Dearly, Beloved

  The next day, Patient One still wasn’t talking. Not so much as a gurgle. So, crossing over to the Christine, I sought out zombies to interview. There were plenty receiving care that day, but none had anything to tell me concerning people in bird masks.

  When I got the call around 10:00 P.M. telling me the crew was already back at the house, I was prepared for yet another brush with too little information. It seemed like they’d just left. I borrowed Salvez’s carriage for the ride, already disappointed.

  Due to the forever rerouted traffic patterns in the city, I had to detour by the Morgue again. It looked even more desolate by night, with lights and oil drum fires few and far between. As I idled at a red light, my attention was caught by a pair of zombie children sitting by the park’s wrought-iron fence, which was shingled with ragged protest signs. They were playing with some sort of toy, taking turns aiming it at each other, but I couldn’t make out what it was. It didn’t look like a toy gun.

  “We have to rethink almost every law on the books,” the talk show host on the carriage wireless said. “Take marriage, for example. Does living death officially sever a couple, as in, ‘till death do us part’? Are the children of dead parents legally orphaned, and does that mean the state should send them to orphanages? What about homicide—can you technically ‘kill’ someone who’s already dead?”

  A delivery van passed by, bathing the dead children with light for an instant.

  A soldier. They were playing with a toy soldier.

  In my current frame of mind, I found this fact more pathetic than enraging. The kids didn’t know any better. I couldn’t help but be reminded of everything I’d done, though. The fact that just yesterday I’d had to cap a zombie in the head.

  When I’d first been ushered into Company Z and taught how and what to shoot, I quickly learned to process the guilt caused by killing people so like myself—for in a way, they weren’t like me. We’d always targeted the insane zombies, the hosts, the ones who either embraced or were engulfed by their cannibalistic desires. While I’d argue for their humanity until the day I truly died, they were helpless in the face of their disease. That’s what I’d always told myself, so I could sleep at night. That we had no choice. That, in a way, to dispose of them was a mercy.

  That justification was hard to extend to my fellow high-functioning zombies, however—especially now that the vaccine was out. Honestly, I could sympathize with Hagens, with the fury she directed at the living. The extermination order had been the last resort of a living populace staring infection and death in the face, and the army wasn’t a monolithic evil—I knew that. Dearly proved that, Lopez proved that, Norton’s men proved that. Yet, while I didn’t condone Hagens’s views, I could understand them.

  The light turned green and I shook myself free of my ruminations. I took my foot off the brake, and the carriage started to inch forward.

  That’s when a black shape flew in front of the carriage, a brown one shadowing it. I nearly collided with the brown thing, and it stopped with its hands on the carriage hood, glaring at me through the windshield. It was a young dead man in a leather duster, his shoulder-length dishwater hair pinched into a ponytail, his skin yellow and his lips black. A second later he raced away, and I turned to gape after him.

  He was chasing a mask.

  I was fifth in line at the light, so contributing to the pursuit in the carriage didn’t even occur to me. Instead I abandoned the vehicle and ran out on foot. I wasn’t sure where I was going, what had gotten into me—I only knew that I had to follow. Maybe seeing the other boy running had triggered some instinct to join the hunt, the chase.

  All three of us dodged traffic across two streets, shot down an alley. The other zombie was slowing. He said nothing to me until I caught up with and surpassed him, at which point he yelled, “Get him!”

  I was trying. The mask was fast, his long black coat billowing out behind him. Pushing myself on, I felt my body weakening, my muscles loosening, my joints grinding. I was doing horrible damage to my body.

  That didn’t matter, though. Not when a mask was actually within my grasp.

  The mask darted through a narrow archway, and I turned just in time to see him leap down into a recessed area of the street. It wasn’t the sewer, but it was close. “See you later, deadmeat!” the mask panted, voice like a robot’s.

  Launching myself at him, I found myself shut out by the slamming of an iron door. It was locked. I couldn’t beat my way in.

  Damn it all.

  As I stood there, trying to recover, the other boy caught up to me. “Did he get away?”

  “Yeah.” He took his turn to indulge in a curse, casting his arms down angrily. “Did you see him hurt a living person?”

  “Living?” the boy demanded, turning to me. “Those guys’ve been kidnapping zombies from the Morgue for weeks! The cops won’t believe me—he was my proof!”

  The guy’s name was David Braca. Former laborer, current hobo, and fountain of information.

  I did the only thing I could do. I took him home.

  Upon entering the house, we found the younger half of the household, minus Renfield, seated on the wide front staircase. Nora and Pamela were in their dressing gowns and lacy caps, and when they noticed the strange male zombie, they both ducked behind the closest clothed person they could find.

  “Hellooo,” Chas said, her eyes widening at the sight of David. Tom’s expression morphed from curiosity to dislike almost instantly.

  “What’s going on?” Nora asked. “Who’s he?”

  “Ladies,” David said, voice stilted and expression awkward. Turning to me, he removed his hat and said through gritted teeth, “You didn’t mention ladies.”

  “Sorry?” I kept it simple, introducing the new guy and adding, “The masks aren’t only attacking living people. We just chased one.”

  The group hushed. David glanced at the stairs, then at me. “I did see them target a breather,” he said. “Cobbler by the name of Bihari. Been doing shoes for free for the dead—some of ’em walked so far. Last week a bunch of guys in these weird long masks set fire to some trash outside his shop. Had it pushed up against a wooden wall. Never did catch the blighters. That’s what started my asking around.”

  I’d heard this already. “Tell them everything.”

  David remained standing, looking everyone over uneasily—especially the girls. “I’m still mostly in the dark myself. For a few weeks now there’ve been rumors about zombies ‘taken by the birds.’ Zombies come and go from the Morgue every day, so I didn’t think much of it till that night at the cobbler’s. Then I started asking around in earnest, and I got stories about zombies going out on errands and not coming back, things like that.”

  “Did you go to the coppers?” Issy asked.

  “Yeah.” David scowled, rolling up the brim of his hat as he talked. “They told me there was no such thing. That zombie mothers were probably makin’ up tales to scare their kids, keep ’em in the park. So I started walking at night, and tonight I finally saw ’em. There were two originally. Hanging out in an alley near the Morgue. I heard ’em saying something about trying to get a woman, because she wouldn’t be as strong. For what, I don’t know. But for now, I’m assuming every story’s true. That these ruffians’ve been taking people.”

  I sat on the stairs near Nora, and she sent her tiny fingers into my hair—an act that made me long to plunk my head into her warm lap and fall asleep, and caused David to peer at her as if she were some sort of alien. “And the Changed?”

  “Know of ’em,” he said. “They’ve been giving things away, taking in homeless. Haven’t heard of ’em doing anything else.”

  “That doesn’t fit with what we learned,” Coalhouse said.

  I gestured at him. “Share.”

  Coalhouse looked skeptically at David, as if unsure whether he should get to hear. Chas rolled her eyes and picked up the ball. “Tom and I spent the evening scouting the crowd. It was a lot aaangrier this time around.??
? She tugged at the ribbons holding her neck closed. “Geez, these things tickle after a whiiile.”

  “Yeah, but it is so good to have your voice back, baby doll. That board used to make about as much sense as a bloody Sumerian tablet.”

  Chas made a face at her boyfriend before continuing. “Anyway, every time a living person showed up? Intimidated. Told to scraaam. Not like the first night we went.”

  “And we know why.” Coalhouse leaned forward, his knees spreading apart. “I talked to this girl, see.”

  “First time that has ever happened, for the record,” Tom said.

  “Shut up!”

  “Easy, Tom,” I told him. “Girl?”

  “The garden girl. Laura. Tried to get her to come with us, but she wouldn’t.”

  “What is up with that whole flower thing?” Nora asked.

  “It does take funeraaal pre-planning a little far, doesn’t it?”

  “Guys,” Coalhouse said. “Anyway, she came up to me and told me we should beat it. That it wasn’t safe for us.” He pointed down with two fingers. “She said Hagens is now in charge of the camp.”

  I sat up. Nora gave me a worried glance. “In charge? How?”

  “She wouldn’t say. Said ‘bad things’ happened. So I figure if this girl’s going out of her way to warn us, clearly she does not share Hagens’s hatred of us, so I start asking questions.”

  “Um, not just you?” Tom said pointedly.

  Coalhouse rolled his eye. “Look, it doesn’t matter. What matters is the hijackers at the prison were her people, and what’s more …” He looked at Nora. “Apparently she wants you or your dad, to use for something. She wants Patient One. Laura said his name was Smoke.”

  In silence, all eyes turned to Nora. Pam moved a little closer to her. “Why us?” Nora asked, voice hushed.

  “Trade, probably,” I said, my voice throaty. “Did you guys see Mártira at all? She seemed shocked that her people started biting back at the docks, but maybe it was just her blind optimism talking. Maybe Laura gets that from her. Something’s not right.”

  “No.”

  “And thank goodness they didn’t.” I looked up to find Renfield quickly trotting down the staircase, an encyclopedia’s worth of paper clutched in his hands. He gave David the briefest of glances. “Ran those background checks you asked for.”

  “And?”

  “Can’t find much on Hagens, since she’s Punk-born. Lopez is a saint, but I can’t get to his army records.” He handed what must have been Lopez’s report to Pamela before sitting down next to Nora and letting the remaining pages fall from his hands. They landed on the step below with an impressive thunk. “But that is Mártira Cicatriz’s rap sheet.”

  We all stared at it. “Abridged version?” I asked.

  “Everything. Mostly theft. Been in and out of the clink all her life.” He scooted forward. “If she’s currently as you describe her, death has made her drink long and well from the Peace Punch. She has about twenty aliases, most of them variations on the word ‘hellcat.’ ”

  I slid my hands over my face. “And the kind of people who’d follow a ‘hellcat’?”

  “Hellcats in training. The hellcat ascendant,” Ren said, echoing my thoughts. “I looked into her gang, too. Looks like she started small, getting people to commit crimes she planned. In exchange they’d get work, food, shelter. Took off from there. Soon minor groups involved in things like prostitution and pickpocketing were allying themselves with her for protection.”

  “So maybe her people are still acting out?” Nora said.

  “I think so,” I said, looking to David. “Because as personal as all of this clearly is, you and Miss Roe aren’t the only people they’ve gone after.”

  “But why would zombies go after zombies?” David asked. “You think they’re conscripting them into this group?”

  “And why hasn’t this been on the news?” asked Nora.

  “No idea. Maybe it’s gotten lost in all the other violence.”

  “Laura said members of the Changed were still heading into town, remember?” Tom said.

  “Yeah.” I leaned back against the stair railings but I didn’t relax. “I hate to say it, but we should just report everything to the police before somebody tries something else. Get them to pay attention.”

  “Seconded,” Nora said.

  “Aaand you should stay inside,” Chas said. “I say that knowing you will veto me in two-point-three seconds.”

  “No,” I said as my girl sat up in preparation for verbal warfare. “We report this, and we take care of it so no one has to hide. Because this isn’t just about us anymore.” Nora flashed me a thankful look.

  “Wait, what?” Coalhouse shook his head. “No way. If we rat them out it’ll be ages before we learn why they want Patient One, or how they managed to find out about the Roes.” He glanced momentarily at Pamela. “Besides, like you said … what if the cops decide to take them all out? Bad stuff could go down. I can do this, Cap.”

  “It’s not ‘ratting them out,’ ” I said, irritated. “It’s reporting people who might’ve attacked innocents and tried to steal an armored van from the police!”

  “Look, what have we got? One visual confirmation, a couple random stories, and the word of a flower girl? Like the coppers are going to believe us? Braca there already got shut down.” The crew went quiet at this idea. “Let’s investigate more, find out if they’re really the ones responsible. If they are, we can go in locked and loaded!” Coalhouse looked to the others for signs of support, and met looks of bewilderment instead. “What’s the issue?”

  “That is the stupidest idea I’ve ever heard,” Tom said. “And I’ve heard a few in my time.”

  “Yeah, well, you think everything I do is stupid, so I’m not going to—”

  “No, it’s incredibly stupid,” Nora said. “This isn’t like when we rescued Pam and Issy from the city. Then, there was no one else to help them. But now everything’s out in the open. Like Papa said. We can’t wage a private war.” She blinked. “I can’t believe I just said that.”

  “We’re not in the army anymore,” Chas pointed out. “We’re civiliiians.”

  “And these zombies aren’t like the hosts we faced before, John.” I used his real name to get his attention, and it worked. “These are functioning dead folks, like us. If they’ve done wrong, we have to let them face the authorities, even if it’s not the best solution. Besides, thirty-odd Company Z soldiers to hundreds of unarmed, brain-dead zombies worked at Averne’s base—five soldiers to at least fifty armed, smart zombies would be suicide. My days of never having enough men, of losing people needlessly, are over. This is serious.”

  “I know it is!” Coalhouse stood up, unsteady on the stairs. “Stop ganging up on me. I’m not an idiot, and I’m not a child. You gave me a chance, you can’t just yank it away from me before I’ve even started!”

  “Nobody cares about your ‘chance’!” Pamela said, glaring at Coalhouse. He stopped, stunned. “The others are right! We should tell the police, the army—somebody. Turn this over to someone who can figure out who wants to ruin my entire existence!”

  For a moment everyone was quiet. Coalhouse looked like Pamela had just slapped him. “I want to help you, too,” he said. “Didn’t I help you and Isambard before?”

  “You did,” Pam said, rising. “I’m just sick of talking about this.” She turned and headed up the stairs, her brother scurrying after her. Nora sighed, leaning forward to wrap her arms around her knees.

  After they were gone I said, “Coalhouse, you did amazingly tonight. But things are different now.” I stood up and helped Nora to her feet. “I’m calling the police. Now. I’m not saying we stop working, I’m just saying we do the smart thing and let the cops in on this, too. Not the army. We’ll figure out a new game plan tomorrow.”

  “I want in on that,” David said. I nodded at him.

  Coalhouse looked at us all in turn, his single eye pleading for some kind of backup.
He didn’t find it. His hands curled into fists and he shouted, his voice echoing in the grand hall, “Fine!” Before anyone could say anything else, he picked his way over Chas’s body and stomped toward the front door.

  “Coalhouse!” Tom called out. “Where are you going?”

  “Like I’d tell you. This is your fault to begin with!” Coalhouse pushed past David and slammed the door behind him. Tom swore and hopped over his girlfriend, moving to follow.

  I caught his shoulder. “Don’t. Just let him cool down.”

  “My fault? I just want to know how the hell this is my fault!”

  “The Topic,” Chas reminded him. “You bit him. Everything is your fault. Foreeever.”

  Tom relaxed a touch. That was old ground. “What if he takes the car?”

  “Let hiiim. He has to come back. He doesn’t have anywhere else to go,” Chas said as she pushed herself up. “I’m going to bed.”

  Tom turned to follow her after bowing to Nora. Ren did the same. David watched them disappear onto the landing before asking me, “Are your friends always so dramatic?”

  “Sometimes.” I moved to shake his hand. “You want a ride up?”

  “I can walk. Ask for me at the Morgue. I’ll spread the word, see if I can get more info.” He looked down at Nora and cleared his throat. “Miss.”

  Nora and I saw him out. After he was gone, she said, “You did the right thing. But now I have a recon mission of my own. Want to be my backup?”

  “Please tell me it doesn’t involve zombies.”

  “For once, it doesn’t. And it can wait until morning. I’ll share then.”

  “You’re so beautiful when you’re cryptic.”

  She kissed my nose and whispered, “Good night, Mr. Griswold,” before heading up the steps. I watched her go, then finally removed my coat and hat.

  I left them in a pile at the end of the stairs, carrying my phone with me. I was too tired to do the civilized thing and hang them up.

  At seven the next morning I limped into the kitchen and found Nora already at her porridge and tea, dressed in her Sunday best. She was back in her green dress, her hair freshly washed and made glossy with something that smelled like roses, emerald glass teardrops dangling from her ears, and a creaseless satin ribbon hugging her throat.