“Sure,” I said, and hit the gas a little harder, accelerating from two miles an hour to a more respectable five. The turnoff came into view a few seconds later, leading to a broad gravel road. Trees shaded it almost completely; I could tell just by looking at the branches that it would grant almost total protection from aerial surveillance.
Even Becks abandoned her suspicious observation of our passengers as she leaned forward to study the road, and pronounced her verdict: “Cool.”
“Very cool,” I agreed, and made the turn.
The trees that sheltered the road also cut off most visibility as we drove. That, too, was almost certainly intentional. We had been following the gravel road for about five minutes when it curved gently to the side, a last veil of foliage fell away, and we found ourselves facing a pre-Rising building that looked almost unchanged from those careless, bygone days. Unchanged except for the electrified fence with the barbed wire around the top, that is. The fence didn’t fit with any of the pictures I’d seen of pre-Rising architecture. The rest of the structure, however, was almost certainly older than I was, built when this area was a thriving tourist corridor, and not the blasted back end of nowhere. Two men were pulling the gate open.
A row of fuel pumps sat off to one side, inside the fence but distanced from the main building, as if they had been an afterthought. There was also a row of portable toilets, and what looked like a portable decontamination shower. These people had thought of everything, and then they’d jury-rigged it all with plastic sheets and duct tape.
“Welcome to Denny’s,” said Nathan.
I glanced over my shoulder at him as I pulled the van through the open gate and steered to a stop just outside a second, shorter fence. This one only encircled the main building. “I thought that was a diner chain.”
“It was. So was this.” He grinned. “We’re handy out here.”
“Really?” I turned back to the building, blinking. “I’ve never seen one with the windows intact.”
“We got lucky out here,” said Paul. “The Denny’s was already closed down when the Rising hit. They said it was an ‘economic downturn,’ and then the zombies came before anybody had to admit that we were having a depression. Good timing for everybody.”
“Except the people who got eaten,” said Becks.
“Well, true; probably not for them,” allowed Paul. He opened the van door, sliding out. His boots crunched when they hit the gravel. “Come on. Let’s see what we can work out in terms of trade.”
Nathan followed him out of the van. The two of them seemed to be perfectly at ease as they ambled toward the refitted diner. I stayed where I was for a moment, squinting at the trees.
Becks paused in the process of unbuckling her seat belt. “What?”
“We’re in the woods. Even if there aren’t any bears out here, there should be deer. So why are our friends so calm?” A glint of light high in a tree—in a spot where light had no business glinting—caught my eye. I jabbed a finger toward it, not caring if anyone saw me. “There. They have cameras in the trees. Possibly snipers, too. They were stalling us on the road while their people got into position.”
“Did anyone ever tell you that you really know how to make a girl feel all warm and fuzzy inside, Mason?”
“It’s one of my best qualities,” I said. I climbed out of my seat to exit through the van’s rear door, grabbing the first of the boxes of trading supplies as I passed it. Becks followed me, muttering something under her breath. Not for the first time, I was glad that George was the only woman who had a direct line to the inside of my head.
You’d go crazy if there was more than one of us in here, said George.
I smothered a snort of laughter and didn’t say anything at all.
Nathan and Paul were waiting by the second fence when Becks and I came walking up to them. This gate was standing open, with no blood test in evidence. Nathan must have seen the surprise in our faces. He shrugged, scarecrow shoulders jerking up and down in a sharp, birdlike motion as he said, “We can’t afford the kind of paranoia you get out there in civilization. Unless we’ve got reason to think you’ve been exposed, we handle our outbreaks the old-fashioned way.”
“With bullets,” added Paul, just in case we were too dumb to get the point.
“Yeah, thanks for that,” I said. Hoisting my box of trade goods, I asked, “Is this where we get down to business, or can we go inside first?”
“Sure thing,” said Nathan. “Indy’s got coffee on.” He beckoned for us to follow as he stepped into the circle of ground protected by the fence. Paul stayed where he was. They weren’t going to let us get behind them both once we were past the gate. Smart. I like people who can manage to be paranoid and smart at the same time. They’re usually the ones who make it out of any given situation still breathing.
“Any chance I could get a Coke?” I asked. Becks glared at me as we followed him past the fence. Unsurprisingly, Paul swung the gate shut behind us, leaving himself on the other side.
“I’m not comfortable leaving the van unattended,” said Becks.
“If you’re worried we’ll loot it, don’t be,” said Nathan. “If you pass the last checkpoint, we’ll give you gas and supplies and whatever else you need, and no one will touch anything you don’t trade freely. We’re civilized here. That’s probably why the Doc told you to come see us.”
I winced a little. One of our former team members, Kelly Connolly, went by “Doc” most of the time. My choice, not hers. She’s dead now, like so many others. “And if we fail the last checkpoint?” I asked.
“It’s not looting to take from the dead,” said Nathan implacably. He opened the diner door and stepped inside.
“And on that cheery note…” muttered Becks.
Durno v. Wisconsin was the case that decided the dead had no rights regarding property on or around their immediate persons at the time of death, making it perfectly legal to take a zombie’s car and claim it as your own. It’s been abused a few times over the years. It’s still seen, and rightly, as one of the best legal decisions to come out of the Rising. I mean, who has the time to transfer a pink slip in the middle of a zombie uprising?
“At least there’s coffee.” I caught the diner door as it was in the process of swinging closed, indicating the doorway with a grandiose sweep of my free arm. “Ladies first.”
“What, assholes second?” asked Becks—but she smiled as she stepped inside, and that was what I’d been shooting for. I followed her into the surprisingly bright interior. The windows must have been tinted to make it harder to tell that people still used the place. That made a lot of sense. The infected don’t seem to recognize light as a sign of possible human habitation. The police do.
The last Denny’s in California closed years ago, when the new food service and hygiene laws were still shaking out. I was pretty sure this one had been heavily modified from the original floor plan, since I can’t imagine many “family diners” would have ammo racks or hospital beds in the middle of their dining areas. A few booths were intact, cherry-red vinyl upholstery patched with strips of duct tape. Most had been ripped out, replaced with wire convenience store shelving. About half the shelves were empty. The rest were filled with packaged snack foods, first aid supplies, and the necessities of life: toilet paper, tampons, and cheap alcohol.
The diner’s original counter was also intact. Standing behind it was a tall African-American woman with strips of bright purple fabric wound around her dreadlocks and a suspicious expression on her face. She had a pistol in either hand. I was relieved to see that they were pointing downward, rather than aimed at us. Somehow, I didn’t think she’d hesitate for a second before shooting us both.
“Indy, these are the folks that our cameras caught coming down the old post road,” said Nathan. “They say the Doc sent ’em. They need to gas up.”
“Hi,” I said. “Nice place you’ve got here.”
“Hello,” said Becks.
Indy frowned, eyes narrowing. “What?
??s the password?” she asked.
Becks blinked. “There isn’t one.” Then she froze, tensing. I did the same. If these people had been looking for an excuse to shoot us, our not knowing the password would probably count.
Hold on, cautioned George. Look at her face.
Indy was smiling. She looked a lot less menacing that way. “See, if you hadn’t been from the Doc, you would have tried to make something up. Welcome to Shantytown.”
“Is that the name of this place?” asked Becks.
“Hell, no. They’re all Shantytown. That way, no one can ever really give away a location. Nathan says you’ve come looking for fuel?”
“Snacks would be good, but gas is the primary objective,” I said. Holding up my box again, I said, “We brought contraceptives.”
“And poison oak ointment.”
Indy laughed. “Those are two things that go together more often than not out here. Come on over, kids. Let’s look at your toys, and see if we can’t come to some sort of an agreement about what they’ll buy you.”
Becks and I exchanged a relieved glance as we walked over to the counter. Indy held out her hands for the box. I briefly considered refusing to hand it over, since that would reduce our bargaining power. Stupid idea. Bargaining power wouldn’t do us any good if we didn’t get out alive. I gave her the box.
“Where you kids heading?” Indy asked, as she put the box down and began picking through its contents.
“Berkeley,” said Becks.
“Florida,” I said at the same time.
Indy glanced up, a glint of amusement in her eyes. “Long-term and short-term goals, I see. The Doc put you up to this?”
“She wants mosquitoes,” I said with a shrug. “There are some people in Berkeley who may be able to help us get to Florida and back out again without getting arrested for suspected bioterrorism. I’m pretty sure the people maintaining the blockades out there won’t like the idea of us just popping in.”
“The Masons can probably help you,” agreed Indy, pulling three packs of contraceptive implants out of the box and setting them on the counter. “Don’t look so surprised. I looked you up as soon as you told my boys who you were.”
“We know what the Internet is,” contributed Nathan.
“Not all the old networks have been shut down,” said Indy, and straightened, pushing the box toward me. “The implants—we have our own injection gun—two boxes of condoms, four test kits, and some antibiotics. We’ll give you a full tank of gas, feed you lunch, and let you leave here alive. We’ll even throw in a shower, if you want one.”
“I’ll pass on the shower for now, but the rest works,” I said.
“It’s amazing that you can live out here like this,” said Becks.
“Well, honey, if you grew up before the whole world was behind walls, this can seem like the only way to live.” Indy smiled a little wistfully. Then she caught herself. Wiping her hands briskly against her jeans, she straightened. “Come on. Let’s get you fueled up.”
Paul was still standing at the gate when we emerged. He and Indy exchanged a nod, and he watched silently as I got back into the van and pulled it up to the fuel pumps. Becks went back inside while I pumped the gas, emerging a few minutes later with a brown paper sack of something that smelled spicy and delicious.
Indy followed her, watching with folded arms as I finished pumping. “You want some free advice?” she asked. “It’s worth what you’ll pay for it.”
“I’m listening,” I said, hanging the fuel pump back on its hook.
“Trust the Doc as long as you’re not between her and whatever crazy-ass thing she’s working on right now. Trust the Masons as far as you can throw them.”
“I learned that second part a long time ago,” I said, with what I hoped was a wry smile. “Thanks for your hospitality.” I wanted to ask what she knew about the Masons. I didn’t think it would be a good idea, and so I kept my mouth shut.
“Any time.” Indy turned to smile at Becks, who was staring at her like she’d just seen a ghost. “Drive safely, kids.” She walked back inside before either of us could answer.
Becks followed me back to the van in stunned silence, climbing into the passenger seat without saying a word. I waved to Paul and Nathan as I started the engine, and navigated the van carefully around the closing gate, back onto the gravel road.
It wasn’t until we reached the end of the gravel and started down the uneven dirt road that she spoke. “That was Indigo Blue,” she said.
“What?” I asked, only half listening as I fought to keep from losing control of the van. “I hate this road.”
“I said, that was Indigo Blue. The Newsie? The one who disappeared after she collaborated with your father?”
“Adoptive father,” I said automatically. Then I blinked. “Wait, really? Are you sure?”
“We covered her in my History of Journalism class. I didn’t recognize her immediately, but yes, I’m sure.”
“Huh. I wonder what she’s doing out here?”
“I wonder why she isn’t dead! Everyone thought she was.”
“Want to go back and ask her?”
“No!” Becks’s answer was fast enough to make me take my eyes off the road and frown at her. She sighed. “If she’s out here, she’s got a reason. I want to know what it is, but I’ll respect it. We’re not here for that.”
“I guess not.” I turned my eyes back to the road. “I wonder if Dr. Abbey knew.”
“I wonder if Dr. Abbey cared.”
“There’s always that. I—” My sentence went unfinished as I hit the brakes, causing my seat belt to cut painfully into my shoulder. Becks yelped as she was flung forward.
“Shaun! What the fuck?”
I didn’t answer her aloud. I just raised my hand, pointing at the shaggy hulk that was standing at the end of the dirt road. Becks turned to follow my finger, her eyes going wide.
“Shaun. Is that… is that a bear?”
“Yeah,” I said, not quite managing to keep the glee out of my voice. “You ever killed a zombie bear before?”
“Can’t say as I have.”
“Maybe we’ll be going back to use their showers after all.” I unbuckled my seat belt, moving slowly. “First one to get the headshot gets first shower.”
“Deal,” said Becks, and grabbed her gun.
Please make it back alive. Please make it back alive. Please make it back alive. Please make it back alive. Please make it back…
—From Dandelion Mine, the blog of Magdalene Grace Garcia, July 26, 2041. Unpublished.
My dearest Nandini;
You will only see this letter if I die during the fool’s errand I am about to undertake—one more foolish quest in a life that has been defined by them. Do you ever regret that you chose a husband who would forever be leaving you to chase some elusive platonic ideal of the truth? I wouldn’t blame you if you did. Please, consider this letter my blessing, and remarry when you’re ready. Find an accountant or a computer programmer—a nice, stable profession that won’t lend itself to this breed of madness.
Oh, but I loved you. Maybe not at first, when our parents brought us together and said we should marry, but it didn’t take me as long as some thought it would. I am truly sorry I have not been the husband you deserved. You were always more wife than I was worthy of. I love you, my Nan. Believe me, even if you believe nothing else I have ever said. I love you, and I am blessed beyond all words that you were willing to take a risk, and marry me.
—Taken from an e-mail composed by Mahir Gowda, July 26, 2041. Unsent.
Eleven
Dr. Thomas smiled indulgently across the table separating us. “Now, Georgia, I know things have been very stressful for you these past few weeks—”
“Boredom and stress aren’t the same thing,” I said. “You can check the dictionary if you want. I’ll wait.”
He made a note on his tablet. “Inappropriate humor is a defense mechanism, isn’t it?”
“No, Sh
aun was a defense mechanism. Since he’s not here, I have to fill in.” I took a breath, trying to look miserable. It wasn’t easy. I’ve never had to worry about what my eyes were doing. People say the eyes are windows to the soul, and I was accustomed to having blackout curtains over mine. Without my retinal KA, they might be giving me away without my even knowing it. “Are you ever going to tell me what happened?”
“When your system is ready to stand the stress,” said Dr. Thomas, making another note on his tablet. “Dr. Shaw says you were very cooperative with her tests, and confirms your story about the haircut. I’m sorry to have doubted you.”
“Yeah, well.” I shrugged, trying to look frustrated and innocent at the same time. The frustration was easy. The innocence wasn’t. “I’ve never been much of a liar.”
That little dig hit home; Dr. Thomas winced. I made my reputation as a Newsie based on my refusal to lie—a refusal that got me fined several times early in my career, when I was found in places I wasn’t supposed to be and couldn’t come up with an even half-decent excuse for what I was doing there. I never got better at making excuses. I just got better at refusing to let Shaun talk me into climbing over fences marked NO TRESPASSING.
My memories of those early escapades were fuzzy, like I’d reviewed them so many times that the edges had begun to blur. A lot of my earlier memories were like that, and had been since I’d woken up. I’d been trying to figure out what that meant. Given what Gregory had shown me the night before, I was pretty sure I finally knew.
The memories weren’t fuzzy because the things I remembered happened a long time ago, or because there was a glitch in the process that transferred my consciousness into a freshly cloned body. The memories were fuzzy because the things I remembered never happened at all—not to me, anyway. I was “remembering” an implanted incident extracted from the mind of a dead woman. A certain loss of fidelity was only to be expected.
Somehow, knowing that I wasn’t really who I thought I was—knowing that Georgia Mason was dead and gone and never coming back—made dealing with Dr. Thomas easier. I don’t like lying. I’ve never liked lying. And when I was myself, I wasn’t any good at it. Now that I was someone else who just thought she was me, it seemed like a skill worth developing. I wasn’t compromising my values. I was creating my values, and compromising the values of a dead woman.