Un2Dead (Book One of the Un2Series)
Chapter Eighteen

Wit brushed the dirt from his jeans and ran his hand through his hair to make sure there weren’t any stray bits of food truck lodged in it. “I don’t know why in the hell you would be way out here but I sure am glad you are. Thanks.” He reached out to shake Conan’s hand. “What are you doing out here anyway?

“Well, I went to the gym but no one was there. Reese had said that you were bound to oversleep at least once and that I should come by the house to get the keys when that happened. As I pulled up to the house I saw you and the boys drive off. I thought I would just follow you back to the gym but you headed over to the highway. After a certain point curiosity got the better of me so I just kept following you. I nearly lost you when you left the interstate and stopped at that diner.”

“Why didn’t you come in and have something to eat?”

“That would have been stalkward.”

“Stalkward?”

“Yea. You know when someone you’re watching catches you watching. Stalkward.” Conan looked away slightly embarrassed.” So, where are Gary and Joey?”

“They’re around. It’s a long story. We’re on a mission of sorts. Hey, we probably should get out of here before the cops arrive.“

Wit opened the passenger side door and motioned for Gary to get inside. “See ya back at the gym. Thanks again.”

Wit patted Conan on the shoulder. Conan grabbed his wrist as Wit tried to walk away.

“Not so fast, Mister Man. I’m a part of this now, whether you like it or not.”

“Listen, we have to get going. There are places we need to be. Things we need to do.”

“You mean like dispose of a dead body?” Conan nodded toward the bed of the truck.

“No! No dead bodies! Well, technically dead, but that’s neither here nor there. We have to get to the coast by nightfall. It is very important!” Wit yanked his hand free.

“I’m coming with you.”

Distant sirens grew louder by the second. Wit looked at Gary, who gave him a nod of approval.

“Okay. Follow me and I will explain everything later.” Wit ran round the front end of the El Camino and paused briefly as he looked back across the roof at Conan.

“Woo hoo! We’re goin’ on a mission!” Conan vaulted across the hood of the squad car and ran off toward a vehicle obscured by the bushes that bordered the parking lot.

“We are going to regret this.” Wit said to Gary as they sped away from the crime scene.

Mid-morning turned to mid-day and eventually mid-afternoon. The sun became a glowing orange beach ball in the rear view mirror. The countryside slowly became overgrown with asphalt as the convoy of two vehicles neared the metro area. Wit pulled into the first respectable-looking low-budget motel he saw, which took longer to replace than he had expected. The front office was a stand-alone cottage which sat proud of a two-story structure. Wit could see the desk clerk through the picture window, reclining with his feet propped up on the counter, a laptop balanced on his thighs. Arena rock must have been coursing through his ear buds based on the style of air-drums he was playing. Wit pulled to curbside and entered the office. The clerk remained reclined but popped loose his right ear bud.

“I’d like a room for the night,” Wit said as he slid his driver’s license and credit card across the counter.

“Pick a key off the wall and jot down your name and room number in the register. We’ll settle up tomorrow.”

The clerk pointed to a panel hanging near the end of the counter. It was covered with a drawing of the motel. Hooks for keys were screwed into each door. Wit chose a key for the room located farthest from the office and still on the ground floor. He wanted to move Joey from the El Camino into the room so his awakening would go unnoticed. Carrying him up a couple of flights of stairs would definitely draw attention. Having Conan with him made it physically easier to move Joey but made things far more complicated in general.

“Okay, see ya tomorrow.” Wit waved at the air-drumming clerk but got no response. He shrugged and continued on his way.

Wit backed the bed of the truck up to the door of their room. He signaled for Conan to park between him and the office in order to block the clerk’s view. He unlocked the door and propped it open with one of their backpacks.

“Conan, I will explain everything in two minutes, but right now I need a hand moving this bundle into the room.” Wit motioned at the shroud.

“This better be good.”

“Please, just grab that end and handle it with care. We’ll set it on the bed.” Wit dropped the tailgate and pulled Joey by the feet until Conan could reach the other end of the shroud. “Gary, get in the room. It’s almost sundown.” Gary jumped through the window and trotted through the doorway a few steps ahead of Wit.

“The dog’s name is Gary? Funny that your dog and your friend have the same name,” Conan mused.

“Not really. It’s the name his father gave him.”

“The dog’s father named him?”

“Just help me get this onto the bed and close the door.” Once Joey was on the bed Wit turned on the lights and pulled the blinds shut. “I need to take a leak. I’ll be right back. Don’t mess with anything, okay?” Wit disappeared behind the bathroom door.

Conan had been wondering what something that so closely resembled a body bag would be doing in the back of Wit’s truck. It felt like it weighed a hundred and fifty or so pounds when they moved it into the motel room. It bowed between them as they carried it. There appeared to be a zipper the whole length of the bag but there wasn’t a pull tab that he could see. He sat down on the edge of the bed and placed his hand on the base of the shroud and frisked the bottom third of the bag. He wasn’t a doctor but he was pretty sure he knew what a pair of legs felt like. Gary jumped onto the bed and positioned himself over Joey. He growled loud enough to be a warning but not so loud as to be menacing. Conan slowly removed his hands from the bag and moved to scratch Gary behind the ear. Gary pulled his head away momentarily then slid it back under Conan’s hand, unable to resist a good behind-the-ear-scratch.

“Oooh, you like that, don’t you!” Conan raised his other hand and began the double behind-the-ear-scratch maneuver. Gary made a purring sound as his back leg began to thump on the bed.

“Aren’t you the ticklish one? Yes, you are! Such a pretty boy!” Conan scratched more aggressively causing Gary’s leg to accelerate.

“Maybe we need to get you two your own room,” Wit said as he re-entered the room. Conan abruptly stopped scratching and turned to face Wit, turning a little pink.

“He was feeling up Joey’s legs.”

“I did no . . .” Conan stopped mid-sentence and slowly turned to see where the voice came from. He was hoping it didn’t come from the dog. The voice was emanating from a naked man kneeling next to him on the bed. Conan would have been thrilled under different circumstances.

“He was rubbing his hands all over Joey’s legs!” Gary said in a faux offended tone.

“And he came really close to touching my junk!” a muffled voice added from within the bag. A slit zipped open revealing Joey’s face. He directed an exaggerated wink at Conan and sat up, still cocooned in the sun shroud.

Conan raised the back of his hand to his forehead, swooned and slumped to the floor like a Southern belle with the vapors.

When Conan came to he was propped up in a wing-back chair in the corner of the room. He blinked a couple of times and surveyed his surroundings. Joey was reclining on the bed watching television. Gary was in front of the sink wiping the remnants of shaving cream from the edge of his jaw. He was wearing jeans but was still shirtless. Wit had his phone to his ear. Apparently no one was picking up on the other end of the line. He sighed as he reconnected his phone to his recently purchased charger that was hanging from the bedside outlet.

“Why doesn’t she pick up? Could she be that pissed? What if she isn’t? What if something is wrong?” Wit spoke to himself but did so loud enough for Joey to hear.

“One thing at a time, Danny. First De Leon, then we’ll sort this Reese thing out, okay?” Joey tried to be comforting. He noticed Conan pulling out of his fog. “Hey, Sleeping Beauty, how’re you doing over there?”

“As well as could be expected, I guess. What the hell is goin’ on with you guys?” Conan sat forward and rested his elbows on his knees allowing his hands to dangle between them.

Wit sat on the foot of the bed facing Conan. “We’re on a tight schedule, so we’ll have to give you the Cliff’s notes version. Joey, you go first.”

“Hi, at present time my name is Joey, although I’ve had many names in the over four hundred years I have been alive. I am a vampire. I haven’t gotten laid in a couple of years which isn’t helping my mood at all. My favorite color is blue.” Joey mimed tipping his hat.

“Do I have to tell him my name is Gary? He knows my name, right?”

“I was just creating a support group kind of vibe. Say whatever you want to say.” Joey rolled his eyes.

“Just checking. You know my name. I’m a dog by day and a dude at night. Kind of a dyslexic werewolf, if you will. It happens every night, not just during full moons.” Gary thought for a moment. “And my favorite color is red.”

Wit scooted forward and cleared his throat. “My story is a bit more complicated and it is the reason we are on this little adventure. About twenty-five years ago Joey turned me into a vampire to keep me from dying. Being undead would keep me around to see my daughter’s birth. We adapted our lives around it. A couple of days ago I was changed back to being alive or at least that is what it looks like. We are on our way to see De Leon, yes, De Leon, the rock star, because he might have some information that could help us figure out what has happened to me. He was involved in the original incident twenty-five years ago and there are a few too many connections to what is happing now for it to be a coincidence. Any questions?”

Conan’s brain sorted the information and tried to string it together in the form of something that made sense. Suddenly, something clicked. “This is like a real life Scooby-Doo mystery! Gary is Scooby because, well, he is Scooby. Joey is Shaggy ‘cause he hangs with Scooby all of the time. Wit, you, of course, would be Fred, the dapper handsome one.”

“And who would you be, pray tell?” asked the clone of the disheveled cartoon stoner.

“Daphne, of course! The hot one with the long blonde hair and amazing fashion sense! We also have a Mystery Machine of our own. My van is right outside.”

Conan whipped open the blinds with the flourish of a game show hostess. Sidled up to the El Camino was his four-wheeled masterpiece dipped in metal flake. It dated back to the pre-minivan era when vans were rolling shag-carpet-covered bedrooms on the inside and airbrushed tributes to well-endowed women on the outside. The mural on Conan’s van paid homage to a slightly different creature. The orange and black striped body of a tiger reared as if it were a wild stallion. Its muscular legs lead to the shaggy hooves of a Clydesdale rather than the tiger paws one might expect. A washboard of flesh rose from the chest of the “Clydesdiger,” joining to beefy slabs of pectoral muscles. An obscenely large arm cradled a crossbow while the other reached back toward a quiver of chrome arrows. A swirl of golden hair twisted in the star-speckled heavens framing an almost photographic likeness of the gym rat they all knew as Conan.

“You mean to tell me that we never noticed that thing following us? We have got to be more observant.” Joey shook his head in disbelief.

“Did you guys notice something odd about that dude on the van?” Gary asked as if the answer weren’t obvious.

“What do you mean?” Wit responded as if he didn’t already know the answer.

Gary leaned forward and whispered behind a raised hand, “That tiger has horse feet.”