I feel a stirring in the dirt that surrounds me. A hand burrows through and grabs my shoulder.
‘Hello, corpse.’
We are in the 747. My piles of souvenirs are sorted and arranged in neat stacks. The aisle is softened with layers of oriental throw rugs. Dean Martin croons on the record player.
‘Perry?’
He’s in the cockpit, in the pilot’s chair with his hands on the controls. He’s wearing a pilot’s uniform, the white shirt stained with blood. He smiles at me, then gestures at the windows, where streaks of clouds flicker past. ‘We are now approaching cruising altitude. You’re free to move about the cabin.’
With slow, cautious movements, I get up and join him in the cockpit. I look at him uneasily. He grins. I rub a finger through the familiar layers of dust on the controls. ‘This isn’t one of your memories, is it?’
‘No. This is yours. I wanted you to be comfortable.’
‘Is it your grave I’m standing on right now?’
He shrugs. ‘I suppose. I think it’s just my empty skull in there, though. You and your friends took most of me home for snacks, remember?’
I open my mouth to apologise again, but he shuts his eyes and waves it away. ‘Don’t, please. We’re past all that. Besides, that wasn’t really me you killed, that was older-wiser Perry. I think this is mostly junior-high Perry you’re talking to, young and optimistic and writing a novel called Ghosts vs. Werewolves. I’d rather not think about being dead right now.’
I eye him uncertainly. ‘You’re a lot more cheerful here than in your memories.’
‘I have perspective here. It’s hard to take your life so seriously when you can see it all at once.’
I peer at him. His reality is very convincing, pimples and all. ‘Are you . . . really you?’ I ask.
‘What does that mean?’
‘All this time I’ve been talking to you, are you just . . . leftovers from your brain? Or are you really actually you?’
He chuckles. ‘Does it really actually matter?’
‘Are you Perry’s soul?’
‘Maybe. Kind of. Whatever you want to call it.’
‘Are you . . . in Heaven?’
He laughs and tugs his blood-soaked shirt. ‘Yeah, not exactly. Whatever I am, “R”, I’m in you.’ He laughs again at the look on my face. ‘Fucked up, isn’t it? But Older-Wiser went out of this life pretty darkly. Maybe this is our chance to catch up with him and work some things out before . . . you know. Whatever’s next.’
I look out the window. No glimpse of land or sea, just the silky mountains of Cloud World spread out below us and piled high above. ‘Where are we headed?’
‘Towards whatever’s next.’ He lifts his eyes to the heavens with sarcastic solemnity, then grins. ‘You’re going to help me get there, and I’m going to help you.’
I feel my guts twist as the plane surges and drops on erratic air currents. ‘Why would you help me? I’m the reason you’re dead.’
‘Come on, R, don’t you get this yet?’ He seems upset by my question. He locks eyes on me and there’s a feverish intensity in them. ‘You and I are victims of the same disease. We’re fighting the same war, just different battles in different theatres, and it’s way too late for me to hate you for anything, because we’re the same damn thing. My soul, your conscience, whatever’s left of me woven into whatever’s left of you, all tangled up and conjoined.’ He gives me a hearty clap on the shoulder that almost hurts. ‘We’re in this together, corpse.’
A low tremor rumbles through the plane. The control stick wobbles in front of Perry, but he ignores it. I don’t know what to say, so I just say, ‘Okay.’
He nods. ‘Okay.’
Another faint vibration in the floor, like the concussions of distant bombs.
‘So,’ he says. ‘God has made us study partners. We need to talk about our project.’ He takes a deep breath and looks at me, tapping his chin. ‘I’ve been hearing a lot of inspirational thoughts prancing around in our head lately. But I’m not sure you really understand the storm we’re flying into.’
A few red lights blink on in the cabin. There is a scraping noise somewhere outside the plane.
‘What am I missing?’ I ask.
‘How about a strategy? We’re wandering around this city like a kitten in a dog kennel. You keep talking about changing the world, but you’re sitting here licking your paws while all the pit bulls circle in on us. What’s the plan, pu**ycat?’
Outside, the cotton clouds darken to steel wool. The lights flicker, and my souvenir stacks rattle.
‘I don’t . . . have one yet.’
‘So when? You know things are moving. You’re changing, your fellow Dead are changing, the world is ready for something miraculous. What are we waiting for?’
The plane shudders and begins to dive. I stumble into the co-pilot chair, feeling my stomach rise into my throat. ‘I’m not waiting. I’m doing it right now.’
‘Doing what? What are you doing?’
‘I’m trying.’ I hold Perry’s gaze and grip the sides of my seat as the plane shakes and groans. ‘I’m wanting it. I’m making myself care.’
Perry’s eyes narrow and his lips tighten, but he doesn’t say anything.
‘That’s step one, isn’t it?’ I yell over the noise of wind and roaring engines. ‘That’s where it has to start.’