Books of the Dead (Book 3): Dead Man's Land Read Free Page B

was winner take all. The Lord of the Dead was out for blood, our blood, and I feared he was going to start spilling it soon.
    A whistling sound cut through the cool night air, and a millisecond later, my world exploded with a light so intense that it burned through my eyelids, filling my world with a supernova intensity.
    I bolted awake in a cold sweat, my heart pounding in my ears. So much for catching up on my sleep. At least I had been warned. How grateful I was for the warning was doubtful. 
    If only someone had warned me about the shit storm Brother Ed was stirring up for our community meeting, I might have stayed in bed for the next century. In just the short amount of time from our impromptu meeting in the infirmary the night before, he had been able to work people into “quite a lather.” Now, that’s what I call, “working it.”
    “Why aren’t we putting that boy out?” Mrs. Hatcher, our chief cheerleader of negativity, shouted across the crowd.  “He has been bitten. He needs to go.”
    Brother Ed had been able to stir up the interest of a good number of the people in our community.  As usual, this ad hoc meeting was held in our dining area.
    “That’s my point,” Brother Ed said, his arms spread dramatically wide, imploring the audience to follow his lead. In my opinion, he was enjoying his elevation to a seat at the “Adult Table” way too much. 
    As usual, the leadership team sat behind a table in the dining room in front of most of the people of our happy little community. The spectrum of expressions in the crowd ran from frustration, to irritation, to fear. There were no fence sitters in this crowd.
    “Please, please,” Doc Wilson said, raising his arms, hoping to calm the crowd.  “We have already talked about this. The boy is not a threat. We have proven through the treatment of Hub Underhill that this boy has an immunity to the zombie virus.”
    “But didn’t Hub turn?” Steve Hampton asked from the crowd.  While he wasn’t in Brother Ed’s camp, he did seem to bring his own cloud of doubt wherever he went.
    “Yes, he did,” Doc said, “but not until after days and days of transfusions from the boy that held the virus at bay.”
    Sally Jeffers stood and said, “I was down there several times and saw it myself. Those transfusions worked.” She stayed on her feet, looking around the room as if challenging anyone to contradict her, then finally sat back down, but kept an eye on Steve Hampton.  Although I barely knew her, it made me like her even more. She reminded me of my mom.
    “What does that really prove?” Mrs. Hatcher asked. “In my book, nothing. The boy has to go.  We have rules for a reason.”
    My head pounded from fatigue as her voice bore into my brain like a wasp’s stinger, but I held my composure as I stood.  “Can we call him by his name?  His name is Jason.”  The room quieted some, but Mrs. Hatcher locked me in a death stare. I didn’t melt, so her evil powers must have been at a low ebb. 
    “We have isolated him to a room, and he is under constant monitoring,” I said. Jo was down there because I knew I could count on her, but the real reason I had someone there was more for his protection than ours. I would rate her shooting skills with Kara’s, and she was a pretty cool customer. No one was getting by her, at least, not without a fight.
    “Is that supposed to make us feel safe?” Brother Ed asked.  “He’s still in here with us, and who knows if he can carry the virus without being affected by it. Maybe he can still infect us!”
    “Yes, like Typhoid Mary,” Mrs. Hatcher said with as much indignation and outrage as she could muster. This whole act was sounding just a little too rehearsed for me.
    “There’s clearly no evidence of that,” Doc Wilson said.  “He’s been with us for weeks, and there’s been no one who’s come in contact with him who has shown any symptoms.”
    “But who has been with him?”  Brother Ed asked.