Ex-Communication: A Novel

by Peter Clines

  “We require a moment of privacy, captain,” said Stealth.

  “Of course, ma’am,” said Freedom. He bowed his chin to the two of them and left.

  “Well,” said St. George. “What are you thinking?”

  “I am thinking,” said Stealth, “I do not believe his story.”

  “Which part of it?”

  “The parts involving magic and an afterlife.”

  “So … all of it.”

  “Several superhumans across the world manifested similar abilities. The Iranian hero Marduk had powers almost identical to yours. The British hero Scarecrow had agility and speed on par with Banzai’s. We know Legion has the ability to project his consciousness. It is possible Cairax survived in the same manner.”

  “Max,” corrected St. George. “If he’s telling us the truth, Cairax is outside the Big Wall.”

  “If he is telling us the truth,” said Stealth, “but I do not believe he is.”

  “Why?”

  “His body language is inconsistent. At the least he is withholding information from us.”

  St. George nodded. “So what do you want to do?”

  “For the moment, we shall allow him the time he wants. There were no scavenging missions scheduled for another four days, so it changes nothing.”

  “Okay. And then?”

  “Then we shall question him again.”

  There was a rap at the door. Dr. Connolly stood outside. “St. George,” she said. “Stealth. Could I speak with you two for a minute?”

  A moment passed before the cloaked woman turned her head to Connolly. “What is it, doctor?”

  Connolly held up a clipboard, then paused. She looked over her shoulder. “I’m sorry,” she said. “The man in the hall. Did … did Jarvis have a brother or cousin I didn’t know about?”

  “Sort of,” said St. George.

  She looked at the empty bed and the hospital clothes piled near it. “And his body is …?”

  “These are questions for another time, doctor,” said Stealth.

  She looked at the bed again and blinked. “Was that him? You let him reanimate and he’s … he’s alive again?”

  “It isn’t him,” said St. George. “It looks like him, but—”

  “Another time, doctor,” repeated Stealth. There was an edge to her voice that cut through the conversation.

  They stood in the hospital room for a moment. Then Connolly cleared her throat. “All of Madelyn’s tests are done and they confirm what I suspected the other day. She’s not an ex.”

  She held a clipboard out to St. George. Stealth intercepted it and flipped through the handwritten notes. “Explain,” said the cloaked woman.

  The doctor shrugged. “She doesn’t have the virus. Her core temperature is actually a little higher than an ex’s, even if it’s still well below normal. All I can think is it might be a new strain we haven’t identified, one our tests aren’t catching.”

  Stealth shook her head. “The ex-virus does not mutate,” she said.

  “I know. Josh used to say the same thing, but it’s all I can think of. Plus, all those blood and tissue samples we took? All the cuts and punctures from them are gone.”

  Stealth’s gaze rose from the clipboard. “She is healing?”

  “Healing’s not really the right word. It implies a process of growth and repair on a cellular level.”

  “And she’s not doing that?” asked St. George.

  “No. She’s just … getting better. The wounds go away. It didn’t even occur to me that she doesn’t have any injuries from the attack that killed her. Captain Freedom said she was torn apart in front of him, but her only injury is severe scratching on her corneas. I’m guessing it’s because dust on her eyes causes consistent, ongoing damage. It happens as fast as it goes away.

  “I also did an extended eye exam. Her irises react to light but at maybe a tenth the speed they should. I tried to get them to dilate and it took fifteen minutes.”

  “There are several recorded instances of people whose reactions and vital signs drop below normal ranges,” Stealth commented. “They are often mistaken for dead.”

  “Those people are usually in comas,” said Connolly, “not walking around having conversations. And Madelyn doesn’t have low vital signs. She has none. Zero. She’s … she’s a corpse.”

  “A corpse which speaks, thinks, and only eats meat,” said Stealth.

  “She eats meat,” agreed the doctor, “but she’s shown complete control of herself at all times. It’s just a regular appetite. I can try to come up with new tests, but from a medical point of view …”

  “So, if she’s not an ex,” said St. George, glancing at Stealth, “what is she?”

  Connolly shrugged again. There was something tired and frustrated about the gesture. “I’m at a loss. Sorry.”

  St. George drummed his fingers against his thigh. “You’re sure she’s not contagious?”

  “I can’t find a single infectious organism in her,” said Connolly. “I even did a few mouth swabs just to check for basic bacteria. Nothing. It’s more hazardous to let us walk around than her.”

  “What are her anaerobic bacterial levels?” asked Stealth.

  “Nonexistent,” said Connolly, “which wouldn’t be surprising in an ex, either, but …” She sighed. “I’m sorry. This is just completely beyond me. She’s walking around, she’s conscious, and she’s dead. And I have no idea why or how.”

  “ARE YOU OKAY, ma’am?” asked Freedom.

  Madelyn looked up at him. “Can you not call me that? You make it sound like I’m some ninety-year-old dowager or something.”

  “Sorry,” he said. “I forgot. You asked me that before.”

  “I did?” Her brow wrinkled up and she managed a half smile. “I guess I forgot, too.” She took a few quick steps ahead and raised her arms to the afternoon sun.

  He let her have the distance and kept his pace. “I remember thinking ‘dowager’ was an unusual word for a teenage girl to use.”

  “I had to read Great Expectations a few months ago for class.” She paused in mid-step. “Well, a few years ago. The word was on the back of the book, but,” she said, with a knowing tone, “Charles Dickens never actually used it himself.”

  “Is that so?”

  “Yeah. And, yeah, I’m okay,” she added. “This is great. It’s just … it feels like forever since I’ve been out without all my gear.”

  Freedom still thought it was good she’d decided to wear a coat and long sleeves. Having her blood drained had left Madelyn’s skin chalk white. It wasn’t as noticeable in the bright sunlight, but it was still a stark contrast against her dark hair and the collar of her shirt. A contrast people were too familiar with. Even with her new sunglasses, the dead girl drew a few long stares from the people along Vine Avenue. Fortunately, not many people chose to live near the Big Wall.

  Madelyn didn’t seem to notice them. She took a few more twisting steps with her arms up, turning in a half circle with each movement. Then she stopped and looked up at the huge man again. “Did he suffer much?” she asked him.

  “Who, ma’am—Madelyn?”

  It got him another half smile, but her mouth went flat just as quick. “My dad,” she said. “Did he suffer much when he died?”

  An image flashed through Freedom’s head of the body St. George had recovered just before they’d abandoned the proving ground’s sub-base. The only recognizable parts of Emil Sorensen had been the bloodstained tie and half of a ragged gray beard. His clothes, and the flesh beneath them, had been reduced to tatters. They’d laid his body to rest in one of the base’s watchtowers, out of the undead’s reach.

  Captain Freedom had seen it as a complete failure. The entire Sorensen family had died under his watch. Three civilians it had been a specific part of his orders to protect.

  “No,” lied the huge officer. “It was quick. He never felt a thing.”

  Madelyn nodded and a tear slipped out from under her sunglasses.
She wiped it away and started walking again. “Sorry,” she said. “I know I shouldn’t cry. He’s been dead for a year, right?”

  “A little less,” said Freedom.

  “Sorry. I haven’t had to do this with people much. The memory thing. I’m trying. Damn it.”

  The dead girl stopped and dug in her pockets. She came out with a bottle of eyedrops and spun the cap open. Her head tilted back as she raised the bottle.

  Freedom made a point of examining the balcony of an apartment building across from the Big Wall. The sound of teeth from the other side of the Wall echoed off it. He knew a few people lived in the building. He wondered how they dealt with it.

  Madelyn coughed and he looked back at her. The wetness turned her chalky eyes into pearls. “Thank you,” she said.

  “Of course, ma’am.”

  “You’re doing it again.”

  “Sorry. Years of training.”

  She dropped the bottle back in her pocket and settled her sunglasses back across her face. “If anyone ever asks you, crying with dry eyes hurts.”

  Freedom nodded and gestured at the street. “Do you want to go back to your room?”

  Madelyn shook her head. “No thanks.”

  “Is it comfortable enough? We could get you some books or music or whatever you might like.”

  She started walking down the street again. “I just don’t like hospitals much.”

  “Ahhh,” he said. “I’ve spent a lot of time in them, too.”

  “For Dad’s treatments?”

  Now Freedom shook his head. “Before that.” He thought about saying more, but didn’t feel like dredging up memories of other failures.

  Madelyn didn’t push it. They walked along in silence for a few moments. She took in a deep breath and let it whistle out between her teeth.

  A young man rode by on a bicycle and did a double take as he passed the dead girl. He glanced back and forth between Madelyn and Freedom. The bike wobbled and he almost crashed. At the last moment he got it under control and continued down the street, glancing back over his shoulder.

  She sighed and took another deep breath. “It smells good here,” she said. “Everywhere I’ve been … everywhere I remember being, anyway … has been kind of musty. Or worse. It’s really nice.”

  “There are several large gardens,” said Freedom. “There’s some currency floating around, but for the most part people are bartering these days. Growing crops is like growing money.”

  “That makes sense, I guess.”

  He watched her from a few steps back. “May I ask you a question, Madelyn?”

  She gave him another glimmer of a smile. “Since you used my name, sure.”

  “Do you need to breathe?”

  She shook her head. “I don’t think so. I have to think about doing it, but it just feels weird not to. And it makes it easier to talk.”

  “Ahhh.”

  “So, we’re in Hollywood now, right?”

  “Correct.”

  She looked at the buildings across from the Wall. “Are there any celebrities living here?”

  Freedom shook his head. “I don’t believe so. There are a few actors, but no one I’d heard of before coming here.”

  “Oh.” She rolled her shoulders. “How about dead ones? Have you ever seen any ex-celebrities?”

  He thought about it. “That’s probably a conversation for another time.”

  “How come?”

  “I’d rather not say, ma’am.”

  “You’re doing it again.”

  “That time was deliberate.”

  “Ahhh.”

  A trio farther up the street stepped off the sidewalk and started walking toward them. Two men flanking a woman. Each of them held something dark. They were half a block away when Freedom recognized the woman as Christian Nguyen, the former councilwoman running for mayor. The two men were familiar, but the officer couldn’t place their names. They were holding Bibles.

  Madelyn hunched as they got closer. The practiced slouch of someone trying not to be noticed. It made him wonder just how many bad experiences she’d had with strangers during her travels.

  “It is you,” beamed Christian. “I was hoping I might run into you. What a lucky coincidence.”

  The two men slowed down and let her approach alone. It was rehearsed enough that Freedom ruled out “coincidence.” They were both tall, but still stood a head below him, and weren’t half as broad. He took a single step, which placed him right behind Madelyn. “Good morning, Ms. Nguyen,” he said.

  “Captain.” She tipped her head, then focused on the dead girl. “If I could just take a moment of your time,” she said, “I wanted to introduce myself. I’m Christian Nguyen.”

  She held out her hand. Madelyn looked at it for a moment.

  “It’s okay,” said Christian. “I know who you are. A friend of mine from the hospital has been talking about you nonstop for days now. I was hoping I’d get a chance to meet you.”

  Madelyn glanced up at Freedom. He gave a slight nod. She looked back at Christian and took her hand. “I’m Madelyn Sorensen.”

  “You’re cold,” said Christian. “But that’s probably healthier for you, isn’t it?”

  “I guess,” said Madelyn.

  The older woman beamed at her. “You’re amazing, you know that? So many of us hoped to see someone like you, but we weren’t sure it would happen in our lifetimes.”

  The dead girl shifted on her feet. “Someone like me?”

  Christian nodded and gripped her Bible a little tighter. “Someone who came back.”

  Madelyn looked around the street. Her brow furrowed above her sunglasses. “Came back from where?”

  Christian’s smile faltered, but she caught it before it fell. “From the mindless dead. Your soul’s risen again in your body.”

  “Oh,” said Madelyn. “Thanks. I guess.”

  “We’re heading to evening services now. Would you like to join us? I’m sure everyone there would love to hear about your experience.”

  “Umm,” said the dead girl. “I don’t really know you. Or them. No offense.”

  “We’re a good group,” said Christian. Her smile, a rare thing the past few years, was beaming at news-conference brilliance. “People can depend on us when things get tough.”

  “That’s … umm, cool.” Madelyn looked up at Freedom.

  He cleared his throat. “I’m afraid Ms. Sorensen isn’t going to have a lot of free time for a while. Stealth and Dr. Connolly have her on a fairly extensive schedule of tests.”

  The smile wavered again. It came back just as quick, but this time it didn’t touch Christian’s eyes. “Of course they do,” she said. “It’s a waste of time, though, trying to explain a miracle with science, isn’t it?”

  “If it can be explained with science, it isn’t a miracle,” said Madelyn. When the cold eyes flicked at her, she added, “That’s something my dad used to say. He was a scientist.”

  “Of course,” said the older woman. Her smile warmed. “You’re probably still in shock from learning you’d lost them. My condolences. But there’s still hope.”

  “Yeah. Thanks.”

  “Well, we must be going or we’ll be late,” said Christian. “It has been a pleasure meeting you. I hope you’ll take me up on my offer and visit our congregation sometime soon.”

  “I’ll keep it in mind,” said Madelyn. “Thanks again.”

  “Thank you for being so understanding. I know everyone wants to meet you.”

  Christian bowed to Freedom again and walked past them. The two men fell in step behind her like good assistants or bodyguards. One of them nodded to Freedom. The other gave Madelyn a long look.

  They walked on for another half a block. Then Madelyn spun to walk backward so she could face Freedom. “What was that all about?”

  “It’s complex,” he said.

  “Was I wrong, or was she completely giving me a creepy ‘chosen one’ vibe back there?”

  “It’
s complex,” repeated Freedom. “There are some people who’ve come to believe certain things about the ex-humans. Your existence … well, like Christian said, they’ve all been hoping to see someone like you.”

  “But Dr. Connolly says I’m not an ex. And wouldn’t your supervillain guy, Legion, count as back-from-the-dead, too?”

  He smiled. His lips were tight and controlled, but it was a smile. “Not exactly,” he said. “That’s complex, too.”

  Something caught his eye. He looked past her and his brow furrowed. She spun back around.

  Another trio, two women and a man this time, headed for them. Beyond them were two couples, looking and pointing at Madelyn. Her shoulders slumped. “Seriously?” she said. “How did I end up becoming the golden child?”

  Freedom looked around. He held out his arm to Madelyn. “Ms. Sorensen,” he said, “I believe you asked about the Big Wall?”

  She looked up and smiled. “Yes,” she said. “That’d be cool.”

  He picked her up, cradled her in one arm, and she threw her arms around his neck. The huge officer flexed his thighs and launched into the air. He landed on top of the Wall and the structure shook from the impact.

  Madelyn’s sunglasses tumbled from her face. She snatched them out of the air before they fell into the street beyond the barrier. She slid out of Freedom’s hold and thumped onto the wooden platform.

  The two guards there saw her face, the white skin and pale eyes, and brought their weapons up. Freedom stepped forward. “At ease, men.”

  One of the guards, a soldier named Truman, lowered his rifle. The other, one of the civilian guards, kept his weapon up for a few moments and then let it drop it grudgingly. Both of them kept their eyes on her.

  “This young woman is a guest here,” Freedom said, “and should be treated as such. Her name is Madelyn Sorensen.” He said the last with a pointed look at Truman.

  The soldier’s eyes went wide. “You mean she’s the doc’s—”

  Freedom nodded once.

  Truman shouldered his weapon and held his hand out. “It’s an honor to meet you, ma’am,” he said.

  “Again with the ma’am,” she sighed, shaking the hand.

  “Your father was a great man,” he said. “He made me who I am today. Literally.”