Amber by Dan-Dwayne Spencer (e book reader .TXT) 📕

I could only imagine how Roger would take it if I confessed to seeing those horrific, glowing eyes.

“Maybe I’m seeing prophetic shit too. I don’t know, but the Sheriff’s eyes were glowing like the rear end of a 1959 Impala, all almond-shaped and evil.”

It should have been completely shocking to hear Roger admit to seeing weird crap like I did, but I sighed a breath of relief. For once, I wasn’t the only one who saw it. I moved up onto the next step of the staircase. “If we both saw it, that means it wasn’t a vision.”

“What?” Roger looked puzzled.

“Yeah, if someone other than me saw it, then his eyes were actually glowing freaky red?”

“Shit, shit, shit.” Roger took a breath and repeated, “Shit, shit, shit, shit. He’s a zombie. I knew it.”

Chapter Ten

Appropriate Clothing

Sitting above the crowd on the steps, I overheard several people comment on what they thought they saw when the Sheriff’s anger flared. Everything considered, I didn’t want to scare Roger any more than necessary. “No, I don’t think he’s a zombie. There’s no such thing. Anyway, he’s too well-spoken to be a brain-eating, mindless zombie.”

“Then what? If he’s not, then why was he saying holy Hell and his eyes all bloodshot to the max?”

“I don’t know.” Lately, that seemed to be my go-to phrase—I don’t know.

I looked down and Jimmy was standing by the door as the Sheriff passed him on his way out. Dugan had taken on a ghostly appearance. The same horrified expression he wore when he first learned about the gifts had returned. Around him, everyone started gathering in small groups and discussing their unfortunate situation and the Sheriff’s unusual eyes.

Jimmy walked straight over and stood under the step where Roger and I sat. Ironically, the big guy’s arms and hands shook with fright. “He’s the one.”

Thinking I could calm him down, I stood and leaned over the stair rail as I asked, “What do you mean, he’s the one?”

Roger said, “Damned right, he’s the one.”

“He’s the one your vision warned you about. It wasn’t Roger who was zombified, it’s this guy,” Jimmy exclaimed.

Flower stepped closer and stopped directly behind Jimmy. “I heard what you said about there being no such thing as a zombie, but I agree with Roger.”

“What?” I scoffed. “No, there’s not. Zombies, vampires and anything Bela Lugosi played in the movies is so much crap.”

“I assure you—zombies are real.” Flower wore a serious expression. “Not the brain-eating, body parts falling off kind, but real, honest to God, zombies exist. It’s a Voodoo curse, and I believe what I saw in the Sheriff’s eyes is an indicator of zombification.”

Trying to control his shaking, Jimmy stuttered, “Lik…Like in the movie The White Zombie. Lugosi played a voodoo witch doctor who put this girl under his spell and controlled her.”

“There are no Voodoo witch doctors. They are called Bokor practitioners of black-magic,” Flower started, “but you’re not wrong. It would seem the good sheriff is not in control of his own actions.” She put a hand to her head, and I wondered if healers ever got headaches. “Clearly, the warning in Arland’s vision was about Sheriff Briggs. He has either been influenced by black magic or worse—he has been possessed. Either way, it raises a bigger question.”

Roger finished her thought by adding, “Who is controlling him?”

“I don’t know, it is a mystery to me, and I have no idea what the rest of Arland’s vision means either.” She looked up at me and asked, “Exactly what else was said in your zombie vision?”

“Oh, I don’t exactly remember all the words, but I’ll never forget how Roger wanted me to join him in chanting.”

“And, then you woke up?”

I hesitated. “Yeah…it was one of the creepiest parts of the vision, possessed Roger wanted me to join him in his chant.”

“I’m afraid there is no time to waste. It’s time we visited Eudora.” Flower’s tone was matter-of-fact, without a hint of explanation.

Rose asked, “Who is Eudora? You’ve never mentioned her.”

“Eudora isn’t a person.” Without more explanation, Flower headed back to the clinic. “I’ll check on my patients, then I’ll be ready.” She stopped, pausing in thought. “Arland, you better get some other clothes. Those swim trunks would stick out like a sore thumb where we’re going.”

“This is all I have except for a pair of cutoffs and one of Jimmy’s shirts.”

Flower pointed across the room. “See the woman standing by the gray-headed man with a ponytail?”

“Yeah, I see her,” I replied. She was more grandmotherish than hippieish. She wore a muumuu dress and had her hair fixed in a Gibson-Girl bun like my mother always wore. I took a second look, and horror struck me. Was this what my mother would look like when she got ancient? I shuddered.

Ignoring my trembling, Flower added, “Give her your size and she’ll get you something else to wear. Tell her we’re going to Eudora, she’ll understand.”

Jimmy, Roger, and Rose said they would wait for me at the Mustang. I tried to act as casual as possible when I tapped the granny on the shoulder. “Excuse me, but Flower said you would get me some other clothes. She told me to tell you, we’re going to Eudora.”

When she heard the name Eudora, she looked up with a startled expression. Then she looked me in the face. Her expression changed from fearful to urgent, and she headed toward the door. “Yes, I see why. Young man, what size do you need?”

“I wear a men’s small shirt and 25/27 pants.”

Her mouth moved sideways in thought. “So, a boy’s size 16 then?”

I rolled my eyes. Why couldn’t I ask for clothes like other guys, in inches instead of juvenile sizing numbers? “Yes. That will do.” I forced