“I’m looking for someone at this address,” John said. “Sunny Carr. Young girl, late teens, braces. You see anyone like that?”

The security guard looked over his mirrored glasses. “They don’t pay me enough to keep track of everyone that comes or goes,” he said.

Annoyed, John raised an eyebrow. “Well, what do they pay you for? Cuz it sure ain’t the conversation.”

“Watch your mouth,” the guard said, his hand brushing against the Glock in his holster. “I’m here to keep anyone from digging folks up.”

“I thought you weren’t allowed to shoot the risen,” replied John. “Wasn’t there some kind of court thing about that?”

“The stay expires at midnight and Michigan’s got trigger laws that kick in at 12:01. But trespassing and grave robbing are still castle doctrine material.” His hand caressed the Glock in its holster again, as if the urge to put 17 bullets in something were nigh irresistible.

“And the risen?”

“Long as they stay in their holes, we’re all good. Go on in and lay your flowers, wise ass, but don’t take too long.”

John pulled the Ram through. The guard didn’t follow, but in the rear view mirror John could see him making finger guns at the truck as it drove deeper into the forest of headstones.

Just like Maria had said, he found Sunny near the back.

“Sunny Carr, beloved daughter,” he read off the headstone.

  • Like what you see? Purchase a print or ebook version!