by Ann Christy
All I can think of is Violet, so my goal of being quiet and letting the story come out on its own is tested to its breaking point already. I ask, “What about Violet? Did she get caught?”
Tom shakes his head and says, “No. She covered her tracks pretty well. It looked like you broke out on your own. There was suspicion, of course, because the bar on the door was lifted, but nothing was directed at her specifically. In the end, there was no way to know who helped you get out of your room, if anyone did.”
“Ah, okay. Sorry for interrupting,” I say, greatly relieved.
“So, the mood changed. Rumors were flying that you two had brought a program that might clear a body of nanites, maybe even cure the First Stage Revived—the ones you call in-betweeners. By the way, Violet told me what you called them and it’s a great name for them. Very fitting. Anyway, pretty soon rumor was verified for a lot of us. Violet and I are good friends. She let me in on it. A secret like that can’t stay hidden with so few people.”
Thinking about how every single thing in our little group is known by everyone else, I can certainly understand what he’s saying. The snort that comes out of me is entirely unplanned. “Tell me about it,” I say.
A few polite laughs greet that from some of the others listening in. I never thought about others having that same level of transparency in their daily doings, but I guess it makes sense. The near extinction of humanity has, apparently, done wonders for sharing.
“It didn’t take long for the wheels to come off,” Tom says. “Princeton was working on the program for Doc, but within a few days, all of us on guard duty were in on his secret, parallel investigation. We had to be or else he wouldn’t have been able to do it. That hospital is huge and there are plenty of nanite labs not in use. Well, none of them are, really. But anyway, Princeton worked on it every spare minute. Then the grumbles from the limited access folks sort of spread and the quarantined people got agitated. And then the Doc got antsy.”
While he’s talking, I can’t help but remember the good parts of the hospital. The gardens on the roof and in the courtyards, the way everyone worked to keep things going. But then I remember that a lot of work was to take care of people held in rooms like the one I was held in with Charlie. I remember the uncounted numbers he’d turned away to die, and that Doctor Reed did it all only to have stock to repopulate the world when the time was right.
Tom must see some of my thoughts in my face, because he pauses in his tale. When I look up at the silence, he says, “You can’t make sense of what people do.”
He’s right, of course, which is what makes it all very frustrating.
“You ready for more?” he asks.
I nod. Next to me, Charlie speaks for the first time. “Wait. You said that Princeton was working on the program for the doctor, but also doing his own research. Why two different research projects? What was the difference?”
At that, Tom smiles and touches the side of his nose. “You have it in one, Charlie. That’s what got this ball—by that I mean us leaving—rolling. Doctor Reed wanted the program, but only to clear us, the people in the hospital. He told Princeton not to worry about First Stage Revived.”
I nod my thanks, but don’t say anything. We’re getting to the meat of his story now, I can tell. And behind me, the smell of something savory is snaking its way into this room from the stove. It’s waking my stomach up and it grumbles a little. And another smell comes, sharp but also mellow. I know that smell.
“Is that coffee?” I gasp and turn to look at the stove again. Sure enough, there’s an old-school coffee pot on one of the two burners. I turn around to look at Tom, my amazed expression enough to make him laugh.
“You guys didn’t search that college very well. We found loads of it,” he explains.
“No way,” Gregory says, making a chopping motion with his hand. “I searched all three cafeterias and they were cleaned out before we even got there.”
Tom’s grin widens and he says, “Ah, but you didn’t check all the offices. About half of those professor’s offices had coffee stashes in them.”
He’s right about that, we didn’t check the offices. A good many of them had deaders in them and there’s only so much value we can place on more copies of tests and school books. I never thought about the professors’ need for caffeine.
Gregory sniffs the air—the smell of the coffee is getting stronger—and he says, “Well, I’m certainly glad you found it now.”
We’re getting off track and I’m dying to hear the rest of their story, so I interrupt and ask, “You said Doctor Reed had his program, but that Princeton was working on his own. And there were problems with the people?”
“Right, sure,” Tom says. “Princeton was working on the same thing in both of his studies, but he was purposefully being slow with the Doc’s version. As for what was going wrong, that was the Doc too. One of the guards was sneaking around to get some supplies for Princeton and he heard the Doc talking to someone, but no one was talking back. He was quiet between his parts of the conversation. At first the guard thought the Doc was talking to himself, but then he realized he was talking to someone either by walkie or some other way.”
“Like on a phone?” I ask.
He nods, “Exactly. That guard snuck in after the Doc left the room. Lock-picking is a valuable skill nowadays. And it was a phone. A military handset.”
“Holy crap,” Charlie bursts out. “Other military are still around?” Then he pauses, cocks his head in thought and says, “Other military that knew what Doctor Reed was doing.”
Tom gives Charlie an approving look and says, “Again, you’re right on point. I can’t be sure who’s in charge at that other base, or if it’s just another looney like Doctor Reed, but they’ve got military gear and they use military ranks, so I have to think they’re military.”
“Wait, you talked to them?” I ask in alarm. That can’t be good.
“Yep. Violet and I waited around after duty one night until the Doc went to bed and then found the handset right where the guard told us it would be. I got on it and just tried to play along, but they figured out I wasn’t the doc right away. Then it got a little scary and weird.”
“How so?” Charlie breaks in. He’s completely wound up, I can tell. He’s almost vibrating he’s so tense.
“I didn’t know their codes, so they figured out I didn’t belong on the horn. I tried to bluff and say that the doc had an accident and told me to call, but I didn’t have that code either. I made out that he was too bad off, but they didn’t buy it. First, he asked if we were a part of the Virginia group, as if that were a bad thing. Then the guy says he’s sending a relief squad. Only it didn’t sound much like relief to me. It sounded like a threat.”
“But where were they?” Gregory asks. “It can’t have been far, unless there’s some sort of working satellite phone systems.”
“There could be systems like that still operating. Who knows what the military had before all this happened? But the point is that Violet and I agreed that whatever was going on couldn’t be good. She took some tools to the radio set so that it broke, but only someone who knew what they were looking at would understand she’d messed with the insides. We didn’t want the Doc to know anything. We searched, but didn’t find any other handsets. There had to be one somewhere, though. No one has just one.”
“Two is one, and one is none,” Charlie murmurs and Tom laughs. It’s the rule of redundancy. We live by it. Anyone smart that’s still alive lives by it.
“Yep. We decided it was time to go. Violet knew what city you were in, but that’s it. We got everyone we could. Half of the group went to the coast, thinking the islands might be better, and the rest of us came here.”
“But what about Violet and Princeton?” I ask.
“Both of them decided to stay and play dumb. A few others didn’t want to go, even one of the prisoners if you can believe that, but no one saw Violet, so I think she can carry it off. We left her and Princet
on locked in one of the labs, just in case. And this is where your message comes in.”
My heartbeat kicks up a notch and nervous heat fills my belly, but all I do is nod that I’m ready.
Tom smiles, not the grin of before, but the kind of good smile that comes with good news. He says, “Princeton said he’s sure it will work, but he has more to do. The code is clean, but they don’t have the larger capacity machines—though I don’t know anything about that, so don’t ask me—and it will take time. He said just keep going to the spot and as soon as he and Violet get anything, they’ll bring it or send someone with it.”
Charlie looks grim when he says, “So they’re staying?”
Tom inclines his head, but he also looks serious when he answers. “Violet is a brave woman. She’s going to get as much information as she can, for as long as she can.”
I know what that means as well as Charlie does. She’ll stay until the last possible minute before escaping and could easily wind up waiting too long. Who knows what that voice on the phone meant by a relief squad? It might mean medical for the doc or it might mean a squad armed with heavy artillery. Who knows?
From behind us, I hear the guy named Jeremy call, “Coffee and oatmeal. Who wants some?”
If my stomach was nervous before, it’s not now. It practically leaps up out of my mouth in eagerness and I call, “Oh, heck yeah. Me!”
Today - Delicate Decisions
As we eat our dinner, we’re doing our daily rundown on our experiment. It’s the only time each day when we’re all together. No one is on watch and no one is at the cage. It’s not ideal, but we never have dinner at the same time from day to day, so we’re just going with it for now.
Tonight, the inevitable question of what Gloria wants to do with Carson comes up. He’s terribly feverish and the distinct smell of rot is starting to come off of him. That tells me he’s not going to make it. If I get close enough to smell his breath when he speaks, the reek is like the old pile of deaders out in the field, except fresh and warm.
The thing is, Gloria still hasn’t even been inside to see the test subjects now that they’re awake. Her belly is beginning to swell with the child growing inside and even considering the source of the child, she’s protective of it and doesn’t want to go near anything that might harm her or the new little human she carries.
I’m not sure anymore, she writes on her pad finally. Gloria’s hand goes to her belly in an unconscious gesture of protection and she looks down into the cup at her side like she can find the answer in a cup of herbal tea.
Gregory glances up at that and asks, “Sure about what exactly? That they should die at all or that you should do it?”
Well, that’s getting right to the point.
Gloria doesn’t delay her answer at all, so I know she’s firm on one thing, at least. She writes quickly, Oh, they have to die.
I break in before they start discussing what probably doesn’t need discussing. “I don’t think you have to worry about Carson. He’s going to die soon on his own. I’m sure of that.”
She winces a little at that statement, though I can’t guess why that should be wince-worthy. Why she should feel anything other than loathing for any of them is completely beyond me.
Savannah reaches out and presses Gloria’s hand in support. That seems to help, because Gloria gives her a shaky smile at something only the two of them share knowledge of, and takes a deep breath. Then she writes for a long time, holding up her sheet of paper almost reluctantly.
He’s the only one who never did anything mean to me. I don’t think he wanted to be with them either. I don’t think he could leave. He did most of the work around camp. I don’t know, though.
Then I get it. He’s the only one she can be sure isn’t the father of the baby she carries. Maybe, he was nice to her in his own way. But that’s all crap, because he was with them and I didn’t see any chains on him.
At some point, going along with whatever someone else does in order to keep yourself alive loses its validity. Eventually, everyone has to draw a line between what they will do and what they won’t. He didn’t. He deserves to die.
“Gloria,” I say, trying not to let it show in my voice exactly how strongly I feel about the subject. “No matter what else, he was with them and he wasn’t chained. You were. Remember that.”
She nods, her free hand moving to her belly again. After a moment, her face hardens under the pressure of her memories and she scribbles, You need him for your experiments? Till the end, I mean?
Charlie and I both nod and I say, “And after.”
Her face twists in disgust, but she nods her assent. I look to everyone else and see only grim avoidance. No one wants to meet my eyes except Charlie.
“What about the other one?” Savannah asks after a quick, wordless exchange with Gloria.
When Charlie and I both open our mouths to speak at the same time, I motion for him to go ahead. He says, “Physically, he’s fine. As much as we can, we’ve checked everything and he seems to be able to do anything a normal body does. But his brain is another matter. He’s wired backward as far as we can tell. If his eyes tell him to reach with his right hand, his left hand goes up. When he gets riled up and sees us to one side, he tries to get up on the other side. And it’s not getting better. He doesn’t seem to recognize the problem.”
Gloria looks a little confused, as if she can’t quite picture what we’re talking about. She scribbles on her paper and then holds it up. Is he human?
“Oh, absolutely,” I say. She looks relieved.
She scribbles again and holds it up a moment longer for me, with a little shake of the pad half-way through, which is her way of emphasizing her words. Then he’s ready to be punished? He’ll understand?
At my unsure expression, Gloria drops the pad back into her lap and holds out her hands in question.
“Two things. First, I don’t think he understands anything at all really. He doesn’t make sense most of the time and from the moment he started speaking, he’s been raving about bugs in his skin. And he talks to people who aren’t there, but doesn't always think we’re real. He’s brain-damaged, no question. Severely.”
Savannah reaches out to grab Gloria around her suddenly slumped shoulders and squeezes the older woman close. I hear her soft soothing words, “Shhh. It’s okay. Karma’s a bitch and she’ll come for them.”
I know the words are meant only for Gloria, but I can’t help but feel some of her pain as well. It isn’t fair at all that Tanner is escaping the most important part of paying for his crimes. And that part is the part where he understands that he’s paying for them.
Of course, if I had to base an opinion on my observations, I would say that the man is in utter hell right now. Fearful, uncomprehending, and in pain. That’s a good definition of hell.
Savannah looks up from where Gloria has her head tucked into her shoulder and asks, “What next?”
Charlie and I share a look. It’s really our experiment, so it’s our decision, I think. Charlie holds my hand and I understand his unwavering support is still there for me, so I turn back to Savannah and Gloria and say, “He’s begun sleeping more and more. We need to see where this will lead for as long as we can. More information is better. Always.”
Savannah nods, her lips pressed so tightly together that her mouth is nothing more than a dark line. “Fine. But if he starts to get lucid, we have this discussion again. Okay?”
All I can do is agree. It’s what I would want.
Ten Weeks Ago - Smoke ‘Em If You Got ‘Em
Even Maribelle and Jon come up with us to the roof on the morning agreed upon during our time with Tom and his group. I guess it’s better to say, the new part of our old group. Because, really, there was no question we would take them in. But they aren’t here. First, they’re doing something for all of us.
They are burning the dead, taking them into a long-past needed true death. I’m happy for those deaders. I’m happy that there will be
no more pain for them, no more lingering traces of the people they once were. I’m happy they will be at peace.
The dawn has broken, and the sticky night is promising to turn into a sweltering day. We can’t keep the kids up here for long, so I hope Tom’s group starts their program on time. It may seem odd that we would let children see this, even odder that we intend to explain it to them, but it’s not so strange for this new world. They have a right to be prepared for life and playing at being an astronaut is no longer going to prepare them for anything useful.
Almost as if our nervous glances at the horizon spur it on, a billow of black smoke rises into the sky. It’s wide at the top, so they must have used some serious accelerant on the fire to get it going. After that first blast of black, which brings a cheer from all of our throats, the steady stream builds into a wide swath that must come from a truly ferocious fire.
This is the reason for the thudding noise drawing the deaders. It’s genius and I’m surprised none of us thought of it before. Maybe because we have such an aversion to burning buildings, it just never rose to the top. They drew thousands of deaders to the main parking lot of the college, then filed them into the buildings on either side. They’ve packed the ground floors of the Language Arts building and the auditorium with deaders until they could hold no more.
And they did it all with noise. A piece of telephone pole on a couple of pulleys slamming into the ground, and a sort of battering ram they swung from side to side, hitting an old tank on display in one of the squares. From there, they guided the deaders into buildings with smaller, more specific noises, like a CD for learning Bulgarian and a hammer on a trashcan.
Now, those two buildings—and hopefully no others—are being sacrificed to bring us, and the deaders, peace.