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The Laughing Corpse :: Гамильтон Лорел
Страница: 182 из 213And the streetlights made it lighter than it should have been.
The skin was pale, yellowish-white. The skin clung to the bones of his face like wax that had half-melted. But the eyes, they weren't decayed. They burned out at me with a glitter that was more than just eyes.
"Put you back where?" I asked.
"My grave," he said. His lips didn't work quite right, there wasn't enough flesh left on them.
Light blazed into my eyes. The zombie screamed, covering his face. I couldn't see shit. It crashed into me. I pulled the trigger blind. I thought I heard a grunt as the bullet hit home. I fired the gun again one-handed, throwing an arm across my neck. Trying to protect myself as I fell half-blind.
When I blinked up into the electric-shot darkness, I was alone. I was unhurt. Why? Put me back, it had said. In my grave. How had it known what I was? Most humans couldn't tell. Witches could tell sometimes, and other animators always spotted me. Other animators. Shit.
Dolph was suddenly there, pulling me to my feet. "God, Blake, are you hurt?"
I shook my head. "What the hell was that light?"
"A halogen flashlight."
"You damn near blinded me."
"We couldn't see to shoot," he said.
Police had run past us in the darkness. There were shouts of, "There it is!" Dolph and I and the offending flashlight, bright as day, were left behind as the chase ran merrily on.
"It spoke to me, Dolph," I said.
"What do you mean, it spoke to you?"
"It asked me to put it back in its grave." I stared up at him as I said it. I wondered if my face looked like Ki's had, pale, eyes wide and black. Why wasn't I scared?
"It's old, a century at least. It was a voodoo something in life. That's what went wrong. That's why Peter Burke couldn't control it."
"How do you know all this? Did it tell you?"
I shook my head. "The way it looked, I could judge the age. It recognized me as someone who could lay it to rest. Only a witch or another animator could have recognized me for what I am. My money's on an animator."
"Does that change our plan?" he asked.
I stared up at him. "It's killed how many people?" I didn't wait for him to answer. "We kill it. Period."
"You think like a cop, Anita." It was a great compliment from Dolph, and I took it as one.
It didn't matter what it had been in life. So it had been an animator, or rather a voodoo practioner. So what? It was a killing machine. It hadn't killed me. Hadn't hurt me. I couldn't afford to return the favor.
Shots echoed far way.
The skin was pale, yellowish-white. The skin clung to the bones of his face like wax that had half-melted. But the eyes, they weren't decayed. They burned out at me with a glitter that was more than just eyes.
"Put you back where?" I asked.
"My grave," he said. His lips didn't work quite right, there wasn't enough flesh left on them.
Light blazed into my eyes. The zombie screamed, covering his face. I couldn't see shit. It crashed into me. I pulled the trigger blind. I thought I heard a grunt as the bullet hit home. I fired the gun again one-handed, throwing an arm across my neck. Trying to protect myself as I fell half-blind.
When I blinked up into the electric-shot darkness, I was alone. I was unhurt. Why? Put me back, it had said. In my grave. How had it known what I was? Most humans couldn't tell. Witches could tell sometimes, and other animators always spotted me. Other animators. Shit.
Dolph was suddenly there, pulling me to my feet. "God, Blake, are you hurt?"
I shook my head. "What the hell was that light?"
"A halogen flashlight."
"You damn near blinded me."
"We couldn't see to shoot," he said.
Police had run past us in the darkness. There were shouts of, "There it is!" Dolph and I and the offending flashlight, bright as day, were left behind as the chase ran merrily on.
"It spoke to me, Dolph," I said.
"What do you mean, it spoke to you?"
"It asked me to put it back in its grave." I stared up at him as I said it. I wondered if my face looked like Ki's had, pale, eyes wide and black. Why wasn't I scared?
"It's old, a century at least. It was a voodoo something in life. That's what went wrong. That's why Peter Burke couldn't control it."
"How do you know all this? Did it tell you?"
I shook my head. "The way it looked, I could judge the age. It recognized me as someone who could lay it to rest. Only a witch or another animator could have recognized me for what I am. My money's on an animator."
"Does that change our plan?" he asked.
I stared up at him. "It's killed how many people?" I didn't wait for him to answer. "We kill it. Period."
"You think like a cop, Anita." It was a great compliment from Dolph, and I took it as one.
It didn't matter what it had been in life. So it had been an animator, or rather a voodoo practioner. So what? It was a killing machine. It hadn't killed me. Hadn't hurt me. I couldn't afford to return the favor.
Shots echoed far way.