Hitchers

at her that same way when she was our waitress at the Blue Boy.”

I tried to say something, but Lorena cut me off.

“I may have to share a body with her, but that doesn’t mean I’m going to share my husband.” She folded her arms. “How could you dance with her like that?”

I could feel my ears getting red. “Lorena, you’re inside her. When I’m dancing with her I’m also dancing with you. That’s always in my mind.” That sounded lame even to me. “Besides, I wanted Summer to enjoy herself, too.” That was closer to the truth.

Lorena grunted, rolled her eyes.

“You know, she doesn’t have to hang around. She could go home, or to Montana, and every time you came out it would take time for us to meet up again.”

Lorena’s eyes narrowed. “She couldn’t afford to go to Montana—” “Let’s just talk about this later,” I said, cutting her off. The last thing I wanted was for Summer and Lorena to have any more reason to hate each other.

Lorena spun, breezed through the door. “Fine.”

#

Mick drove. The security guard tipped us off that the press were waiting for Mick at the exit from the parking lot, and sent us out the delivery entrance.

As we sped through town I looked out the window, feeling ashamed. For two years I’d mourned Lorena, wondering if I’d ever be able to love someone else. Now, miraculously, Lorena had returned, and I was struggling with feelings for another woman. Maybe it was understandable; wouldn’t it make sense that my feelings might blur and become confused when my wife was sharing a body with another woman?

But I’d been attracted to Summer at the diner, before I knew Lorena was inside her. Lorena seemed to think it went back even further. Was I attracted to Summer even when Lorena was alive? I didn’t remember that at all. I’d been madly in love with Lorena.

I pressed my forehead to the window. This was a stupid thing to be worried about. The way things were going it wasn’t going to matter. It was pretty clear both Lorena and Summer were not going to survive this. There was serious doubt I would survive this. On top of all that, I had no idea how Summer felt about me. I’d left my wife to be electrocuted in a rowboat, and goaded my twin sister into jumping to her death. I wasn’t exactly a prize.

“I’m sorry,” Lorena said, her voice low.

I looked at her. “What?”

“I’m sorry. Don’t worry about it.”

I nodded. She took my hand and squeezed; I squeezed back and went back to watching out the window.

There were National Guard troops at most of the intersections, people in olive fatigues who looked like they wanted to go home. The military always wanted a clearly defined mission; this assignment must make them crazy.

“What do you hear from your friend at FEMA?” I asked Mick.

Mick shook his head in disgust. “They’re mostly taking a wait and see attitude. I pointed him toward your posting about what happened to your mate Dave, and he said they’d come across a similar case, but didn’t see how to capitalize on it on a larger scale. So they’re waiting.”

So much for the cavalry riding in to rescue us at the last minute. It occurred to me that that would make a good Toy Shop strip. The National Guard gallop into the toy shop on horseback to help Tina get free of Little Joe’s ghost, and stand around doing nothing, asking if anyone has any hay.

#

It was a strange sight, the three of us and a bodyguard Mick had hired, hanging out in a hospital room. Mick was right about the fame thing—he could have asked them to vacate an entire wing of the hospital for a couple of hours and they would have obliged.

“How long do you think she’ll be?” Lorena asked.

The muscular man with the black-rimmed glasses glanced at Lorena, then back out the window. Grandpa wasn’t going to get another chance to take a swing at Mick, or anyone else.

“It’s got to be a nightmare in there. I’m not convinced she’ll even be able to locate him,” I said.

“Am I part of the nightmare?” Lorena asked.

I turned, surprised. “What?”

“Whenever you talk about The Returned there’s this tone of dread and disgust in your voice. The prospect of a lot of dead people in one place constitutes a nightmare. I’m one of them, you know.” As if I could forget that, with her voice the way it was, her quavering hands.

“Sorry,” I said. “Somehow I never connected you to the rest of them. It’s like, I don’t know, like you were there by mistake.”

Lorena rested her chin on her fist, stared at her feet. “No one gets there by mistake.”

The squirming in my muscles started up. Grandpa’s turn again. “He’s coming,” I managed to say to the bodyguard, then I gritted my teeth until I no longer had teeth.

Grandpa eyed the bodyguard and grunted. “If I was in me own body, in me prime, I might have a go at you.” He stayed in his chair.

I wasted no time turning toward Deadland. If Summer had managed to make the trip she might be grateful to hear a friendly voice. I braced myself, not sure what to expect.

As soon as the room came into view, I felt myself slipping, like I was sitting on a greased slide. I had to sort of puff out to keep from falling out of my body; it wasn’t quite like stretching out my arms and legs, not exactly inhaling deeply to expand my chest. It was something in-between that I did instinctively without knowing quite what I was doing.

Once I felt secured it took a moment to understand what I was seeing. The room seemed larger—more the size of a high school gym than a hospital room. It needed to be, to fit all the bodies. Where the bed should have been was a heap of muttering souls, a giant pudding of entwined bodies. Others were scattered across the floor, some lying, others sitting, a few standing. Yet more were stuck to the walls and ceiling.

Then I saw Summer. I should not have been able to see her, because she should still be in her body, looking at Deadland but not in it. Instead, she was in it. There was someone on top of her, and she was screaming at him to get off.

“Summer,” I called.

“Finn?” She turned and looked for me. Her voice was flat, toneless, the distress washed out of it by this world.

The man lying across her was huge. He had his face pressed to her thigh; he was shushing, the way you’d comfort a small child. “Hold still now, Andrew’s here to help you along.” Then he pressed his mouth to her thigh, worked his jaw, scraping her leg with his teeth.

“Get off of her,” I shouted. Soul eater. The words leapt to mind instantly. This was what Krishnapuma had written about, a soul that doesn’t want to blow away, so it replenishes itself.

He raised his head, looked in my direction. He moved easily, fluidly, immune to the high-G torpor of the world of the dead. “Who said that?”

“You can’t see me because I’m not dead. But I can see you. Leave her alone.” I had to speak up to be heard over the constant low rumble of the dead, going through their mindless recital of the things they’d said in life. It was like trying to have a conversation at a crowded party.

The soul eater looked at Summer, then back in my direction. It looked like there were crumbs, or sawdust, on his chin. “Liar. If you’re here, you’re dead. So why can’t I see you?”

“I’m not dead. Summer’s not dead either.” There seemed to be a lot more flecks blowing off of the soul eater than the rest of the dead.

The man looked at Summer and laughed, his laugh flat, almost mechanical. “Yeah. She’s just full of life. Ready to frolic in some sunflowers.”

“He’s telling you the truth, I’m not dead,” Summer said. She struggled to push up onto her elbows but was barely able to get her shoulders off the floor. “Get off of me!”

“What happened?” I asked Summer.