Grave Intentions Page 3

  She slipped her car into first gear and cautiously navigated through the mob of protesters picketing the front entrance of Cava Technologies. She took deep breaths to keep her blood pressure level, trying her best to ignore the signs that read, “Cava Tech—Stop the Cruelty,” “Animals Have Rights,” and, “No Torture.” One protester was decked out in a full-sized pink bunny costume, while another wore a white lab coat splattered with what was supposed to be blood.

  Lovely.

  Long ago, she’d given up all attempts at reasoning with animal rights fanatics. How many times could she debate the necessity of using animals to forward the advance of science, to one day provide a cure for AIDS, cancer, or Alzheimer’s disease? Of course she didn’t enjoy using animals in her work, but computer models and cell cultures only went so far. Before a drug received approval for human application, its safety and viability had to be tested on animals.

  Unfortunately, the activists didn’t see it that way. They saw Cava Tech as the evil empire of biomedical research, cackling with glee as they sliced and diced their way through the animal kingdom.

  “Morning, Ms. Griffith,” the security guard said when she pulled up to the gatehouse, his thick southern drawl dragging out each syllable. He frowned at the protesters when one of them shouted, “How can you live with yourself?” “Looks like we’re in for an exciting day.”

  “How long have they been camped out at the gate?”

  “They were already here when I clocked in at six.” After scanning her ID, the guard pressed a button and the gate began its slow roll open. “Don’t you worry. I’m sure the news vans will show up any minute. Once these jokers get their fifteen minutes of fame, they’ll start clearing out.”

  “I hope so. Good luck,” Sarah said before rolling up her window and leaving the protesters in her rearview mirror.

  “Can you believe those people?” Sarah asked Jackie, her friend and assistant, when she entered the central office a few minutes later. After stashing her purse in the bottom drawer of her desk, she began the daily ritual of clipping her security badge onto her lapel and pulling her dark brown hair into a ponytail. “I barely got my car past that mob at the gate.”

  “Consider yourself lucky,” Jackie replied. She finished the last bite of her bagel and tossed the wrapper in the trash. “The guy in the smock threw himself on the hood of my car when I came in.”

  The mental image brought a smile to Sarah’s face. “Is that where the blood came from?”

  “I wish.” Jackie snorted. “For the record, it’s not blood. It’s syrup and food coloring. Took me forever to wash that crap off my car.” She swiveled around in her chair and typed in the password to access the data files for their current project.

  “Has the Hartwell lab finished their analysis yet?” Sarah asked as she shrugged into her lab coat. “Their results should have been available yesterday afternoon.”

  While the latest round of tests looked promising, her team couldn’t move forward until the secondary lab confirmed their results. If the drug worked during both of the preliminary in vitro trials, they could proceed with the first round of animal testing. And if that proved successful, the human trials could begin.

  It would be a huge step toward the fulfillment of her dream—to discover a viable long-term treatment for dementia-related illness. So far, there was no known cure, only treatments to slow the progressive decline. Sarah was determined to change that. If successful, the new drug could dramatically improve the quality of life for countless sufferers, her grandmother included. Not to mention it would ease her own worries about the ticking time bomb buried deep within her family’s DNA.

  “Not yet,” Jackie replied with a shake of her head. “I’ll shoot Donovan a quick e-mail. Maybe it’ll light a fire under his ass.”

  “I hope so. Otherwise, I’ll have to take it to Angelo.” Which was something she hoped to avoid at all costs. Being in the same room with her boss gave her a major case of the heebie-jeebies. Most of the time she avoided contact with him; the last thing she wanted was to owe him a favor. God knows what he’d demand in return.

  Jackie sent out the e-mail before spinning back around in her chair. She flashed Sarah a mischievous grin, the one that always meant trouble. “So, did you see the story on the Today Show this morning?”

  “Which one?”

  “The one about the hunters in Oregon. They found Bigfoot tracks while they were out in the woods tracking deer. How cool is that?” Jackie’s eyes gleamed with genuine excitement. “The guys from Monster Chasers are flying out to verify the find.”

  Sarah stared at her friend with open disbelief. For the life of her, she couldn’t understand why an educated woman like Jackie believed in such ridiculous stories. She had a subscription to the Sun and bought into every tale from the outer limits: Bigfoot, Chupacabra, UFOs. Heck, she even believed in Swamp Cabbage Man. “How can you believe that garbage? You’re a scientist, for Pete’s sake!”

  “True, but that doesn’t mean I’m closed to the possibility of paranormal phenomena. It could be real, you know.” Defensiveness brought out the New York in Jackie’s voice. “There’s thousands of acres of forest in the Pacific Northwest that haven’t been explored. It’s possible something might be living out there that hasn’t been discovered.”

  Fox Mulder, eat your heart out.

  Sarah leaned a hip against the desk and folded her arms across her chest. “Oh please. Think about it, Jackie. For a species that large to survive, it would require a huge area and large enough numbers to sustain a genetically viable population. We’re not talking one or two. We’re talking hundreds, if not thousands. Do you honestly think something like that could run around undetected? And what about the lack of physical evidence? Scientists have unearthed the bones of animals that went extinct millions of years ago, but we can’t find one Sasquatch skeleton?”

  Jackie put her hands on her hips and blew Sarah a raspberry, which looked really odd coming from a plus-sized woman in lab gear and goggles. “Killjoy.”

  “Realist and proud of it, thank you very much.” Sarah adjusted the fit of her own goggles before tugging on a pair of clear plastic gloves. “Dig deep enough, and there’s a scientific explanation for everything.”

  “Not everything.”

  “Everything.”

  “You know, one of these days you’re going to come face to face with something you can’t explain through the scientific method.”

  “Aside from the male psyche, I seriously doubt it.”

  It took David and Adam over an hour to reach the site for their final reap of the day. By then, the sun was beginning its descent over the horizon and mosquitoes were swarming the outskirts of east Orlando, better known as Bithlo by the locals. Sparsely populated and heavily wooded, it still held the flavor of a slice of Orlando long since forgotten by tourist traps and outlet malls.

  “Christ,” Adam muttered when David’s sedan rolled to a stop along the soft shoulder of a rutted dirt road. “I didn’t realize we were driving out to the middle of fucking nowhere.”

  “Death goes everywhere.” David cut the engine and hit the release on his seat belt. “And so do we.” And sometimes the job took them to shit holes that made this place look like Disney World. “You got the coordinates?”

  Adam patted the front pocket of his shirt. “Right here.”

  “Good. Don’t forget the GPS.” While David could operate through senses alone, it would take Adam weeks, if not months, to achieve a comparable level of skill. Until then, he’d have to rely on maps or GPS to get him where he needed to go, especially in remote locations where street names weren’t the norm.

  Together, they maneuvered through the dense scrub until they reached a modest clearing ringed with overgrown pines. In the center stood a dilapidated mobile home, its roof partially collapsed and the exterior covered with thick layers of dirt, rust, and algae. Dim light shined through the only window not boarded up. Beside the trailer was a homebuilt shed, the unp
ainted plywood warped and faded. A large pit bull mix was chained to a nearby tree, sleeping, while cars in various states of disrepair littered the remaining area, an iron graveyard of Detroit’s finest.

  “Hey, there’s a road right over there.” Adam pointed to the far end of the clearing. “We could have used that instead of hacking through a quarter mile of brush.”

  “I know,” David said as he slipped behind one of the battered cars for cover. “But then we’d have no way of knowing if we could get back out once we’re finished.” He’d learned that lesson a long time ago, the hard way. His focus stayed on the clearing, sizing up the area with predatory interest. “Always plan your way out before you go in, kid. It’ll save you a lot of trouble in the long run.”

  With a shrill creak, the trailer door swung open and a couple of good old boys in faded jeans and ratty T-shirts emerged. The taller one held a can of Black Label beer in one hand and a plastic shopping bag in the other, while his short stubby companion carried two large jugs filled with a pale, murky liquid. They were arguing over the upcoming game between the Georgia Bulldogs and Florida Gators as they approached the shed and unlocked the double doors.

  “How do you think they’re going to die?” Adam whispered. “I put dibs on gunshot wounds.”

  “Out here, it’s a definite possibility.” David watched while the men tugged the doors open. The inside of the shed resembled a lab of some sort, packed with an odd assortment of beakers, plastic tubing, and five-gallon buckets. Along the back wall, homemade shelves housed a motley collection of glass bottles. “What the hell is all that for?”

  The scent eventually drifted over, a sickeningly sweet chemical odor that both enticed and nauseated.

  “Meth lab,” Adam said with a scowl. “We used to find these all over Chicago, in everything from college dorms to million-dollar homes.”

  “And they use drain cleaner to make it?” David’s upper lip curled in disdain. Most of his drug experience dated back to the sixties, during that brief stint where he buried his disgust and self-loathing under a heavy haze of heroin and alcohol. Good thing he was already dead; otherwise, the addiction would have killed him long before he finally kicked it.

  “You got it. Along with battery acid, dryer sheets, and damn near every type of cleaning product known to man. Oh, and cold medicines. We usually found the labs when one of the neighbors started bitching about the smell.”

  David watched while the short and stubby one began mixing a concoction of ingredients in one of the five-gallon buckets. The taller guy leaned back against the counter and drank his beer. When he finished, he tossed the empty beer can into a nearby cardboard box and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand.

  “Can you sense it yet?” David asked, trying to gauge Adam’s capacity to detect a pending death. The talent developed at a different pace for each reaper. Some took to it like a duck to water, while others required months to hone the ability.

  As a seasoned reaper, David could feel death fast approaching; sharp and strong as it pulsed through his system like it was a part of him. Not much longer, he decided, his body nearly vibrating in anticipation. Probably within the next minute or so.

  “Yeah, I can feel it,” Adam replied with a nod, his narrowed eyes fixated on the pair in the shed. “But it’s kind of weak, like it’s way off in the distance.”

  “Not good, but it’s a start. Keep focusing on it.”

  Adam motioned toward one of the other rusted-out vehicles. “Maybe it would help if I got a little bit closer.”

  “No, wait—”

  Too late. The kid took off toward a two-toned Chevy pickup, crouched down like he was avoiding sniper fire. He was halfway there when the tall guy with the mullet pulled a pack of cigarettes from his back pocket. Obviously not thinking about the volatile chemicals surrounding him, he stuck the cigarette between his lips and flicked a lighter.

  “Son of a bitch,” David said, just as the flame ignited the chemicals, creating a massive fireball that blew Adam back against a pea green Dodge Dart on blocks. He hit with a heavy thud, his face reddened and his clothes singed by the raw heat of the blast.

  Meanwhile, the explosion had reduced the shed to a mass of broken glass, splintered wood, and smoldering chemicals. One of the nearby cars had caught fire, sending a caustic cloud of thick black smoke into the air. The dog was awake and barking its head off, unhurt but panicked, yanking hard on its chain but unable to break free.

  David knelt down beside Adam, who was lying flat on his back. “You okay?”

  “Yeah, just fucking peachy.” With a grunt, Adam pushed up to a seated position and let out a long, hacking cough. Aside from some scrapes, bruises, and the complete and total lack of eyebrows, the kid looked relatively unharmed. “Good thing I didn’t put money on gunshot wounds.”

  “Stay here,” David said, brushing the dirt from his jeans as he stood. “I’ll take care of this one.” He slid on his sunglasses and walked toward the remains of the shed.

  The souls were already rising from the shells of their former selves, not yet fully understanding what just transpired. David moved in quickly, harvesting the first before it acclimated to its new condition.

  The second soul seemed more reluctant, moving pensively in David’s direction like a skittish animal. Darkness tainted this one; no wonder it wasn’t in any hurry to venture into the great beyond. Impatient, David stepped closer, inexorably drawing the soul to him like a magnet to true north.

  Yep, this one was definitely going to hell, David thought as the soul merged with his body. If he had to do this godforsaken job for a hundred years, he’d never grow accustomed to the unsettling sensation of cold, black evil surging through his system. Malevolence ran thick and strong, leaving wicked trails of hatred and depravity in its wake. When the soul realized it held no anchor to the living, when it realized its next destination was an eternity of damnation, it let out a shriek of despair that echoed through David’s body like nails on a chalkboard. God, it never failed to make his flesh crawl.

  So preoccupied with wrangling the souls, David failed to notice the flames spreading toward the far end of the trailer, to a tank of natural gas bolted against the side.

  The resulting blast was deafening. Common household objects shot through the air like missiles, embedding into trees and cars. And David.

  “Dude, you okay?” he heard Adam’s muffled voice say when he regained consciousness. A hand gripped his shoulder and shook him lightly, sending ripples of pain through his chest. “Come on, man, don’t die on me.”

  David cracked his eyes open and found Adam staring down at him, his face tight with concern. For a moment, he wondered why everything looked so weird but then he noticed one of the lenses from his sunglasses was missing.

  “I’m fine,” he said on the heels of a groan. Which was a lie. He actually felt like he’d been run over by a truck and then set on fire. Not like that happened. Much.

  “Oh thank God.” Adam blew out a heavy breath and scrubbed a hand across his jaw. “I thought I was going to have to learn the rest of this shit on my own.”

  “We’re reapers,” David said with a huff of annoyance. “We can’t die, you idiot, we’re already dead.” Sometimes that was a major downer. He’d been dead for so long he’d forgotten what it felt like to be truly alive.

  Remembering the souls he’d just collected, David did a quick inventory to make sure he hadn’t inadvertently lost anyone in the blast. Yep, all present, pissed off, and accounted for. The first soul continued to wail over the loss of its corporeal form, a cold swirling mass of misery and confusion, while the other raged against its newfound prison, desperate to escape before being sent to its final destination.

  “Could have fooled me,” Adam said, not sounding the least bit convinced. “You took a pretty heavy hit.”

  David tried to push himself up but was met with a sharp wave of pain and nausea. Looking down, he saw what Adam was talking about. In addition to the shards of glass an
d metal that pierced his clothes and stuck in his skin, a steel rod was imbedded deep in his chest, the only visible evidence a two-inch stub sticking out from between his ribs. No wonder he felt so damn lightheaded. “Aw, shit. This was my favorite shirt.”

  “Want me to pull it out?” Adam offered, his fingers gripping the slender shaft of metal.

  David took a moment to weigh his options. The rod hurt like a son of a bitch, but it was probably the only thing keeping him from bleeding out. They needed to get away from the scene and back to the car before police or fire arrived, and that wasn’t going to happen if he ran down a couple quarts.

  “We’ll pull it out later,” he finally said, his breathing strained. He held a hand out to Adam. “Help me up. We need to get out of here before anyone shows up.”

  “But you’re bleeding—”

  “No shit,” David hissed through clenched teeth. The metallic tang ran thick in his throat so he swallowed hard, forcing the taste back down. “I’ll bleed a hell of a lot more when you pull that stick out of my chest. If I pass out from blood loss, you’ll have to carry me back to the car.”

  Adam looked David over, sizing him up. “You’d be a bitch to carry. Dead weight and all.”

  “Exactly. We’ve got to get moving before I lose too much blood.” He tossed the keys to Adam. “You’re driving. Now let’s go.”

  As if sensing their pending departure, the dog let out a deep howl of protest.

  “What about the dog?” Adam asked.

  “What about it?”

  “We can’t just leave him out here.”

  David gave his trainee an “are you kidding me?” look. “Why not?”

  “Because.” Adam glanced back at the dog, still barking its head off. The massive pit bull lunged, only to be jerked back when it ran out of chain. “He’s tied up. What if there’s no one left to feed him? He might starve out here, all by himself.”