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- The little guy got even paler, and then abruptly doubled over and staggered over to the wall beneath one of my high windows. He threw up. He straightened after a minute and leaned back against the wall, shaking. "I hate this," he whispered, and wiped his mouth. "I hate this. I want to go home. I want to wake up."
- "Get it together, Butters," I said, my voice tight. "This isn't helping."
- He let out a wild laugh. "Nothing I can do would help, Harry."
- "Butters, you've got to calm down."
- "Calm down?" He waved a shaking hand at the door. "They're going to kill us. Just like Phil. They're going to kill us and we're going to die. You, me, Thomas. We're all going to die."
- I forgot my bad leg for a second, crossed the room to Butters, and seized him by the front of his shirt. I hauled up until his heels lifted off of the floor. "Listen to me," I snarled. "We are not going to die."
- Butters stared up at me, pale, his eyes terrified. "We're not?"
- "No. And do you know why?"
- He shook his head.
- "Because Thomas is too pretty to die. And because I'm too stubborn to die." I hauled on the shirt even harder. "And most of all because tomorrow is Oktoberfest, Butters, and polka will never die."
- He blinked.
- "Polka will never die!" I shouted at him. "Say it!"
- He swallowed. "Polka will never die?"
- "Again!"
- "P- p-polka will never die," he stammered.
- I shook him a little. "Louder!"
- "Polka will never die!" he shrieked.
- "We're going to make it!" I shouted.
- "Polka will never die!" Butters screamed.
- "I can't believe I'm hearing this," Thomas muttered.
- I shot my half brother a warning look, released Butters, and said, "Get ready to open the door."
- Then the window just over Butters's head exploded into shards of broken glass. I felt a hot, stinging sensation on my nose. I stumbled, my wounded leg gave out, and I fell.
- Butters shrieked.
- Dead Beat Chapter 22, Page 198-199
- "I don't know, I don't know, I don't know..." Butters said. It sounded like he was crying.
- "Look at me," Grevane said. "Look."
- I closed my eyes and turned my face a little from the window. I could imagine what was happening. Butters, probably on his knees, being held by a pair of zombies, Grevane standing over him in his trench coat, pinching Butters's chin between his thumb and forefinger. I could imagine him forcing Butters's eyes up to meet his, to begin a soulgaze. Grevane wanted to see the inside of Butters's head, in a swift and harsh attempt to assess the truth.
- And Butters would be exposed to the corruption of a soul steeped in dark magic and a lifetime of murder.
- I heard a high-pitched little sound that rose rapidly, growing louder and louder until it was a wail of terror and madness. There was no dignity in the sound. No self-control. I would never have recognized it as Butters's voice if I hadn't known he was out there. But it was him. Butters screamed, and he kept screaming without pausing to take a breath until it wound down to a frozen, gurgling sound and died away.
- "Well?" asked another voice, one I did not recognize. It rasped harshly, as if the man speaking had spent a lifetime imbibing cheap Scotch and cheaper cigars.
- "He doesn't know," Grevane reported quietly, disgust in his voice.
- Dead Beat Chapter 23, Page 201-202
- There were no screams or shrieks of battle. The rain muffled the sound, and in the heavy darkness I couldn't see anything going on behind me. I could dimly hear the whumping bass drum that kept Grevane's zombies going, still somewhere out there in the background. Beyond that, very quiet but getting nearer, I heard sirens.
- "Everyone all right?" I asked.
- "I'll make it," Thomas said. He had stripped out of his jacket and shirt, and had the latter pressed to the side of his bleeding head.
- "Mouse?" I asked.
- There was a wet, snuffling sound by my ear, and Mouse licked my cheek.
- "Good," I said. "Butters?"
- There was silence.
- Thomas looked at the backseat, frowning.
- "Butters?" I repeated. "Heya, man. Earth to Butters."
- Silence.
- "Butters?" I asked.
- There was a long pause. Then a slow inhalation. Then he said, in a very weak voice, "Polka will never die."
- I felt my mouth stretch into a fierce grin. "Damn right it won't," I said.
- Dead Beat Chapter 23, Page 210
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