Death Warmed Over - By Kevin J. Anderson Page 0,87

I didn’t care about hiding any more. “Mel!”

Jekyll whirled in panic. Mel turned toward me with an odd, abandoned look on his face and collapsed in on himself, flopped to the ground, and disintegrated into a mound of shapeless tissue.

“You bastard, Jekyll! What did you do to him?” I’d already seen other victims melt down and knew it was too late for Mel. But now I had proof positive that Jekyll was behind the epidemic. I grabbed my gun from its holster and ran up to Jekyll.

For a little guy, he was surprisingly strong. He shoved the chemical drum over, dumping the fizzy blue chemical onto my legs, my shirt, my chest. I felt the cold sliminess of the strange fluid, and I knew damn well what it would do to me. I’d just watched Mel collapse and do his best blob imitation. Within seconds, my flesh would drip off, my bones would fall apart, and I would become an un-undead.

Although I didn’t remember anything about being dead the first time, I had no wish to return to the grave. I couldn’t stand the thought of putting Robin and Sheyenne through the grieving process all over again.

Suddenly I realized that I was not, in fact, disintegrating. The fizzy blue chemical might have stained my suit, but my undead body was still functioning as well as a few minutes ago. I was too stunned to be thrilled by the fact.

Jekyll dove into his pickup and started the engine. The tires spun, kicking up mud and gravel as he accelerated. I didn’t have time to wonder why I wasn’t joining Mel in the glop brotherhood—I had to stop Jekyll from getting away.

I placed myself in the middle of the dirt road, but Jekyll didn’t hesitate. He gunned the engine and came straight at me. Being brave, or just stupid, I stood squarely in front of the truck, and the pickup knocked me flat into the mud. The truck roared over me . . . but the tires missed my body. The undercarriage passed mere millimeters above my face, and the truck roared off, slewing back out of the dump and onto the main road.

I lay sprawled on my back in the soft muck, and eventually I pried myself out of the puddle, reminded of the last time I’d crawled out of the grave. I was drenched, muddy, and humiliated, but not overly damaged.

Saddened and angry, I sloshed over to my friend’s shapeless remains that were spreading in all directions like a red-and-yellow amoeba. In my jacket pocket, the camera phone was mud-smeared but still intact. I looked for a clean swatch of fabric so I could wipe off the lens. I was going to nail Jekyll for a hell of a lot more than a divorce settlement.

On Mel’s lawn chair I saw one of his self-help books, soaked by the rain. Mel had always tried to better himself, to do his best despite his circumstances. The book was titled I’m Dead, but I’m OK. He’d made it only to chapter two.

Poor Mel. What remained of my heart went out to him, just as when I’d seen Sheldon Fennerman staked to the brick wall of the alley.

Garbage rustled in the giant mounds surrounding his trailer, and I saw gleaming black eyes, pointed snouts, and spiky brown fur as three gargantuan rats emerged from hiding, whiskers twitching as they quested the air.

They came closer to the pile of ooze and let out plaintive squeaks. Rover, Fido, and Spot—he had named them, befriended them. These oversized rodents were misfits through no fault of their own, just as Mel had been. They looked at me now, as if expecting me to make everything better again, or at least to explain. I had nothing to say, not to giant rats, not to anyone.

I patted each creature on the head, trying to console them. “You’ll do all right here for yourselves. You’ve got all the garbage in the world as your home.”

But that didn’t help Mel.

No matter what, I had enough cold evidence for a long list of criminal charges against Harvey Jekyll. McGoo wouldn’t hesitate to take action, I knew that. He’d be perfectly happy to wrap up the prominent case of the melting unnaturals and get a gold star in his personnel file, although it would take quite a few stars to get him reassigned outside of the Quarter.

The chemical drums were still here just in front of Mel’s trailer, but I wasn’t going to touch