The Night Beat

For us it’s even grosser than for vamps. And after my freefalling experience, I’m not hungry at all.”
    This floated heavily on the air. The three of them looked a little green, though Jack also looked far too interested. I didn’t really relish the idea of him watching me chow down in this way, but I wasn’t in a position to ask him to look away.
    “What’ll we do while you do…whatever it is you’re going to do?” Sexy Cindy asked finally.
    “Back me, keep any of the deaders from getting away, help the angels if they need it.” I tried not to gag thinking about what might be coming. “Find me some seriously strong alcohol to wash my mouth out with. That sort of thing.”
    I heard quiet gagging from the others. They had no idea. A werewolf in full devour was terrifying as well as gross, and I’d have to work fast because there were a lot of deaders and only one me.
    I managed to control myself from praying. Clearly the gods, Yahweh included, were already paying a lot of attention to what was going on, so if they were going to show up with an assist, it wasn’t going to be to prevent my having to chow down on a bunch of icky dead bodies on the hoof.
    The earth over one grave heaved and I almost reconsidered that prayer. Jerry the Junkie’s body exited the earth, looking just as lovely as before. It figured that he’d rise first -- he wanted to help the Prince’s side, after all.
    Jerry lumbered towards the angels. Deaders don’t move too well, as a rule. Worse than zombies or mummies, though a tad faster than Golem. Then again, almost everything was faster than Golem. Slow, ponderous and steady won the Golem race, that was their unlife motto.
    I took a deep breath. Tossed in a howl for good measure. Hey, I had an audience. Then, I charged.

Chapter 42
     
    Jerry made eye contact with me as I barreled towards him. “Here girl.” He grinned like he was the first one to toss out that knee-slapper. “Wanna fetch my stick?”
    Did the fast thinking thing. There was something wrong about all of this. Not that this was some sort of brilliant revelation. Three top level minions on the human plane hardly spelled out “all’s right with the worlds”. But Jerry looked too happy about the situation. And he’d had dusting explained to him.
    I decided to go with my gut. I didn’t bite him. I hit him with all four paws, claws out for full effect. One thing I’d neglected to mention to the others was that deaders could actually feel. So could undeads, of course. But we were unalive, so that made sense. I hoped the others wouldn’t catch on, though Jerry shrieking when I raked his body up, down and sideways might have been a clue.
    Jerry was flat on his back and I was off him, doing the impressive turn and skid maneuver. He flailed to his feet, looking much worse for wear. “What the hell are you doing?” he yelled.
    “Having fun.” I ran behind him, knocked him onto his face, and did the claw you up thing on his back. Then I jumped up and down. “What’s going on, Jerry?”
    “Aaah! Get off me!”
    “Not an answer, Jerry. You’re too happy about being raised and potentially dusted. What’s the plan, Jerry?” Jump, claw, jump. I started to enjoy myself.
    “Stop! Stop!”
    Happily, Jack was a great cop. He trotted over. “Jerry, you know, she’s in a bad mood,” he said soothingly, working the good cop routine to the max. “Vic, please, the poor guy’s just been raised. Again.”
    I jumped higher and slammed harder. “Pity for him. I want to know what’s going on.” I landed, clawed some more, then flipped him over, so I could jump on his stomach. “You know what, Jerry?” Jump, claw, jump. “If I don’t actually eat you, you don’t dust.” Jump, claw, scratch face, jump. “You just get to be turned into scraps.” Jump, rake claws down arms, jump. “So, what’s going on?” Jump, jump, jump. Playing bad cop was so much fun, I almost forgot there were bigger issues at hand.
    “Help me!” Jerry shouted to Jack.
    Jack shrugged. “She’s in that feral thing werewolves get. Where only mayhem will appease them. Or answers.”
    I sang quietly under my breath. “Jump up, turn around, claw a bit of deader. Jump up, turn around, scratch him on his face. Jump up, turn around, claw more of the deader. Jump up, jump around, bite him in that place.” It was an interactive song, at least how I was doing it. Except for the last line. I hoped Jerry was going to crack before I had to