“Da,” he replied abashed.
“Of course, maybe there will be no more survivors now that someone has taken out the radio,” she said, switching back to English. She did not look back at us, but I knew where her comment was directed.
When we got to the door, Rumor stopped. She looked at Jamie. “Thank you for trying to help my friend,” she said and then went inside leaving Jamie and I to stand looking at each other not knowing what to think. I told Jamie what she had said.
“That woman had no pulse when I knelt down. She was as dead as a corpse. But after she turned, I felt her blood. She had a pulse. It was like her heart had started again.”
“The blood,” I said, “the undead blood revived her?”
Jamie shook his head. “I don’t know, but . . .”
I looked back at the boat.
“What does it mean?” he asked.
“I don’t know.”
The rest of the night passed uneventfully. I don’t know if Rumor decided I was too dangerous to mess with, had another plan waiting for me, was expressing true gratitude toward Jamie, or had just taken the night off, but neither I nor Frenchie were disturbed that night. I knew I should stay awake. I knew I should try to figure out what to do next, but my body could bear no more. Adrenaline can only take you so far. After all, I was human. I lay down that night in Jamie’s arms and slept soundly.
Chapter 29
Early the next morning there was a sharp rap on the door. “Layla,” I head Tom call. “Layla . . . Jamie,” he called again, knocking hard.
I jumped out of bed and unbarred the door, flinging it open.
Tom, looking frantic, was on the other side. “You need to come quickly,” he said.
Jamie was just rolling out of bed. “Is it Ian?”
Tom shook his head, and then noticing our state of undress, looked away, embarrassed. “Sorry, guys,” he said, “but it’s urgent.”
Jamie and I slid our clothes on and grabbed our weapons. Rushing outside, the three of us crossed the nicely manicured lawns of the HarpWind Grand to the lakeside. There, the HarpWind was poised at the edge of a cliff 40 feet above the water. Several people leaned against a fence and looked below. I noticed that Dusty and Buddie were there; they both looked very upset.
As I walked toward the fence, my blood began to cool. Jamie and I looked over. There, far down on the rocks below, lay the body of Pastor Frank.
“I was out walking,” Buddie said, “when I saw him there.”
Just then a group of five people from the hotel ran across the lawn and joined us.
“What is it?” a woman with wild curly red hair asked. She looked over the side.
“Another accident,” a bystander said. She had been standing by Dusty and Buddie when Jamie, Tom, and I had arrived. I looked at her. She was an older woman, about seventy or so, with curly gray hair.
The red-haired woman instructed the two men with her to go down and get the body.
“I’m coming too,” I said, joining them. The others from Hamletville were fast on my heels.
“Oh, it’s okay, we can take care of it,” she replied.
“I said I’m going. We all are,” I told her sternly, and we followed the two men as they wound down a narrow flight of stairs on the cliff-side. When we got to the bottom, we jogged over to Pastor Frank’s body. The cold lake waves were breaking on his feet. He lay face down.
Buddie leaned down and turned him over. His face was frozen in the grimace of death. He was pale white, his skin tinged blue around the edges. His eyes, a sort of light golden brown color, were alarmingly wide open.
I heard Dusty inhale sharply.
Jamie leaned down and closed the Pastor’s eyes. He turned and looked up at me.
“What happened?” Tom wondered aloud.
One of the two men looked back up at the others standing by the fence. “Must have slipped. Ground is still wet. If you’re not careful, it’s really easy to fall.”
I looked at the man. Did he really think we were that stupid?
“That’s why you have a fence though, isn’t it?” Buddie asked, and I watched his eyes work. He was calculating: distance, trajectory, broken vegetation, injuries. When he was done, he looked at me. Buddie shook his head.
I nodded.
The two men bent to pick up Pastor Frank’s body.
“Here, let us,” Dusty said, grabbing the Pastor’s shoulders. Jamie took his legs and Buddie, Tom, and I followed behind. The two men led us back up the stairs. At the top, Jamie and Dusty, each out of breath, lay the body down.
The red-haired woman kneeled and looked over the pastor. “I’m sorry,” she told us. “There is a garden in the back of the hotel. We’ve been interring people there as needed.”
Buddie had moved away from the group and was examining the cliff edge.
“You have that need a lot?” I asked.