Death Warmed Over - By Kevin J. Anderson Page 0,86

down the road, I ran back to the rusty Maverick, intent on following him.

CHAPTER 38

Robin’s car wouldn’t start.

Knowing Jekyll was getting away, I banged my fists on the dashboard and steering wheel (careful to avoid hitting the horn). I tried the ignition again, and the Pro Bono Mobile’s engine made a valiant attempt, like a little dog trying to jump over a gate but unable to get enough oomph. I flooded the engine.

So I sat back and waited, counting out a full minute, forcing patience upon myself, even though Jekyll was driving farther and farther with every second.

Finally, I tried the key again, listened to the starter whir—and the engine caught. A belch of blue-gray smoke curled up from the exhaust pipe. Now I was on my way, and although Harvey Jekyll had a head start, I was sure I knew where he was going anyway.

Since he might have noticed me following him too closely, the forced delay worked to my advantage. The gloomy drizzle became a full-blown rain as I drove away from the factory, and the puckered old wipers did little more than smear water and smashed bugs across Robin’s windshield. But I managed to see well enough.

I headed out to the Metropolitan Pre-Used Resource Depository, turned into the gate, and rolled forward along the dirt entrance road, where I saw a set of fresh tire tracks in the mud and gravel. Partway in, I pulled over in a small turnaround surrounded by piled garbage. Since I intended to surprise Jekyll in the act, I didn’t want to drive too close. I switched off the car and pocketed the keys, hoping the old Maverick would start again when I needed to leave. Right now I wanted to creep up and use my phone camera to snap images of Jekyll illegally disposing of toxic chemicals. Although I couldn’t prove what the drums contained, I doubted Jekyll had the required municipal permits.

Up ahead, I spotted the blue JLPN pickup truck parked next to Mel’s trailer. The rain had slacked off to a halfhearted miserable mist. Big Mel was unloading the two drums from the back of the pickup while Jekyll supervised. I couldn’t hear what they were saying.

While Jekyll fidgeted, Mel chatted away as usual, waving his hands. His folding lawn chair was out in front of the trailer door, with a book spread open on the seat. He’d been reading outside in the late-afternoon rain. Zombies don’t mind the damp, even though the weather can be hard on books.

When Mel had wrestled the two chemical drums off the pickup bed and onto the ground in front of the trailer, Jekyll pulled out his wallet and extracted a handful of bills, which Mel pocketed—talking all the while. He wrapped his arms around the first drum and began to drag it off to one side.

Taking pictures of everything, I felt like a predator closing in on a long-awaited kill. A thrill ran through me. Illicit chemical drums, an obvious payoff—and not by a JLPN minion, but by the CEO himself! When added to the silver Grand Wizard ring, this was more than enough for us to force a decent divorce settlement. In fact, it might be enough to bring down JLPN, or at least oust Harvey Jekyll from the company. Unfortunately, that would probably put Brondon Morris in charge, which wasn’t necessarily an improvement, and if we destroyed Jekyll Lifestyle Products and Necroceuticals, Miranda’s divorce settlement wouldn’t be worth much. I would have to be careful about this.

Nevertheless, I snapped more images. Mel continued his cheery, constant conversation with Harvey Jekyll as he moved the first big barrel. He paused to pop open one of the caps on the lid and sniff the contents. He gave a big, dumb smile.

Alarmed, Jekyll shouted at him, which startled Mel. The big zombie slipped in the greasy mud, and the drum rocked from side to side, nearly tipping over. Some of the fluid sloshed across Mel’s chest.

While Jekyll looked appalled, Mel laughed it off. He brushed the stain from his shirt . . . and his eyes flew open, as if a hard candy had lodged in his throat. Mel stared curiously at his hand—which drooped like a wilting flower. Then his fingers fell off. His skin ran like melted wax down his arm, and a hole began chewing its way through his shirt where the chemical had soaked in.

Dropping all caution, I stuffed the phone in my pocket and raced toward my friend.