Death Whispers (Death Series, Book 1) Read online

  Hop! Switch legs.

  “Stop!” Griswold yelled.

  Finally, I turned to Carson, breathless.

  “Nobody'll believe you. You didn't believe until the cemetery.” He would look like a dumb ass if he ran around school telling people I was a corpse-raiser (like we were running around in droves). Carson was all about what people thought of him.

  He looked thoughtful, huh. Carson was a rock-with-lips.

  “Maybe I won't tell anybody, but we may want something, me and Brett, I mean.”

  He looked down at me from his slightly taller stance and smirked. I'd love to deck him in the face. We glared at each other and Griswold approached in a stout waddle. Why do teachers always seem to know just when something is going down?

  “Problem here boys?” hands on considerable hips.

  “No problem, Miss Griswold.” Carson said in the aren't-I-wonderful voice.

  I could never contain my expression so I didn't bother.

  She turned to me. “Is there a problem, Mr. Hart?”

  “Nah, we're just talking,” I said, she was just so... her and it wasn't good, being her.

  “Hmm, just talking. Why don't the two of you 'just talk' when you're on your time, not our mutual time, eh?” she enunciated like we were stupid. That'd be one of us.

  “Okay, Miss Griswold,” Carson said.

  She turned to me and I said the obligatory, “Yes, Miss Griswold.”

  Just as she moved out of hearing range Carson said, “Hag.”

  Nice, I thought. Those kids never get caught being themselves.

  Griswold turned around and yelled, “Time for dodge ball, pick your teams.”

  The guys gave a collective groan and the girls didn't look any happier. Today was a class to survive. At least I got to look at Jade, the highlight of PE.

  Jonesy gave me a questioning look from across the gym, Carson and Brett were fast moving from irritating to becoming a problem. One that I planned to contain, creatively.

  Jonesy would scheme, John would deliberate and I would definitely do.

  CHAPTER 4

  “How was school today?” Mom asked, the chatty one in the family. I looked at Dad, who set his trade publication on the table.

  Reluctantly I set down my fork even thought the hamburger helper was waiting to be engulfed, I said, “Ah... these two guys and I talked and it didn't go so hot.”

  I had their full attention.

  “Which kids Caleb?” Dad asked in his reasonable way.

  “Carson and Brett.” Mom would remember them, they'd been flippin' me crap since fourth grade.

  “Oh those two,” Mom waved a dismissive hand. “They're not in your league, don't let them make you feel diminished sweet-pea.”

  Sweet pea!

  “Alicia, let's not get elitist on him here...” Dad said.

  “You might have a small point.” Mom held her index finger and thumb together in illustration of just how “small.”

  His eyes narrowed. Uh-oh, here we go, just when I though we'd get something accomplished.

  Mom held up a finger to ward off Dad's comment that hovered on his lips.

  “Kyle, those two,” she struggled for the right word, “buffoons, have been a nuisance for the last three years that I know of,” she looked for confirmation. I held up five fingers, she was going to by God, Make Her Point, “Five and it's always the same thing.”

  Dad opened his mouth, but before he could say something she went on, “They don't like Caleb because of what you do honey. They feel threatened.”

  Quick dad!

  Dad turned to me. “What was the problem?”

  Dropping the Zombie Bomb didn't top my list of casual conversation but...

  “Remember the Biology thing?”

  “You passing out?” Mom asked. “Several times?”

  Yeah that. The frog thing.

  “Yes, we've never gotten to the bottom of those episodes,” Dad leaned back in his chair.

  I flipped my fork back-and-forth, back-and-forth. “I sorta got to the bottom of it. I have AFTD.”

  They stared at me like I'd just sprouted a giant second head. Huh, this could be going better.

  I told them about the cemetery, the corpse and the growing tide of problems with Carson and Brett. This was a lit match to the C and B fire. They'd been itchin' to get something on me since middle school started almost three years ago, before even.

  The silence went on for a few moments, then, “Caleb, let me recap this. You,” he cleared his throat, “have caused a dead body to rise from its grave?”

  “Yes Dad, that's what I just said.”

  And he was the smart one of the family.

  Mom asked, “Is this what you were doing last night running around with the Js?”

  Yeah, running around with the Js, doin' some corpse-raising. Average night on the town, right.

  Out loud I said, “Well, yeah, but I didn't mean for it to go like it did.”

  “How did you mean for it 'to go'?” Dad asked.

  The whole thing went down when Brett and Carson wouldn't get off my back about fainting. AFTD was the cherry on top of their cake. They'd been up my ass forever cuz they could. But they couldn't quite nail their bullshit to anything. I'd been a moving target until now. John had defended me by telling them I had AFTD. I was unconscious so he improvised. I wasn't looking stupid on purpose, there was something real going on. Should've just let them think whatever. I mean, it was Carson and Brett; they're morons.

  To my parents I said, “I thought if I proved I was AFTD, that it was an ability, they'd lay off.”

  “There were precursors to this episode?”

  He had to know the why.

  “Yeah, it started before Science class. But, there was other stuff before, small stuff.”

  Dad's eyebrows shot up, him being a scientist and all.

  “We were dissecting frogs for the class project and I started having trouble from the beginning,” I said.

  Now that I think about it, I'd had trouble with the Understanding Insects section too. Images of wings speared arose in my mind's eye.

  “What kind of trouble son?” Dad asked.

  “The kinda trouble that other kids notice and think you're sick or retarded.”

  “Caleb Sebastian Hart! That is not appropriate.” Mom's hands were glued to her hips. I wasn't too concerned about being politically correct.

  “Just a second Ali.” Dad was okay with it. “So you didn't mention these,” he hesitated, “fugues?”

  “I guess I should've told you but everything was getting weird and their voices were buzzing all the time.”

  “Whose voices?” asked Dad.

  “The frogs,” I replied logically, shrugging. But frogs weren't all I heard.

  “Ah, what were the frogs... saying, exactly?” Dad's eyes burning twin holes through me.

  “Well, they're not saying words exactly but they feel things, miss things, they,” I swallowed hard because this part bothered me. “They have memories of their life before they died.” It made me sad, but crying was for losers so I opened my eyes really wide. That helped.

  Mom gave me the “I'm worried about you stare”. I was worried about me too.

  “These dead creatures are communicating with you?” Dad asked.

  “Yeah, that's what AFTD is about, Dad. Before we started the dissecting, I would have a blackout, but they were short.” I thought about the roadkill, the insect dissections, shuddering.

  “Like bursts or movies playing in your head or what?” Dad asked.

  “It's like I am them.”

  Mom's hand covered her mouth.

  “... and I can see what they did. When they were taken from the rivers and marshes, they felt,” I thought about the murky memories and their simple minds, “... lost. There was one frog that remembered eating a snake. They screamed when we cut them Dad,” I said in a low voice. God, this was sorta awful. “That's when things got really bad with Carson and Brett. They t
hought I was trying to suck up attention or something gay like that.”

  “Caleb...” Mom's voice filled with warning, “homosexual reference.”

  “Mom, come on!” I said loudly. “We don't use it that way.” This was important and she was worried about my words! Annoying!

  “Ali, let's stay on task here.” Dad was the champion of that (snark-snark).

  “Okay, so how long have you been experiencing these... episodes?” Dad asked.

  “Probably...” I thought about it. Easter was over and I knew when. It was around Valentine's because we have that lame winter break that's not long enough to do jack, “... a couple of months.”

  “That's a long time for symptoms you chose not to address with us Caleb.”

  I had a stab of guilt, looking down at my half-eaten food. I was used to being open with the Parental Unit, but this had a huge confusion factor.

  Mom leaned over and gave me a hug. I let myself be hugged in the good mom-smell then pulled away. I gave her a weak smile.

  She smiled back. “It'll be okay.”

  Adults always say that, even when it's crap, my smile evaporating.

  Dad said, “This doesn't have to be a death sentence Caleb.”

  No pun intended.

  “You know that if they find out that I can corpse-raise I'll be rammed right into one of those spook jobs.” Goosebumps rose on my arms like boiling water. I looked from one to the other. “You remember that other kid, the corpse-raiser, Parker?”

  Mom and Dad looked at each other.

  He nodded.

  “He tested as a five-point on the APs. That was big news,” Mom said.

  Dad said wearily, “Jeffrey Parker, that's his name. It wasn't just AFTD, there were other classifications that he had aptitude for.” Dad raked a hand through his hair, it needed cutting too, standing in errant spikes. I looked at him in surprise, I thought AFTD was it for him, that he couldn't have other abilities.

  “And where is he now?” I asked softly.

  Mom looked at her hands while Dad looked me in the eye. “He works for the government.”

  Of course he would. The government was thrilled to make us all into little robots just as early as possible, with everyone in the job they were “meant” to be. Instinctively I understood I didn't want the job they'd want for me.

  “So what does this mean for him Kyle?” Mom asked.

  “It means we keep it quiet for now. For how long, I don't know. The APs are quite soon,” he looked at me and I nodded. “We have a short amount of time to manufacture a contingency.”

  “I told you that 'playing God' was going to come back and bite us all in the butt. Just because the potential for paranormal ability was discovered didn't mean that it gave our government the right to experiment on our children,” she huffed.

  “It's water under the bridge Ali. We signed Caleb up for kindergarten and he was inoculated along with everyone,” Dad stated.

  When the government saw my dad's and the other scientists' findings on proof of gene markers for paranormal abilities, all mixed up there with you're-gonna-get-cancer someday they went insane. Suddenly, everyone wanted to know if they could read minds or some crazy crap like that.

  Memories of the microchip implantation still felt fresh, the needle piercing flesh the same day we learned our ABCs. The needle glinted as it swung in an arc, bound for our vulnerable necks. I shook the memory loose like the teeth I'd lost in that not too distant childhood.

  I looked at Dad, “So what's the plan? Do I have to be like, scared here?” I was pretty damn anxious.

  “I need to find out a little more about how they administer the test. I'm familiar with the Science portion as I was a part of the revision.”

  “English, Dad,” I said.

  “I helped build the model.”

  “So, you can, what, manipulate the results?” I asked.

  Mom's heart was in her gaze. This was her worst fears realized. Here I was, the kid of a liberal, freedom-seeker and a groundbreaking scientist. Who would think I'd be a Cadaver-Manipulator? Seriously?

  “No, I can't do anything as profound as that. But, I can find something that may cause some latent dormancy,” he said rubbing his chin rhythmically. “There's a drug I can acquire, which will counteract the inoculation that you were given almost ten years ago and your most recent booster. It won't last, but it may help you test weaker. However,” he stared at me, “this won't go away. It's here forever. You were born with this potential. And because of scientific advancement, it's a permanent manifestation. And to answer your question, yes, we should respond with extreme caution. The government uses certain 'loopholes' for nefarious purposes. We are American, Caleb. That means something. Our freedom is precious. No one,” and his brow furrowed, “should be forced into a life-long position, job or be exploited. There is no liberty in that.”

  My palms began sweating with just the thought of losing my independence that way. I didn't know what I was gonna be. But I sure as hell wasn't going to be some government slave! I rubbed my hands on my jeans, leaving the wetness there.

  “Do you know what the component was that the pharmaceutics used in the inoculation?” Mom asked Dad.

  “No, but it's a cerebral-based stimulant so a mild depressant should counteract.” Dad's chin rested on his fist in I'm-formulating-a-plan mode.

  “So, you're gonna give me a drug and I'm not going to be a smart scientist's kid?”

  Dad smiled, Mom didn't. “It's not that funny Caleb,” she continued, “we never hear what really became of the Parker boy but there have been mutterings...” she gave Dad a significant look.

  He glanced her way then said, “Again, it means that discretion is the greater part of valor here. Extreme discretion.”

  Why couldn't I have just been one of the people that talk to the dead? Or, better yet, see ghosts? That's pretty safe. The government doesn't care much about those guys.

  Dad wanted to see my abilities in a “controlled environment.”

  Didn't want a cemetery-repeat right now, thanks. I told mom she had narrowly escaped the Js for supper and she rolled her eyes.

  “Now this is why I had only one son,” she said dramatically. “So I could have two more children later on.” She smiled, she'd always liked the Js.

  Mom made noises about homework before the guys came.

  No Call of Duty tonight, there was other stuff to discuss. As I was thinking that, the doorbell rang. A bright orange flare appeared through the window, an obscure flame through the glass. It had to be John.

  “Come in!” I yelled.

  John lurched in with Jonesy blundering behind like usual, shouting his greeting, “Hi Ali, Hi Kyle!”

  The Parents smiled. John looked at the three of us, scoping reactions. I gave him the chillax expression.

  The stairs reverberated like a herd of elephants as we jogged up to my room to discuss our evil plan.

  John began, “So what happened with your parents?”

  “It was cool,” I replied.

  As cool as it could be when you let someone in on your reanimation-skills. “My dad thinks that he can get some kind of cerebral downer, or...” I thought about it for a second, “inhibitor for during the test, so I won't respond like a five-point.”

  Jonesy piped in, “What about the rest of the test? Are you going to be all high and test stupid in everything else?”

  Fair question I guess. “Nah, my dad didn't think it would affect the other subjects.”

  John whipped out a crumpled mess of papers from his backpack, futility trying to straighten them.

  “What's this?” I asked, eying it with suspicion. I wasn't excited about reading anything informative.

  “It's something I found on the Internet. It might give us some clues about what you can do.”

  I glanced at the first page which read:

  'Affinity for the Dead' or, AFTD, is not just a genetic marker, but a new reality.

  Huh, I read on about the boy tha
t had made headlines only a few years ago.

  A boy like me.

  Jeffrey Parker, eighth grade student, is the first to hit the radar with full-blown, “Affinity for the Dead.” As everyone understands, in 2010 Geneticist Kyle Hart and his scientific team mapped the Human Genome, thereby giving us every genetic marker that we hold as humans. This invaluable information would eventually lead to a pharmaceutical breakthrough that has now unlocked those previously unknown codes.

  Flashes of psychic ability have been witnessed for centuries but now that the “key” to unlock this “door” has been discovered we will continue to have teenagers manifest different abilities that begin to awaken during puberty.

  Parker is (unbelievably) able to raise the dead from their graves. He claims that he, “hears voices” that ask him for, “different things.”

  I looked at the Js, Jonesy was quiet for once, a miracle.

  John said, “I read the whole thing. It talks about all the different abilities we all may have.”

  “Whoa, hold on!” Jonesy said. “I want something cool.”

  I raised my eyebrows, like I wanted AFTD? I'd struggled to appear average, no special attention was good.

  His cheeks flamed even with his dark skin. “Listen Caleb, dude, no offense but I don't want what you got.”

  John glared at Jonesy. “I'm tellin' the truth!” his eyes anxious. “What happened in the cemetery made me want to piss my pants. That dead guy... damn!” he slapped his knee.

  We laughed... so Jonesy.

  The cerebral-downer was a temporary solution. One mess at a time.

  “What about after the test?”John asked.

  There he was diggin' around at the crap I had just decided not to think about. He was like that. I gave him a less-than-friendly look.

  “I don't know... I thought I'd wait and see,” I said.

  “Not good Caleb.” John said. “You know that ass-hat Carson and definitely Brett, are thinking about ways to make your life miserable.”

  I had actually thought of that. I wanted to get through the testing, then tackle the terrible twins. Didn't know if I'd be able to before they ratted me out to some adult that would make trouble.