When the Araneum learned that I had lost the diviner, they were going to skin me for sure. My head throbbed harder. My kundalini noir sank to the pit of my belly.
Why did the zombies take the diviner? Were they attracted to shiny pretty objects?
Or did they recognize the diviner for what it was? In that case, what did the zombies and their reanimator know about psychic energy and the astral plane? Was he responsible for the psychic attacks? And my hallucinations?
Not all my clothes and belongings had been gone through-my overnight bag and backpack remained unopened. When the zombies found the diviner, they must have lost interest in everything else and hurried away.
The rain let up but the clouds remained low and threatening. Much like my recent bad fortune.
I felt clammy in my wet clothes and had to change. I was miserable enough on the inside. Might as well be comfortable on the outside.
I gathered my belongings, drove back to town, and found a Laundromat next to a truck stop. My first priority was to wash up and change. With customers wandering in and out of the men’s room, for privacy I locked myself in a utility closest. I gave myself a sponge bath, shaved in the mop sink, applied makeup, and put on clean dry clothes.
While my dirty clothes churned in a washing machine, I sat in my Toyota, cleaned my H&K, and inserted a fresh magazine.
This pistol was one of the most powerful in the world but wouldn’t do much good if I walked around with my head up my ass.
I’d made one huge mistake as a human-when I’d accidentally killed the Iraqi girl and her family-and that has led me to the path of the undead.
Later I’d made one huge mistake as a vampire-I had let Carmen get kidnapped by the aliens.
The stakes in this investigation were too high for more screwups. The Araneum depended on me. The zombies were a big enough threat in the physical world. What would happen if they got into the astral plane?
But that was speculation about the future. I had to focus on what I could control, the here and now.
I checked my cell phone for messages. Only one. From Gino. The time stamp showed that he had called yesterday evening. About the time I was taking a snooze in a mud puddle courtesy of the zombies.
Gino wanted to meet again, at a restaurant called Humphreys. He gave directions and emphasized the time, noon sharp.
I called back. His voice mail answered. I didn’t leave a message.
I clipped a holster to the inside of my waistband. I racked the slide of the H&K to chamber one of the fat.45 rounds.
I reviewed my plan. Question Gino. Under hypnosis. Interrogate Vinny and their uncle Sal. They might know enough to add another piece to the puzzle. Find the creator of the zombies and destroy him and every one of his creatures. Get to the bottom of the psychic energy signals and the hallucinations. Retrieve the psychotronic diviner.
I holstered the pistol.
I was ready for anything.
I had to be.