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Bayou Whispers TWENTY
TWENTYBayou Cypress Pavilion for the Criminally InsaneNew OrleansTHE BAYOU CALLEDto her with scents and sounds—wrapping around her like a favorite blanket. She smelled glorious stagnant pools filled with muck and slime; the subtle peaty smell of decaying leaves and wood—the beautiful, fetid scent of animal flesh giving back to the insects and the plants and the waters of the bayou. Nocturnal animals called for their mates, ate one another, raised their young, and fought over territory. Massive birds screamed at the reptiles trying to hide their hunger. The bayou whispered her new name, whispered approval at her plan.But someone else controlled her body, controlled her thoughts. She fought against it, but the struggle took all her strength. The power of the Loa was as frightening as the knowledge that flooded into her. The bayou laughed at her.Ti Malice laughed at her.This is just a taste, child. It’s your turn now.For Jeannine knew, now, that Cassandra and Ti Mali
Bayou Whispers TWENTY-ONE
TWENTY-ONEU-Store-It!Public Self-Storage Units off of Interstate 12WHILE FERNÁNDEZ SPENTthe night alternating between stacking crap in front of the big metal door and bitching under his breath about “lazy-ass magic douchebags,” Roo prepared for the reanimation of Charley Mouton. The spell used to create the clay vessel for the Golem was relatively straight forward and was to be the last component of the invocation to be done closest to dawn. Using Charley’s degraded tooth to return the ex-Ranger’s soul to the created body, that was the tricky part. Besides, Roo thought, as Fernández swore loudly because the cot he’d just tossed on the top of the makeshift barrier tumbled off the pile and nearly hit him, hard work helps the little man forget he’s been out of chewing tobacco for a few hours. A little before dawn, the bit of yellowing ivory that represented what was left of Charley’s physical form, hummed with stored energy as Roo completed the difficult spell work. Next,
Bayou Whispers TWENTY-TWO
TWENTY-TWOBayou Cypress Pavilion for the Criminally InsaneNew OrleansTHEY WAITED UNTILdaybreak to explore the ruined psychiatric center. Curtis tried Roo and Fernández one last time, leaving a message.“Roo, if you get this, J and I are free and we’re at Cass’s place. Come when you can. Gallow’s in bed with the Major. Watch your asses.” Curtis put the cell back in his pocket. Two calls—to Roo and Fernández, leaving two identical voicemails. Dawn had broken and he hoped his two compadreswere okay—and that they’d been able to quietly bring back the Golem.I’m not sure what will piss Charley off more—the amount of shit he’s missed in the last twenty-four hours, or the fact that Gallow betrayed us. How did I not see that coming? Georgina always hated him, refused to eat at his restaurant even.Jeannine spent an hour adjusting her prosthetic. “It’s the humidity. Makes the stump swell.”It was the only thing she’d said to Jones all morning.When she was done, she s
Bayou Whispers TWENTY-THREE
TWENTY-THREEU-Store-It!Public Self-Storage Units off of Interstate 12CHARLEY “THE GOLEM” MOUTONhad taken out a dozen zombie soldiers before the undead creatures knew they were in trouble. He’d picked up Roo’s truck and used it as a massive sledgehammer to pound them into dust. “Golem,” yelled Fernández, as a couple of the undead turned from the resurrected Charley to renew their attack on him.The Golem moved toward Fernández and tore the heads off the would-be attackers.Fernández picked up the axe that had fallen from his hands during the onslaught, and he and the Golem prepared to charge at the remaining zonbi soldiers.The sharp blast of a horn startled them.The undead turned and retreated from the storage unit.Fernández and the Golem chased after the blue and grey ghouls. The Golem ran in a sideways lope reminiscent of a large primate and roared at the top of his lungs. Fernández moved as quickly as he could to catch up and was so focused on the pumping of his
Bayou Whispers TWENTY-FOUR
TWENTY-FOURBayou Cypress Pavilion for the Criminally InsaneNew Orleans“MAMA?” CROAKED JEANNINE.The sound of her voice echoed dully in the ruins of the asylum. The corpse-thing that had been Cassandra LaRue began a side-shuffling, slow limp toward them. Beetles and roaches streamed from underneath rotted clothing.“That’s far enough,” said Curtis, when the creature had closed the distance between them to five feet. He produced a pistol he’d taken from the body of one of the Major’s guards.Jeannine saw the gun and knew there was only one place Curtis could have gotten it. Cops. They were cops. She killed two cops. Dirty or no, they were—stop it! Not now.The creature let out a moist sound that could have been a laugh. The remaining skin on the left side of its jaw sloughed off and the mandible dislocated.Cassandra-corpse didn’t notice.“The Major’s men are Nazis, for lack of a better label,” she rasped. “You shouldn’t feel guilty about killing Nazis, Dear-heart.” The
Bayou Whispers TWENTY-FIVE
TWENTY-FIVEBayou Cypress Pavilion for the Criminally InsaneNew OrleansTHE CHEVY IMPALApulled up behind the police SUV. Fernández shut off the engine, and he and the Golem listened to the tink-tinkof the settling motor. Fernández tried Curtis’s cell to no avail. “What do you think?” asked Fernández, spitting out a wad of chewing tobacco.“It’s a Dismas Sheriff’s vehicle, all right,” said the Golem. “But if the Major were here, the place would be crawling with cops.”“Fair point. Let’s go see if we can find the boss.”As they got out of the car and headed toward the old asylum, the Golem called a halt.He was looking at the SUV.“These things have GPS trackers in them, don’t they?”“Yeah,” said Fernández. “Why?”“Well, we don’t want the Major or his goon squad showing up. Eventually, I assume they’ll be looking for this piece of shit.”“True, but I have no idea how to disable the—”The Golem picked up the truck and threw it into the bayou.Fernández blinked.
Bayou Whispers TWENTY-SIX
TWENTY-SIXThe SultanaSHE WOKE TOfind her leg gone.This time, her captors had removed her prosthetic before chaining her to a post. She wasn’t in a cramped stateroom this time. She was below deck in a wide-open space, posts reaching from floor to ceiling, spaced every ten feet or so. The smell of the bayou was stronger here than it had been elsewhere on the cursed ship. A single oil lantern burned with a greenish-white glow, making her large prison—perhaps the old ballroom, she thought—look as though it was covered in moss and mildew. A constant dripping behind her began to take on a life of its own. Jeannine tried to ignore the rhythmic splashing, but despite her attempts, her mind counted the splashes. One. Two. Twenty. A hundred.Someone, or something, coughed—a wet sound, perfectly matching her prison’s rhythm.“This must be the Sultana,”said a deep voice from behind her.She couldn’t believe it.“Curtis?” she asked, voice cracking.“Hiya, J,” said the same vo
Bayou Whispers TWENTY-SEVEN
TWENTY-SEVENThe BunkerTHEY WERE TEN MINUTESfrom Curtis’s place when the Golem finally spoke. “So, tell me again, how many times have you died?”Curtis sighed. “Twice. The machete was number two. The car accident the other day was the first—I think.”“I don’t believe this,” grumbled Charley, shaking his head. “You think that was the first?”“You’re one to talk,” said Curtis, frowning. “I don’t claim to understand it. All I can tell you is that when I climbed out of the car, I felt no pain. Nothing, from any of my injuries in the crash—no pain at all. Not even my knees, which I’ve been bitching about since the war.”“What’s, uh, keeping you here?” asked the Golem. “I know Roo brought me back using some of his voodoo stuff. But he’s dead. I mean dead-dead. No one brought you back.”Curtis didn’t speak for a minute or two, a faraway look to his eyes.“That’s a good question,” he said slowly. “I know ... there is a purpose to my being here. And before you ask,
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