggressive than all the others, and as we turned a corner, we saw a group of them coming down the street toward us, walking with stiff, spastic movements and groaning softly.
“Are those…zombies?” Devona asked.
There were eight of them-nine if you counted the partially decayed dog carrying a severed hand in its mouth. Three women, five men, aged anywhere from twenty to sixty at the time of their demise. Their clothes were torn and stained with patches of blood, some of it relatively fresh. Their flesh was a mottled grayish-green color, and their bodies displayed various types of damage: cuts, gouges, tears, and bite marks. A couple were missing arms-I couldn’t help feeling a pang of sympathy toward them-and one was missing a good portion of his scalp. It took the zombie horde, such as it was, a moment to realize we were there, but as soon as they did, they began moaning, “ Braaaaiiiinssss…” and started heading toward us as fast as their dead bodies would permit.
“Idiots,” Lazlo said. “Why are they always obsessed with brains? Don’t they know how hard it is to bite through a skull?”
“I do not want to know how you came by that knowledge,” I said.
As the zombies-dead doggie included-shuffled closer, Devona stepped closer and grabbed hold of my arm, as if seeking my protection. I wanted to put my arm around her and hold her closer, but I didn’t. I told myself this wasn’t the right time, and anyway, it wouldn’t be professional. But in truth, I was afraid if I tried, she might pull away from me in disgust. After all, right then I didn’t look, or smell, any better than the walking corpses slowly coming toward us.
“What’s wrong with them?” Devona asked. “I’ve seen zombies before-normal ones, not self-aware ones like you, Matt-and they don’t act like that. For the most part, they just stand around and wait for someone to give them an order.”
“You’re thinking of voodoo zombies,” I said. “Those are corpses resurrected by a voodoo priest or priestess for the purpose of being a servant. Those zombies-” I nodded toward the moaners-“are a more recent breed.”
“Not to mention more annoying,” Lazlo out in. “They’re always wandering out of the Boneyard and into the other Dominions, staggering around and trying to feast on the flesh of the living. The only good thing about them is that you have to shoot them in the head to kill them. Makes them good target practice.”
“Where did they come from?” Devona asked. “And more to the point, why are we just standing here if they want to crack open our skulls and slurp up our brains?”
The zombies had crossed half the distance to us in the time we’d been talking, and they were becoming more excited the closer they got, moving with more urgency, and all of them were loudly moaning, “ Braaaaiiiinssss…”
I decided to ignore Devona’s second question and answer her first. “No one’s sure where they originated from. Some say they’re the result of voodoo zombies mutating after exposure to some kind of supernatural or science-based power source. Others think that one mad scientist or another got hold of an old Earth flesheating zombie movie on DVD, saw it, and decided to see if he could actually make them.”
The zombies were almost upon us by then.
“Wherever they came from” Lazlo said, “I’d wish they’d go back and stay there.” He glanced at me. “No offense, Matt. You’re in a way different league than these moaners.”
“No offense taken,” I reassured him.
The first of the zombies was just about within arm’s reach now, and she stretched a trembling hand toward us that was more bone than flesh. Her milk-white eyes stared hungrily at us, her leathery lips moving as if she were anticipating the meal to come.
“ Brains…” she whispered softly in an eerie, hollow voice.
Devona was pressed against me so tight now that I feared she might break a few more of my ribs.
“Guys…” She sounded on the verge of panic, but before she could do or say anything else, the zombie woman paused.
Her dead nostrils flared as they took in our scents, and I was jealous. I couldn’t smell, but then I didn’t need to hunt down brains to devour, either. The zom-bie’s features twisted into a mask of pained disgust, and she stuck out a slimy black tongue.
“ Yuck,” she spat, then turned to face her fellow zombies.
She said or did nothing obvious to communicate with the others, but they stopped and gazed at her with their dead eyes. And then as one the entire group, zombiedog included, slowly turned and began shuffling away.
Devona relaxed a bit, but she made no move to step away from me. Not that I was complaining.
“What just happened?” she asked.
“That breed of zombie only feasts on living human flesh,” I explained. “Not demon, not half-vampire, and certainly not another zombie.”
Lazlo shook his head as he watched the zombies slowly depart. “That’s the other thing I hate about them: they’re picky eaters.”
Devona ignored the demon and gave me an irritated look. “You could’ve told me that sooner.”
I smiled. “What, and spoil the surprise?”
She hauled off and punched me in the arm using her full strength. It might have been my imagination, but I thought it actually hurt a little.
We resumed walking and eventually came to an open field containing the bent, broken, and rusted hulks of hundreds of cars, with a faded, weather-beaten sign proclaiming the place to be Riffraff’s Revenants. A junkyard. It made sense, I suppose. After all, this Dominion was reserved for the dead, right? And what was a junkyard other than a cemetery for machines?