Dante slides in behind them and starts to say something. Jack covers his mouth with one hand and gives him a look that could cut glass. Lotus pokes both her pistols through the crack and fires two simultaneous bullets. They hit the Tailor square in the spine and he shatters. Where the tailor appeared to stand, broken glass falls away to reveal an empty corner. The man himself is already running through a side door and into the adjoining room on the right.

“Oh, Christ on a stick!” Lotus takes off down the hall, her men nipping at her heels. Two rooms later, the Tailor throws open a door and dashes across the hallway. Lotus plugs the door with one bullet and grazes the Tailor with another, but he’s just barely fast enough to evade her. Dante looks at her, surprised.

“Shut it, Dante.”

They follow their prey into a photo studio. The Tailor is gone, but orange light streams in through an open window. Lotus pokes her head out and gets a flashbulb in the face. The Tailor steps in front of the window, throws the camera at Dante, and takes off across the back lawn. Jack shoves them both out of the way and dives through the window.

Dante lets the camera fall and puts his arms around his girl. “You alright, baby doll?”

“Sure, except all I can see is pain. I’ll be okay in a minute. Don’t let him get away.”

“Jack’s on it,” he assures her.

“Jack’s a drunk.”

“Point taken.”

He follows the drunk through the window.

Grave markers and mausoleums crowd a wooded area bordering the Tailor’s estate. It’s the kind of necropolis you’d expect to find in New Orleans, not the bible belt. The Tailor vanishes easily into this labyrinth, leaving Jack and Dante to play hide-and-seek.

“Do you like my monuments, Mr. Daniels?” the Tailor taunts them from points unknown. “I have a talented mason on retainer. He’s preparing the following epitaph for you: ‘No greater potential was ever squandered.’ What do you think?”

“I’d prefer ‘Husband, Criminal, Executioner.’”

The Tailor applauds. “I admire your optimism. You know, you’ll be the first people buried here who were not on my payroll. These are all of the workers who died during the construction of this town. I built it from nothing, willed it into being from the dust of the Earth and the sweat of lesser men.”

Dante catches up and cuts in. “That supposed to be noble? Remorse won’t wash their blood off your hands.”

“You misunderstand. The widows couldn’t afford funerals and some of my experiments require ready access to cadavers. This was a mutually beneficial arrangement.”

Jack wades in and waves Dante around the other side, casting a wide net. “You’re not leaving this cemetery!” he screams into space. “You’re gonna pay for my wife and my friend and everyone else you’ve put in the ground!”

“And for sucking the life outta half a continent!” Dante adds.

“Please,” the geomancer retorts. “The steel plow caused the dustbowl, my illiterate friend. I’m merely taking advantage of undervalued real estate. I’m a savvy investor.”

Lotus appears on a tree branch above Dante and gestures to a mausoleum with one of her guns. Dante nods and heads in that direction, still talking. “You’re still stealing the life from those places and for what?! What are you doing with it? What’s worth all of this?!”

“Why, I do whatever I want with it!” the Tailor laughs. “I push back the veil of ignorance that keeps mankind shivering in the dark. I do things here that would leave your worldview weeping in a corner, mourning its lost innocence. I do the impossible three times before breakfast!”

Lightning flashes in the distance, but it’s going in the wrong direction. Blue arcs of electricity shoot up from the railroad bridge in the center of town. The canal waters begin to glow.

A gunshot rings out from the treetops and Dante turns back just in time to see a pin-stripped suit vanish behind a cloud of broken masonry. “Still not seeing straight, Mrs. Fang?” The Tailor sounds honestly disappointed. “That’s unfortunate, because you’re going to need your eyes in a moment. You know what they say about seeing and believing? Prepare to do both.”

A wave of explosions washes over the cemetery. Corpses fly out of their graves and land everywhere: in the trees, perched atop gravestones, crouched on the ground like hyenas in tall grass. They start hopping towards our heroes, their hands and feet still bound for burial.

The Tailor steps into view on top of a hill, his arms outstretched and his head held high. “That’s right! I can raise the goddamned dead!!”

The zombies break through their bonds and set upon the living like a flood. Lotus empties her clips into the mob approaching Dante, but bullets have little effect. “Thanks anyway, dollface.”

“Don’t thank me, yet!” She jumps down beside him and begins knocking down zombies with her fists and feet. They break like marionettes. Dante does the same, but the mob quickly engulfs, then separates them.

Nearby, Jack’s still trying to get his hands on the Tailor. He kicks his way up one corpse, then runs over their heads towards the hill, but a war vet launches itself at him and they both tumble into the throng. Jack emerges with a flagpole in his hands. His makeshift staff blurs around him, knocking back the dead in waves.

Meanwhile, Dante leads his portion of the horde on a merry chase. He slides between their legs, vaults over their heads, runs along mausoleum walls, and makes his way up the hill. The Tailor gets ready to defend himself, but Dante sails three feet over his head. “No time to chat! Sorry!”

His pursuers take the hill like a calvary charge. The Tailor smiles. He controls the crowd with fast footwork and quick counter-attacks, taking them out one at time. He hits them along their spines, in the head, and under the jaw. Lightning erupts from their bodies at each location, ending with a burst from the eyes and mouth. Then, they fall lifeless to the ground, their strings cut.

Dante rejoins Lotus by flying into the melee and planting both knees in a zombie’s chest. Bloody corpses lie all around her. She hits the dead hard enough to crush rib cages, sever limbs, and shatter skulls. Dante just tries to keep the surplus off her back until it’s time for them to die. Again.

Jack whirls through his attackers like a tornado of wood and shoe leather. Corpses fly into trees, crash through headstones, and break into pieces under his onslaught. He finally gets free and leaps up to the Tailor, bats aside the last of the zombies, and tries to jab his enemy in the face. The goemancer catches his makeshift staff in one hand and twists; the wood splinters all the way down its length, slicing Jack’s palm.

He’s about to press his attack when a gunshot pushes between them. Jack watches it sail past his pupils in slow motion. They both look up to find the Shootist standing at the far end of the cemetery, thunder still rolling from the barrel of his rifle.

“Punctual, as ever!” the Tailor spits. “I thought I was going to have to fight them all myself! Did you bring it?” The Shootist raises the spirit bottle for everyone to see. Dante and Lotus trade looks as they drop the last of their cadavers. “I hope you’re prepared to negotiate terms, Mrs. Fang. There are so many things I could do with an enlightened master’s soul.”

“Actually, boss,” The Shootist interrupts, “I quit. If the lady wants this, she can come get it.” He turns and flies off toward the crystal cathedral. Lotus looks to Dante and he nods. She takes a pot shot at the Tailor on her way out, but he dodges without effort.

“You sure that’s wise?” Jack asks Dante. “What if she needs help?”

“She doesn’t need any help, Jack, but I’ll be here when she gets back.”