by Lia Habel
“Why?”
He sized me up. “You think you can fight with that thing in a ball gown, be my guest.”
I glanced down. I was wearing the second dress Beryl’d sent, and I hadn’t cut it down. “Ball gown? This isn’t a ball—Hey!”
He was already walking away. With a sigh, I followed before I lost sight of him.
“Love’s like a cigarette …
You know you had my heart aglow
Between your fingertips.
And, just like a cigarette,
I never knew the thrill of life
Until you touched my lips.
Then, just like a cigarette,
Love seemed to fade away and
Leave behind ashes of regret …
And, with a flick of your fingertips,
It was easy for you to forget …”
Chas’s tiny single room was in a barracks off the other courtyard. The other women I’d seen seemed to be housed in the same area, in long, multibunk chambers. Their radios and Victrolas warred for supremacy, and in the mix I could hear popular Victorian music, ancient symphonies, and strange beats I couldn’t identify.
Bram knocked, and Chas opened the door, her music growing louder. She had strips of tinfoil in her hair and a cigarette dangling from her lips—which she immediately hid behind her back when she saw Bram.
“Hiiii!”
Both of Bram’s brows flitted upward. “Hi.” He looked at the foil. “I’m not even gonna ask.”
“Martians are trying to control my thoughts, stupid.” She noticed me then and smiled. “Hi, Nora! Ooh …” Her eyes fell to the weapon. “Shiny.”
“Nora needs some more appropriate clothes if she’s to use the shiny,” Bram said.
Chas clapped her hands together. “Makeover!”
Oh, God, no.
Chas reached out and took my wrist, pulling me within her room. I looked at Bram as I was hauled past but couldn’t even get a word out before he waved and shut the door.
I stared at the back of it. I was going to have to kill him. It was a crying shame, but I was going to have to. It was a matter of principle.
Chas had a window in her room, and she smushed her cigarette out in a glass dish before opening the shutters to let some sunlight in. Her room was a disaster area—clothes everywhere, posters and prints rolling off the walls due to the humidity, the floor practically carpeted with nameless bits of plastic. Some of these she kicked aside, clearing a path. “Sorry about all this,” she laughed. “I’m a slob.” She pulled the sheets over the bed and gestured for me to sit down.
I did so, taking the modified-whatever with me. I propped it up against the wall, near a picture of a sharp-featured boy in a jabot and pearls. Or was it a girl? I couldn’t tell. Chas caught me looking and said, “Oh, that’s Tory Angel—or Victoria Angel, sometimes. He’s an underground singer, he rocks. Ever heard of him?”
“No. Is he a Punk artist?”
“Oh, no, he’s New Vic. I was, too, before I died.”
I looked at her in disbelief. “You were?”
She nodded happily. “Um-hmm! From Buffalora.”
Recognition dawned. Buffalora was on the border between Panama and Colombia. “I know that place! It was hit by a massive storm …” I looked into her eyes, and realized, “The dead, a few years ago.”
“Ten points! Buffalora is my personal favorite government cover-up to date.” Chas pointed to her hair and added, “Just let me get these out before we get started … but yeah anyway. Gosh. Seems so long ago. I was pretty much the princess, let me tell you. Only child, spoiled rotten.”
“So you weren’t in the army, either?”
She started unfolding her hair from the foil, revealing that she’d dyed in stripes of purple and pink. “Oh, hell no. My parents would have cut off my arms and legs first. I was actually betrothed to the owner of a big vineyard. I was excited about it. Not over him—he weighed, like, five hundred pounds—but I figured on free booze for life. I was gonna be like Marie Antoinette, you know? Partyparty. Then the dead invited themselves to the rehearsal dinner.”
Her voice was bubbly, but I couldn’t help feeling pity for her. “I’m so sorry.”
“Yeah, was an awful day. But …” She shrugged, and started working water from a ceramic pitcher through her hair. “It’s happened to better people than me. Mom and I were the only survivors. And by ‘survivors’ I mean ‘awake again and not totally insane, like Uncle Marcos.’ ”
“Where is she?”
“Next room over.”
I looked to the wall. Chas shook her head. “The other one. But yeah, she’s here. She works for Wolfe, and takes in mending and stuff. Camp follower. I actually think,” she said, as she draped a towel over her head, “that death kinda saved our relationship? It was sorta strained for a while, there, but now we’re best friends. You’ll have to meet her, sometime.”
The idea of being introduced to another zombie didn’t exactly fill me with joy, so I kept quiet. Still, I found myself somewhat cheered by the idea of a family continuing after death. Maybe I’d be able to say the same thing about my dad and me someday.
Chas shook her hair. “That’ll do. Now!” She threw the towel aside and trained her eyes on me. “Huh, I’m not sure where to take this. I got everything—I collect stuff from vacant houses when we go out on missions. I figure it’s not stealing, not if the stuff’s not gonna be put to use anymore.”
“Oh,” was all I could think of to say.
“How do you feel about short skirts?”
“Um, I haven’t worn short skirts since I was a little girl, but I’m not completely opposed. I mean, you saw what I did with the dress yesterday. Calf-length is fine.”
Chas made a derisive sound and opened her closet door. I half thought the clothes in there, as tightly packed together as they were, would shoot out at her en masse. “Live a little, girl! You’re in the middle of nowhere! S’why I smoke now, and do my hair like this, and all that.” She pulled out a skirt and held it to her waist. “I figure, what’s it gonna do, kill me?”
* * *
“I can’t go outside like this!”
Chas leaned on my shoulder, both hands layered beneath her chin, and joined me in looking in the mirror. It’d taken her a while to settle on this combination, but now she would not be swayed.
I looked like a slut.
“I think it’s adorable, you big dummy.”
I was wearing a swirly black knee-length skirt with a short crinoline beneath it, black stockings, and black knee-high boots. I had a white blouse with elbow-length sleeves tucked into the skirt. She’d tied my hair back with a white ribbon, just to get it out of the way.
“You can’t even see your legs! And look, when you get a thigh holster for your pistol … oh my gosh, that will be so cute.”
“It’s completely immodest!”
“Well, I was gonna knock on the door, but now I wonder if I should or not,” said Bram from the hall. He was back, hidden behind the closed door.
I looked at Chas. “Don’t you dare.”
She backed up, with a giggle, toward the door. I glared at her, before looking to my weapon. Sensing my intentions, she held her position. It was like an Old West showdown.
We both sprang into motion in the same second—her running for the door, me for my blades. She got to her target first and wrenched the door open. Just as I was picking up my weapon, Bram was standing there, watching me.
I tossed the blades down on the bed and screwed up my face. Let him say a word. “Well?” I spread my arms out. “This was your big idea.”
He was looking at me as if he had never seen me before. I felt the heat rising in my cheeks again. I could move more easily, I wanted to move more easily—but that was beside the point. I felt practically naked.
Bram cleared his throat and said, “What is it with you guys and your rooms? You know, we do have the odd inspection.” He turned his head very decidedly from me, taking in the surround
ings.
Chas smirked. “Are you gonna write me up?”
“No.” He held out a hand for me. “Come on, Nora. I want to start practicing sometime before midnight.”
I was left feeling very … lost. I wasn’t sure if he approved or disapproved. And why did I care what he thought, either way?
I picked up the blades again and approached him, although I didn’t take his hand. Chas smiled at me. “You look really cute. Trust me. Just keep doing like you’re doing, and you’ll be fine. Nobody’s gonna think you’re a slut.”
“Doing like I’m doing? What am I doing?”
Chas fluffed up her damp hair. “Spending time with a zombie, letting her touch you and talk to you and stuff, without screaming your head off? Anyway, see you later!” She waved as the door shut.
I walked with Bram out into the courtyard again. After a while he said, “She’s right, you know.”
“About what? The touching thing?”
“Yeah.” Bram glanced to me out of the corner of his eye. “What we want most is just to be treated the same as anyone else, and … well …” He sped up a bit, and I had to trot after him. “She’s right about the clothes being nice, too.”
The last bit he said so quickly that I had to slice apart his words in my mind. Once I understood what he’d said, I stopped in the middle of the courtyard and laughed. It was too silly.
“Miss Dearly?”
It wasn’t Bram speaking. I didn’t move at first, because I almost thought I’d imagined it.
“I think he will leave us in a few moments, Miss Dearly.”
The sound of that voice was forever burned into my memory.
I turned around, slowly. Standing there, not five feet away from me, was Horatio Salvez.
I dropped the weapon and rushed to him, throwing my arms about his neck. He hugged me back fiercely. “Oh, Miss Dearly, I’m so glad to see you here, you’ve no idea. I was there the night you were taken.”
I felt tears pricking my eyes. I pulled back so I could look up into his thin, kind face. “You were there? Do you work for the Doom now? Or are you still working for my father?”
“Both. We’re all here now.” He pulled me close again, and I didn’t fight it. “You’ve no idea how good it is to see that you’re safe.”
“You knew about him, then,” I whispered against his collar. “You knew he was still alive.”
His arms sagged. “Yes. I’m so sorry that we couldn’t tell you.” He pushed me back gently. “I truly am. It was what he wanted … but you have no idea how many times I’ve wished I could make up for it.”
Horatio’s eyes were filled with such remorse that I decided to let the issue go. Instead, I said, “You can. It’s apparently been decided that I’m not to contact anyone—or see what’s going on outside the base. I feel like they’re hiding something from me.”
He glanced past me, to Bram, and then back again. “Ah … actually, I’ve been tasked with bringing you to Wolfe. You can ask him about it.”
Finally. “Perfect.”
Horatio nodded. “I’ll have her back in a bit, Captain Griswold.”
Bram picked up the scythe. For some reason, he was frowning. “Head to the mess afterward. I’ll meet up with you after you eat, how’s that sound?”
“Yeah, okay.”
Without further ado, Salvez escorted me across the eastern courtyard and through the central gate. There were zombies at drill in the western courtyard, and we had to keep close to the wall and take the long way around. Distracted by the sight of the dead soldiers, I didn’t immediately pick up on the location of Wolfe’s office—although it should have been incredibly easy to do so, since a crowd of people was gathered outside of it. I recognized a few other Doom scientists, and heard Samedi’s sardonic voice as I was ushered quickly inside the building.
“Let’s stay south of the Panama Canal, he said. It’s a natural firebreak, he said. What can go wrong, he said.”
“What’s going on?” I asked Horatio. The woman at the front desk studied us as we walked past. She was a zombie, the lower half of her facial skin completely gone, her muscles withered and her teeth stained.
“Ah, usual rotation chatter,” he said without looking at me. “Our unit just got in. That’s when Wolfe told me you were here.”
My bull-sense started tingling.
Wolfe was waiting for us upstairs. He stood when I arrived, and bowed. “Miss Dearly.”
I curtsied. “Captain Wolfe.”
As he sat again, his eyes lingered on my short skirt. I pressed my knees together, trying hard not to feel ashamed. “How … lovely to finally speak with you. Please, won’t you take a seat?”
I did so, arranging the skirt down over my legs. Horatio sat at my side.
“You’ve found clothing to your liking, then?”
“These clothes are for practice.” You pervert, I wanted to add.
“Practice? Should I ask?”
“Captain Griswold is teaching me self-defense.”
Wolfe’s brows drew together and he tapped his beefy fingers on the desk. “He is, is he?”
“Well,” I said, a bit shortly, “I am surrounded by the walking dead.”
Wolfe seemed to relax a bit at this statement, and even chortled. “Good point, good point. I’m glad that you can keep that in mind, Miss Dearly—that they are not to be completely trusted.” He eyed me narrowly again. “Never to be completely trusted.”
I tried valiantly to keep my mouth shut.
“I’m sorry for not speaking with you sooner. You must be terribly confused. I have plenty of materials here to show you, though, explaining the nature of the soldiers at this base and your father’s role …”
I tuned him out and turned inward. Bram’d already told me what I needed to know—including the fact that he wasn’t supposed to tell me. Interrupting Wolfe’s little documentary session by informing him that I already knew everything might just dig Bram’s grave a little deeper. That was the last thing I wanted to do. But neither did I want to waste any time.
“I apologize for interrupting, Captain Wolfe, but there is one thing that I do find terribly confusing.”
His head turned a fraction of a degree toward me. “What’s that?”
I decided to speak his language. “Why am I subject to an information blackout?”
Wolfe was silent for a moment. When he spoke again, it wasn’t to me. “Dr. Salvez, would you do me the favor of letting me speak with Miss Dearly in private?”
“Ah, of course.” Horatio stood and gave me an apologetic look. “I’ll wait outside for you, miss.”
I looked at Horatio. “It’s Dr. Salvez now?”
“Yes, it is, actually,” he said, unable to contain a proud smile. He bowed, and saw himself out.
The moment the door shut, Wolfe leaned across his desk. “Miss Dearly, I’m taking time out of my day to talk to you. I’m keeping no secrets. I would hope that would earn your trust. There are some protocols that simply have to be followed.”
“Like Protocol D?”
Wolfe sat back, his eyes slitting. “Yes. Where did you hear that term, may I ask?”
Brilliant. Attempting to retreat, I changed the subject. “Even prisoners get a phone call. Last I knew, I wasn’t being held captive. I’ve not even been told if my family knows I’m safe.”
“No, you’re not a prisoner.” He reached into the humidor on his desk and drew out a cigar. “I thought you were an intelligent girl. As that is now up for debate, I will make myself perfectly clear. You are being kept here as a last resort. It is not the safest location, but it’ll do. The soldiers here are, at heart, creatures who would sooner eat you than look at you.”
He wasn’t telling me anything I hadn’t already told myself a thousand times. I knew perfectly well that there was a certain level of danger associated with everyone here and that I shouldn’t trust them.
But … I was starting to like them. More than this blowhard anyway. Suddenly, Samedi’s monk
ey comment made perfect sense.
“Chatting with your friends and watching DVNs should be the furthest things from your mind. You’ve got survival to worry about.” He pointed to himself. “I’m worried about your safety. That’s all I’m worried about.”
“I’m not talking about watching television,” I argued. “Nothing stupid like that. I want to at least tell my friend, Pamela Roe, that I’m all ri—”
“If you’re smart, you won’t interact with the undead unless you must, and then you will take everything they tell you with a grain of salt.” Interrupting me was, for Captain Wolfe, merely a manner of opening his mouth. His voice completely overpowered mine. “Do you understand me?”
I reminded myself that he was a captain in the army, and ground out a dull “Sir,” rather than what I truly wanted to say. It was clear he didn’t take me seriously, and he wasn’t going to give me what I wanted.
Wolfe set his cigar down on the ink blotter. “And it sounds to me as if you ought to spend a little less time gallivanting around with Griswold. I don’t think your father would approve.”
My head shot up. The way Wolfe was looking at me, I could tell precisely what he thought that “gallivanting” might entail. I suddenly felt sick to my stomach.
I stood up. “Captain, do you have a daughter?”
“I do,” he said. “Two.”
“Grand. Then kindly save the lectures for them, and spare me.”
I might’ve insulted his mother, the way he looked at me. “You watch your mouth, young lady.”
I didn’t. “Captain Griswold has done nothing but treat me like a lady—and like one with a brain in her head, to boot.”
The captain’s enormous chest rose and fell like a bellows with his breathing. “Miss Dearly, you might’ve gotten away with talking to your father in that fashion, but you won’t with me. You’re not a prisoner, no—but I have the authority to keep you in a hole until your father is found, and if need be, I’ll do so. I want an apology, now.”