10.
The zombies were still not moving, just milling and booing. “This may take hours. Let’s go around them.”
Alyson took off to the north at a slow trot. “Wait,” Reuben asked, “won’t the zombies chase us?”
“Naw, they’re American zombies, not British. All they can do is shuffle.”
It would be a long trot, through the Crawford concourse, down the left field line, to the Squeeze Play. Reuben breathlessly asked questions as they jogged. Behind him the booing faded.
“Are you certain the vampire is Tal?”
“No, but it makes sense. It’s got to be someone ancient, someone who’s been with the organization forever, someone who’s hidden from daylight, someone who would trade their soul to stay in the game.”
“But wouldn’t everyone sell their soul to stay in the game?”
Alyson didn’t answer. Reuben realized he had stumped her.
“So you haven’t seen the vampire?”
“Not the master.”
“But you’re certain he’s there”
“Of course. Think of all the strange disappearances in recent seasons. Jeff Kent, Carlos Beltran, Jason Jennings. Think about Lidge’s mechanics, Lane’s batting, Burke’s promise, Ensberg’s hitting.” Reuben considered her revelation with growing horror.
“What about Roger Clemens?”
“Naw, we think he may be undead himself.”
As they passed the Crawford Boxes, it struck Reuben that he was where he needed to be. “Wait, aren’t the offices in Union Station? Shouldn’t I just go on in?”
“What, and ruin a good horror movie sequence? It’s no fun unless I’ve got an innocent to rescue.” She kept jogging, Reuben kept following.
