Summer Vacation Of The Living Dead
a gruesome little screwball comedy by Alex Reynard
-~*BOOK THREE*~-
~***~
-CHAPTER THIRTY ONE-
On Sunday morning, after her chores were done, Tish exuberantly ran outside to play with Max. She didn't give a damn if her parents spotted them in the backyard. She was proud that her plan had gone off so perfectly and relived that no one had ended up caught, arrested or injured. She wanted to celebrate, and to share her joy with her wonderful, special, brave dead brother.
Max was out in the shed, snoring like a cement mixer. Instead of his usual nest in the wheelbarrow, he had simply conked out on the floor this time, exhausted not only from terrorizing a helpless young mouse in his bedroom, but also from the extra-long roadkill scavenger hunt he'd gone on afterwards to try to balance all the meat he'd had to abandon on Eddie's pajamas. Luckily, fate seemed to approve of his vengeance, for there were corpses littered to and fro like confetti that night. Apparently the local woodland population had caught a bad case of the stupids, and a larger-than-average percentage of them had paid for it with their lives. Sorrowful as always, Max had gorged himself until his stomach stuck out like a pregnant woman's. As he'd limped tiredly back home, he softly thanked all of his midnight snacks for helping to keep him above ground one more day. He felt a calmness in his heart as he curled up like a puppy on the concrete floor of the shed, and he hoped it meant that, maybe, they forgave him.
He hadn't gotten nearly enough sleep by the time Tish pounced on him and rolled him over like a sack of potatoes, shouting, "Wake up wake up wake up wake up!!!" But her sparkling grin and furiously wagging tail kept him from being mad at her. He hadn't seen her this happy in a long time, and that made him happy too. And yeah, he was feeling a bit frisky this morning himself.
Feeling bold and wanting to get breakfast out of the way as soon as possible, Max followed Tish and flattened himself up against the side of the house as she went in to procure some remnants. She came back with a decent-sized portion of scrambled eggs and some spaghetti sauce she'd forgotten to give him last night. Max had a little trouble with the tomato part, but they were commingled enough with the meatballs that he was able to force his stomach to not spit them back up. He had begun to hope that, if he just got tough enough, he could keep down small amounts of non-meat. It probably didn't do him any good, but he didn't see any harm either. And puking every five minutes or so was getting to be a real drag.
After Max had licked off the plates to a sparkling sheen, Tish went back inside to toss them in the sink, then rejoined him. Her plan was for them to simply go way out into the vastness of the backyard and run around like a couple of idiots until they were completely exhausted. Max thought this was a terrific idea.
So, feeling only a fraction of their real ages, the two siblings ran off together to romp.
~***~
-CHAPTER THIRTY TWO-
It was a gorgeous day for goofing off and being silly in the forest. Tish and Max chased each other through the trees in an extremely loose version of hide-and-seek. Their laughter rang clearly through the treetops and frightened all the birds. Squirrels dove for shelter as the two coyotes sprinted gigglingly through the foliage. The hot midmorning sun made them sweaty, and Max stunk to high heaven, but Tish didn't care a bit. Truth be told, she was actually starting to *like* his stench a little bit; a fact that made her wonder what it said about herself.
They came upon a tiny, pathetic creek that wound through the woods for a ways. Not really deep enough for anything other than cooling off their feet, but that was all they wanted to do anyway. Tish and Max raced each other to a big, flat rock at the water's edge. Tish beat Max by a split-second. She slapped down her paw on the deep-blue stone and shouted "I win!!"
Max narrowed his eyes. "You cheated," he said, only pretending to be angry. His big, sloppy grin betrayed him.
Tish turned up her nose haughtily. "Hhmph! Sore loser! I won and there's nothing you can do about it!"
He smirked. "Remember when we watched the black and white version of Frankenstein?"
Puzzled, she asked, "Yeah, why?"
Groaning like the undead (which, naturally, he was very good at), Max picked his sister up and chucked her gently in the stream.
Tish let out a shriek of-mock rage. She scrambled ungracefully to her feet. "Dammit! Now my ass is all wet!"
Max was almost on his knees laughing.
Tish was trying hard to keep down her laughter too. Silently, she strode briskly over to her brother and ripped one of his ears off.
"Hey!" he shouted.
Tish hurled it off into the distance as far as she could. They both heard a little rustle as it hit a bush. She stuck her tongue out at him. "Nyah. So there."
The fact that she was even able to DO such a thing made Max laugh harder. For all the hassle and uncomfortableness and worrying about decomposition, when you got right down to it, being a zombie was just plain fun sometimes.
Tish gingerly touched the spot where his ear had been. She could see a little bit of skull poking through. "No hard feelings?" she asked.
Max shook his head, as if such a thing didn't even need to be said.
As the familiar green foam began to gout forth from Max's head, Tish looked off into the brush in the direction she'd thrown his sensory apparatus. "Some crow's gonna get a nice lunch pretty soon," she remarked thoughtfully.
Max nodded. An ear was considerably less complicated to grow back than a paw, and Max had a new one popping up within a few seconds. He gave it a flick. All systems go.
A natural silence settled comfortably between them and the two siblings sat down side by side on the big rock. They dangled their throbbing paws in the clear, trickly water and cooed softly at how good it felt. Nice and cold on their hot soles. Both of their tails wagged contentedly.
Almost without thought, Tish reached up to fiddle with Max's dark, feral hair. It was one of the few 'girly' habits she seemed to have developed. Mom said it was natural. Put a girl next to a guy with bad hair and her fingers would twitch til they got their fix. Girl paws were attracted to bad hair like magnets, she'd said.
For his part, Max let her do it. Nick usually flinched when Tish tried to fix his hair, but Max almost always stayed still and kept quiet. He liked the feel of his sister's gentle paws nimbly passing over his scalp. He closed his eyes and felt oddly serene.
Tish poked and twirled and messed with Max's greasy locks for a while and eventually gave up. There wasn't a damn thing she could do to the chaotic clump of follicles to make it look decent. It was like Max's hair was taunting her. It wasn't even long enough in the back to make a decent ponytail out of! When she tried it, it just looked like a patch of grass sticking out of the back of his head.
Max could tell from her tiny, unaware growls that she was meeting with frustration. He tried not to chuckle. That was another reason he liked having Tish play with his hair; the hair always won. _Always_.
The two siblings enjoyed the peaceful moment for quite some time. The quieter they were, the more they became aware of all the nature noises around them. Bugs buzzing and cheeping. The trickling piano tones of the stream. Birds twitting and green leaves swishing on their branches in the wind.
Then suddenly, both of them froze like statues. Their ears cocked towards the wind in unison.
They'd heard something new. An awful sound. Far off, like in a dream. But still very clear.
A train whistle.
"But the tracks are on the other side of town..." Tish whispered uneasily. From their bedrooms, they could often hear that low, mournful wail at night, but always muffled by distance.
Just now, it had sounded much too close. And the woods had become deathly still.
Their fur ruffled up. Something felt _very_ wrong.
The whistle came again. Louder now, and not by just a little. It sounded like it was coming straight at them.
Tish and Max both slowly stood up. Neither of them said a word, they only stared. Stared unswervingly at the direction the sound was coming from. They found themselves holding hands without even thinking about it.
"Maybe it's just 'cuz of what happened. Maybe we're just getting freaked out over nothing," Max said, trying to sound reasonable.
"But both of us at the same time?" Tish countered.
Max opened his mouth, but closed it when he heard a distant rumble building. Coming closer. There was no doubt about it now.
The twins began to slowly back up, in perfect synchronicity.
And then, louder than the howl of an enraged demon-
WHONNNNNNNNKKKKKKK!!!!! WHONK-WHOOONNNNNNNNKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKK!!!!!
The train came barreling towards them through the trees, its single headlight casting about hungrily, as if hunting. It paid no attention to the trees that blocked its path. It knocked them mercilessly aside as if they weighed nothing.
And most surreal of all, the trees all sprang back into place the second the thing had passed. As if nothing had ever happened.
For much, much too long, Tish and Max were frozen by the coldest fear they had ever felt in their lives. A zombie was one thing, but a train chasing them through the woods was so utterly preposterous their brains could not even adequately accept it. It was worse then impossible, it was unthinkable.
But finally, Tish's sense of self-preservation burrowed up through the thick ice of confusion that had settled over her brain and reminded her that if she did not get out of the way very soon, she would be smeared across the forest floor like strawberry jelly.
She turned to Max and screamed, "RUN!!!"
Still in sync, they turned and ran.
Like a rabid dog, the train seemed to sense their movement and it put on a new burst of speed. It was excited. The chase was on for real now. Its wheels tore gouging ruts in the soft earth, but it was still travelling faster than it had ever been designed for. Its wheels sparked and clanged and gnashed in unholy glee.
Their brains rendered useless, Max and Tish ran mindlessly away from the impossible thing. They were charged up with hot spikes of adrenaline. They could form no plans, create no strategies. Their bodies had only one function; to run as fast as possible or die.
The whistle blew again; a sound so deafening it shook tree branches, caused baby birds' skulls to collapse and nearly drew blood from Tish's eardrums. It shrieked out in triumph, having finally sighted its quarry after so many long days and nights of searching. Hunting blindly, with only a 'scent' to go by. A single machine sensory point that told it: THERE. There was where it was. And that was what it had been born to kill. To exterminate. To wipe clean. To call the demonic train alive would have been not only wrong, but ghastly. It was no more possessed of a personality or emotion than a viral infection. But it had just enough awareness to react, and to perform its function without any trace of mercy.
'Out of the woods,' Tish finally managed to think. 'We have to get out of the woods. There's too many things we could trip over. We'll run faster on level ground.'
Max agreed. 'The big field,' he thought. 'Head towards town.'
'Right.'
Still holding hands and still not realizing it, the two siblings changed course abruptly, agilely executing a 112 degree turn. If they'd had time to hope that such a shift would deter the train or maybe even tip it over, they would have been sorely disappointed. The ravenous engine gave off an annoyed snort and cast its headlight around for a few seconds before pinpointing them again. It was like a blind man with an exceptionally long and wide white cane. As soon as it had them in its sights again, it hurled itself into a spinning turn that would have driven a physicist mad from its sheer contempt of all known laws of motion. It seemed to steer with all eight wheels. It swirled around in a frictionless arc, sending up a tidal wave of earth and dead leaves, then surged forth after its prey without losing a second's worth of speed.
Tish was running so hard that later her calves would feel as if they had been stripped to the bone and had fiberglass ground into them. But for now she couldn't even begin to think about pain. Right now her mind was locked strictly on survival. Speed. Object avoidance. Her focus was as perfect as an Air Force pilot strafing in for a kill.
So it came as a huge surprise to her when her toes slammed, crunching, into a half-buried stone and she went skidding forward, face down into the dirt.
Max let out an unintelligible, babbling wail of panic.
The train blew its whistle again. The end was in sight! Rejoice!
With the same uncanny speed and lack of hesitation he had shown when he'd rescued her from the train the first time (for it was the exact same train that had killed him; to think anything else was ridiculous), Max stopped dead in his tracks, ran back, and scooped Tish up under his right arm as if she weighed no more than a doll. Then he took off again and paradoxically, his speed *doubled*.
The train made a throaty rumble that could loosely be translated as, 'What the FUCK?!?'
Tish was finding it hard to believe she wasn't dead. She opened her eyes and saw the ground flashing past so fast it made her nauseous. She looked up and saw trees and brush rushing towards her like she'd been shot out of a cannon. And the cannon's name was Max.
Her brother, her dead brother who kept having body parts fall off him like a junky old car, was carrying her under one arm and somehow outrunning a killer train engine. His eyes were set in an unblinking, alert stare of purest concentration.
'Damn, there goes all those stereotypes about slow zombies straight out the window!' she thought.
'I'm as surprised as you are, sis,' he radioed back.
Max burst forth from the forest with a bounding leap like a gazelle. For a heartstopping second he was airborne, suspended nearly six feet above ground. He dared to wonder if he could fly now.
But gravity, dependable as ever, soon tugged him reluctantly back down to earth. He hit the ground running, the impact not making a single dent in his stride.
Roaring with fury, the train exploded out of the trees behind them.
As Max kept on running to beat the devil, never tiring for an instant, the train pursued relentlessly. Heck, it didn't even know what a 'relent' was. It was confused and infuriated now. It could not comprehend how this tiny flesh creature was outpacing it. It was a tower of steel and raw, greased-up power. This shouldn't be happening. It had Known about its target when Forces Beyond bestowed it with animation. It had been told that the creature it sought would be slow and weak and easily disposed of. Such was not the case, and the train did not like it one bit.
Max sped through the high golden grass as if it didn't even exist. As if he had a ramjet engine strapped to his ass. As if God Himself were pushing him along with one of His omnipotent fingers. Tish couldn't even fathom the 'how' of any of this, so she simply kept still and tried to make herself as aerodynamic as possible. She was just along for the ride. All she could hope to do now was make things easier for Max.
If anybody could have seen the inconceivably preposterous chase that was going on in that field on that Sunday morning, they would have either gone mad on the spot or given up drinking forever. A tiny canine boy, hauling ass at nearly seventy miles an hour, carrying a girl under one arm who was nearly as big as he was. A trainless-engine with no one at the helm charging after them, shredding up the field behind it like a monolithic, double-bladed chainsaw. And most insane of all, the ripped up grass and dirt was all flying urgently back into the ground a heartbeat after the train had passed by, erasing its tracks from existence as it went.
Up ahead, Max could finally see the road. Beyond that there were houses and stores and, eventually, downtown. If they could get there then maybe they had a chance at safety. Unless this monstrous nightmare behind them could rip through mortar and concrete as easily as it could trees.
In the distance, a car was approaching. Inside was a father of three who was heading home after a short trip to the hardware store. At his present speed, his trajectory put him smack dab on course for the train to blitz him from the side and reduce him and his car to smithereens.
Max saw the car in his peripheral vision, some ways away but coming closer. The last thing he wanted was to endanger someone else's life, so he swerved at a sharp angle away from the vehicle and forced a small fraction more power into his speed. Hopefully, the man would be able to brake in time to avoid becoming train-toejam.
The engine had not seen the car yet. Nor would it have cared one way or the other about ending an innocent life in pursuit of its prey.
Max reached the road and jumped straight across it. This time, his arc crested ten feet. Easily.
Tish looked down as the ground lurched away from her. As if she and Max had been jerked up into the sky by an invisible bungee cord.
Eyes bulging from their sockets, the man in the car slammed on his braked and stared.
Max landed silently with the grace of a serpent and kept on running. He was twenty yards away from the road when he heard the train behind him let out a bellow of... Fear?
He twisted his head around completely backwards to look, and saw something so inexplicable it made his brain hurt. But he still never stopped running.
As soon as the train became aware of the car, it unleased a screech of rage, terror, disbelief and, above all, disappointment. Before the man could swivel his head around to look at whatever it was that had made that ungodly noise, the train had literally leaped up into the air like a bullfrog and drove itself into the earth with a force so great it vanished completely from sight in half a second. Like it had merely jumped off a diving board into the water.
"Max? What happened? Did it stop?" Tish asked, her voice panicky and wavering.
His head still facing his rear, Max said dumbly, "I have absolutely no idea."
Not about to believe that the train would simply let them get away so easily, Max kept on running until they reached downtown. He passed several people, all of whom would later tell their respective friends and spouses about some maniac who had nearly run them down on a motorcycle. It *had* to have been a motorcycle, or something like that, because there was simply no way the furson could have been *running*.
Finally, in a shady, silent alley, Max allowed himself to stop.
The first thing he did was let Tish drop unceremoniously out of his grasp. He'd been holding his arm so stiffly around her, the only motion he could coax out of it was to abruptly loosen.
Tish plopped down on the asphalt with a grunt. She wasn't about to say anything to Max about the rough landing. He'd just saved her life in a manner so spectacular it was nearly hallucinatory. And when she looked at his legs, they were *steaming*! "Jesus, Max! Look! You're on fire!!"
Max looked down and yelped. He hadn't felt a thing up till now, but suddenly he completely remembered what pain felt like. As if he'd left it behind and it had finally managed to catch up to him. Air friction had ripped his legs to shreds. They were basically charred bone with a few tatters of scorched skin still bravely clinging on. And they hurt like nothing he had ever felt before in his life. He felt like an idiot for thinking this new body of his couldn't feel pain anymore.
Tish looked around but couldn't see any water to throw on him. Her brother's legs were so hot, his shorts were actually smoldering!
Max didn't have any bright ideas himself, so he just did the first thing that came to mind. He threw himself onto his back and wrenched his legs off, one by one. The pain ended instantly as he ripped his red-hot femurs from their sockets. He tossed both legs as far as he could down the alley where they landed in a clattering, smoking heap. Maybe, when they'd cooled down a bit, he'd be able to put them back on.
Tish looked down at Max, now a momentary double amputee, and tried hard to catch her breath and make sense of what had just happened to them.
Max looked up from the pavement. "It was the same train, right? It's not just me? You saw it too?"
The question didn't even need to be asked. She nodded. "Of course. Why would it have been a different one anyway?"
"No, the question is, why the fuck does it want to finish the job!?" Max exploded. "Last time I checked, trains were just machines! Inanimate goddam objects! And they don't run off their tracks, either!!"
She could hear the torment in his voice. It wasn't bad enough that he was rotting and smelly and he couldn't hug his mom and dad anymore, now he had a killer train to deal with. It wasn't fair. And worst of all, this was somehow probably her fault. She should have known that raising the dead would almost certainly have unforseen consequences. But really, who the hell could ever have foreseen *that*?!?
"And how did it do that tree thing where they just jumped back into place?" Max babbled. "And why did it just go apeshit when it saw that guy's car? What the hell was up with that? And how could it possibly just dive into the dirt like that!? Like a freakin'
gopher! Tish, what the flaming fuckery is going on!?!"
All she could do was shrug. "I dunno."
They waited a while, tensed, alert, until they were sure the train wasn't about to pop up suddenly and chase after them again. Apparently, it really had been scared off, but neither of them had any inkling why. Or why it wanted to kill them in the first place.
Eventually, Max's legs stopped smoking. He crawled over on his belly and tapped at them tentatively, expecting them to either be still too hot to handle, or for them to crumble to ash the second he touched them. Thankfully, neither of those scenarios happened. They were warm, but not blistering. They still felt solid, just very, very dry. Like two limbs off a lighting-struck tree. Figuring it was worth a shot, Max got himself scooted around and tried poking one of them back into its socket. To his delight, it held fast and he was able to move it again easily enough. "Alright!"
Tish walked over, surprised. "Well, that's a little bit of good luck. At least I won't have to carry you home," she said. "Though of course, I would if I had to," she emphatically added.
Max flashed her an 'I know you would' smile as he slapped his other leg back home. He reached out for Tish's support and she gave him her paw. He got a good grip and together they hoised him back up to a vertical position.
Despite looking like he'd stood a little too close to an industrial blast furnace, Max's scorched legs still seemed to work okay. Although it was a little bit like walking after your legs had fallen asleep. They were completely numb. He couldn't feel a thing from the butt down. His ankles felt as loose as door hinges. "I think I can walk if you hold onto me," he told Tish.
She nodded and put her arm around his waist. He put his across her shoulders, and they held paws again. "Now all we gotta do is get you back to the toolshed without being seen."
Max shook his head. "Nuh-uh. No way. These legs won't carry me all the way home. They're gonna splinter halfway there, I just know it."
Tish's ears folded back in worry. "What're we gonna do then? Maybe go by Nick's house?" she whimpered.
Max managed a grin. "No, we're gonna go to the same place we had lunch *last* Sunday, remember?"
Slowly, she also grinned as she got it. "Good thinking, bro!"
~***~
-CHAPTER THIRTY THREE-
After an embarrassing trip across town that was fraught with peril and near-sightings (like they *really* wanted to explain why Max smelled like death and had no skin on his legs), the coyote twins finally made it to that shining beacon of carnivorism; Dooley's. Luck finally seemed to be on their side, since the dumpster out back looked like it hadn't been emptied since the previous presidential administration. Tish went inside the restaurant proper and, with a little of the ol' 'pathetic puppy eyes' routine, was able to wheedle a free glass of water out of the sympathetic cashier. Dooley's had a policy against that, just because so many people asked and then went over to the soda fountains (which were out of sight of the kitchen) to load up on free pop. But when someone came in looking as bedraggled and half-cooked as Tish did that afternoon, the staff almost always looked the other way. True to her word, Tish filled her paper cup with only water and ice cubes, drained it right there at the fountain, filled it, drained it again, then took it outside for Max. They had discovered eventually that his stomach didn't mind water either, although sometimes it leaked out of him surreally, just like when people got shot in cartoons.
Out back, Max was having the time of his life. He was pigging out on all the half-eaten hamburgers he could ever want. He'd been sticking to the streets so much lately, he'd neglected the local restaurant dumpsters for a day or two. Now he had spread out before him a feast fit for a king. A bountiful crop in need of harvesting. Max shredded garbage bags with drooling zeal and crammed pre-chewed patties into his mouth like a madman. He could *feel* his legs regrowing and he let out a crow of happiness.
Tish knocked on the side of the dumpster. "Havin' fun in there?" she asked playfully.
"Oh HELL yeah!!" came the reply. "I'm probably gonna be in here a while. Better make yourself comfortable." He popped up over the side, smirking. "Or, you could hop in here with me! There's lotsa uneaten french fries!"
She stuck her tongue out. "You are a filthy, repulsive beast, Max. Here, I brought you some water."
Max accepted it gratefully and immediately upended the cup over his head. He 'ahhh'ed in pleasurable relief. "More," he barked.
She chuckled. After saving her ass like a comic-book hero back there, she certainly did not mind being his waitress for a while. "Yes, sir! Anything else you'd like?"
"Naw, I got everything I could hope for right here. But thanks a lot for asking!"
Tish went back to get a refill, and kept on coming back ten more times or so. She didn't see the cranky woodchuck lady again, and was mildly disappointed. She'd been saving up filthy things to say all week long.
An hour or so later, when every last scrap of meat had been sucked clean from the various trash bags in Dooley's dumpster, Max climbed out with a full tummy and two fine-looking grey-furred legs. "Garbage: It Does A Dead Body Good!" he quipped.
Tish groaned, but was totally happy to see him back to normal again. "Race ya back to the house," she kidded.
"I think you might lose," he understated.
They headed off for home, discussing mostly how Max could have possibly put on such an incredible burst of speed. It wasn't as impressive as, say, Superman, but he probably could have beat Dad's car in a dead heat 100 yard dash. Max's only half-hearted guess was that his new body (yes, he knew it was really his old body, but it was easier to refer to it as such), was more like a machine than before. It was tireless, and mostly felt no pain. Max told Tish in all honesty that he thought he probably could have kept on running from that train forever. Even if the zombie movies were wrong about speed, he said, they seemed to have gotten it right on persistence. He'd felt no fatigue whatsoever. Had they not come upon the city, Max guessed he probably could have kept on going until either the train gave up or his legs simply burned away to nothing. Tish suggested that maybe later, if he felt like it, it might be interesting to try and see just how fast he could go. Max thought that was a do-able idea. He told her maybe after she went to bed he'd get on the interstate and see if he could get some flames shooting up behind him. He chuckled, then remarked also that it'd be fun to challenge Nick to a race and see the look on his face at the finish line. He'd never, ever, won a race against his cheetah pal in all their lives. At least, not *yet* he hadn't.
Finally, after a few hours that felt a whole hell of a lot longer, Tish and Max finally sighted their big, drafty house up on the hill ahead. They'd been careful all the way to avoid being seen by anyone, so now all they had to do was sneak by Mom and Dad and they'd be home free. They circled around through some scrubby bushes and finally made it to the toolshed.
Both of them collapsed as soon as they entered, exhausted physically as well as mentally. They slumped down on the cool concrete floor, loving the shade in here so very, very much, and let their little red tongues flop out of the sides of their muzzles.
For a long while, the twins just sat and panted.
Then Max spoke. "No more adventures today. I'm just gonna sit in here and read comics all damn afternoon."
"Amen," agreed Tish.
"Thanks for bringing me all that water, sis. It really hit the spot."
She smiled warmly at his graciousness. "You're welcome."
"Those burgers hit the spot too!" he added, patting his tummy and letting out a little burp. "I think I ate a million of them!"
And that was when the flaming arrow crashed through the window and plunged straight into his chest.
~***~
-CHAPTER THIRTY FOUR-
Considering all the hell he'd just gone through, Max was more annoyed than anything at the long feathered shaft suddenly protruding from his ribcage. Frightened only of the fire, he ripped the arrow out of himself and beat desperately at the little flames lapping at his T-shirt. Tish joined in without hesitation. Thanks to their quick thinking, neither of them so much as got their paws burnt.
Tish looked across the garage at the arrow laying there. It was old-fashioned looking, maybe even handmade. Broken glass littered the workbench under the window.
"What the hell was that?!" Max burst out rhetorically.
"An arrow," Tish replied, innocently enough.
"Yeah, *duh*, but who shot it?"
As if in answer, another arrow, this time non-flaming, sailed in through the broken window and pinned Max's left ear to the toolshed wall.
Max yelled "Ow!" more from surprise than pain. Again he yanked the arrow out and, with a glance at Tish, they both decided it might be prudent to vacate the toolshed posthaste. Getting to their feet, they skedaddled out the door and slammed it behind them.
"Tish, I really don't need this," Max said pathetically.
She nuzzled him with sympathy. First a train, now a crazed Robin Hood impersonator. It just wasn't fair!
Before they could even get their breath back, a huge dark shape, looking like a solid shadow, leaped out in front of them. It took a few seconds just to realize it was a man. A dark man, wearing a long leather trenchcoat and a well-worn wide-brimmed leather hat. His piercing eyes peered forth from a face so hideously ugly, he looked at first like some kind of outer space monster.
Tish thought he had the biggest nose she had ever seen.
With an artful flourish, the grim interloper brought up his crossbow, aiming it directly between Max's eyes.
Neither coyote could find the breath to speak.
Then the dark man's gaze grew red with passionate hate. He spoke to them in an unnervingly resonant Mexican baritone. "In the name of the Father, the Son and the Holy Ghost, I shall send you back to the Hell that spawned you!!"
He fired the arrow.
It ripped through the air and, despite it's perfectly aimed course, thwacked into the side of the shed.
Max had once again snatched up Tish and tore off like a rocket.
Momentarily stunned, the dark man spat out an exotic curse and started to pursue them.
Now it was twice in a single day Tish had found herself looking down at the ground flying past her, held safe in Max's clutch as his newly reformed legs got their first real test run. At least she was under his other arm now for variety's sake. "I think this guy's nuts!" she called out over the roar of air rushing past them.
"Nuts and scary!" Max amended.
The dark man could fly faster than he could run, but he could not aim his bow with his feet as well as his wings. Still, his legs were strong and solid from years of use, and Max was nowhere near his top speed yet. With more effort than he'd counted on, the dark man was able to keep pace. But his quarry bewildered him. He had encountered the undead many times before, but had never met one who could run so fast. Like a machine. And the boy's eyes... They were not normal. Not for his kind. Something was not right here.
Still, the monster had the girl, and that situation must be corrected. The dark man's eagle eyes focused on their target, his aim honed to inconceivable perfection from training most other men would not have survived. Using his left arm to steady the bow, he lined up his next shot.
*zinnnnngTHWACK*
Max yelped and hopped up a few feet in the air as another arrow sank straight between his shoulder blades.
Squeaking with concern, Tish tried to reach up and pull it out.
"Leave it!" Max shouted, never letting his stride waver as he pushed on towards the very woods they'd escaped from earlier. Maybe they could lose this madman in the trees. "It doesn't hurt and you'll just unbalance me!"
Tish whimpered an 'okay', hating this feeling of helplessness. For whatever reason, she was convinced this crazy archer and the killer train were not in league with each other. They just gave off completely different vibes. The train was a mindless killing machine, but the guy chasing them now seemed to be doing so for a reason. Maybe he was even a professional monster hunter. Maybe he could be reasoned with.
*zinnnnngTHWACK*
*zinnnnngTHWACK*
*zinnnnngTHWACK*
"Ow! Ouch! Ouch! Yow! Ow!" Max let out a series of pitiful yelps as five more arrows plunged into his back, his ass, and even through his skull. "Ow!" Make that six. He was starting to look like a porcupine.
The dark man shot arrow after arrow. He spat out foul profanities in a dozen different languages as none of them had any effect. It was impossible! Just one of these special arrows had downed other zombies without any trouble at all! He'd already scored nine direct hits, and the young monster kept on running!
Snarling in frustration and bafflement, the dark man roared, "Unclean creature of the damned!! Put her down NOW!!!"
To his utter surprise, the little zombie did.
Figuring that maybe this was all just a misunderstanding and he might have a chance of talking himself out of this mess if he showed he wasn't really an evil beast, Max slammed on the brakes and turned to face his tormentor, gently letting Tish down to stand beside him.
Instinctively, she took hold of his paw.
The dark man stopped too, beyond bewildered. "That never works," he mumbled to himself. "It's like the police yelling 'Stop, thief'. The thief never stops..."
Glaring daggers at the huge, broad-shouldered bat in the trenchcoat, Tish stepped protectively in front of Max. She spread her arms, shielding him. "Why don't you stop shooting arrows at my brother and go somewhere else and jack off instead?" she growled venomously.
Ever since he'd received his vision in the bar so many nights ago, the dark man had been prepared for many outcomes to this quest. He had felt his mentor's spirit reaching out to him, showing him a graveyard a thousand miles away where a corpse was not staying put as it should. It showed him the house on the hill where a family lived, a family he had sworn to protect with his life. It had shown him the face of a girl wracked with fear. A face that was now bleeding hatred at him so furiously he actually stepped back. And he was not usually a man to be intimidated by _anything_ in this world, or beyond it.
For over a week, he had traveled. Relentless as a demon, he had kept himself from sleep by meditating while in flight. His feet had burned and bled from running across vast stretches of barren, featureless desert. His only thought was to get here as fast as possible, to save this girl who he had never before even spoken to.
And now she was defending the very creature he had been sent to kill?
The zombie poked his muzzle over the girl's shoulder sheepishly. His eyes, mismatched as they were, were those of a frightened animal. But not an evil one, and not an unintelligent one.
In all his travels, the dark man had never encountered a zombie who had retained their soul. The ones he had fought before were only mindless, rampaging husks of flesh. Thoughtless and merciless. Their only drive was to feast on the flesh of the living.
But not this one.
"You are Teresa Maria Lopez?" he tentatively asked the girl. Wouldn't that be amusing if he'd gone to the wrong house somehow?
"Yeah, but you better call me Tish, whoever you are," she said with characteristic fire.
"And you are Max Ricardo Lopez?" the dark man asked the creature.
Max nodded. "Uh huh." He reached behind him to pluck out another one of the arrows. They were sorta starting to itch by now.
"And you have not harmed her?"
Before Max could answer, Tish snarked, "Of course he hasn't!! I brought him back and he's my brother and I love him and he'd *never* hurt me! I don't know who you are and I don't CARE who you are, but you're gonna have to kill me first if you wanna kill him!"
Max, amazed by her bravery, squeezed her paw a little tighter.
Still keeping her eyes glued onto the man with the crossbow, Tish tenderly rubbed her cheekfur against his.
His eyes wide in amazement, the dark man stared at them. "Oh."
Then suddenly, he did what neither of the twins expected. He dropped to one knee, head down, and put his clenched winghands out before him; an unmistakable gesture of begging for forgiveness.
Tish and Max glanced at each other and shared a single thought; 'Huh?'
"I have committed a grave error," the dark man intoned. "I was possessed of a vision from my beloved, departed teacher, telling me I must protect you, Young Miss Lopez. I have travelled a thousand miles from my homeland. I have come here, to a place I have only seen once before in my life, to fulfill a pledge I made to a dying woman to protect you and your family with my life's blood. It seems you, Young Master Max, are not whom I need to protect your sister from. I am ashamed. I apologize from the very depths of my soul."
Neither of the twins quite knew what to do next. Aside from the fact that they still thought this guy was crazy, they'd never met anyone who talked like this before. He sounded like he'd stepped out of some old Zorro movie.
Finally, Max gave Tish a 'cool it' gesture and stepped around her, yanking out another arrow as he did so. "Uh, you're forgiven, I guess."
The dark man looked up, and Max flinched. His face was unspeakably bizarre. Tiny dark eyes peered out keenly amid a wide swath of coarse black fur. He had incredibly large ears, and a nose so gnarled and convoluted it looked like a magnified photo of a fingerprint. "You have never before beheld one of my kind, have you?" the dark man asked softly, not at all offended by Max's grimace.
Max shook his head.
"Neither have I." The bat cocked his head quizzically. "Zombies, yes. I have slain a hundred or more of your kind. But until this day I have never had one speak to me, calmly, like a man. You are different, young one, and I do not understand why."
Tish came closer and held onto Max again, wanting to be close to him, and also wanting to show this strange man that she had no fear of him. "I dunno either. I followed the recipe as close as I could. Do you mean he was *supposed* to come out evil?"
His ears stood erect. "Recipe?" His eyes widened in dreadful comprehension. "Young Miss, you have been reading your grandmother's private journals?"
Tish was so startled, she actually jumped a little. "How the hell do you know that!?"
The dark man grinned. "I watched her transcribe your 'recipe', little one. I was there at her side as she wrote the words of the one spell she had tried all her life to obtain. I was the one who burned the original when she had finished. And I was the only one to whom she told that this spell was more dangerous than any other in the world, and that it must never see the light of day again."
"So why'd she want it?" Tish asked.
"To keep it safe. Keep it hidden." He smiled in remembrance, "And, she was a bit of a perfectionist. She hated incomplete collections."
Max yanked another arrow out, this one from his head. A little bit of grey matter leaked out, but he didn't notice. "You really knew our grandma?"
The dark man straightened up, looking boundlessly proud. "Of course! She took me in when I was but your age, perhaps even younger. She trained me, sculpted me, taught me everything she knew. I was her apprentice, her manservant, her disciple. She was the mother I never had. The only woman I have ever loved."
"And she made you promise, when she died, to protect us," Tish reasoned. She remembered him now, dimly. She'd been tiny then, when Grandma died, but she still thinly recalled a large, dark figure who'd been in the house around that time. He had frightened her as much as he had fascinated her.
"No," he softly corrected. "She did not make me promise. That was my gift to her. My last gift, as I and your mother and father watched her soul enter the eternal beyond."
"Wow..." Tish said solemnly.
Max pulled out another arrow.
His stoic gaze becoming suddenly concerned, the dark man took Max in his wings and turned the boy around. "Here, allow me." He tenderly extracted the last of the arrows and replaced them within his coat. He shook his head shamefully. "Again I must apologize for assuming the worst of you, Young Master Max."
"Aw, that's okay," said Max, never one to hold a grudge. "They really didn't hurt much. That flaming one scared me a bit, tho'."
Puzzled, the bat inquired further. "They didn't hurt? Not at all? No stinging, or burning?"
Max turned around, looking a bit worried. "No, why?"
The dark man withdrew a small glass vial from within his voluminous leather coat. "Holy water," he explained. "The tip of each arrow has been soaked in this. To every other zombie I have ever faced, this is the deadliest of poisons. They shriek and shrivel to nothing in a matter of seconds. The fact that you remained unharmed should have told me right away that you were not possessed of an evil nature, but I remain slightly below my usual capacity after such a long journey, and I was not thinking clearly."
Max nodded. That made sense.
Tish mischievously snatched the bottle away from the bat.
"Stop!" he cried.
Tish didn't listen. She uncorked the little container and sprinkled a bit directly on Max's forehead. Absolutely nothing happened. No hissing or burning like acid. "See Max, you're not evil!" she said brightly.
"Huzzah," Max deadpanned as he looked cross-eyedly up at the droplets.
Unable to resist, Tish dabbed a few drops of the precious liquid on herself too. No reaction. "Oh darn! I coulda swore I was at least a little bit evil" she kidded.
Max giggled. "You'll always be my evil twin, sis," he said, and gave her a little hug.
"Mine too," she told him lovingly.
The dark man arched an eyebrow. "You are indeed very strange children," he noted as he retrieved his vial.
"Well, *obviously*," said Tish.
Having known their father well, he was not actually all that surprised. Young Carlos had been a bit of a weirdo too. But he had also been his best friend as a teenager in their small village long ago. The swarthy bat stood up, realizing something more. "I apologize also for not formally introducing myself. I am Javier Rodriguez Gomez deSangrÇ Villareal. I am a vampire bat, and I am at your service."
Max grinned. "A real life vampire? Cool!!"
Javier cringed. He got that constantly. "No, no, young one. I am a vampire in species name only. My ancestors drank the blood of other animals for their meals, but I do not. Though I do enjoy my steaks extremely rare."
"Oh. Okay," said Max, grasping the concept quicker than most other people. He'd read about nonev vampire bats in school and thought they were nifty little guys. He felt a little dumb for not realizing it sooner, what with their new protector's distinctive noseleaf.
"Vampires of the mythical sort are real though," Se§or Villareal continued, "and perhaps later I shall tell you more about my many encounters with them." He knelt back down. "But for now, I must ask of you a favor."
The little zombie cocked his head. "What?"
"I have wronged you, and now I desire balance, and you deserve justice." He closed his eyes and held his wings out to his sides, making himself defenseless. "You may strike me if you wish. As hard as you deem necessary."
To Javier's utter surprise, Max hauled off and punched him in the stomach with the force of a downtown bus.
Javier sunk ungracefully to the grassy ground, eyes wide in stunned incomprehension. He groaned, coughed hard and brought up a dot of blood. "Dios mio...! You are stronger than I had anticipated, little one!"
Max's tail drooped remorsefully. "Well, you TOLD me to!" he whined.
Breathing hard, the big bat propped himself up with one arm. "Yes, but in all my years of asking that of those I have been unkind to, no one has ever taken me up on the offer. Everyone before has always politely refused. I have always thought of it as an elegant bluff. You have some impressively large balls, my young friend."
Max snorted out a giggle. "Um, thanks."
Tish had to admit, seeing this huge guy getting floored by her scrawny little dead brother was pretty darn funny. She put a paw on Javier's shoulder, helping him sit up. "So, you know my mom and dad, right?" she asked.
The vampire nodded, taking a second to check his stomach over and make sure it was all still in one piece. "Your mother, only in passing. We have shared a few conversations, but nothing more. Your father, on the other hand, is one of my greatest friends. As I served your grandmother, I served him as well. Though we have not spoken for many years now, I hope we are still friends."
Tish nodded. She thought that, just maybe, this might be exactly the 'something' she was hoping for that could help break the ice about Max to Mom and Dad. There was one more thing to clear up though. "You don't know anything about a crazy, murderous train engine, do you?"
Javier gave her a look as if she'd had too much tequila. "I know nothing of which you speak."
"Okay, good," Tish said. "The train that killed my brother just showed up this afternoon, trying to do it a second time. I just wanted to make sure you didn't sic it on us or something."
He shook his head firmly. "Absolutely not. Not only have I never heard of such a phenomenon, but it would be cowardly to send a machine to face my foe, rather than meeting them myself."
Max was really starting to like this guy. If nothing else, his sense of old-school honor was pretty damn cool.
"Perhaps this is the reason your grandmother's spirit contacted me?" Javier mused. "The message was vague at first, but now I see that it is likely she was telling me to protect *both* of you, not one from the other."
Max went 'hmm'. "Maybe. Did gramma tell you anything else?"
"No, but she has contacted me before, in the past. I only wish, Young Master, that I somehow could have been informed of your death in time to do something about it." He sighed. "Alas, even the spirits cannot see the future. Only the present and the past."
Tish was about to say something more, when Javier suddenly went totally erect, his eyes cast to the west. He put a wing up towards her as a warning. "A train engine, you said?" he asked softly, sounding deeply wary. "A large, silver one?"
They both nodded.
Slowly, the bat pointed with his other wing to a dark shape lurking in the forest. "It waits for us."
Concealed within the trees, it observed. The glow of its single headlight pierced the shadows. It sat there, motionless. Watching them. Waiting for a chance to strike.
Javier Rodriguez Gomez deSangrÇ Villareal had faced many foes of supernatural origin in his numerous travels and adventures, but never one such as this. He prided himself on his sorcery, of his ability to 'read' his enemies' intentions. But this... *thing* in the forest, this machine, gave off no scent and had no mind to read. All he could tell for sure was that it radiated purpose. And that purpose was not hard to guess.
Keeping his eye on the dark, predatory form, Javier slowly stood up and enfolded the children in his wings. "Come. It would be best to seek shelter. I do not know why it hesitates, but I presume it may fear detection by those that are not its prey. I may confuse it. I hope so."
Slowly and silently, the three of them walked backwards toward the toolshed, away from that unblinking yellow eye.
It watched them all the way there.
~***~
-CHAPTER THIRTY FIVE-
In the shed, the three of them discussed further how Javier had come to their town and what he was going to do now that he'd gotten here. The large bat was a master storyteller. Both twins sat in fascination, speaking only in questions, as he related his vision and his journey in grand detail.
He explained further about zombies, how all the others he had met were merely bodies without souls. Grandma had even mentioned to him that the souls of zombified fursons often had no idea what was going on. They'd be having a pi§a colada in Hell and one of the demons would mention that their body was running amok topside. This often caused them great consternation.
However, it was said that if and only if a corpse were brought back to life not for purposes of revenge, but love, there was a chance the resulting creature would be reborn with their soul intact. And even then, things did not always work out quite as planned.
There was an old folktale Javier had heard as a boy that quite possibly may have been based on fact. It concerned a young man whose fiance had died in a gruesome accident on the day of their wedding. Distraught, he had sought out the witch who lived on the edge of the village and begged her for a way to bring her back. The witch relented, and the man stole off into the night to recover the body of his beloved. No one ever saw either of them again, except for an old man who one night spotted two figures dancing slowly and hauntingly in the moonlight of the town graveyard. When he went to find out who it was, there was nothing there but an open, empty grave.
Javier said that when Tish had cast her spell, Max's soul must have been literally ripped from the afterlife and forced back into his body. He asked Max if he could remember anything like that. Max unfortunately did not, though he was kinda curious if he'd gone to Heaven or Hell. Javier chuckled and said to hope that it was Hell. From everything he'd heard from the spirit world, Hell was much more fun. Especially for naughty little boys and girls.
The dashing vampire related a few more tales until Martina's voice sailed out loud and clear through the late afternoon air. Dinnertime.
Tish had an idea.
~***~
-CHAPTER THIRTY SIX-
Just as the Lopezes were sitting down to a nice meal, the doorbell rang.
Martina growled. "Always. If it's not the door, it's the telephone."
She started to get up, but Tish held up a paw. "I'll get it!" she cried with a little too much enthusiasm. She hopped out of her chair and sped eagerly to the door.
Carlos and Martina shared a glance, silently asking each other if they thought she was merely being helpful or if this might somehow tie in with her secret in the toolshed.
Tish's voice rang out from the front hallway. "Mom! Dad! There's some big weird guy at the door!!"
"Teresa!" Mom scolded in a 'Don't be rude!' manner.
She got up, Carlos following, and saw that, yes, the man at the door actually was big and weird.
A formidable, dark, trenchcoated figure stood there, looking like the grim reaper come to collect all their souls. He lifted away his wide hat, and two enormous ears sprang up, along with a fall of black, curly hair. He flashed them all a charming smile. "Hola, my friends. I was in town, and decided to stop by for a visit."
Carlos looked thunderstruck. "Harvey?" he gasped, disbelieving.
Javier grinned. "I can't believe you still remember that."
Barrelling past his wife, Carlos ran pell-mell towards the stranger and hugged him fiercely, like a father hugging a long-lost son. It would actually be more accurate to say he was hugging his dear friend like two brothers who have not seen each other in years, for that was very close to what they were. Brothers in spirit, if not in blood.
Javier wrapped his huge, dark wings around his younger friend with a sound like a leather cloak flapping in the wind. He kissed Carlos once, on the forehead. "It is *good* to see you again, my friend."
Carlos was grinning so hard he was actually crying. "You too, mi hermano. Definitely." He broke the hug and stood back a bit. "Where have you been all this time? We haven't seen each other since..." He trailed off. Both of them knew exactly when they'd last seen each other. In this very house, on the day of his mother's death.
"I have been travelling," Javier said simply.
Carlos clapped a big paw on the bat's back and ushered him inside. "You must tell us all about it. Come, we were just sitting down to eat. Join us."
Javier grinned heartily and hungrily. "A million thanks, my old friend. I haven't eaten a proper meal in weeks."
Martina, who by now had finally remembered their large, swarthy visitor, was already off and scrambling to set another place. She did not know Javier well, only that he and Carlos had been inseparable when they were young and had both saved each other's lives on a number of occasions.
Tish looked up, wide-eyed, pretending that this was the first time she and Javier had met. "Harvey?" she asked. "He doesn't look like a Harvey."
Carlos chuckled and explained. "My nickname for him. This is Javier. When we first met, I mispronounced it 'Harvey', and it stuck. He was your age back then, and I was only six."
"Wow, you've known each other a long time then!" Tish said.
They both nodded. Despite being completely different species, Carlos and Javier could easily have been brothers. The way they looked at each other was identical, they way they smiled, even their deep, commanding voices were the same (even if Carlos' was sleeker and Javier's more flamboyant).
The trio arrived in the kitchen just as Martina was setting out another plate. Smiling warmly, she came around the table to shake her guest's... hand-sorta-thing. 'Bats certainly are built differently,' she thought to herself. "It's good to see you too, Javier. May I take your coat?"
Javier hesitated, but only because his omnipresent garment contained some decidedly nasty surprises inside. Sharp things. Deadly things. But, never wanting to appear rude in front of a lady, he reluctantly slipped out of it. He handed it to her shyly, along with his hat. "Be careful with these. My coat contains objects that are... Delicate," he said carefully.
Martina smirked and whisked the vestments off to the coat closet, convinced that Javier's reluctance had been borne only out of sentimentality, the way some men get attached to their favorite shirts or a pair of jeans. 'And they make fun of US for getting emotionally attached to our little things!' she thought with a titter. Had she known that Javier's coat actually contained eleven different excruciatingly-lethal poisons, and at least a few live, trained scorpions, she might have been somewhat more concerned.
Javier sat down at the head of the table with a loud, gladdened sigh. Sitting down was not something he'd done a lot of recently (except for that brief lift in the sweltering pickup truck he'd gotten a few days back, but the less said about that, the better). Stripped of his hat and trenchcoat, he still looked impressively intimidating. He wore black jeans, stained in innumerable places, and a thinly-stretched deep-blue tank top. His voluminous muscles could be seen clearly beneath, and his hair was revealed to be even longer than it had seemed at first, snaking down his back like a waterfall of tangled shoestring licorice. He had been out in the sun for over a week now, and he reeked exotically of bat sweat and a thousand and one desert odors.
Martina came back to the table and sat down. She was helpless to stop a brief flutter of her heart by the jaw-dropping specimen of masculinity that had appeared in her kitchen. His thick male scent was making love to her sensitive canine nose. Blushing and hiding a grin, she forced herself to settle down. She'd felt briefly like a high school girl getting giggly when the captain of the football team walked by.
Carlos noticed her flush, but did not comment. He merely smiled a small smile of his own. Not only was his faith in his wife and his best friend unshakable, but he was secure enough in his manhood that he could freely admit Javier made him look like a wet noodle in comparison.
Tish merely wondered if she could talk Javier into letting her play with his hair later on. All that gorgeous, messy hair...
The Lopezes' guest took in a deep breath through his amazingly intricate nose. "Ahhh... Martina, what is it you have prepared? It smells exquisite!"
She blushed a bit and lifted the lid off the casserole dish. "It's just my chili cheese surprise. Nothing special. It's got little cut up hot dogs in it, see?"
"You are being modest, my beautiful hostess," Javier crooned suavely. "A meal need not be made with expensive ingredients to remain a magnificent feast. It only requires love and skill, of which I'm sure you have provided plenty."
Martina absolutely could not resist a giggle at that. She was sure her blush was showing through her fur.
Carlos chuckled and rolled his eyes. Even as a teenager, Javier had been possessed of a tongue so silver it gleamed.
Tish was just eager to finally get some food in her tummy. She was quite fond of little cut up hot dogs.
As everyone reached for serving spoons, Javier suddenly shouted, "Wait!" His eyes twinkled. "I have just had a marvelous idea. Pardon me; I will be back shortly." With that, he sprang up from his chair and sought out the closet where his coat had been hidden. The three coyotes exchanged brief glances.
In almost a split-second, Javier was back, brandishing an astoundingly ancient-looking bottle of wine in one outstretched winghand. "Brugginio Adolpho, 1866. Their best year. I have been saving this for quite some time. Tonight we shall drink hearty in celebration of our friendship!" he regally declared.
Martina's eyes bulged. "Are you saying that wine is over a hundred and forty years old!?" she sputtered.
"Indeed," Javier replied. "So far as I know, this is the only known remaining bottle in existence."
"How much is it worth!?" she yelped.
"Millions," he tossed off, as if he couldn't care less.
She gaped at him in astonishment.
Tish butted in. "How the hell'd you fit that in your trenchcoat?"
Javier and Carlos suddenly looked at each other and shared a secretive grin. They giggled like naughty young boys.
"Javier has many secrets," Carlos said simply.
As his friend sat back down and prepared to pop the cork, Carlos added, "So, where exactly did you pick that up? I don't remember it from any of our adventures together."
Javier dislodged the cork with a pocketknife and it went screaming around the room for a few terrifying seconds, ricocheting off the ceiling before finally being caught by an expertly timed clutch of one of the bat's footclaws. "Tuscany," he said. "It was a gift from a very old woman, to thank me for getting rid of her husband."
"Didja kill him?" Tish asked breathlessly.
"Oh no, my dear. He was already dead," Javier tossed back.
"What!?" Martina squawked.
"A ghost," he elucidated. "He had been driving her mad for years because he did not approve of how she was spending her inheritance. I am a man who believes that civility towards females of any age or species is a virtue. One that too few males aspire to these days. And yet they should. Even a dead man should have manners."
Martina looked somewhat stunned. "Sooo... You're an exorcist?"
Javier chuckled. "Sometimes. I freelance."
"A freelance exorcist!?"
The vampire bat took a sip of wine. "I am many things..."
"Come now, dear, it's not all that strange," Carlos told his wife reassuringly. "You know full well what Mama was, and you married me anyway."
Martina closed her muzzle. He had a point.
Tish poked back into the conversation. "What do you mean, 'what Mama was'? You're talking about Grandma, right?"
Carlos looked a little uncomfortable. He sipped a little wine before answering (and it was indescribably good. It made every other sip he'd taken in his life taste like piss in comparison). "Um, That is something private, my little moon."
"You mean her being a witch?"
Carlos had already swallowed, but Martina managed to perform a nice little spit-take on behalf of both of them. The two shocked coyotes stared at their daughter. "What do you know about that?" Carlos demanded softly.
Tish shrugged. "I saw her stuff up in the attic once. I don't mind or anything. Heck, I think it's pretty cool!"
Mr. and Mrs. Lopez goggled at one another. The deep, dark secret they thought they had kept hidden from their daughter her entire life was not only out in the open, it was also 'pretty cool'!
Javier let out a hearty chuckle. "You are surprised? Look at your daughter! I could see right away she is an inquisitive and intelligent child. And such a secret as one's past should not even be a secret at all. Teresa, my dear, you should be _proud_ of your grandmother!"
"That's TISH," she corrected. "And I am."
Carlos did not often look foolish, but he certainly did at that moment. He turned to his daughter and softly took hold of her paw. "I am sorry I never told you, little moon. I just... I worried about how you would feel about her. I wanted your memories of your grandma to be happy ones, not clouded by silly Halloween ideas."
Tish nodded seriously. "I understand. I never did think that though. I'll always remember her like she was, but the witch stuff just makes her even cooler. I mean, how badass is that? My Grandma used to cast spells 'n stuff!"
Relieved by her attitude and by finally having the secret out and deflated, Martina was about to give Tish a pat on the head, when an alarming thought occurred to her. "You didn't... *try* any of those old spells, did you?"
Tish shook her head. "No way," she lied magnificently.
Javier hid a chuckle with a mouthful of casserole. After all the foodless days and nights he'd suffered through to get here, his reaction to it was much the same as Carlos' had been to the wine.
"Your grandmother was the wisest woman I have ever known," he said after he swallowed. "She taught me many things, and I would not be a fraction of the man I am today without her teachings."
"Does that mean you do magic too?" Tish asked, knowing perfectly well already, but trying to make things look good in front of her parents.
Javier nodded. "Oh my yes. I could tell you many, many stories..."
Carlos suddenly laughed so hard he nearly spilled his wine all over himself. He turned to Javier with a grin that nearly split his face. "Why don't Mexicans barbecue?" he asked, seemingly out of nowhere.
An even bigger grin exploded over Javier's muzzle. "Because the beans keep falling through the grill!!" he bellowed.
The two men began to laugh uproariously, loud as donkeys, even pounding their fists on the table and crying.
Tish tittered, but the joke hadn't been THAT funny. Geez!
"Um..." Martina started, wondering why her husband and his friend had seemed to suddenly go mad. "What exactly...?"
Carlos wiped his eyes. "Oh, my dear, forgive me. It was from a long, long time ago." He glanced at Javier, asking with his eyes, 'Would you like to start?'
Javier did. "It was back in the days of my youth. I was a hot-blooded young man and your father," pointing his fork at Tish, "was a little younger than you are now. Back then, I was your grandmother's assistant and her student. She taught me the ways of sorcery, and in turn I performed chores for her and ran errands."
"And kept me out of trouble," Carlos noted.
The bat nodded. "Yes. Especially that." A chuckle. "Anyway, one day in early summer, she needed some supplies for her healing poultices, and the best place to purchase them was across the border; here. I asked if young Carlos could accompany me, since he was my best friend at the time, hopefully still is, and he had never before seen the United States."
Martina leaned over her plate, nibbling at it absentmindedly as she listened. She knew so very little of her husband's childhood. She hoped that maybe this story would lead to others and the topic would become less uncomfortable for him.
"So, the next morning, young Carlos and I set out. I had just reached the age where I was permitted to drive, and so I had purchased the ugliest brown pickup truck that God has ever seen fit to allow on this earth."
Tish giggled.
Carlos did too. "Honestly. This thing could frighten small children and make women faint."
Tish guffawed.
Javier cleared his throat, steering the storytelling back to himself. "We drove for many, many hours, but it seemed like no time at all, for we had one another's company. We discussed a thousand and one things that day, not a single one of which I can remember right now.
"We had just crossed the border into Texas and had stopped at a convenient gasoline station. As Carlos watched from the passenger seat, I went inside to pay, then returned to begin pumping the gas.
"The next thing we knew, three extremely rude young American men pulled up next to us in a considerably less dreadful-looking pickup. A silvery blue one with a large American flag painted on the roof. They apparently noticed the pass ticket in my window, because one of them leaned out of the window and shouted the insensitive but mildly amusing joke of which your father and I have already related."
"Then another one, the driver, shouted to his companions, but also to us, 'How many Mexicans does it take to screw in a lightbulb?'.
"And after a beat, another one answered, 'Juan!'"
Tish rolled her eyes at the very thin little pun.
Javier was not smiling now. His tone became more serious and contemplative. "The jokes themselves were not so cruel. In fact, from a kinder voice, they might even have coaxed a smile from me on another day.
"But I still remember now how those men laughed at us. Loud and viciously, as if what they had said was the most brilliant thing anyone had ever before uttered in all of history. To them, we were not real people. We were 'foreigners'. 'Others'. We were something to be made fun of, and nothing more."
"Jerks," spat Tish.
Carlos gave her a look that said he was very proud of her. "I watched through the window as Javier's whole face turned red. Pride has always meant a great deal to him, but I was not quite old enough to feel anything but embarrassed. I asked myself inside, 'Am I different, because of where I come from? Am I somehow not as good as those men in the other truck?"
"I stood there and stared back at the American men without saying a word," Javier continued. "Had it just been I alone, I might have let them go on their way, secure in the knowledge that foolish, ignorant men such as they will always come to ruin at their own hands if given enough time. But my young companion was with me. And I could see shame on his face. I could not allow that."
He glanced at Carlos. 'You finish it, my friend,' his eyes said.
The coyote again took up the tale. "The three men left their truck to go inside the gas station. Laughing all the way, like small, stupid children. They had left their truck unattended.
"Javier came over to me and leaned in through the window. He told me to cover my eyes and count out loud to ten. I knew, even before I had said 'one', that my friend and protector was about to make use of what my mother had taught him."
Tish and Martina had both stopped eating, completely wrapped up in the story.
"I heard not a single strange sound as I counted, only the rush of traffic and Javier's footfalls. I heard him speak low, long words for a moment. I did not hear, smell, or feel anything out of the ordinary. And then he was walking back to me. When I had finished counting and looked up, he was leaning through the window again, with the most satisfied smile on his face a man can have.
"'Look, little one,' he said. And I looked.
"In the space of ten seconds, Javier had turned the blue pickup truck completely upside down. And had done so without making a single sound! It was resting on its roof and the edge of the bed. To this day, I don't think he even laid a finger on it."
Javier nodded. "This is true. Partially because I do not have fingers, but go on..."
Carlos did. "The three Americans came back out, and the sweetest sound in the world was their laughter dying in a heartbeat as they saw what Javier had done. My friend leaned quietly against the side of our truck. I stared out the window, elated by the miracle I had witnessed, but also fearful that trouble might follow.
"One of the men shouted at us, asking us what we had done with his truck, and peppering his speech with many vulgar swear words."
"_Many_," Javier agreed.
"Javier replied with another riddle: 'How many Texans does it take to change a lightbulb?'
"The men stared at us in shocked silence, awed by my friend's complete lack of fear.
"He got back inside the truck and closed the door. He leaned out the window at them. 'None,' he said, 'They get their daddies to hire Mexicans to do it for them'.
"Then we smiled at them and drove away."
The table was silent for a single instant.
Then Tish and Martina both started laughing so hard they nearly wet themselves.
~***~
-CHAPTER THIRTY SEVEN-
"Vampires are not legends," Javier said seriously, as if he were giving a lecture on higher mathematics. "They are as real as you and I. As real as ghosts and zombies, brujas and curanderas."
"What's a curandera?" Tish asked.
"Your grandmother was one," Javier explained. "You have seen the movie, The Wizard Of Oz, yes? This is true: there are both good witches and evil ones. Some use their powers to heal, and others to amass power and wealth for themselves while strangling their own spirits more and more every day. A bruja is a bad witch, a curandera is a good witch. Your grandmother, my teacher, was in her time the greatest curandera in all the world. At least, in my own humble opinion, she was."
Tish nodded, comprehending. She didn't really know much Spanish (a fact she was mildly ashamed of since both her parents had come from Mexico), but she did enjoy the language. It was a language of taste instead of sound, each word having its own spicy, savory flavor. It was a passionate, artistic language. Tish hoped she'd have the opportunity to finally take a spanish class next september in junior high.
"Okay. Back the vampires," she said eagerly.
"Yes. The vampires," said Javier. "As I have mentioned, I am a vampire bat, and even I do not know if my kind were named after their kind, or they after us. What I do know is that we are very different. My wild ancestors were no bigger than strawberries and would nip at cattle in the night to feed themselves. They live together in great, vast colonies, and they are among the most generous species on earth. The females all take care of the young together. And when one bat has come home hungry, another will often share their own meal with them to keep them from starving to death."
"How?" Martina asked.
"Regurgitation, of course," Javier said, as if it should have been obvious.
The coyote stuck her tongue out, sorry she'd asked.
"As my ancestral kind became what I am now, we lost the burden of having to feed exclusively on blood, and gained the ability to eat and drink as any normal man does. A fact I am very grateful for, since your casserole was the finest meal I have eaten in months," he told Martina in complete honesty.
She smiled, a bit flattered. "Well, thank you. Glad you liked it."
The food had long since run out, but they were still all gathered around the table, mesmerized by the continuous flow of stories from their fascinating, exotic guest, all of them as entertaining as they were impossible. Most of them as unbelievable as fairy tales, were it not for the things the Lopezes had all seen to confirm their beliefs in matters of the beyond. What Javier spoke, no matter how bizarre and disturbing, they believed.
The wine had dwindled to a few last drops that everyone secretly wanted and of which they were all too polite to actually accept. Tish had even asked for a sip, curious about what the grownups were 'ooh'ing and 'ahh'ing over. She'd taken a tiny drink from her father's glass and her nose had wrinkled up in disgust. "It's just spoiled grape juice!" she'd exclaimed in disappointed disgust. Javier had laughed thunderously at how perfectly true her assessment was. Tish went to the kitchen to rinse her mouth out with some soda pop.
As the desert sun sank leisurely, filling the house's windows with darkness, the stories continued. Javier had lived his life more fully than many men three times his age. He was older than Tish's father, but looked somehow younger, as if he had reached his mid-twenties and decided to stop there for a while. He had seen things and heard things and tasted things and done things that no ordinary man could ever dream of. And now he was in possession of a storyteller's greatest joy; a rapt and eager audience.
"Supernatural vampires, on the other hand, do need blood," he explained with tranquil certitude. "They must feed on the blood of other living beings at least once a month, every month, or they die. However, there are good and bad vampires just as there are good and bad witches. Or good and bad coyotes, for that matter. Some vampires live perfectly respectable lives. They are good mothers and fathers, are even friends to normal men without them ever suspecting a thing. They drink only when necessary, from willing volunteers, and never a single drop more than they need.
"Others have realized a dark truth that often leads weak hearts into corruption: the more blood a vampire drinks, the more powerful they can become. If a vampire were to feed every day, and if they were to completely drain their victim and leave them as a stricken, lifeless husk, then that vampire could easily possess the strength of fifty men, plus other more dangerous powers of mind and body as well."
Everyone at the table shivered, even Carlos (who'd actually met a few himself).
Javier made strange winghand gestures to illustrate his lesson. "The downside is that, once you begin to feed every day, you must *continue* to feed every day. Eternally. If you take in several gallons of blood one time, you must take in an equal amount the next. Or else... *unpleasant* things begin to happen to one's body." Javier winced, saying without words that he had seen these unpleasant things with his own eyes, and they were not to be spoken of in pleasant conversation. "A smart vampire will take small sips only when needed and live a long and healthy life. But a foolish one will lust for power, and doom themselves in the end."
The big bat sighed in fond remembrance. "I remember one time long ago when I had to save a Japanese concubine from a blood-hungry pack of vampiric street punks who intended to drink her dry. Miss Yuki was actually a vampire herself, and was known for the very unique services she could provide to her clients-"
Martina cut him off with a cough, a glare, and a quick glance at Tish. "I don't think this story is appropriate for children," she said pointedly.
Javier, so wrapped up in his tale that he'd somewhat forgotten who he was telling it to, stopped immediately and blushed. "Ah. Forgive me."
"Poop," Tish muttered sourly. That had sounded really interesting.
When her mother wasn't looking, Javier gave Tish an 'I'll tell you about it later' look, and she perked up. He knew she was a big girl and the story was just her type. Exciting and spooky, if a little bit lewd. Ah well. The hero had to get the girl in the end, right?
Another thought came to Tish's mind, from seemingly out of nowhere. "Hey, um, Dad? Why exactly did you 'n Mom have to leave Mexico? You never did tell me."
The smile on Carlos' face shattered in an instant. But he was not angry with his daughter for asking the question, only saddened by the awful memories it brought up. He sighed solemnly. "It is a very sad story," he said simply.
"It has to do with Grandma, right?" she uttered quietly. She had somehow guessed that part long ago, although she had no concrete reason why.
Carlos and Javier exchanged painful glances.
Martina looked sad and a little lost. Even she didn't know the whole story. She had met a dashing and impulsive young coyote one day when her car had smashed into a fire hydrant on a busy street and he had rushed in like a white knight to her aid. His generosity had first attracted her to him (and his hot bod certainly hadn't hurt matters any), but it was his genuinely pure and softly wise personality that made her want to stay at his side.
And then suddenly, barely three months later, her new love had come to her, panic-stricken, and asked her if her love was strong enough that she would consider leaving her hometown, her home country, forever to flee with him to the United States. She had never been able to pry the whole story from him, but he had admitted that his mother was a witch and that certain people were now angry with her. _Extremely_ angry. Martina had taken stock of her life in the space of a few minutes, and then she had begun to pack. The next day she had said goodbye to Mexico forever.
Carlos took in a deep breath. He closed his eyes, unable to withstand his daughter's gaze. Her eyes seemed much too wise sometimes. As if his mother had passed on some part of her magic into the girl as a final gift.
"My darling little moon..." he said to her. "It was a long time ago, and it is also a long story. A terrible story. A story of cruelty and the betrayal of a good, good woman. It is a story that could make anyone lose their faith in all furkind. It is the past, and right now it is getting late. It will be your bedtime soon. We should save this story for another day. There is not time to tell it now, and I am not sure if I could anyway."
Tish's small ears drooped silently. Her expression became disappointed, but thoughtful. This was something she had wondered about her whole life. Neither of her parents had ever spoken of it. Why had they left Mexico so abruptly? Why here? Why *this* house, so specifically? And did it have anything to do with why Grandma had become so ill in her last years?
Though questions crowded her head, she forced them to settle down and behave. The expression on her father's face was unmistakable. It wasn't that there was no time to tell the story, it was simply that he did not want to. Whatever it was, it caused him intense sorrow just to think about it. She wondered if somehow, he had caused whatever it was. Or blamed himself anyway.
The young girl glanced over at the large, hushed bat at the opposite end of the table. Javier's arms were crossed stiffly, and his lips were set in a scowl of deep, deep fury. But none of it was directed at Carlos. No, when Javier's eyes chanced over at his old friend, they changed for an instant to a look of regret and comfort. This terrible thing that had happened, Javier certainly did not blame his younger friend for it.
The table was silent now. The cheerful mood that had hovered about them like a twinkling mist had evaporated, leaving a chilled, moist feeling behind . No one seemed to know what else to possibly add.
It was time then, Tish decided.
She cleared her throat.
The adults looked at her.
She cast a tiny nod at Javier, letting him know that she was ready. He returned the nod and readied himself as well.
Then Tish looked back and forth at each of her parents. Her expression became that of a sorry toddler who hopes dearly that her punishment will not be as severe if she admits to her mistake. "Mom, Dad, I gotta confess something." She paused, hesitating. "...I kinda lied when I said I never tried out any of Grandma's spells."
Martina gulped hard. "What?"
"Which ones did you try?" Carlos intoned fiercely. He, much more than his wife, knew how dangerous even white magic could be if fooled around with by an amateur.
Tish bit her lip. She was taking slow, deep breaths. She could feel their gazes on her like hot water bottles on her cheeks. "Just one," she squeaked.
"_Which_ _One_?" Carlos growled low at her.
She looked up to him, her eyes pleading for forgiveness, understanding and love. "I had to, Daddy. I had to. When Max died... I just couldn't... I..." Her voice wavered.
She was saved by the sound of the basement door swinging open.
From the dining room, they all had a perfect view through the kitchen to the basement doorway. All four looked up.
A small, shabby figure stepped forward.
Carlos became a statue.
Martina lost the ability to breathe.
Max took two more shuffling steps, his head down, his tail tucked between his legs. He had been waiting all evening for this. Sitting on the basement steps, resting with his back to the door, listening eagerly to their conversation. He had even put one of those little evergreen car air fresheners around his neck to make himself more presentable.
Tish had not given him a specific signal to listen for, just that she would let him know when the time was right to show himself. And she had, through only her emotions. Max picked them up on his special radar. It was as clear as if she had called his name.
The little zombie's mismatched eyes were wide with fearful apprehension, with a tiny flicker of hope shining desperately through like a ray of light. He looked at his parents, whom he had not seen in close to a month now, but it had felt like forever nonetheless. All those long, lonely hours by himself in the shed, or out scavenging for meat in the night.
He said nothing, but one single word seemed to emanate from his very soul: _Please_. 'Please don't be scared of me. Please don't chase me away. Please let things go back to the way they used to be. Please let me love you again and be your son...'
Martina Lopez, her mouth hanging slightly open, felt tears forming in her eyes. In slow motion, she began to stand up from her chair and push it aside. She took a step towards the monstrous/wonderful sight in the basement doorway. Her heart fluttered in a million different directions at once.
And perhaps it was partially due to her ignorance in such matters as the occult and real life zombies that she found it so suddenly easy to look past the rot and grime and see her own little boy trapped beneath. She took another soft step forward, and another. She was completely unaware of how Tish and Carlos and Javier were looking at her. It was if they had all ceased to exist.
Her eyes riveted on this impossible thing that had appeared in her kitchen, she came closer and closer. Hesitantly, she approached, as one would approach a dead, rabid animal that might not actually be all the way dead. But that was not what he was. She could see that. His eyes were not dead. They were Max's eyes. She was looking into her son's eyes again, just like in the thousands of prayers she had whispered to the sky after he had been cruelly, pointlessly torn away from her.
She reached out a shaking paw to touch the creature's face.
Max put his own paw up, softly cupped hers, and brought it to his cheek. He felt her fingers in his fur, a sensation that nearly overloaded his heart.
"M-max...?"
He nodded just scarcely, never taking his eyes off hers. "I love you, Mommy."
A great, gushing cry leapt from Martina's throat as she crumbled to the floor and threw her arms around her little boy, letting her tears flow freely now as she pressed Max to her breast and cradled him in her perfect mother love. Max gave her as big a hug as he could, nuzzling at her shoulder, his tail starting to wag furiously. "I love you, I love you, I love you, I love you..."
She sniffed back a sob and kissed his forehead. "I love you too, my son... My little sun..."
Carlos, finally, tore his eyes away from the impossible scene he was witnessing and turned his gaze to Javier. Disbelief was on his face as heavy as housepaint. "You knew?"
The big bat nodded. "It is why I came, my friend. Why your mother summoned me. Not to destroy him, but to protect him."
Hope flared brightly. "Then he's not-?" Evil, he meant to say. Mindless, cold, dead. But those ugly words would not come out of his mouth.
A firm shake of the head. "He is Max. All of him. Body and soul."
It was a testament to Carlos' absolute trust in Javier that he believed him in an instant, without any hesitation. Javier could have told him the tooth fairy was real and he would have seriously considered the possibility. Carlos turned to Tish. "You did this? This...? How...?"
She shrugged a little. "I just wanted to see him again," she said. A simple, honest explanation of a child who has not yet learned that some things are impossible. A girl who has not grown up and left childish dreams behind. And hopefully, never will.
Carlos stood and walked over to his daughter. Leaning down low, he placed his paw on her hair and nuzzled her ear gently. "I'm not mad at you," he whispered.
She murred in relief and nodded, giving him a grateful hug.
Taking his daughter's hand, Carlos walked over to embrace his lost son again.
Martina was still crying, but through her tears she saw her husband approaching and made room for him. Carlos knelt at Max's side and the little pup immediately pounced him in total joy. Martina snuggled back in, and there was even room for Tish to join them as well.
Max felt as if he had become happiness. Not merely that he *was* happy, but that he had been transformed into the very *embodiment* of happiness. Pure, concentrated joy. Things had turned out better than he had ever allowed himself to hope. No screaming. No chasing. No hitting. No fear. Just hugs and happy tears.
He was home again.
Back in the shadows, Javier stood regarding them. A warm, peaceful smile had drawn across his lips. He had seen many things in his travels. Most of them horrific. Most of them vile and terrifying enough to drive weaker men mad. But until today, he had never seen this. He had never seen a reunion so beautiful, a child in his parents' arms, not letting even death stand in the way of loving them again.
This did not end things, no. Not by a long shot. There were still many questions now. Hows and whys and what-to-do-nexts. But this was certainly a good start.
With this much love, there had to be a way to bind this family back together again. For good, and forever.
~***~
-CHAPTER THIRTY EIGHT-
Far from the embrace, far away from the laugher and the love, deep in the forests behind the house on the hill, it waited. Its headlamp shone steadfastly through the leaves, like a great cat's single eye. Watching them. Smelling them.
It had no concept of urgency or anticipation.
It could wait forever, if it needed to...
~***~
-CHAPTER THIRTY NINE-
Needless to say, bedtimes were disregarded that night.
The four coyotes and their guest all crowded together in the livingroom; the Lopezes on their wide, red couch, Javier sprawled contentedly in an armchair.
There, the grownups all listened in awestruck fascination as Tish and Max divulged their secrets. Tish told about the books in the attic, the recipe, and her quest for ingredients. She told them about the night in the graveyard when she had cast her spell. (Javier had to bite his tongue about a dozen and a half times at various places in her story. The girl had tried her best to follow the directions as exactly as possible, but in her inexperience she had made so many outrageous errors it was a miracle she had not accidentally blown herself up, or roused every single corpse in that cemetery into an army of the walking dead.)
Max told of how it had felt coming back to life. How it was not at all like waking up from a nap, but rather it was like a department store's lights all coming back on in the morning, one by one. At first he had been just barely conscious, aware only of sensation. And then his mind began sluggishly to rebuild itself. He felt for a second what severely retarded people must feel like every day. Then he became more aware, and gradually smarter, and more of his memories began to return and settle themselves into place. Then he was finally Max again. And more importantly, he could *feel* his sister's presence again. Somehow, even in death, it had felt wrong that she was not with him anymore.
Together, the twins described their Sunday experiments: Max vomiting up orange juice and going bonkers for bacon. Running wild through the grass. Smashing his hand on a tree for amusement. They told of reintroducing Nick to Max, and of all the fun they'd been having in the toolshed since. (Mom and Dad nodded. Mystery solved there.)
And shyly, surprising even Tish, Max solemnly told about his midnight raids of the roads. About scrounging around in dumpsters and forcing himself not to think too hard while he was cramming roadkill down his throat. His mother and father hugged him consolingly. Carlos vowed that Max would never, ever have to do that again. That he'd sell the car if he had to, and buy him a million bunless hamburgers from Dooley's if he wanted. Max gave his father an enormous hug for that.
Tish and Max even told their parents about Eddie. Earlier, they had decided to conveniently leave that part out. But now they were caught up in their storytelling and couldn't stop. Besides, it felt somehow like cheating to not be completely honest with their parents at this point. So they told them everything. The confrontation in the supermarket, sneaking into the house, Tish at the fuse box, Max hiding under Eddie's bed and scaring the piss out of him and then blowing chunks like no man had ever blown chunks before. By the end of it, Carlos and Martina were laughing so damn hard they couldn't possibly be angry at their pups. Their two wonderful, creative, clever, devious little pups.
And then, in hushed tones, they spoke of the train. Of the impossible chase. The unimaginable loudness of the whistle. The trees springing back into place. Max's burning legs. The subsequent raid on Dooley's dumpster. Carlos cast a wondering eye at Javier, asking what in the name of God could such a thing be? Javier could only shake his head and regretfully admit that he had no idea.
The big bat went on to finish the tale, redescribing his calling and his week-long journey. Speaking shamefully about the arrows he had plunged wrathfully into his best friend's son. And then about Tish's idea of a farce to bring all the elements to the table over dinner.
Finally, the story became the now.
Midnight was approaching and there was neither the time nor the energy left to discuss the future. All of them understood perfectly that they couldn't just have a zombie living in their house forever. If nothing else, there was only so much meat available in the city. Not to mention what the neighbors would think. But none of them spoke of it. For now, Max was home. For now, his mother and father could hold him and cuddle him and kiss him all they wanted (neither of them said a single word about his stench, and for that he was very grateful). Everyone wanted to keep this moment perfect and pure. Planning for tomorrow could be done tomorrow.
Carlos and Martina practically drowned their son and daughter in goodnight kisses. As a family, they all walked upstairs with Max to share in the moment of him finally being able to see his own room again. He opened the door and grinned ear to ear, tail wagging. Everything was as he remembered it. And except for the things Tish had scavenged for him for the toolshed, everything was in its proper place. He thanked his mom and dad for not getting rid of all his stuff. Martina gave him an odd smile and said that some strange feeling kept on telling her that that would have been a bad idea. That she should just leave everything be until the time was right. She was glad she had trusted her instincts.
Max's bed was about the most comfortable thing in the entire universe at that moment (especially compared to that rusty ol' wheelbarrow!). He slipped between the covers with a long, satisfied sigh. Soft as a cloud.
Martina and Carlos tucked their son in as they had when he was a little kit. As he snuggled up with his favorite stuffed animal (A big black wolf named Thunder. Even though Max was twelve, NO ONE was ever going to tell him he was too old to sleep with Thunder. Thunder was a *cool* plushie), Max closed his eyes and felt their kisses on his forehead. And then one more, as Tish couldn't resist adding one herself. Javier even stepped forward to place his thumbclaw gently upon the boy's brow. He mumbled some soft, musical words, and explained that they were a prayer of protection. He said he wasn't sure if it would work on zombies, but that it was certainly worth a try. Max laughed warmly and told the big bat that he did feel a little safer.
As his family and his protector padded softly out of the room, Max rolled over and closed his eyes.
He felt Tish lingering in the doorway. "Thanks," he whispered.
"You're welcome. And welcome home, Max."
He gave her an appreciative murr in response, then felt sleep pulling her wispy purple blanket over him.
Tish closed the old rattly door as quietly as she could and padded down the hall to her own room, feeling an unbounded pride in her heart.
Max let himself fall into dreams, and slept peacefully.
That is, until a strong voice coming from inside his own head woke him up again.
~***~
-CHAPTER FORTY-
'Teresa.'
Her first reaction was to grumble, still half asleep, "Tish, you dummy..."
'Tish then,' the voice continued. 'Wake up.'
"No. Wanna sleep. Tired."
'I must speak with you, Tish. And it must be now. Get up.'
Once the young coyote had blinked the greeblies from her eyes and managed to fling the sheets off of herself, she began to realize just how fucked up it was to be having a conversation with a voice in your head. That was psycho stuff. Nuthouse stuff. If this voice started telling her to go get a gun and start blowing away everyone she saw because they were all actually bug-eyed aliens from Rigel 7, she'd have to tell it to kiss her furry little ass.
A low chuckle. 'No, nothing like that. I only want to talk.'
Tish stiffened up in fright. Oh shit! Whatever the hell it was it could read her thoughts!
'A brilliant deduction, young one. Now get some clothes on. Meet me in the woods behind your house.'
Puzzled and more than a little frightened, Tish got up and began scrounging around for some clothes. 'But what about the train?' she asked mentally, figuring that talking out loud wasn't really necessary in this situation.
'Never mind that. I am keeping the train at bay. No more chatter, just come to me.'
Shivering a bit, Tish nodded and pulled on her sandals. Things were starting to get even weirder; something she hadn't thought possible just a little while ago. When she'd gotten herself suitably dressed, she padded to her bedroom door, the moonlight turning everything a dull, gauzy purple, and crept out into the hall.
There, she was surprised to come face-to-face with Max, almost bumping noses with him.
"What're you doing up?" he asked.
"Um... I heard a noise."
He cocked his head. "A voice, you mean?"
Tish felt a breeze of relief. "You heard him too? I'm not nuts?"
A shake of his shaggy head. "Not unless we both are. Some guy's voice was in my head. He told me to get up and meet him in the woods."
"He told me that he had the train at bay. What the heck's that sposto mean?"
"Maybe he's going to tell us how to get rid of it, whoever he is," Max ventured.
Tish kneaded the hem of her tanktop a little. "I don't know. Didn't he sound kinda creepy to you? Kind of, I dunno, arrogant?" She felt safe in saying this; for whatever reason, she felt strongly that the voice had vanished the second she ran into Max. Why though, she had no clue.
"Yeah. I thought he sounded sly. Maybe not evil, but cunning."
"You wanna just go back to bed and forget about him then?" Tish asked, hoping she didn't sound too chickenshit.
Max seemed dead set against that. "No way. I've got a weird kinda good feeling about this. I think he wants to help us. Come on."
He reached out to take her paw in his. Tish felt a flashing overlap of memory as the moment suddenly fused with the night so many years ago when he'd led her downstairs to see the lightning in the graveyard.
The house was empty, silent and covered in a blanket of grey dimness, making everything look like it was shot in black and white. The twins eased themselves down the big staircase, instinctively avoiding all the squeaky spots. They turned into the kitchen, still holding paws, then suddenly stopped cold. The side door was already open.
A silver chill went up Tish's back. "What the hell does that mean?" she whispered.
Max was about to reply, when a dark shape passed suddenly in front of the open door.
Both kits barely kept themselves from screaming.
A soft laugh. "I am sorry if I frightened you. I see you have been summoned as well? I am oddly not surprised."
"Javier! You scared the living snot out of us!" Max said, panting a bit.
The dark shadow grinned. "Let us hope our visitor is less scary than I am then," he kidded lightly.
Tish and Max followed him through the open door and the big bat shut it noiselessly behind them. They looked off into the woods and could see a tiny blue light twinkling to them from out of the darkness.
"There," Max said, pointing.
They went.
The night itself was not as spooky as it could have been, and that was a blessing. The moon was high overhead and the air had a calming coolness to it. But still, every rustle of grass their paws made ratcheted the trio's nervousness up a notch or two.
"Do you know what that voice was?" Tish asked quietly of Javier.
His eyes narrowed. "No. But it seemed familiar somehow. Like from somewhere deep back in my memory. We shall soon see, little one. No worries. Whatever it is, I will protect you."
"From a guy who can talk inside our minds?" Max fretted.
The big bat tossed him a glinting grin. "Such things are my specialty."
Max believed him, and felt a little better.
The closer they drew to the blue light, the more they realized that it wasn't actually attached to anything. It was like a pinprick to another world, hanging there in space. The three furs approached in awe and crowded around the floating sparkle. Max put out his paw to touch it, and it vanished instantly.
They were now alone at the edge of the woods.
They all exchanged looks that said, 'What now?'
From deep within the forest, there came the cry of some unearthly bird.
Then, unhurriedly, a fog began to approach them. It rolled lazily along the ground, only a few inches high, but displaying a skin-crawling sense of purpose. Of *intelligence*.
Tish and Max clutched fearfully at one another. Javier stepped closer to the little ones and placed his winghands on their shoulders.
The mist of grey oozed up to within a few feet of the trio and stopped. It began to grow. It rose upwards in a loose column and eventually began to congeal, forming shapes. A furson began to appear from within the formless mass, as if the mist were giving birth to him.
Javier held the children closer. His eyes were cautious and steely.
What emerged from the fog, or rather, transformed from it, was a man about seven feet tall who seemed composed entirely of sharp, pointy angles. He was a white feline wrapped up in a long, dark, reflective purple cloak. His hair was lightning-blond and stood straight up from his head in an electric shock. His arms were crossed regally. He had no lower body; roils of mist plumed forth from beneath the end of his cloak, looking like an eternally emptying cauldron. His eyes were slitted and cruel. And they had violet irises.
The voice that they had at first heard only in their heads burst forth from the spectral figure, louder and more resonant than they could have ever imagined. "I AM THE BRINGER OF ENDINGS AND BESTOWER OF BEGINNINGS. BROTHER OF SLEEP AND SON OF NIGHT, I AM THANATOS; LORD OF THE DEAD."
Shaking like a leaf, eyes as wide as saucers, Max squeaked, "Um, hi."
The feline eyed him with mild curiosity. Appraising him. "You're more different than even I anticipated," he eventually said, as if very nearly impressed.
"Is that a good thing?" Max dared to ask.
"For you, yes. And no." Thanatos spoke cryptically.
Javier squinted, thinking his memory must be failing him. "Do I know you?" he asked the Lord of the Dead.
Thanatos smiled; a thin dark line. "You do, you just don't remember it. I have been keeping my eye on you for quite some time now, my friend. Helping you when I can, moving obstacles out of your way. That sort of thing. It's the least I can do for someone who's been doing my job for me for so long."
"What is your job?" asked Javier warily.
"Why, to sweep away the rubbish of death, of course," Thanatos tossed off, as if it should have been obvious. "I suppose I have to explain in greater detail. You are mortals, after all." A glance at Max. "Well, most of you."
Getting only 'huh?' looks in response, he continued, sounding quite melodramatically weary of such endless repetition on his part. "When most people die, they are whisked away instantly to their final reward. Or punishment, as the case may be. But in certain circumstances some may lag behind. Either because they are confused, or too scared to go, or have a purpose they feel they must fulfill until they can move on. Or..." And here he stared directly at Max, "...sometimes they are *brought* back."
Max gulped. This was not sounding good.
"In any case, that is where I come in. I am one part grim reaper and two parts janitor," he groused. "It is my lot to eternally scrub clean all the messes you mortals manage to make out of the simplest process in the world; dropping dead. You'd think your kind would have figured such a simple thing out by now. You've had millions of years to perfect the technique."
Javier was starting to get it now, peeling back the thick, sticky layers of Thanatos' attitude to get to the meaning beneath. "Then when you say I have been doing your job for you, you mean... getting rid of the undead?"
Thanatos nodded. "Precisely. There must be balance in nature. Dead and alive must remain separate, or else it all falls apart. What is not supposed to be, I undo."
Tish understood now too. She threw her arms around her brother in a protective hug. "No! You can't take Max away! I won't let you!!" she screamed.
The Lord of the dead stared at her, at first startled by her outburst, and then amused. He leaned down slightly to meet her gaze and the first trace of compassion he had showed slipped through in his violet eyes. "I never said I was going to, little one," he told her reassuringly.
Tish let go of Max. "Oh."
Max, more than a little glad to be free of her hug (since she'd broken four of his ribs by accident), looked up at Thanatos. "I thought that's what you were just telling us?"
The foglike feline shook his head. "How many people do you know of who always do their jobs perfectly, 100% of the time?"
"What?" said Max.
Thanatos rolled his eyes. More explanations. Damn, but these dirt-dwellers were dim. "Just because I'm supposed to cleanse the world of every ghost, ghoulie and zombie such as yourself doesn't mean I always do. Most of the creatures I encounter are dumb and bloodthirsty and do nothing but cause trouble. And in those cases I deport their creepy bottoms back to the other side quicker than you can say Jack Robinson," he snarled.
His tone became softer then. "But on some rare occasions, I come across a spirit being who is good. Who is not out for revenge or brain-eating. Some wayward spirit who has chosen to stay behind out of love for someone still living.
"Someone like you," he said to Max.
The little zombie felt a bit of relief. It finally seemed as if he might get out of this okay.
"In those cases, I commit a bit of dereliction of duty. If they're not harming anyone, or making a big show of being dead, then I'll let them stay. Sometimes without even needing to introduce myself to them." Now he glanced at Tish, looking slightly reproachful. "Sometimes though, I give them a warning."
She grinned weakly. "This is about Eddie, right?"
Thanatos nodded. "Yes. Truth be told, I'm all for revenge from beyond the grave. And that roly-poly little bastard child deserved it more than many in my opinion. Only don't you think you could've possibly been a bit more subtle about it!?"
The two pups looked sheepish. "Well, it worked, didn't it?" said Tish.
"And it was funny as hell," Max added, grinning.
Thanatos barely hid a grin of his own. "Admittedly, yes. That's why this is only a warning. So long as you both keep from putting on any more performances like that, I don't see any reason why you can't stay earthside for as long as you like," he said to Max.
The twins let out two joyful little yips of happiness and hugged again. Max broke a few more ribs this time, but barely even noticed.
Javier fixed Thanatos with a soft, drilling gaze. "But there's more, isn't there? Surely you didn't have to wake us from our beds just for that?"
Thanatos' face went flat and miffed. "Yes, well..." He looked very annoyed, and a keen observer might notice it was out of embarrassment. Thanatos was not a furson who was wild about admitting his own errors.
"The train," Javier said darkly. "You sent it, didn't you?"
"My *office* sent it!!" Thanatos snarked loudly and suddenly, his eyes flaring into a hot magenta sheen. The sheer anger on the cat's face made Javier shut his mouth and both twins look up in shock. It would be wise to keep in mind, they all thought, that this being before them was not at all harmless.
Thanatos composed himself, and even felt a little badly for such a petty outburst. It was not becoming of such a high-ranking Agent of the Beyond such as he. "The train. Yes. That needs some explanation, you're right." He reached out a paw and snapped his fingers, twice.
Immediately, there was a little *poof* by his side. At first it didn't seem like anything had actually happened. And then, just as suddenly, two wide blue eyes appeared out of the darkness.
It took a few seconds for all of them to realize that this was not an optical illusion at all, but a young black squirrel whose fur was so dark it made him almost totally invisible amongst the shadows. Like a tiny black hole come to life. He was younger than both Tish and Max by a third or so, and yet his eyes held the same wisdom and experience as Thanatos'. He was also about four feet shorter than his boss.
"He's so *cute*!!" Tish could not resist squealing.
The blue eyes rolled in disgust. As if he *hadn't* heard that a billion and a half times before already. Geez...
The Lord of the Dead spoke up, sounding a tad embarrassed as well. "This is my assistant; Croak."
Max blinked, then laughed. "Ha! Thanatos and Croak! I get it!"
Tish looked at him, confused. "Huh?"
"I'll tell you later," he told her.
"Do you have the report?" Thanatos asked his diminutive sidekick.
"Yessir," Croak said in a polite, precise voice. He reached seemingly within himself and came back with a clipboard full of papers. He handed these to Thanatos, having to stand on tiptoes to do it. Afterwards he crossed his arms behind his back and stood silent and ready to carry out any more orders.
The twins could both see a little flash of pink when Croak opened his mouth, plus a shine from his large buck teeth. Otherwise, he might have been just another shadow. "Pleased to meet you," Tish said to him.
"Thanks," he told her softly, silently pleased that an older girl like her thought he was cute.
Thanatos glanced up from the report at the twins. "You didn't say you were pleased to see *me*," he said lowly.
"That's cuz you're really huge and scary," Max blurted matter-of-factly before he could stop himself. Tish instantly stomped on his foot.
The Lord of the Dead tittered. "Quite right," he agreed. He went on perusing the papers Croak had given him, then abruptly handed them back. Croak made them disappear like a stage magician. Thanatos sighed theatrically. "Well, it seems as if there's been a little confusion."
"You made a mistake," Javier said daringly.
Thanatos glared at him. "Of course not," he sneered. "That's what mortals do."
The big bat shrugged. His instincts were telling him that, as showy as Thanatos was acting, he couldn't do so much as lay a finger on him here in this material plane. And the overly dramatic reaper was providing more proof of this theory by the second. "All I'm saying is, there's an evil train chasing my young friend here, and I have never heard of such a phenomenon before. Then you show up hours later and say that Max can stay, and also that you sent the train. It is not hard to put one and one and one together to make three."
"Indeed," Thanatos grumbled. "But first off, you must understand that the train is not evil. In different circumstances, you'd find it heroic."
Tish looked unconvinced. She wrinkled her nose and said, "I smell bullshit."
Croak chuckled just the tiniest bit and Thanatos gave him a disapproving flick on his ear. The Lord of the Dead leaned down to glare at Tish. "You, little girl, have a filthy mouth. Have you ever tried growing potatoes in there?"
Tish was one-upped and she knew it. Max slapped a paw over his mouth to keep in a snort. "You'd probably be able to grow a whole truckload!" he teased.
"Yeah, like you wouldn't," she returned, and stuck her tongue out at him.
Thanatos cleared his throat very loudly. "AS I WAS SAYING, my office sent the train. And by that I mean the network of other Agents of the Beyond who work under me. Like Croak here. While I have to go out and do all the dirty work, they get to sit behind their little desks in the Abyss and file reports when things go wrong. And as I have said, I was not the one who made the mistake.
"On average, over the course of a normal day, a hundred and sixty ghosts, thirty five zombies, six ghouls and maybe a wasteling or two all come into existence throughout the world. And they must _all_ be dealt with. Of those, only a handful are nonthreatening, and sometimes *none* of them are. What a great pain in the arse THOSE days are, let me tell you...
"The point is that, as the population grows, my ability to do my job efficiently goes steadily downhill at the very same rate. I can't go out and convince *every* confused fool that, yes, now that he's driven his car off a bridge into a gravel pit he is, indeed, dead. I can't slay every zombie and wrangle every wrathful spirit. Some of them will always slip through the cracks. Which is one of the reasons why I am grateful to fursons like Mr. Villareal here."
"Gracias," the big bat said, thankful for the acknowledgement.
"De nada," Thanatos replied, and went on with his explanation. "We do have other methods at our disposal though. Chief among them is the ability to bewitch. This is a delightfully simple way of getting rid of time-consuming but otherwise easily dealt with beasties, zombies especially, but only when it is done PROPERLY!!!"
All of them shrank back a bit, including Croak.
Thanatos settled down. "The method is easy and uncomplicated. We locate whatever object was most closely tied into that being's death, and then we give it limited sensory capabilities. Not unlike a heat-seeking missile. It is then set loose and, depending on how far away it is from the target, it usually gets the job done in a few hours. Quick, clean, and I don't have to bother getting my shoes dirty."
"But you don't even have feet," Max noted.
Thanatos gave him a withering glance that could curl sheet metal. He didn't even bother dignifying that with a response. "Anyway, when yet another corpse came popping up out of the ground a few weeks ago, one of my overzealous associates sicced a bewitched object upon it without notifying me first. When I found out, the fool actually expected me to be *proud* of him! Barely restraining myself from separating his head from his spine, I checked up on you two and found that you, Max, were one of the rarest unnatural beings to ever walk the earth; a zombie with a soul. Curious, I kept watch for a few more days and came to the conclusion that you were no danger to anyone else besides fat little mice who pick on other children in the supermarket."
Tish and Max giggled.
"So, now we have a problem, as I'm sure your flaming lower extremities this afternoon can attest to."
"Can't you just call it off?" Tish asked. The idea seemed perfectly reasonable to her.
Thanatos looked as if someone had shoved a lemon in his mouth. "My dear," he said slowly and carefully, "if I could, then why would I have any need of dragging you and your brother and your large brutish companion out here in the middle of the night?"
"Okaaaaay..." she said.
"You can't just 'call it off'!" Croak added derisively, and tossed his boss a 'What a dunderhead, huh?' look.
Javier was frustrated and let it show. This Lord of the Dead talked too damn much and said too damn little. "So are we now just supposed to wait? Until it comes and smears Max all over the place like a ripe tomato?"
"If you would let me finish..." Thanatos growled with a deep sneer.
"Please do," said Javier calmly.
Max looked up expectantly. There had to be some hope for him, right?
"Like my apprentice said, there is no calling it off. Its sole purpose is to hunt its prey down and let nothing stand in its way. Once it has accomplished its mission and its prey no longer exists, only then will it cease to exist. And until then, the only thing that can even stand in its way is that it cannot allow itself to be seen by any mortals."
"Ohhhhh," said Max. "So that's why it jumped into the ground when it saw the guy in the car!" he realized.
Tish frowned, confused. "So how come me and Javier can see it?"
Thanatos opened his mouth, then paused. "Actually, I'm not sure. You shouldn't though."
Croak whipped out an immense leather-bound book that was rotting along the edges and smelled like dead vegetable matter. He whipped it open and scanned it carefully. "Aha!"
"What have you found?" Thanatos asked.
Tracing his finger along the page, Croak clued them all in. "These are the 'blueprints' for a bewitching spell, complete with all the cautions. It says that occasionally the object in question may become confused if it 'sees' its target along with a close blood relative. Since you two are fraternal twins, you sorta give off the same 'smell', and that probably means it's experiencing a sort of double vision."
Tish made a 'well how about that' noise.
"As for Mr. Villareal, all I can guess is that you've been killin' monsters so long, it might think you're one of us. An Agent of the Beyond. That's why it's keeping away right now; it's also programmed to keep out of our business."
Max took a step forward to peek at the book. "Anything in there about why I can run so fast?"
Croak 'hmm'ed and flipped some pages. He looked in the zombie section long and hard, but came up empty-handed. "Nope. Guess it's a result of all that weird ka-ka that went into the spell by accident."
Tish flinched. She just *knew* the extra ingredients must have some sort of side effect. At least it had turned out to be a beneficial one.
Thanatos looked down with a paternal smile and gave Croak a pat on the head. "Good job."
The little squirrel practically squirmed in delight. It could not have been more obvious how much he loved and admired his mentor.
The Lord of the Dead looked back at Max again. "I am sorry, young one, but there isn't much I can do for you. I am completely powerless in this realm. I'm little more than a hologram right now."
Unable to resist testing that theory, Max put out his paw and it sunk into Thanatos' cloak just like steam. "Whoa!"
"Don't do that!" the startled feline snapped. "It feels extremely strange."
Max withdrew his paw quickly. "Sorry."
"What can we do," Javier asked pointedly, "to keep Max safe?"
The Lord of the Dead regarded them all seriously, feeling uncomfortable in his powerlessness. This _had_ been a mistake, he knew. Just a simple accident. And it wasn't right that it should have to happen to such an innocent little boy. "For now, it would be best for Max to stay indoors as much as possible. If you must go out, stay close by areas where there are other people, but try your best not to be seen yourself. You may want to ask your friend Nick for help. I'm certain the train will stay away if he is around."
Max nodded.
"But that's not fair!" Tish suddenly exploded, looking as if she were about to cry from frustration. "What, Max is just supposed to stay in the house forever until he rots away to nothing? What about all the meat he needs? How's he sposto get it now?"
The spectral feline sighed. "You're right. What's done is done. And it _isn't_ fair. But I promise I would take it back if I could."
Croak came over to put a comforting paw on Tish's shoulder. She gave him a grateful smile, and he smiled back.
"Isn't there any way to stop it?" she asked hesitantly. "I mean, for good?"
Thanatos went silent. He stared off into the night for a moment. "Maybe," he said finally.
"Maybe?!" Tish snapped.
"Maybe," Thanatos repeated firmly. "But it will be dangerous."
"I know all about danger," Javier said softly, a gleam in his eye.
Thanatos said "Hmmm." He considered the idea. With Javier at their side, the children might have a chance. A fairly good chance actually. Finally, he relented. "Allright. It may be possible. But you would have to destroy it utterly, using any and all means at your disposal. Utterly! Completely.! So that it could never, ever rise again!"
"Okay," said Javier, as if it were nothing.
"Okay!? I don't think you fully comprehend what you are dealing with here! Most bewitched objects are a knife or a gun or a rope or something like that. Sometimes even a car. But a _train_! Faster than you could ever fly, weighing several tons, and hellbent on destroying this young man here with absolutely no thought as to its own safety!"
Javier nodded. "Okay," he said again.
Mildly flabbergasted, Thanatos shut his mouth. But then he grinned darkly. "Fine. You will see. But if you attempt such a foolhardy task, you must prepare yourself. You must outthink it, which will be harder than you could ever imagine. It is without thought, yes, but it possesses the cunning of a feral predator."
Javier was tempted to just say 'okay' again, but thought he was toying with Thanatos' last nerve enough. "I will try my best." He clapped the twins on their shoulders. "Are you up to the challenge as well?"
"Hell yeah," said Max.
"I'd do anything to get that goddam hunk of junk to leave my brother alone," Tish huffed, more to Thanatos than Javier.
The Lord of the Dead sighed gravely, hoping for the best, but inwardly worried that he would soon have to come and collect all three of their souls. "Then I will leave you now. You had best run for the house, as the train will undoubtedly lunge as soon as I am gone. Croak, perhaps you should stay behind for a bit to make sure they get back safely?"
The squirrelboy nodded smartly, accepting his task. "Yessir!"
"Good boy," he praised his young acolyte. He looked back at the three dirt-dwellers. "I will be watching. And I will give you what assistance I can. But I have duties elsewhere, and so I must go." With that, his form began to shimmer, then break apart like evaporating steam.
"Goodbye," Max said softly. So did Tish.
"Oh, and by the way..." came Thanatos' rapidly fading voice, "I met a nonev squirrel on the way here who wanted me to tell you something, Tish..."
"What?" she asked, a little confused.
The words were just barely audible; "'Yeah, whatever'..."
The little coyote was so startled she took a step backwards. "Whoa!"
"What's that mean?" Max asked.
"I'll tell you later."
Soon, the Lord of the Dead was gone, leaving behind those two alert little blue eyes.
"Go on now," said Croak. "I don't think the train'll fear me nearly as much as my boss."
"Yes," said Javier. "And it is well past your bedtime anyway," he told the children, placing his wings protectively around them.
As they turned to go, they heard Croak's small voice call out to them, "Good luck!"
Hastily, they ran to the house, not looking back.
When he heard the door shut and lock behind the trio, a weight lifted from Croak's heart.
He turned around, an unseen scowl forming on his dark-furred face. "They're gone now, you big jerk."
The train was directly behind him, growling hungrily. It trundled closer, scenting the air, unsure of why this small, insignificant being seemed to fill it with a need to stay away from the one it hunted.
The little squirrel was no bigger than one of the immense engine's wheels, but still he stood his ground. "Shoo! You can't hurt me anyway."
Grudgingly, the train rolled away back into the trees, feeling cheated.
Smiling in a 'that's that' kind of way, Croak allowed himself to vanish.
~***~
END OF BOOK THREE
