Death 07 - For the Love of Death Read Free Page B

peanut, son. It's not natural for a child to die before its parents.”
    I hadn't thought about that.
    He had.
    A lot.
    “Your dad can keep her. He can do it.”
    I nod.
    “I can do it.”
    He inclines his head. “I know. But none of us would put that weight on your head, son. Ali doesn’t want it. She doesn’t want to be like Clyde.”
    “Nah. It’s not that she doesn’t want to be like Clyde. She doesn’t want to be a zombie slave.”
    Gramps winces, scrubbing a hand over his face. “You’d think they’d give an exception…”
    “Ya know they won’t. Any zombies made after 2035 are automatically sanctioned. Her card gets pulled and she—she…”
    I can’t finish.
    “ It’s so unnatural, what the Helix Complex did. Now we don’t have enough people to pick up the trash.”
    “ Flip burgers,” I add.
    “ Just enough,” Gramps says thoughtfully.
    “That’s really why Dad won’t.” I look up at his solemn face. “He’d blow off Gram in a second if he thought it’d give her more time. But he knows all it will give her is a potential to be used.”
    Gramps knots his gnarled hands together, hands slightly less arthritic than they were last month. “If I could just get her underground….”
    I stand.
    We look at each other.
    Gramps holds his arms out, and I allow myself to be hugged for the second time that day.
    Neither of us says anything when his shoulder grows wet.

CHAPTER THREE
    Deegan
     
    A ghost floats by, and I keep walking. My reluctant nod to exercise. All my girlfriends do Zumba Twenty. I hate it. It’s my parents’ fault; they’re old-fashioned and have always walked.
    Whenever I trot by the old Scenic Cemetery, ghosts sense me and float over. They’re an annoyance. Some people have seasonal allergies or constant ticks in a body part.
    I have ghosts that tag-team me. It could be worse. I could have it as bad as Pax.
    The worst I have to survive is the spirits moving through my body to get my attention. It feels wet and warm, as though a giant has licked the inside of my body like an ice cream cone. It's part of the much-faceted AFTD fun, I guess.
    I shudder, moving on, and the troublesome spirit drifts away. I walk when I’m stressed out.
    I’ve been walking a lot lately.
    Gram is dying. She of the cookies, breads, pizzas, handmade everything, and overall Comfort Goddess.
    I suck in a shaky breath, and it rattles like a bag of marbles let loose inside me. They make noise as they ceaselessly move. I can’t stop them. A metaphor for my sadness.
    It keeps digging a trench in the endless cavity of my soul.
    My spirit sags under the weight of Gram’s inevitability. I don’t reach out to Pax. He’s as burdened as I am.
    Besides, he’s at Gramps, and they’ll male bond or whatever. I love Gramps, but he’s all thumbs with me. Pax gets him.
    Gram got both of us.
    She fed Paxton and was the constant rock. Always home, always baking and cooking.
    Always there . Just her sheer availability made the burden of being what we were easier to bear.
    Randoms.
    Now she’s going, and we don’t know what to do. We’ve been set adrift and off course. Directionless.
    Walking soothes me.
    Scenic Hill Cemetery is near Kent Refuse, and I pause in front of the gate. It’s been a billion years since I was inside.
    I know I shouldn’t, but I’m dying for a distraction.
    The pulse lock is gone, replaced by a pulse link pad.
    If I had the code to enter, I’d just think it at the pad. The new tech should be cool, but it’s a multi-faceted tool for identification, security, and tally. So in the world of Deegan paranoia, it’s a way to track me.
    If I open the lock legitimately, in theory, they’d know who opened it and why.
    But since I have dominion over all locks, nothing stops my progress.
    My mind sweeps the lock, and it begins to smoke.
    I’ve disabled and ruined the pulse link in one brainwave. That’s the sucky thing about being almost seventeen. I simply hadn’t gotten the hang of