The Death Thief

The Commune

There was at least a moment, a few seconds, maybe even a minute, in which I considered tracking down Everett and reminding him it wasn't just the timeline for security footage that had changed, but also Calista's memory. When I walked up to the officer manning the front desk of the police station, I had every intention to ask him to radio Sheriff Hathaway and tell him the epiphany I just had. However, none of my best intentions managed to make it to my mouth in time.

"Excuse me, sir, could you tell me where I might be able to find some zombies? Do they gather in any particular bar or park or something?"

"Why do you want to know?" One husky eyebrow perked at my question. His near black eyes held me in a lazy stare from over top his newspaper, the Whisper Post.

"Seems like the people I talk to the most around here are zombies," I said, with a forced smile. "They've been nice to me, but I've never actually asked any of them how I could get in contact with them if I wanted to sit and chat, maybe grab a meal."

"The only meal they want to grab is you after they've broken your neck." He said it all matter-of-factly, his tired gaze steady and unblinking.

"Hey, that's not fair," I retorted in a low voice. "It's not their fault they can only eat dead meat and I don't believe for a second they'd kill me. Especially considering it's against the law."

"May be against the law, but doesn't mean they're not thinking about it."

"Could you please just tell me where to find them?"

"Head back to the main road and go towards the hotel, keep right on going until you reach Killian's farm. Raid keeps a commune near the fields since most of the zombies work for Killian."

"Thank you," I said with a huff. "I appreciate your help."

"They're not going to convert you," he added as I headed for the door. "You're barking up the wrong tree."

I paused with my hand on the handle, taking a few breaths before turning to the police officer, who still eyed me from over his paper. "Is it unheard of around here for someone to simply want to enjoy someone else's company, purely for their company and not for any other selfish reason?"

"There's no one more selfish than a Body," he answered as if I was missing an obvious fact of life.

I had no reply, I just turned for the door and left him to read his paper.

As I passed the hotel, I considered going in and trying out Spencer's buffet. Noon had pulled the sun high into the sky, which filtered through wispy clouds drifting along the sweet spring breeze. A quick glance in revealed Will and Violet sitting in the lobby, neither one talking with their mouths full of artisanal sandwiches. However, my pancakes still weighed heavy in my stomach and I would have just scarfed it down anyway so that I could hurry back out to track down Calista. Instead, I bypassed the ornate brick building and headed down the street with eyes focused on the bright green pastures at the outskirts of town.

As the fields drew near, buildings began to taper off and options for what would make for a decent commune grew limited. Most buildings were marked as a mechanic's garage, or a butcher shop, or some other service. The only thing that could possibly have served to house a community of people was an old warehouse at the edge of a field. Though the windows had a few cracks and the siding was dotted with coppery rust, the sidewalk was swept and a small garden of freshly planted tulips sat in the corner. I started to approach a metal door not far from the garden, but a few voices carried along on the breeze and caught my ear.

"What's for lunch?"

A sweet, high-pitched voice cut through with clarity and drew my attention towards the opposite side of the warehouse. Stepping around I saw a group of three trekking towards me through one of the fields.

"What do you think is for lunch?" grumbled a woman's voice that sounded an awful lot like Calista. "It's always the same thing, just more of Antonov's cast offs."

"Yes, but do you think it will be pig feet or maybe bull snout today?" asked the sweet, wistful voice, which appeared to belong to a squat young woman with long blonde hair pulled back in a ponytail. "I could go for some bull snout."

"Urgh," groaned Calista.

"You'll get used to it," said a man who wasn't much taller than the recently converted zombie. "It's hard when your body only knows what it should eat. Eventually it will learn what it has to eat."

"It's not right," muttered Calista, her words almost lost as a pickup cruised by behind me. "We should be working to get ourselves real food, not harvesting vegetables."

"It's a paycheck, plus the only way we can get real food is if we start killing people!" replied the young woman with a ringing little laugh, though it was cut short by Calista's hard stare. The blonde shrank and cleared her throat. "Sorry, that was in poor taste."

"You think?" snapped Calista.

"Well, who's this?" asked the man as he hopped the fence around the field and caught sight of me waiting by the warehouse. "You're human."

"What?" asked the young woman with a jump and a gasp.

"Del?" Calista dropped the venomous gaze she had upon the shorter woman and instead looked to me with surprise in her almond eyes. "What are you doing here?"

"I was hoping to speak with you...alone." All three of the field hands had made their way to the sidewalk outside the warehouse. Calista looked strange in her dirtied overalls. Still, her effortless bun, pulled to the side of her head to mask the hole in her scalp, and her flawless makeup unscathed by sweat or grime, spoke of how easy it would be for her to step on to the front of a fashion magazine, overalls or not.

"That's not a problem, right Mercedes?" said the man to his shortest comrade, who responded with a shake of her head. "We'll see you back out in the fields, River."

"Thanks Doc," said Calista as the two departed and entered the warehouse.

"River?" I asked, watching the others leave.

"Raid makes everyone take a new name once they've converted. Says it helps us shed our old lives. Not sure that's true when we're supposed to name ourselves after how we died."

"What?" I asked as a shiver crawled up my spine. "That's a bit morbid."

"They're not too hardcore about it. I should have been named Murder or something, but Raid said naming myself after where I died was just fine."

"You're okay with giving up your real name? Calista was very pretty."

"That wasn't my real name," she said with a shrug. "Calista Nightgrave sounded like something a vampire would find appealing."

"Did they?"

"Antonov laughed at me, but told me I was beautiful so it didn't matter." She looked out at the field with a scowl on her face. "What are you doing here? I've got work to do and lunch only lasts so long."

"I...well, I was hoping you could tell me what you remembered before you died."

"Why?" she asked with a roll of her eyes. "I've gone over this already with Kyra and Everett. There's no reason to go over this with you."

"But, I think, no I'm certain," I said with some firmness building up in my voice, "that you know who your killer is."