Dead Spots (33 page)

“Don't you dare throw my dead son in my face! I know Johnny is not Joshua.”

“Even their names are similar!”

“He's not a wraith! I saved him from a zombie! He's just a scared little boy!” Mackenzie stepped protectively in front of Johnny. “He's coming with us.”

Vexed, Grant didn't answer her. He stalked a few feet to the left, stopped, rested his hands on his hips, and stared out over the graveyard with his back to them.

“I want to go, Macky,” Johnny whispered. “He's not looking at us. We can run away.”

“He's just scared, Johnny.” Mackenzie dropped to her knees to gaze into the little boy's face. Tears dotted his long lashes and she gently wiped them away with her fingertips. “He's scared because of all the bad things that happened to us last night.”

Johnny shook his head adamantly. “No. He's bad.”

It was plain to see that Grant had developed deep feelings for her in a very short time. It made her uncomfortable, yet she could understand how absolutely lonely he must have been until he stumbled upon her. She could see how feelings could develop at a much speedier pace in this world. Already she felt attached to the little boy standing at her side. She barely knew him, but her instinct was to protect him. She couldn't slight Grant for feeling the same way toward her. Though she didn't have romantic feelings toward Grant and was very confused after the dream she'd experienced, she did have to acknowledge she wanted him at her side. The way he cared for her made her feel safe, though it irritated her at times.

Finally turning around, Grant threw out his arms in surrender. “Fine. We'll take him with us.” Gesturing toward the building, he said, “There's shelter over there.”

“How about a car?”

“A car?” Grant lifted his eyebrows.

“Yeah. A car. Johnny said he met a man that had a car. You said it was hard to keep one working outside the dead spots, but I want to try.” Mackenzie raised her chin, feeling a little defiant. She didn't like being told what she could or could not do.

Grant lifted an eyebrow. “You want a car because the little boy told you someone else had one?”

“It's a nice car,” Johnny mumbled.

“Yes. I would much rather try to drive to wherever we are going next than end up with my feet a blistered, bloody mess like yesterday. It's embarrassing that you had to carry me.”

“I didn't mind carrying you, Mackenzie,” Grant replied.

“Plus, Johnny will get tired if we have to walk and we'll have to carry him.” She deliberately didn't tell Grant that Johnny had been with the mysterious man in the leather jacket. It was best to leave Lucas out of it, or else Grant would insist on leaving Johnny behind. Mackenzie wasn't sure what the true story around Lucas actually was, but she didn't want to risk giving Grant more ammunition against Johnny. Mackenzie was certain the little boy was not a wraith. She trusted her instincts on the matter. After all, she was the one who had figured out Grace's true nature. Maybe it had been a fallacy on her part to just believe everything Grant had told her. It was possible that he didn't know everything, or had a skewed perception after everything he had endured. He had been adamant about Grace and had been wrong.

Resting his hands on his hips, Grant sighed before motioning toward the building. “You might not be strong enough to maintain a car, Mackenzie. It's very difficult to do. I'm worried you'll drain yourself.”

“Let me try.” Mackenzie wasn't about to budge in her determination to at least attempt to get a car in working condition. It might be difficult to sustain the vehicle outside a dead spot, but she wanted to at least see if she could.

“Fine! There is a hearse parked behind the funeral home.”

“That's the funeral home?” Mackenzie balked at the thought of entering the building. It seemed foolish in light of all she had endured, but it made her uneasy.

“Some rural communities had the funeral home connected to the cemeteries. It made it much easier on the families. I'll go into the building and find the key. You restore the car.” Now that Grant was resigned to Johnny coming along his irritation was dwindling. “Sound like a plan?”

Mackenzie nodded. “Sounds good.” Her palm felt sweaty against Johnny's fingers. She hated to admit her own squeamishness about the funeral home.

Glancing over her shoulder, she saw the dorsal fin of the Great White still slicing through the dark water of the pond and the dead body of the zombie. Was it really just two days ago that she had left Shreveport for Kerrville? It seemed like an eternity had passed. How quickly her mind had acclimated to her new reality. It was rather frightening. The thought of zombies stumbling around graveyards and Great Whites loitering in a pond should make her laugh or question her sanity, but now they seemed rather normal. Again, the thought that perhaps she was in a coma or having a mental breakdown drifted into her mind, but she quickly dismissed it. She had to concentrate on dealing with the here and now.

“The shark's still there,”Johnny said in a frightened voice. “Why isn't it going away?”

Grant looked toward the pond and the dorsal fin. He didn't look very surprised by what he saw. Instead, he sighed. “Because it frightened Mackenzie,” Grant answered simply. “Let's get a move on. No use standing around here.”

The funeral home was constructed out of quarry stone, so its walls were still standing. The roof had given way over time. Vines crept up the walls and wrapped around the termite-ridden posts of the portico. The long narrow stained-glass windows had gaping holes in the colored glass. An aura of sadness and desolation clung to the building. A well of sympathy swelled inside of Mackenzie for all the families who had sat in the chapel of the building saying farewell to loved ones. Yet, the darkness looming beyond the windows and gaping front doors gave her pause.

“I don't want to go in there,” Johnny decided.

“I'm going in. You can go with Mackenzie and try to get the car started.” Grant pushed the front doors open completely and peered inside. “Mackenzie, do you mind fixing it? It'll make it easier for me to find the keys.”

A pang of doubt filled her when she realized the funeral home had not reacted like the farmhouse had the day before. She had completely restored the farmhouse without even giving it much thought. Dying had significantly lowered her ability to shape the dead spots just like Grant had warned. Placing a hand on a post, she concentrated. She felt an inward strain, like a rubber band being drawn taut, then the sudden release as the building transformed before her eyes.

Grant peeked inside, flipped on a switch, and a hallway adorned with a red carpet and simple chandelier filled with light. “Perfect. I'll meet you in the carport.”

“That was so cool,” Johnny whispered, grinning.

“It's like magic, right?”

“It
is
magic.”

“I feel like Harry Potter right now,” Mackenzie joked, walking along the restored walkway that led to the rear of the building.

“Who's that?”

Mackenzie hesitated, looking at the boy sadly. She kept forgetting that technically he was older than her. “Well, he's a little boy with magic powers in a book from my time.”

“That sounds like a cool book.”

“It is.”

The hearse was parked in the restored carport, but was a rusted hunk of metal with flat tires, shattered windows, a missing hood, and no engine. The hearse appeared to have been pale blue and its shredded curtains may have been cream colored.

“I think this is definitely from the seventies from the color,” Mackenzie decided with a shiver. “That decade was messed up.”

“You can fix it though.” Johnny gave her a confident smile.

She was glad he had faith in her abilities. After restoring the funeral home she felt a little light-headed, but she wasn't experiencing a headache yet. She had a feeling the restoration of the car might provoke one.

Johnny set his hand on the car. “I'll help you.”

“Why, thank you. That's very kind.” Mackenzie set her hand next to his and again felt something inside of her straining, building, then finally releasing. This time the sharp jagged pain behind her left eye didn't surprise her. She gasped slightly, pressing her hand to her brow, her vision abruptly dimming.

“Macky?”

“I'm okay,” Mackenzie answered quickly. The stabbing pain dissipated slowly into a more manageable throbbing headache. Clenching her eyes shut, she waited a few seconds before checking to see if her vision was restored.

The Buick hearse sat before them perfectly polished, the chrome edging the windows and the headlights catching the light. The ivory curtains were fully restored and the lightly tinted windows reflected her and the little boy.

“I knew you could do it,” Johnny said proudly, patting the car's restored hood.

“Let's hope it turns on and actually runs.” She fished her Advil out of her purse and swallowed two of them dry.

“Did it make your head hurt?” Johnny cocked his head, studying her thoughtfully. “It used to make my brother's head hurt.”

“I'll be fine.” Trying the passenger door, she found it locked.

Johnny cupped his hands and pressed his forehead to the dark tinted windows in the back of the hearse attempting to see through the crack in the privacy curtains. “There's no coffin. And it's not as nice as Lucas's car.”

“Johnny, don't mention Lucas to Grant, okay?”

“Why?” There was a plaintive note in his voice.

“Because Grant doesn't like Lucas. He thinks he's a bad man.”

“That's because
Grant
is a bad man.” Johnny gave her a sour look, his small shoulders hunched. “We should run away from him.”

Unnerved by the boy's adamant viewpoint on the subject of Grant, Mackenzie sighed. Distrust of people made complete sense in this bizarre world where a stranger could be a friend, killer, or wraith. If not for Grant, she wouldn't have survived through the first day. She shuddered at the memory of the woman in the café. What had she been? To be upset at Johnny for his misgivings was unsympathetic to all he had suffered.

“Grant is my friend,” Mackenzie said at last. “I know you don't trust him, but I do.”

“You shouldn't.” The seriousness in the little boy's look was disquieting.

“Okay, I found the keys,” Grant said as he emerged from the building. He held up the key chain with a white rabbit's foot dangling on one end and a big car key on the other. His gait paused when he saw the restored vehicle. “That's impressive. It might actually work.”

Johnny edged closer to Mackenzie and grabbed her hand. His dark brown eyes regarded Grant suspiciously. Either not taking note of the little boy's look, or not caring, Grant walked around to the driver's side and unlocked it.

“Well, at least we know the key is for this car,” he said, grinning.

The smile alleviated a lot of the stress Mackenzie hadn't even realized was building inside of her. Returning the smile, she waited for Grant to slide behind the driver's seat and unlock the passenger door and the one directly behind it.

“Kids ride in the back,” Grant said firmly. His eyes locked with Johnny's for a second. With his bottom lip jutting out defiantly, Johnny clung to Mackenzie.

“It'll be more comfortable in the back,” Mackenzie said encouragingly.

“Fine.” Johnny scooted into the rear seat, his wary expression not altering.

“Fingers crossed it starts,” Mackenzie said, closing the door.

Johnny slid the curtain open and made a show of crossing his fingers.

The interior of the car was all faux wood, chrome, and cream leather. She slid inside, tucked the purse at her feet, and belted herself in. “Love the décor, huh?”

“I think the whole idea was to move away from the dourness of mourning,” Grant observed.

Having experienced a funeral recently, Mackenzie understood the sentiment, but it fell short in her opinion. There was comfort in the long-held traditions of mourning. The black hearse, the black funeral attire, and the solemnity of the service felt like reverences to not only the deceased loved one, but also the grieving survivors. It was hard to sit in the hearse and not think of Joshua.

“Shall we try it?” Grant made a big show of pushing the key into the ignition.

Nodding, Mackenzie rested her hand on the dashboard. She wasn't sure if the car needed a little push to start, but she was ready to do her so-called magic.

Twisting the key, Grant pumped the gas. The vehicle roared to life in an instant. Mackenzie shot Johnny a grin over her shoulder and he gave her the thumbs-up. Grant shifted gears and reversed the car out of the carport. The engine purred smoothly while the tires kicked up bits of gravel.

“So far so good.” Grant lightly touched Mackenzie's arm. “You did a good job.”

The hearse slowly rolled up the drive behind the restored building to the parking area that was enclosed by an overgrown hedge. An old wood gate loitered in the tall grass blocking their way.

“I'll get out and move it,” Grant said, parking the car.

“Need my help?”

Grant gave the gate a quick study, then shook his head. “I'll be right back.”

The car door shut with a slight bang.

“We could go without him,” Johnny said grumpily.

Mackenzie watched Grant pull away vines and branches from the gate, then start to drag it open. “He's a very nice man.”

“He's not a man. He's like that zombie. A monster.” Johnny scooted along the backseat and pressed his face to the window. “Just like that guy.” He tapped the glass, indicating the zombie lying among the graves.

Not having had a ton of experience with small kids since her days as a babysitter in her teens, Mackenzie felt frustrated at her inability to calm the tension between the little boy and Grant. They were both acting like petulant children when it came to each other and it was annoying.