THE CEMETERY WAS COMPLETELY quarantined off. Even the airspace above it was closed. My entire team was in place around the perimeter. Farther back, there were more guards. Don wasn’t taking any chances on interruption. He was even filming, and one of the dozen men in the immediate vicinity of the grave held a portable camera.
Rodney glanced at all the pomp and shook his head.
“You’ve got to be kidding me. Look at all this shit.”
“All this shit” encompassed the hundred-plus military presence. Rodney was camera-shy. He didn’t trust the government as far as he could throw them, which, in his case, was actually pretty far, but suffice it to say he didn’t like the audience of brass.
Bones didn’t care about the onlookers. When it was finally time, he held up three fingers. From the dozen volunteers in our unit, that number stepped forward. We could have used plasma bags, but according to Bones, fresh blood had more kick to it. My three captains and I weren’t on the menu tonight, because he wanted us strong in case things went south. Like Dave’s head, for example. A sword was at my feet just in case. I’d insisted on being the one to wield it, if it came to that. Dave was my friend. If he wanted to die a second time, it would be from the hand of someone who loved him, although what comfort that might give was questionable.
A medical team stood by, discreetly out of direct eyesight. After Bones drained them to the point of dizziness, the three men staggered over to the med unit. They would get transfusions on the spot with the handiness of modern science.
The casket had been raised from the dirt. It hurt just to see it. All the clamps and seals were broken, and the spotlights illuminated Dave’s face when the lid was flipped back. We were under a tent even though it was well after dark. Don’s paranoia that someone would witness this attempt mandated the tent, on top of everything else. A little corpse reanimation made him downright jittery.
Rodney had a special curved knife for the next part. The five of us gathered closer as Dave was lifted from his casket and laid on the ground.
“Jesus,” Tate mumbled as he saw Dave fully under the lights.
I gripped his hand and found that it was shaking. So was mine. Even Juan trembled next to me, and I clasped his hand as well. My grip increased when they cut the clothes off him from the waist up.
I smothered a gasp when that wickedly curved blade drove into Dave’s breastplate as easily as a knife through cake. Rodney carved out a sizable piece of his rib cage, exposing the heart and surrounding organs. Bones casually placed that piece aside on a waiting tray that now resembled nothing short of a platter.
Who ordered the ribs? the macabre thought raced through my mind.
Rodney doffed his shirt and folded it neatly before placing it well outside the circle. He already had a spare pair of pants there. Then he squatted beside Bones, who was dressed only in a pair of dark shorts. His skin gleamed under the fluorescent lights, but my usual admiration was absent. Must have been the sight of him plunging that same dagger under Rodney’s rib cage, wiggling it around, and then drawing out the ghoul’s heart.
Two of the waiting blood donors vomited. The rest looked like they wanted to join in. I couldn’t blame them, but thankfully, my throat stayed clear. Rodney was amazingly quiet throughout, only grunting a few times and making a comment about paybacks. Bones snorted with grim amusement at that. Rodney’s heart was then placed on another waiting tray before they turned their attention back to Dave.
This part was much simpler with his breastplate off. Swish, swish, swish, and out came Dave’s heart. Rodney unceremoniously shoved it inside his chest cavity while Bones arranged Rodney’s former ticker in Dave. Finally satisfied with the placement, he leaned over Dave’s torso and dragged the knife deeply across his own throat.
The soft outcry came from me, not him, at the sight of his neck hacked open. Bones had warned me that this would be graphic, but hearing and seeing were two different things. With his power, he forced the blood from his body. It came in crimson streams. He had to cut his neck three more times after it healed, and there were more sounds of indigestion from the troops. When that red flow finally slowed, Bones set the knife down and waved at the remaining donors.
“Move it,” I hissed when there was hesitation.
One by one the seven men knelt down, Bones drinking from their necks before they stumbled away. When the last one headed for the medic unit, Bones reopened his artery and the faucet was turned back on.
Something began to happen. I could feel it before seeing anything. The air became charged with energy. My skin crawled as it slipped over me. Blood continued to gush into Dave’s chest, overflowing the cavity, and then my own heart stopped for a second when I saw his finger twitch.
“Holy fucking Christ,” Tate breathed.
Dave’s hand lazily curled, flexing. Next came his feet, toes flinching sporadically even as the torrent of blood from Bones ebbed again.