I say nothing, but Katherine looks like she’s about to cry. The sheriff has taken every opportunity to insult us and remind us of the circumstance of our dark skin, and I’d like nothing more than to tell him what I think. I can take down a pack of shamblers like nobody’s business. I am clever and can work my way out of any bad situation. I know I am more than my skin color. But there’s nothing to be gained by an outburst right now. I need to get the lay of the land and figure out how to get myself a few hundred miles east in one piece.
“Oh, and one last thing,” the sheriff says as the door opens behind us. “You step out of line and you’ll find yourself swiftly reminded of your place.”
A tall white boy wearing a bowler, a blue waistcoat, and a white shirt with the sleeves rolled up to his forearms pushes past me and Katherine. The sheriff looks at him and puffs on his cigarette. “’Bout time. This one says she ain’t colored. I need you to measure her up. And you can use the other one as a test subject for your new experiment.”
“Sheriff, how many times do I have to ask that you send them down to the lab? I can’t do anything here, and it takes a while to distill the vaccine.” The boy turns around and I realize he’s older than I first thought, maybe early twenties, with stubble darkening his cheeks. He ain’t handsome, but there’s something indescribably appealing about his face. He’s pale—not sickly, but like he doesn’t get out in the sun much. His dark brows are pulled together in a scowl, and his muddy hazel eyes dart around the room like he’s calculating . . . something. There’s an intelligence there that draws me in. I don’t much mind looking at him, even though he’s probably a rat bastard, since he’s working with the sheriff.
The sheriff, for his part, just continues to puff on his cigarette. “Fine, take them to that hole of yours. I don’t need your back talk.”
“Of course.” The boy’s words are clipped. He might still be a bastard, but I’d wager he doesn’t like the lawman too much, which maybe counts for something.
The sheriff doesn’t seem to detect the tone, though. He kicks his feet up onto the desk, leaning back in his chair with a smile. “Welcome to Summerland, girls. Try not to die before I can replace ya.”
Jane, I hope that while you are away you are keeping in mind all the things that I have taught you. We live in very troubling times, but that is still no excuse not to be a lady. Always mind your manners!
Chapter 18
In Which My Reputation Is Slandered
As the nameless boy turns to me and Katherine, his expression softens. “Would you ladies please follow me? I’ll need to take you to my lab.”
Before I can exit, the fellow behind me gives me a none-too-gentle shove with the barrel of his gun, and I turn and give him my best side-eye. “Sir, please refrain from the liberal use of your rifle. Otherwise, I will show you some creative places to put it.”
The man just gives me a gap-toothed grin full of malice, and we make our way out of the sheriff’s office and back onto the boardwalk, the pale, dark-haired boy leading the way. As he walks, his left foot drags a little. I wonder how he got such a limp, if he was born with it or if something bad happened to him when he was young. I reckon we all have our childhood scars, whether we wear them on the outside or not.
The man behind me shoves me with the rifle barrel again, this time causing me to stumble. I catch myself against the front of the general store as he chuckles.
“What are you gonna do? Nothing, that’s what, you uppity darkie. You ain’t in no position to be giving me any lip.”
I smile sweetly at him as a black temper sweeps over me, all of the indignities of the past few days coalescing into a dark cloud that erases all thought. Then I center myself and, quick as you please, drop into a crouch and whip around to sweep his legs out from under him. Once he’s on the ground I kick him in the side before placing my knee on his throat. All of this happens in less than a rabbit’s heartbeat.
As he gurgles and flails I lean in close. “Right now, sir, with my knee on your throat, I am in the perfect position to counsel you on your bad manners. A lesson to be learned: Lady Fortune is as fickle as they come. And in a land full of shamblers you’d best not test my good nature, you hear me? You never know when you’ll end up with the bite.”
The sound of a revolver cocking is deafening next to my ear. “Miss, would you please get off of Bill? I’m afraid he’s the sheriff’s cousin, and the sheriff would be quite upset if anything happened to him.”
I glance back to see the pale boy above us, the lovely Colt in his hand pointed straight at my head. I give him my sweetest smile and climb to my feet. “Of course.” I even bob a little curtsy.
The boy puts his revolver away, tucking it back into the holster that hangs low on his hips. “And, Bill, please show some restraint. These ladies are trained in the art of killing the dead. I know you haven’t heard of Miss Preston’s, but the girls from that school are well respected. They are a far cry from the Negroes we get from the Southern enclaves. It would be a small matter for them to turn that talent on you.”
Bill picks up his hat off the ground and spits. “I don’t take orders from you, boy.”
“No, you don’t. But you do need someone to treat that malady of yours, so I would caution you to check your baser impulses, sir. It is a delicate procedure, and Doc has been known to have shaky hands when he doesn’t get his whiskey. And like I tell the good doctor often, you never know when the town might suddenly go dry.”
Bill goes whiter than a sheet, and I can’t help but wonder what kind of treatment he needs, and what might make a man so fearful of a pair of shaky hands.
The boardwalk ends and we step into the dusty street and keep walking. Bill falls back a little, probably worried that I’ll feed him my foot again. No chance of that, not in these shoes. My feet hurt, and I think longingly of my boots back at Miss Preston’s, worn in and so very comfortable. Me and Katherine still wear our finery from the night we were shanghaied, and these things I’m wearing are for looking pretty, not strolling through a frontier town.
“Hey there, Gideon, you bringing me some new girls?”
A woman hangs out of a doorway across the street. It takes everything I have to keep my mouth from dropping open in shock. The woman is generously appointed, her white bosom spilling out over the top of her low-cut gray gown, her hand on one of her wide hips. Her hair is red as cherries and piled messily on top of her head. Behind her a few other women peek out into the street, everyone trying to get an eyeful.
The pale boy, who I am supposing is named Mr. Gideon, stops and tips his bowler. “Good day to you, Duchess. I’m afraid at least one of these girls is headed to the patrols, and neither are intended for employment in your fine establishment.”
The women in the doorway all titter at Mr. Gideon’s pretty words, and as we continue walking, Katherine leans in close to my ear. “I do believe that is a house of ill repute.”
I nod solemnly. “Yes, Kate, I do believe you are correct.”
Katherine sniffs. “I cannot believe she thinks we’re meant to work there.”
I stare at Katherine, trying to figure out if she’s serious or having a go at me. Her expression is that of someone who has suffered a grievous insult, and I have to fight to swallow a hysterical laugh.
Her mouth drops open. “Jane, tell me you aren’t insulted.”
I lean in close so that the men don’t hear me. “Insulted? Kate, we have been put in chains and sent halfway across the continent. We are currently at the mercy of a man who believes that Negroes are put here on this earth to fight shamblers at the white man’s behest, and is going to send us out to do it without guns. Jackson sits in a jail cell awaiting some unknown fate. This town is a dirt spot in the middle of nowhere. There are no trees and the land is disconcertingly flat. My virtue is honestly the last thing I’m worried about. I’m hungry, tired, a little afraid, and a whole bunch angry, but a few hurt feelings are the furthest thing from my mind right now.”
&nbs
p; My voice rises as I talk, and by the time I get to the end Mr. Gideon has turned around.
“Don’t worry, Miss Deveraux. The Duchess just likes to have some sport with all the girls that come through. Her sense of humor tends a bit mean. Members of the patrol may spend their sleep shifts under the roof of her saloon, but no one in this town will believe they are doing anything but resting there. I’ve taken steps to ensure that past mistakes are not repeated.”
I force him a tight-lipped smile, but his words only serve to agitate me further. Every minute in this place reveals a new, terrible fact. “Past mistakes?”
He doesn’t elaborate, and we finally reach his hole, as the sheriff called it. It’s a small building, not much bigger than the privies we passed a little ways back, and Gideon turns to Bill when we arrive.
“You can stay here. I’ll be back in a few minutes.”
Bill says nothing, jaw tight, but takes up a guard position, while Katherine and I follow Mr. Gideon down into the gloom.
The most distressing change here at Rose Hill is that, due to the undead plague, most of the people in the valley have abandoned their farms for easier living out west. I daresay that if it weren’t for the aunties, even our happy community would be torn asunder. But Auntie Aggie and her sisters have proven to be as wise as ever, and we are living still in relative comfort.
Chapter 19
In Which I Am Vaccinated and Become a Beacon of Hope
The narrow staircase is dark, but a yellow glow from up ahead provides a bit of illumination. I walk behind Katherine, my fingers brushing hard-packed earth on either side.
The staircase ends and deposits us in a sizable room. The walls and floors are buttressed like a basement, and the entire space is much larger than the small building we entered. Katherine is looking around the room, her expression filled with wonder, and it’s no surprise.
We are in a genuine laboratory.
One of the weeklies a few months ago had been about a scientist who went mad, turning himself into a terrible creature that ravished women. The scientist eventually kills himself after he sees the horror he hath wrought, and I think that, had the story been real, this is the kind of place that might have been his lair. Small lights are embedded into the ceiling, but I find it hard to believe there might be gas lines in this hellscape. Beakers and bits of metalwork are strewn across a wooden workbench, and there are a number of strange, shiny steel things that I reckon are weapons along one wall.
“What kind of place is this?” Katherine breathes. She’s just as awed as I am. I ain’t never seen something so amazing, and I’m half afraid that this ain’t real, just a fever dream from being locked up in that railcar.
“It’s my lab. I’m responsible for a lot of the technology you’ll see around Summerland. Electric lights,” he says, pointing to the ceiling. “Some of the farming equipment we use. I designed a lot of the weaponry. It’s my job here. You heard the sheriff up there—everyone in Summerland has their place, and it’s important to remember what it is.” There’s a tone in his voice, and I wonder if Mr. Gideon ain’t here by choice any more than me and Katherine.
He sighs and waves us over to a workbench along the back wall. A dozen different pieces lie across the surface, and he holds up a sharp needle attached to a glass vial.
“Every Negro who comes to Summerland gets vaccinated. The purpose is simple: the vaccination keeps you from turning if you get bit while on patrol.”
I roll my eyes. “Right.”
His eyebrows raise. “You don’t believe me?”
“While in Baltimore, I had the benefit of attending a lecture given by a professor named Ghering. You heard of him?”
Mr. Gideon puts down the syringe and crosses his arms. “I have.”
“Well,” I say, bending down to take the sheriff’s newspaper from the top of my boot. “I happened to kill the man the professor turned after his vaccine failed. Professor Ghering was no Louis Pasteur, I can tell you that. You can ask my Miss Katherine, she was there, too.” I slip back into the faithful servant act I put on for the Sheriff for just a moment. I don’t know this man, and I have to question the sanity of anyone who thinks sticking a needle in my neck is a good idea.
Mr. Gideon turns to Katherine, and she gives him a tight smile. “What Jane says is true. His vaccine didn’t work.”
Mr. Gideon gives me an appreciative smile. “Well, that doesn’t surprise me at all. But this is my vaccine, not his, and I happen to know for certain that this is the genuine article.”
“Oh. You test it out on Negroes as well?” I ask, the black feeling growing just a smidge. Despite his kindness, this man is just like the rest of his kind: polite until you tell them no.
“You’ll be the first. I tested it out on myself and a few unwilling cats. Now, please let me finish vaccinating you. I assure you that it’s perfectly safe. If you decide to put up any resistance, Bill back there would be happy to assist. I’m sure a lady of your bearing would much rather face adversity with her head held high than in physical restraint.” He takes a deep breath and lets it out. “Please. I know what the sheriff has planned for you. It really is for your own good.”
I purse my lips to keep from telling him what I think of his assumption as to the nature of my character and inherent needs. I don’t like the idea of that needle punching holes in me. But I ain’t in any position to put up a real fight right now. I’m even more tired and hungry than when I got off the train, and I’ve no desire to get pummeled like poor Jackson. An uncertain future is still better than no future at all.
Besides, I have yet to find a jam I can’t get myself out of. One day this whole Summerland fiasco will just be an interesting footnote in the story of my life.
I step forward, pulling down my collar so Mr. Gideon can stick the needle in the hollow of my neck. He pulls up the leather string with my lucky penny on it, a single eyebrow raised. “Are you superstitious, Miss McKeene?”
“It’s only superstition if you don’t believe, Mr. Gideon.” This close his eyes are more green than brown, and they dance with humor as a smile quirks his lips.
“Quite so, Miss McKeene, quite so.” His hands are gentle, and the metal is cool as it pierces my skin. “Thank you,” he says, his voice low. It causes an odd shiver to go running down my spine, and I step backward a little too quickly, anxious to put some space between the two of us.
“Now, Miss Deveraux, it seems the sheriff believes you to be a white woman. Why is that?” Mr. Gideon takes off his spectacles and wipes them with his pocket square.
Katherine shoots me a glare. “Because someone told him I was.”
Mr. Gideon nods. “Well, phrenologists claim we can identify someone’s character and racial derivation by measuring the skull.” He goes to a drawer and pulls out a set of calipers.
I cough to cover my laughter. I’d been thinking Mr. Gideon was a fair sight smarter than the typical fellow in this place, but if he believes that he can tell anything by the size of someone’s head, he’s just as daft as the rest of them.
Katherine doesn’t say anything, but Mr. Gideon is gentle as he takes several measurements and jots them in a notebook.
“It looks like you’re telling the truth, according to my calculations,” Mr. Gideon says with a frown.
“Hooray for science,” I say.
He shakes his head. “I don’t believe in phrenology at all. It’s easily disproven, the pet hobby of bigots.”
I cross my arms. “Kate is white.”
Mr. Gideon gives me a tight-lipped smile. “Well, it doesn’t matter what I think. Pastor Snyder is the Sheriff’s father, and the real power in town. The preacher makes the final decision on all matters. These numbers are for him.”
“So this town is a family business, then? Good to know.” What a degenerate group of kinfolk. No wonder they found themselves exiled to the middle of the continent.
Katherine gives me another dirty look while Mr. Gideon packs away his implements and I shrug and
give her an apologetic grin. I feel mighty bad about getting her shipped out west with me and Jackson. If I can make sure she can live here as a white lady, that should go a long way toward squaring us. I don’t much care about Katherine, but I hate owing anyone anything. Most especially someone as put together as her.
Mr. Gideon sighs, dragging my attention back to him. “I’m sorry you find yourselves here, ladies. Truly, I am. Now, if you’ll follow me, we’ll get you some clothing better suited to frontier life and some food. I expect you’re both hungry and tired after your long trip.”
We both nod and follow Mr. Gideon up the stairs. Halfway out of his laboratory Katherine grabs my wrist and gives me a proper glare.
“I hope this thing about me being white is part of some grand scheme you have to get us out of this,” she whispers. Emotion is heavy in her voice, and I worry that she’s about to break on me.
I give her a saucy wink. No, I don’t have any idea how we’re going to get out of Summerland. But I’m a patient girl, and all I need is time.
Stepping back out into the sun after the cool shadows of Mr. Gideon’s lab is like a punishment all its own. Bill leans against the side of the small building that shelters the staircase, hat forward to keep the sun off of his face.
“Ladies,” Mr. Gideon, says, tilting his bowler as he shows us out. Bill startles awake, loosing a thick stream of tobacco juice in my direction. I manage to jump aside before it hits my fancy boots.
“I bet you’re a big hit with the ladies,” I say.
He says nothing but just glares in my direction before yanking his head to the side. “Come on so we can get you outfitted. The sooner we get your black ass out to the border, the sooner you’ll lose some of that sass.”
I smile sweetly in Bill’s direction as we follow him back to the general store. Bill is not the kind to open a door for a lady, so Katherine and I let ourselves in while he posts up next to the entryway, tilting his hat low again.
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