Sod was still staring at Barley when Uncle Rodge returned, towels in hand.
‘Let me get this straight,’ said Sod in a low voice. ‘You’ve been dead for forty years? And you’ve been a zombividual all that time?’
‘You told him?’ Uncle Rodge looked aghast as he came back into the ballroom and handed Sod a towel.
‘It’s OK,’ said Barley, stalking back and forth, his hands behind his back. ‘All the reapers will know soon enough.’
‘Are you a zombividual too, Uncle Rodge?’
‘Of course not, Soddy.’
Sod wiped away the last of the fake blood dribbling out of his nose. ‘No wonder you’re such a good guitarist,’ he said to Barley. ‘You’ve probably been playing for years.’
‘I loved rock and roll before you were even born,’ said Barley bitterly. ‘Chuck Berry and the Beatles were real rockstars. They were nothing like the crap bands you kids listen to these days. After I died, playing music was one of the only things I still cared for.’
Barley wiggled his gloved fingers in the air. ‘But I had to protect these.’
Sod knew what it was like to get blisters on his fingers from playing too much guitar. ‘That’s why you always wear those gloves,’ he realised. ‘You don’t have eczema – you’re guarding your fingers against blisters that would never heal.’
Finally, Sod was beginning to understand the things about Barley that had never made sense. ‘You’re not a pale, iron-deficient vegetarian. You’re a freaking zombividual!’
‘And not just any zombividual,’ Barley said, in a threatening voice Sod had never heard before. ‘I was the very first zombividual. Sadly, becoming a zombividual meant dying. And dying meant an end to my reign as the Danforth president.’
‘Wait. What? You were the president?’
‘That’s right,’ said Uncle Rodge, smiling proudly. ‘Barley’s name isn’t actually Barley. It’s Maximilian Danforth.’
Sod dragged a memory up from the depths of his mind and remembered a painting out in the hallway of past presidents.‘That’s why that painting of Maximilian Danforth looked familiar,’ he cried.‘You’re Uncle Rodge’s dad!’
Barley smiled. ‘Bingo.’
‘And my dad’s dad,’ Sod gulped. ‘Which means … you’re my grandpa?’
‘You are a smart lad.’
Barley had never really looked like a teenager. He was too big and hairy. But he didn’t look like an old man either. Sod was spinning out. He couldn’t believe that all this time he’d been playing in a rock band with his own grandfather.
‘But don’t worry yourself with this for now, Soddy,’ said Uncle Rodge. ‘Since you’ve somehow become a zombividual we should take you to Dr Filibuster and get you fitted out.’
Sod swallowed a gulp. He hadn’t expected his impersonation of a zombividual to be so successful. ‘I thought Dr Filibuster left town.’
‘He’s hiding. We’ll take you to see him. We have more Eternaserum here in the manor.’
Sod did not want to go under Dr Filibuster’s knife. He needed to keep them talking. ‘I don’t get it, Uncle Rodge,’ he said. ‘Why did you secretly “adopt” your own dad?’
‘I was so overjoyed when he showed up on my doorstep a couple of years ago, Soddy,’ said Uncle Rodge. ‘I recognised him from his portrait in the Danforth Manor and took him straight in. I had a second chance to know my father. It was a miracle.’
No wonder Barley was bossing Uncle Rodge around. Barley was his dad. Barley was in charge. And that meant …
‘Selling zombividualism was your idea, wasn’t it?’ said Sod, staring at Barley.
Barley and Uncle Rodge looked at Sod in shock.
‘That’s right – I know everything,’ said Sod, desperate to get a confession. ‘I know about Eternaserum, I know that Walter Bones was a test case and I know you’re about to turn Magic Williamsburg into a zombividual.’
Uncle Rodge whispered over his shoulder to Barley. ‘How does he know all that?’
‘I have my ways,’ said Sod.
‘What a snooping little know-it-all you are,’ said Barley through clenched teeth.
‘Soddy, you have to trust that we’re doing the right thing for the family,’ said Uncle Rodge, a faint note of desperation in his voice. ‘When the time is right, we’ll explain what we’ve done to clear our debts and modernise the family business. We had to do it, Sod. Zombividualism will change our family fortunes!’
‘And what about the B–’ Sod cut himself off, trying to keep his face neutral and hide his true feelings. It infuriated him that his uncle had made no mention of the Black Portals, but he knew he was close. ‘So Magic Williamsburg was your first customer?’
‘Yes,’ said Uncle Rodge.
Bam! Sod had his confession. This was plenty of proof to take back to his dad. But first he had to get out of there. Before they took him to Dr Filibuster.
And yet something still didn’t make sense. He turned back to Barley. ‘If no-one else had ever been a zombividual before you, how did you know how to become one?’
‘I was the president of a family of reapers, you idiot,’ said Barley. ‘I was so annoyed when I died because of a stupid accident. What kind of an idiot falls off a ladder and breaks his neck? When I came out of my dead body as a spirit, I refused to believe I was really dead. So I floated back down into my corpse and stayed there, hoping the whole thing would just go away. Before I knew it my Time Stoppage was over. I was dead and people were crying all over me. But somehow, I was still conscious.’
‘So you discovered it by accident?’
‘It was such a tragedy,’ Uncle Rodge said. ‘Daniel and I never grew old enough to remember our own father. Our mother never got over it.’
‘They pumped embalming fluid into me and planned a funeral,’ Barley continued. ‘I didn’t know what to do. Everyone thought I was dead. So I escaped from the coffin right after the viewing and hid in an abandoned shed. But after a couple of days I started smelling like old meat. My body was decomposing. So I snuck back into the funeral home one night and pumped myself full of fresh embalming fluid. I had to break into funeral homes every few days and top up with new fluid. I lived that miserable existence for almost forty years.’
‘But things got better,’ said Uncle Rodge, proudly. ‘He invented Eternaserum.’
‘I started reading a lot about chemistry,’ Barley explained. ‘And started mixing fluids, liquids and other substances together to make a better kind of embalming fluid that lasted longer. A few years ago, I stumbled upon the right formula. It preserved the body, powered the central nervous system and was an energy source as well. Best of all, it didn’t need to be replaced every few days. Not with an artificial heart to keep it flowing around the body. I called it Eternaserum, memorised the recipe and filled myself up, realising that it could keep me alive forever.’
‘But weren’t you miserable?’ asked Sod, thinking about Walter Bones again. ‘Didn’t you just want to die?’
‘Being a zombividual is a terribly empty existence. That’s why I joined your band. Playing guitar is one of the only things I still enjoy doing. And when you’re a zombividual you hold on tightly to the things that you still care for.’
‘Your old grandpa is one tough cookie, eh, Soddy?’ said Roger. ‘We’re lucky he came back to us.’
‘I came back for a reason,’ said Barley, his eyes shining excitedly. ‘Should I tell him?’
‘Yes.’ Uncle Rodge turned towards Sod confidentially. ‘He came back to help with our money problems and to get things back on track.’
‘Well, not quite,’ said Barley with a grin.
‘What do you mean?’ said Uncle Rodge, his face falling in confusion.
Barley walked off into the shadows of the ballroom and reappeared a few moments later wearing a black cloak. It covered his blue uniform and as he walked it dragged along the ground behind him.
‘This is what a real reaper looks like.’ Barley reached back and lifted the hood over his head. It obscured his face from view completely. ‘A hundred years ago the Danforths were one the most feared and respected families in the world. Everyone worked out of Danforth Manor, which was a proper building back then, with a constantly shiny coat of black paint. When we went out to reap we wore these black cloaks. Not to disguise ourselves but to put fear into the hearts of anyone who saw us,’ said Barley, pushing the black hood back to reveal an enormous, scary smile.
It was bizarre seeing Barley smile. But Sod had to remind himself that this wasn’t Barley anymore. This was Maximilian, his cunning zombividual grandfather. Even Uncle Rodge was looking worried.
‘People whispered about us and knew we had dark powers. Some even guessed we were reapers. Children would dare each other to knock on the front door of our manor, because it was the scariest place in town. One plucky family even moved in across the street from us and built an identical manor to ours in an attempt to emulate our prestige.’
‘The Williamsburgs,’ said Sod.
‘Yes, but they were unknowns back then and we had all the power.’ Barley reached into the air, his gloved hand in a fist, as he savoured the memory. ‘We tipped off police as to the whereabouts of murder victims and collected big cash rewards. People left gifts and money on our front doorstep in a bid to stay on our good side. We accepted bribes all the time, but we still reaped whomever the Death Transfer Station told us to reap. The list of destined-to-die people came to us by telegram back then. It was a wonderful, old-fashioned time to be a Danforth – we were rich and powerful and frightening and respected.’
‘So what happened?’ said Sod.
Barley brought his arms down slowly. ‘The world changed. It was already changing when I was the president. And after I died, people in the Danforth family started to want other jobs. They wanted to get out and see the world, and stay under the radar. They forgot about the power of fear. Everything became about modern reaping and denying the old power we used to have.’
‘But our modern tech system is a good thing,’ said Uncle Rodge, shaking his head.‘It makes everything more efficient.’
‘I don’t care whether the DTS uses telegrams or electronic scythes,’ snarled Barley, making Uncle Rodge jump back. ‘I hate everything that we’ve become. Every Danforth has a civilian job now and they all reap so discreetly that the public has forgotten about us. We aren’t feared anymore. We have no power! People have forgotten about death.’
‘We help people in their final moments of life,’ said Sod. ‘And we still get to go to school and work and live mostly normal lives. We’re not bogeymen.’
‘But we could be so much more!’ said Barley, raising his arms in the air again, like he was summoning a great beast from the underground. ‘We can be what we once were – the most powerful family in the country. We’ll change the name of the town back to Danforthia again. That’s what it used to be called before the Williamsburgs owned everything. Powerful families need money to run. And we can make millions by selling zombividualism to people who want to live forever.’
That sent a chill through Sod’s bones. This was bigger than just the Williamsburgs. Barley was going to make zombividualism available to everyone. Well, anyone who could pay for it.
‘Being a zombividual is nothing like living forever,’ said Sod angrily.
Barley shrugged. ‘No-one knows that until they’re dead.’
‘What about the Black Portals that are created when dead people become zombividuals?’ pleaded Sod. ‘Don’t you care about the innocent people those portals will take? Don’t you care about Anton Scully?’
‘Anton was just one person,’ said Barley, swatting the name away like an annoying fly. ‘I’m talking about turning reaping into a multimillion-dollar business. We’ll still grim-reap as usual, but we’ll offer an extra service on the side to keep the business going. The Death Fund will never be empty again and all the reapers can quit their day jobs. We’ll fix up Danforth Manor, everyone can wear black cloaks again and we’ll become the powerful and terrifying family we should be.’
‘That’s not what you said to me,’ said Uncle Rodge, rounding on Barley furiously. ‘I thought we were just doing this to clear our debts!’
Barley smiled coldly, but didn’t bother replying. It was obvious that Uncle Rodge had been used.
‘And how are you going to take us back to the dark ages of reaping?’ said Sod. ‘You’re not the president anymore.’
‘My boy Roger will do what I tell him,’ said Barley in a commanding tone. ‘I am his father.’
Sod looked at Uncle Rodge, but he said nothing. He just stood there sweating, and looking terribly confused. Things were about to spiral out of control.
But had the spiralling started yet?
‘Is Magic Williamsburg already dead?’ Sod asked.
‘Not yet,’ said Uncle Rodge. ‘But he’s all ready to die. Just as soon as I –’
Sod reached for his scythe and hit speed dial. Finally, here was a death he could prevent if he moved fast enough.
‘Dad?’ he said into his scythe.‘Listen, Magic Williamsburg is going to die and become a zombividual any moment now. Can you put out an alert to all Danforths telling them not to give the Death Touch to him?’
‘You’re sure?’ came his dad’s voice.
‘Dead sure,’ said Sod, eyeballing Barley.
‘I’m on a computer now. I’ll do it immediately.’
‘I was going to wait and do this in a controlled environment,’ said Barley, tapping his own scythe. ‘But you’ve forced my hand. So I’ve just allocated Magic’s death to Roger. And my boy is an expert at giving the Death Touch.’
Sod spun around. Uncle Rodge was gone.
‘See?’ said Barley with satisfaction. ‘My boy does what he’s told.’
It was painfully obvious that all Uncle Rodge cared about was clearing the family debt and keeping his sham of a presidency going. If Magic Williamsburg didn’t become a zombividual the loan would not be cancelled anymore.
‘I heard that,’ said his dad over the phone. Sod could hear the sound of furious typing. ‘I’m looking at the Death Transfer Station allocations, and I can see that Magic is in the school gym.’
‘The gym?’ Sod repeated. Then he remembered Anton’s memorial. It was open to the public. ‘Meet you there?’
‘Yep.’
Sod hung up and shoved his scythe in his pocket.
‘Thinking of leaving?’ said Barley.
‘Thinking of stopping me?’
‘No, you’re welcome to go. You’ll be a stinky, rotting mess of a corpse in a couple of days anyway.’
Sod grabbed the water bladder out of his bag, dragged the tube out from under his top and threw it through the air. ‘The only rotten corpse here is you.’
Ten minutes later Sod burst through the side door of the gym. The memorial hadn’t started yet.
Some guys were tuning their instruments on stage – the cover band getting ready to play. There were more people in the gym than Sod had ever seen before. Students, teachers, friends and parents were all sitting in tight rows on fold-up chairs. But where was Magic?
He scanned the crowd and spotted the large Williamsburg president standing at the back. He was wearing a fancy suit and was flanked by five men in dark glasses. Were they just the muscle – or other random Williamsburgs?
Sod suddenly felt his blood surge through his veins with the power and ferocity of an ocean storm. He’d never felt his blood going so immediately crazy before. And now it was screeching in his ear so loudly he could hear nothing else.
Now! Now! Now! Now! Now! Now!
Sod cupped his hands over his ears. He started moving towards Magic Williamsburg, just as Uncle Rodge appeared.
‘No!’ cried Sod.
But he was too late. He watched as Uncle Rodge said something in Magic’s ear. He was probably explaining that he had to zombividualise immediately. Magic nodded and the two men shook hands. The Death Touch was done. Magic was as good as a zombividual now. And a Black Portal would be opening up outside somewhere soon. Sod dropped his head into his hands.
A moment later his uncle appeared beside him. He’d changed into a clean Hawaiian shirt. ‘Sorry, Soddy. It’s just one zombividual. If we didn’t do this, we’d go bankrupt.’
‘Yes, and you’d get the blame,’ said Sod viciously. ‘We couldn’t have that, could we?’
Sod was going to yell at his uncle some more until he saw Dorothy Danforth appear in the hall. He’d never seen her outside of the canteen before. She walked over to where Magic was and, one by one, touched the five other Williamsburg men on their backs. Had she just dished out five Death Touches? Were all of those Williamsburg men about to die? Six in total?
‘Oh no,’ said Sod. ‘Who are the other men with Magic?’ ‘I think they’re the Williamsburg board of directors,’ said Uncle Rodge, squinting over at them. ‘How come?’
Magic and the five other Williamsburg men reached into their pockets and each held up a small, round pill in their fingers. Cyanide pills – the same thing Walter Bones had used.
‘Don’t do it!’ screamed Sod.
A few people in the crowd looked over curiously as Sod ran towards the men. Magic Williamsburg spotted him and winked, before sliding a pill into his mouth and swallowing. His board of directors all did the same.
‘Bugger,’ said Uncle Rodge, chasing behind him. ‘Why do people keep changing the plan on me?’
Magic Williamsburg wasn’t turning into a zombividual alone like he’d arranged. He was doing it with his board of directors. And because Sod had cornered Barley it was all happening now. Six men were about to die. Six zombividuals were about to be born. Six Black Portals were about to open. And six innocent bystanders were about to be swallowed whole.
This will not end well, thought Sod.