Ghost Walk

Now I pray that the holy corpse of Christ bless me against all evil things, words, and works.”

When he was finished, Levi fell silent again. Outside the window, a bird chirped. He heard a leaf blower hum to life somewhere nearby. Still solemn, he made the sign of the cross four times, to the north, south, east and west. Then he took a deep breath. From this point on, he’d be dealing with methods and benedictions that were decidedly different and far older than the one he’d just recited.

He pulled out the pages from the Daemonolateria and unfolded them. He read each one carefully, focusing on one in particular. He began memorizing it, committing the ritual to memory. He needed to be exact. One miscalculation or an incorrectly pronounced word, and he could fail. In truth, he might fail anyway. There were no guarantees with an entity of this magnitude. His only chance was to confront it before it was completely freed. But these pages, and the items currently locked inside Maria’s car, should even the odds.

And Adam Senft, as well—the most important ingredient of all.

After several hours of study, Levi folded up the papers again and returned them to his pocket. Then, slipping into a meditative trance, he began to prepare for what needed to be done. The sun was warm on his skin, but inside, he was cold.

In the darkness behind his eyes, shapes moved, twisting and floating. He heard the faint voices of the damned.

Concentrating, Levi ignored the ghosts and prayed.

CHAPTER NINETEEN

“Son of a bitch. You’ve got to be shitting me!”

“I wish I was, Ken, but I ain’t. The generator just won’t start. Don’t know what the hell is wrong with it. I’ve tried everything.”

Biting his lip in frustration, Ken breathed through his nose, feeling his blood pressure rise. It was just after one in the afternoon, and the Ghost Walk swarmed with people—volunteers, vendors, delivery personnel, community officials, and a handful of people from the media. They bustled about like ants, busy with a hundred different tasks, all of which apparently needed Ken’s input or approval. It had started the moment he’d arrived. Before he’d even got out of his truck, he’d been besieged by two delivery drivers and a half dozen early volunteers, each voicing a different concern and needing an immediate answer. Now, several hours later, it showed no signs of abating. If anything, the demands for his time and attention were getting worse.

Dennis can’t find his mask. Neil can’t find the keys to the storage trailer. The deliveryman can’t find a pen so I can sign the bill of lading for these fucking pumpkins. Lisa needs a hammer. Jerry needs a hand setting up. Arlene needs help finding her hiding spot along the trail. Stephanie has to leave early. Greg won’t get here until later. Diana’s ice-cream truck got a flat. The french fry stand doesn’t have electricity. The pterodactyl isn’t working. Bayer lost his saw and needs another. Tessa needs some petty cash to buy a wig. Doug hurt his thumb and needs to have it looked at.

“And I need an Advil,” Ken muttered. “Or a beer. Or both.”

“What’s that, Mr. Ripple?”

Blinking, Ken focused on the man. He couldn’t even remember the guy’s name.

“Nothing,” Ken apologized. “Just a little distracted. Look, I don’t know a lot about generators. But obviously, we’re going to need it fixed by tonight. Or else we need a replacement. Either way, we don’t have much time. What are you driving…I’m sorry?”

“Craig.”

“Craig. Sorry. Got a lot of names to remember. What are you driving?”

“I got a truck.”

“Great! Tell you what. Do you know where Harvey’s Rent All is?”

Craig nodded. “Over near the hospital.”

“Right! Can you do me a favor? Take a drive on over there. Tell them we need another generator and that they should put it on my account. Have them test it for you before you bring it back here. Keep track of your mileage and get a receipt for your gas, and I’ll make sure we pay you out of petty cash tonight. Okay?”

Nodding, Craig dashed off. Ken sighed, turned to take care of the five things he’d been working on before Craig interrupted him, and then got sidetracked again by David Tate.

“Hey, Ken,” the man called, running toward him across the field. “You got a second?”

“Exactly one second, Dave. What’s up?”

“I told Terry yesterday that we needed some more plastic sheeting. I just checked the storage trailer, but I couldn’t find any.”

Ken paused. Terry. He’d forgotten all about him. Terry and Tom. Cecil and the others. He’d been so consumed with operations, so caught up in the hectic goings-on and a million other little details and crises, that he’d completely forgotten to check in with them and confirm that everything was okay.

“Listen,” Ken said. “Have you seen Terry, today? Or Tom?”

Dave grinned. “Hell, Ken, there must be two hundred people here, and we ain’t even open yet. I may have. I can’t remember. I know I saw Terry’s vehicle earlier.”

Ken glanced over at the parking area. It was full of cars and trucks. Row upon row of them—too many for him to spot Terry’s with any ease. He tried to remember exactly where Terry had been parked the night before, but couldn’t.

“You sure?” he asked.