The Resurrected Compendium Read online

  "...But what?"

  "I don't know. She must've tripped the security system weeks ago and then...she wouldn't leave. Couldn't leave with it still running."

  Kelsey bit her lower lip for a minute, a chill running through her despite the warm clothes she'd borrowed. "So, she's still in the house."

  "Yes. Probably."

  She had an image of a giant black widow spider settled in the center of a huge, pulsing web, venom dripping from its fangs as it waited for a couple of tasty flies to stumble into its trap. "Do you think your mom would like me, Dennis?"

  He paused, considering. "No. She wouldn't."

  Kelsey smiled at his honesty. "Would I like her?"

  "Probably not." He smiled, just a little. "She's a tough woman to like."

  "I'd say we should look for her though, don't you?"

  Dennis sighed and scraped a hand across his head, then down over his face. "Yeah. I guess so."

  It didn't take long to find her. Dennis opened the door to the basement and flicked on the light, a bare bulb hung with dust. At the bottom of the stairs, they found a puddle of blood gone long dark, streaks of it leading into the darkness of the basement. Kelsey swallowed her distaste and trepidation to take him by the elbow before he could move forward.

  "Be careful," she whispered.

  He nodded and reached for the cord of another overhead bulb. As soon as it lit, they both saw the overturned scooter and the corpse of the woman beside it. Kelsey couldn't see her face because of the blood and the flap of skin and flesh hanging down. She let out a small noise, but Dennis was silent.

  "She must've tried to get her scooter down the stairs," he said after a minute. "She was always bragging how she could make it do whatever she wanted."

  Kelsey slipped her hand into his. "I'm so sorry."

  He gave her a level look. "Better this way."

  She squeezed his fingers, not sure what to say. Dennis didn't pull his hand away, not at first, but when he did it gently. He knelt by his mother's body and touched it with just his fingertips before looking back at Kelsey.

  "She was a crazy bitch," he said without much emotion in his voice, though it was evident in his eyes. "I don't think I ever said that to anyone before, but she was. Crazy as a shithouse rat, crazier than that. She kind of made my life hell as a kid, she said she did it out of love, but really...she was just nuts."

  He stood. "You think that makes me a shitty son? To say that over her dead body like that?"

  "No." Kelsey shook her head. "I think it makes you honest."

  He snorted softly, not a real laugh but only something pretending at humor. "But you know, if she hadn't done all the things she did, I wouldn't be who I am. I'd probably be dead already. Or sick."

  Kelsey knelt beside him, one hand on his shoulder. "It's okay to hate her, Dennis. Just because she was your mom doesn't mean you can't hate her. And love her, too. Sometimes, it's kind of hard to tell the difference."

  He nodded but stayed quiet for another few seconds. Then he looked at her. "I'm going to have to burn her."

  Startled, she stood. "What? I mean..."

  "We can't go outside. I can't bury her. Anyway," he said, "she's got a furnace hot enough. She made sure of that."

  "In case something happened to her?" Kelsey asked with a frown, wondering what sort of woman his mother had been, to make a house like this, complete with a furnace capable of cremation.

  "No," Dennis told her. "It was for anyone who didn't make it past the traps."

  "Oh. Of course." It wasn't funny, but she clapped a hand over her mouth to stifle the giggle. It came out sounded strangled, more like a groan.

  Then she was sobbing, wretched and ugly and not caring about how she must look with swollen eyes and snot leaking from her nose. Everything had become too much, all of it, and she let it all out. She felt the press of his chest against her face as he put his arms around her, awkwardly but without hesitation. He patted her back, stroking her hair in silence until her sobs tapered off. Sniffling, she let herself rest in the comfort of his embrace. How nice it was, she thought, to be held. Just held.

  They stayed like that for a few more minutes before she pushed away from him. "Thanks, Dennis. For everything. Just...thanks."

  "You're welcome."

  She looked at his mother's body, then back at him. "Let's take care of her, okay? I'll help you."

  "You don't have to."

  "I know I don't," she told him. "But it will be easier, if I do."

  40

  Dennis had used the furnace before. Mom had instructed him carefully in the dials and gauges, now to check the temperature, how to make sure the door was completely locked. Squirrels, a few stray cats and once, sadly, a dog that had been hit in the road outside and left to die had all met their fiery fate inside. He'd never in a million years imagined stuffing his mother inside it.

  There was no satisfaction in it. No grim triumph. If anything, he imagined his mother's laughter. She'd have been delighted to know that she'd ended up in one of her own additions to the house. It would've seemed perfect to her, he knew that much. Watching the flames rise inside the small glass frame, he thought should mourn or something...anything than feel nothing.

  Behind him, Kelsey waited without saying a word. She'd helped him carry Mom's body, though the smell had been disgusting and moving her had been difficult because of the decomposition. Kelsey hadn't so much as flinched or gagged, though Dennis himself had found it hard to keep from choking.

  She was a pretty incredible woman, beneath the mass of bleached hair and fake boobs. It wasn't the first time he'd thought so, but now he thought he should tell her. Except the words wouldn't come, they stuck in his throat and caught behind his teeth the way they always did when something was important.

  He was saved from having to say anything at all when the alarms started to sound. Nothing loud and whooping, not like a klaxon or firebell. Instead, a series of lights set into the walls at regular intervals started blinking. They'd be doing that all over the house but away from any windows, a silent warning that would alert the people inside without letting those outside know they'd been caught.

  "What's that?" Kelsey asked.

  "Alarm," he said.

  He was only a little surprised, having seen the motion of oncoming strangers on the road earlier. What concerned him was not that people might be moving past the house, but that they were approaching it. There was nothing to attract random people to this house, set back so far, no lights, no signs. Unless you already knew the house was here, it would be unlikely for anyone to simply happen past, even in a world that hadn't been half-destroyed by some weird disease thing already.

  Upstairs, he took Kelsey into the small room that had originally been a pantry but now housed the house's main control panels. He showed her the rows of video screens. "There are other control boxes, like the one upstairs, but this is the big one. From here we can see everything from every video feed."

  She studied the screens. Nothing strange showed on the interior ones, of course, though she looked a long time at the one broadcasting his bathroom, the one where she'd showered. A small smile tugged the corner of her mouth when she looked at him. "Dennis."

  He cleared his throat, heat rising up his throat and across his face. She could see it, he was sure of it. But Kelsey didn't say more than that, just shook her head a little and looked back at the rest of the monitors.

  "There." She pointed, leaning close. "They're coming up the driveway."

  A staggering group of four, their clothes torn, shoes off. One woman had her face sheared away from the jaw down, her arms curled and fingers clenched into claws. The two men behind her looked more normal, their skin dark with blood or dirt or bruises, it was too hard to tell. Their shuffling gait told Dennis they'd moved past the sickness to the next stage, that reanimated stage, and it sent a shiver of loathing down his spine.

  It was the fourth person in the group that fixed his attention, though. Lumbering like the