Dread Nation

by Justina Ireland

  Eeny, meeny, miny, mo, catch a shambler by the toe.

  I dive at the dead woman, grabbing her one-handed by the ankle. She goes down, flat on her belly, only a few inches away from the unconscious woman. The shambler kicks out, her heel catching me in the mouth and splitting my lip. I grunt and my grip slips. She tries to drag herself toward Mrs. Carr, and I grab the shambler’s ankle again with both hands and haul her back, groaning as I climb to my feet.

  The dead woman lets loose a sound somewhere between frustration and fury. She twists around in my grip, lunging for me. The woman is faster than I expect, and I take a stumbling step back. My feet tangle in my skirts and I fall, the shambler following.

  I throw up my hands, using my forearms to block the weight of her torso before she can take a bite out of my face. She claws at me as I hold her back, my hands locked around her throat. I push her up and away, locking my elbows and hiding my face in my shoulder, trying to avoid her scrabbling hands. She pulls at the brim of Katherine’s bonnet, more interested in yanking my face to her teeth than in freeing herself. I’m trying to figure out how to get her off of me when there’s a loud report and something cold and wet splashes on my face.

  The shambler goes limp and I push her to the side, climbing to my feet as I wipe blood and the shambler’s brains off of my cheek. I look around to see who just saved my bacon, and I meet the eyes of the most remarkable man I’ve ever seen.

  He stands at the back of the room, a rifle in his hand. His straight dark hair is chin-length, his jaw square, his skin the same deep brown as mine. He wears a strange outfit, some kind of canvas pants that I’ve never seen before with a checkered shirt. My mouth falls open, part shock and part plain old rudeness. I ain’t too proud to admit that I stare at him as he watches me. But it ain’t entirely my fault. I never saw an Indian before.

  Of course I’ve read the newspaper weeklies about them: “The Chieftain’s Son,” “Plains Bride,” and my favorite, “Two Braves of Yellow Rock,” which is a story about two Cherokee brothers, one that chooses the white man’s way and the other who becomes the chief of his tribe. Momma loved those stories, and when the paper would come we’d read them together, marveling over tales of a frontier untouched by the blight of the restless dead.

  Momma used to say the Indian was even worse off than the Negro, because instead of being taken from his land he’d had his land taken from him. The man looks across the rapidly thinning audience at me, just as I’m staring at the fellow that saved my life. But then the Indian gives me a scowl, as though I am the most repugnant thing he’s ever seen, and turns and leaves the lecture hall.

  Well.

  Katherine comes running up, a revolver in her hand, huffing and puffing as she tries to get a full breath.

  I glare at her. “Where’ve you been?”

  “I had to run all the way down the street to find those dimwits. They were still searching for the shambler you sent them chasing after.” Katherine looks at me and frowns. “What happened to my bonnet?”

  I don’t answer her. I just take it off, hand it to her, and walk out to find Miss Duncan.

  I’ve had enough higher education to last me a lifetime.

  A few of the girls here seem to find all sorts of mischief, constantly in trouble with the headmistress. You’ll be happy to hear that I am not one of them.

  Chapter 7

  In Which I Receive Invitations Both Expected and Unexpected

  Someone shakes me awake. I crack one eye open, notice the pale gray light filtering through the bars on the windows, and grunt. “You better be shaking me for a good reason.”

  “Come on,” a voice says from the dark. It’s Katherine. She stalks off, and I reluctantly rise for our fourth straight day of house duty.

  After we’d put down all of the shamblers, Mayor Carr had been kind enough to let us use his personal carriage to get back to the school. I’m guessing this generosity came on account of me saving his wife and all. The engine chugged through the twilight, moving down the road much more quickly than the rented carriages we’d taken to Baltimore. The steam engine had been nearly whisper-quiet, the hiss low enough that we didn’t attract a single shambler from the surrounding woods. The seats had also been more comfortable, and the interior large enough to fit all of us in one pony. I didn’t think the taxpayers would be too keen on hearing that their elected official traveled in unrivaled luxury while they were forced to ride in barrels pushed along by clanking old engines.

  When we got back, Miss Duncan had marched us right into Miss Preston’s office. At first I thought maybe we were going to get a ribbon or something for our valorous conduct. What we got was another lecture.

  “I’m surprised at you girls.” Miss Preston yawned wide, likely on account of the late hour. “You know better than to gallivant around wearing corsets and carrying firearms. You’re in your last year! I expect better from students about to graduate.”

  “Miss Preston,” I said, raising my hand. “Can I just say that I am truly remorseful for my conduct? I understand that it is dismaying to know that a girl might be wont to strap a revolver to her thigh before attending an educational event. However, without my revolver those shamblers could’ve easily turned half that room. Wearing a corset is far more egregious a transgression. After all, the stays of the corset limit movement, and not being able to draw a proper breath could be the difference between life and death for the wearer.”

  I could feel Katherine glare at me as I offered her up in the hopes of saving my own hide, and I’m certain that by the end she fairly had steam coming from her ears. Small price to pay to avoid getting the switch. But Miss Preston was having none of it.

  “Jane, your point is well taken, but heroism means little when it rests on lawlessness. And don’t think Miss Duncan didn’t inform me of your outburst during the lecture. There are rules in this world, rules that are the only thing separating us from the restless dead. This isn’t the wild days of the Years of Discord, when anarchy reigned. We expect you to hold yourselves to a higher standard in civilized society. No, your choices were just as poor as Katherine’s. Both of you can look forward to getting the strap tomorrow after breakfast.”

  Miss Duncan cleared her throat, and Miss Preston let out a sigh. “Yes, Amelia?”

  “Headmistress, if it isn’t too much to ask, perhaps the girls could be given house detail instead of the strap? I know their behavior was appalling, but I’d hate for them to have to miss any of the upcoming drills this week because they’re laid up. The first-year girls are learning the sickle this week, and I need Katherine and Jane to help instruct. Also, I believe it should be recognized that, without them, this evening could surely have ended in tragedy. I know Mayor Carr is a close personal friend of yours, and even he was quite insistent that the girls had done a remarkable job.”

  That last bit was a little fabrication on Miss Duncan’s part. What the mayor had actually said was, “It’s nice that we can depend on the Negro to do their part.” His tone had been almost insulting.

  If you ask me, neither the mayor nor any of these other folks were taking things seriously enough. For all the mayor knows, there’s some other professor bringing the dead into city limits to work experiments on them—who knows how long it will be until we’re back in the dark days of the War Against the Dead?

  Regardless, it fell out that Katherine and I were saved the corporal punishment and instead assigned house duty for two weeks. Housework ain’t too bad, and I ain’t ashamed to say this ain’t my first time doing it. It was a standard punishment whenever a girl did wrong. Poor marks, laziness, a general bad attitude? Miss Preston was convinced that the best way to correct minor misconduct was a little drudgery, and housework was the pinnacle of drudge.

  So Katherine and I spent our free time polishing silver, dusting bannisters, beating carpets, and a dozen other randomly assigned tasks. We got up early in the morning and dragged ourselves to the kitchen, eating cold porridge that the cook gave us with a s
cowl. Then we started our chores two hours before class, returning after dinner to help Cook scrub the day’s pots and pans before heading off to bed.

  For three straight days, Katherine refused to speak a lick. Now, on the fourth day, though, she talks.

  “Your friend is here.”

  I don’t even look up. We’re on our hands and knees, scrubbing the marble floor in the rear of the main building. It’s one of Miss Preston’s favorite chores. Sometime before the school was taken over by Miss Preston’s, some poor soul was killed here, his lifeblood seeping into the stone. It would’ve been easier to take up the stained tiles, but marble is expensive and hard to come by. So instead we scrub, trying to erase the signs of some bastard’s last few breaths.

  This is the fiftieth time I’ve been made to scrub this same patch of floor over the three or so years I’ve been at Miss Preston’s, so I know it well. The rust-colored stain ain’t coming out, but scrubbing ain’t the worst way to pass an afternoon. The foyer is cool thanks to the marble and the sounds of girls outside practicing their remedial drills drifts in through the open windows.

  “Jane!”

  “Hmm?”

  Katherine nods toward one of the big windows. “Your friend, the ruffian, is here. And you know that’s against the rules.”

  I look over, and climbing in through one of the open windows is Red Jack, looking fresh as a daisy in a yellow waistcoat. His bowler is new as well, and he presents a dapper image.

  I straighten but don’t stand, kneeling with my hands on my hips. “What are you doing here?”

  “You didn’t come by the barrelhouse on Sunday. You said you’d bring me some of that sugar.” He says it with a wink that makes it abundantly clear that he’s being unseemly.

  “I forgot, Jackson. And I wasn’t bringing you anything but my blade.”

  “Anyway, I heard about your escapade through the grapevine, so I figured that, as per the usual, Jane McKeene had found herself in a spot of trouble with her headmistress. Hello there,” Jackson says, tipping his hat to Katherine.

  She scowls and climbs to her feet. “I’m going to go fetch Miss Anderson.”

  I grab her skirts. “Not if you want to keep those pretty curls, you ain’t.”

  Katherine’s eyes narrow. “Are you threatening me, Jane?”

  “Naw. I don’t make threats.”

  She looks from me to Jackson one last time before stomping out into the hallway.

  I drop the scrub brush into my bucket and climb to my feet. “Now is not a good time, Jackson. Give me whatever it is you mentioned in Baltimore and get going.”

  He shrugs. “Don’t much care. And I ain’t here about that. You owe me one, and I aim to collect.”

  “Owe you? Since when am I owing you anything?”

  “River Bend. Two months ago. I saved your life.”

  “You nearly got me killed!” I shriek.

  The echo of voices in the hallway filter toward us. At least two women, probably Katherine and Miss Anderson. Of course that high yellow Jezebel told on me. Girl would rat out Jesus to the Romans.

  I sigh, grabbing Red Jack by his arm and dragging him back toward the window. “Listen here, Redbone, and listen well. This is not a good time. I don’t know what you think I owe you, or why, but we’ll settle it up later. You need to go. I get in trouble again and I’m either going to get the strap or expelled. I’m already on probation, and getting caught with you ain’t going to help my case.”

  Red Jack pulls his arm from my grip and adjusts his hat. “Lily is missing,” he says, his voice low and choked.

  That stoppers my rage. Lily is Jackson’s younger sister, sweet as sugar and as pretty as a summer day. There is no one Jackson cares about more than her.

  “Well, she can’t have been gone long. I saw her the same day I saw you in Baltimore. She and Mrs. Spencer brought us lemonade.”

  “Yep, they’re still letting her stay with them, God bless them. But they’ve all disappeared.”

  “Maybe they went on a trip? Mrs. Spencer’s people are from Delaware. Mayhap they traveled up that way?”

  “Can’t be. Laverne just had a babe two months past.”

  Folks rarely just up and vanish like that. Unless . . . “Shamblers?” I ask, trying to be as delicate as I have the wherewithal to be.

  He shakes his head. “No. There hasn’t been an attack reported in months. And I didn’t notice any blood when I went by there. I would’ve found some sign of them if it had been the dead. There’s just . . . nothing.”

  I take a deep breath and let it out slowly. “So you want me to look and see if I can find something you missed?”

  “You’re smarter than anyone I know, Jane, and I’m not just saying that so you’ll help me. If I’ve missed something, some sign of what happened to them, I know you’re the person to find it.”

  A year ago, I would have chalked this up to shamblers and been done with it. But if what Red Jack says is true, it does sound like a bit of a mystery. I reach under my shirt and run my thumb over my lucky penny. There’s no chill and no flash of brilliance, so my luck charm isn’t any kind of help this time.

  Red Jack watches me but says nothing, his face a pleasant half smile that could easily mean he’s enjoying a fine tale or he’s planning on stealing someone’s watch. That’s his worried face, which makes me even more concerned.

  “Fine, I’ll help you.”

  He breaks out into a wide grin. “Thatta girl. You got a letter for me to send?”

  I dig the envelope out from the hidden pocket I’ve sewn into the hem of my day dress. We’re not supposed to send letters home, because Miss Preston thinks that it’s a distraction from our studies. But I can always count on Jackson to smuggle something to the post for me.

  “You got any letters for me?”

  Jackson shakes his head. “Nope. But don’t worry. I’m sure your ma’s just been busy.”

  “For a whole year? Not likely.” I hold the letter out and he tucks it into his breast pocket.

  Jackson’s expression goes soft. “Thanks for agreeing to help me.”

  I nod. “Just, enough of this ‘owing you’ nonsense. We’re either friends or we’re not, Jackson. And friends don’t keep score.”

  “Ah, Jane. Obviously you haven’t had many friends.” Before I can snarl a reply Red Jack tips his bowler, flips something at me that I catch in midair, and slips out the window, quick as he came.

  I look down at what he tossed me. It’s a new book: Tom Sawyer, by a fellow named Mark Twain. I tuck it into my hidden pocket and then button the thing shut for safekeeping.

  “I’m going with you.”

  I turn around. Katherine’s hands are on her hips and she looks to be spoiling for a fight. Surprisingly, Miss Anderson is nowhere to be found. Maybe she didn’t tell on me.

  Doesn’t mean I’m about to take her with me on my late-night escapades.

  “I ain’t going anywhere, Kate. You about done with this floor? I’m going to see if Miss Preston has anything else for us before I wash up.”

  “Stop calling me Kate. I detest that nickname. And don’t lie to me. You’re going to sneak out tonight with that boy to visit the Spencers’ farm, and I’m going with you.”

  What a sneaky little eavesdropper. “Why?”

  “My reasons are my own business.” She sniffs, just as haughty as ever.

  “You’re going to have to do better than that.”

  “Fine,” she huffs. “The Spencers are good people. If something happened to them, I want to find out what. Besides, you could use my help if you get into trouble. That Jackson boy doesn’t seem like the most reliable in a fight.”

  I open my mouth to protest, but she ain’t done. “Anyway, it’s the least you can do after destroying my bonnet.”

  Right on cue a pounding sensation begins behind my eyes. “I didn’t destroy your bonnet. Like I told you, it was that Indian man with the damned rifle.” That intriguing man with a rifle who had looked at me with d
isdain. I’m still wondering how he happened to be there ready to put down a shambler just when I needed him.

  “Really, Jane. You shouldn’t swear. Either way, you still owe me. For the bonnet, and for sullying my relationship with Miss Preston. Besides, I didn’t tell Miss Anderson about your beau. Or the book he brought you. And I still could.”

  She’s right. Trying to give Katherine over to save my own hide hadn’t been my finest moment, and if I really think about it I do feel the tiniest bit guilty. Plus, now she’s got a whole load of dirt on me. It’s in my best interest to keep on her good side. If she wants to tag along, then that is on her.

  “Fine, but you need to listen to me and listen well. We get caught and the punishment is going to be far worse than housework. We will get the strap. Or worse, expelled. So make sure you know what you’re asking for. We leave two hours after lights-out. Now, can we please dump this dirty water and get on with our lives?”

  Katherine nods, and we each grab a bucket, hefting them back to the kitchen. We’re halfway down the hall when Katherine murmurs, “So, about your beau—”

  “He ain’t my beau.”

  “Really? Because he seems like your beau, bringing you gifts and all.”

  I turn to look at her, but she’s serious. Does she really think that’s what courting looks like? Red Jack inspires feelings of murder in me, not love. It wasn’t always like that, but Katherine ain’t asking about ancient history. “No, he’s a mistake I have no intention of repeating.”

  “Oh. I was just wondering.”

  I watch her as we haul our buckets down the hall. Does Katherine fancy Jackson? She’s pretty enough, and Jackson’s type is anything he thinks he can tumble. Still, the thought of them together is enough to make me more than a little stabby. Jealousy is a terrible thing, and I swallow the emotion down hard as I can.

  I consider warning her that taking a turn with Jackson is beyond a terrible idea, but I decide to save my breath. If anyone had tried to tell me a year ago that blue-green-eyed Jack would break my heart, I wouldn’t have believed them. That’s the way it is when you fancy someone. Your heart starts doing the thinking, and your brain? Well, it gets left out of the equation until too late.