“Neil,” Deanna asked from her side of the door. “Tell me what’s going on. Why can’t we touch the door? Is it, Jillybean?”
“I don’t think so. I mean, I really doubt it. Someone glued a razor blade to the bottom of my front doorknob, and it…” He bit off the part about the zombie blood because of Emily. “It might have been a prank but because of, you know, tetanus, it’s best to be careful.”
Deanna was quiet for a few moments. “The knob looks fine in here. I don’t see anything.”
“Check for a needle,” he said, quickly.
“A needle? Neil, what’s really…” She stopped suddenly and then in a slightly higher voice, she said, “There’s nothing here. I’m opening the door.” She opened it slowly, carefully. Light from the foyer spilled out onto Neil. Although his jaw was resolutely set, he was pale and trembling. The look was even more unsettling than the fear she had heard in his voice. It had been many years since she had seen Neil look like this. It gave her the shivers and she drew the lavender robe around her tighter.
Her gut told her that this was more than just some awful prank with a razor blade. Jillybean’s face floated through her mind, and for good reason. She had always been at least slightly crazy and the things she did in that school of hers were downright chilling. But what that had to do with razor blades or needles, Deanna didn’t know.
She was about to ask Neil to come inside when Emily darted forward. “A razor? Who would do such a thing? Was it rusty? Aunt Jillybean once told me to be exceptionally careful around rusty metal. Was the razor rusty?” As usual when Emily was excited, she spoke so quickly it was hard to follow. While Neil was still trying to figure out which question to answer first, Emily grabbed his hand.
He yanked it back with a savage: “Don’t!”
“Don’t be such a baby,” she replied, unfazed by his raised voice. Despite his scars, Neil Martin was the least scary person on the island. “I just want to take a look.”
Neil kept his hand to himself, clutching it against his thin chest, not so much as protecting his hand as he was trying to protect Emily.
“I think I better talk to Uncle Neil in private,” Deanna said. When Emily was gone, Deanna asked, “What’s really going on?” He told her everything in such a rush that he was breathless afterwards.
She stared at him, searching for any sign of the zombie virus. “How do you feel?”
He was scared out of his wits, but she wasn’t really asking about his mental state. “It’s only been a half an hour or so. I feel okay and, and, and I might stay that way. The vaccine might still be good.”
“I’m sure you will be,” she told him, giving him her best politician’s smile. The expression had come out of habit and it was gone again before he could be reassured in the least. She sat down behind her gleaming desk and drummed her manicured fingers on the polished wood. “Who would do this, and why? Jillybean? Is it possible she’s back?”
Neil quickly denied the likelihood that Jillybean was involved. “Impossible. For one, she’s not like that. She’s not a murderer, and if she were, this was too simple, too crude. If she’d had anything to do with it, you could bet it would be elaborate and foolproof. And if it was Eve, she’d be here gloating. She’d want to watch me die slowly.”
Deanna agreed. “I suppose that tracks, but it still leaves our questions unanswered. Have you pissed anyone off recently?” It was almost a joke of a question. Neil was small, polite and gentle. He kept to himself and never made waves.
“I don’t think so. It’s been a long time since I had anything like an enemy, but when I did, they were pretty fierce. I think revenge might be a possible motive.”
“Yeah,” Deanna said, commingling the word with a sigh. “If it is revenge, we should be able to find the kill…I mean the intruder relatively easy.” He’s not going to die, she told herself. “Ours is a small community and if there is someone haunting us from our past, they will stand out and be caught, quickly.” Once again she gave him that practiced politician’s smile of hers. This time she put some of her charisma into the smile and Neil was visibly relieved. Not by a great deal, but enough that his pallor looked less pronounced.
She was happy that he felt better because she didn’t. A new and terrible idea had crept into her mind: What if there was an actual killer on the loose? Not an assassin, but a murderer or a serial killer. Someone like Jack the Ripper or Typhoid Mary.
A psycho could be hiding in plain sight; it could be anyone. And what was there to stop them from killing again? Nothing. The island lacked even the basic investigative tools to catch a killer. They had no polygraph machines, no way to take fingerprints, and they were basically in the dark ages as far as DNA was concerned.
Before the idea was fully cemented in her mind, she was mentally clicking down a spur of the moment checklist of all the “sketchy” characters on Bainbridge. As nice as the island was, it wasn’t perfect and neither were the people who lived there. Not that there had ever been anything as bad as this.
“I want you to stay here,” she said getting to her feet. “Take the guest bedroom and lie down until…”
“No,” he said, cutting her off. “We need to get things moving ASAP. It won’t make a difference if I’m lying down or running around. If I’m going to die, it’s going to happen either way.” He was still weak in the knees and his stomach was twisting as though he had just eaten a gallon of pistachio pudding, but he thought it would be better to be around people than lying in a bed endlessly picturing his skin turning grey and his eyes going black and his brain burning with a fever that would eventually destroy it.
He was so resolute that she gave in. Before they left, the two turned on every light in the mansion, barricaded the doors and made sure that Emily updated and armed. She wanted to go with them to find the assassin but was shot down by a two-to-one vote.
“Do not open the door for anyone,” Deanna instructed her. “If someone comes, they can talk through the door.”
She and Neil then left, each with their weapons drawn. They headed straight to the little harbor where they found McGuinness huddled in his shack holding a shotgun against his round belly. “Ring the alarm bell,” the Governor ordered him.
The bells had never been rung at night, mainly because they had never been rung except for the monthly drills, which were always known about well in advance. “What’s going on?” he asked, breathlessly.
“Someone…perhaps an assassin, perhaps even more than one, might have gotten onto the island,” she told him.
McGuinness’s morbid curiosity drove him to ask, “Did someone die?”
Although Neil’s presence next to her seemed to increase until he loomed like a giant in her mind, Deanna forced her eyes to remain fixed on McGuinness. “This is not the time for gossip and rumors. I will make an official statement eventually, but now, please ring the bell.” Her warm politician’s smile was out of place on that cold, dark night, and McGuinness gave her a queer look as he took up the hammer.
McGuinness was nervous. He didn’t like how the focus was on him. He had too many secrets and was running too many illicit side schemes to be comfortable with a midnight inspection or whatever this was. With a glance at the Governor and her little mutilated friend, he rang the brass bell, slowly and without the urgency Neil felt he should.
“Give me that,” Neil said, and grabbed the hammer. He pounded frantically on the harbor bell: Bang! Bang! Bang! Bang! The harsh sound coming from it was pure fear. For ten long seconds, it was the only bell ringing, then others began to take up the call. Every tower had a bell and soon they were all ringing.
Lights began to blaze in every home and very quickly people were rushing here and there, arming themselves and heading to their battle stations. Most people went to the wall where they asked the universal question: What’s happening? Others went to the armory, to the clinic, to the communications center, or to the schools where the children were being gathered.
Everyone had a plac
e, including Gina and Eddie. Since the birth of Bobby, Gina’s battle station was in one of the childcare facilities. Eddie’s was on the Fast Response Team, which was supposed to respond to any point of the wall that was threatened. Just then he was the one who felt threatened. He had not expected the alarm.
The sound sent a shockwave of panic through him. “They’re after us,” he hissed as he slunk to the living room window and pulled the curtain shut.
Gina was doing the same thing with the other windows. Eddie didn’t think a person as dark as Gina could turn pale, but she was now an ashen grey color. “What do we do? Do we try to run away? That’s our only choice, isn’t it? We should maybe cause a distraction and then steal a boat and go. I’ll get our bags.” She ran off just as Bobby began to cry. The bells had woken him.
The idea of running away had been with him all day, but instead he had chosen to commit murder for her and the baby’s sake. “No, we can’t run,” he said in such a weak voice that she didn’t hear him. She came racing out of the basement with two suitcases.
“What did you…Oh, Lord, Bobby’s crying. How are we going to keep him quiet when we…”
Eddie grabbed her arm. “We’re not running. If they find out, I’ll just say it was me. I’ll say you had nothing to do with it. It’s the only way, Gina.” Her mouth fell open. She had already said this was out of the question, but now that they were at the point where the rubber hit the road, she knew it was the only way.
“You’re going to have to denounce me,” he went on. “You’re going to have to spit on me.”
“Never.”
A tired laugh escaped him. He knew she would do more than just spit on him if it meant protecting Bobby. She was a good mom. In anguish, she left him, carting Bobby on her hip. She went to the nursery to be with the other moms, while he shouldered his M16 and tromped off to where he met the Fast Response Team. He was the last to arrive.
The fifty men and women formed five lines of ten and were counted off to make it official. The newest recruit was then sent off at a run to report that their headcount was at one hundred percent. Then came an hour-long wait in which everyone sat around speculating why they were there. The theories ran the gamut from over-the-top speculation to one suggestion that made Eddie freeze in place: “Maybe they caught a spy and are looking for more of ‘em.”
This wasn’t the worst jolt he would suffer that night.
The darkness was driven back as the searchlights were turned away from the Sound and pointed inland. They focused their harsh, white beams on one square quarter mile at a time, starting at one end of the island. Hundreds of people, including the Fast Response Team, descended on each small section and searched every inch of it. Houses, sheds, garages, bushes, and businesses were scoured top to bottom before the locust-like searchers moved onto the next area.
Eddie searched as diligently as anyone. He worked both tirelessly and conspicuously so that no one could question his loyalty. For two hours, his team moved north along with the others. The houses looked different under the glare and at one point, Eddie didn’t realize where he was or whose house he was searching until he came face to face with Neil Martin.
The two stared at each for nearly half a minute before Neil cracked a tired smile. “Hey Eddie.” Guilt hit Eddie so hard that he couldn’t respond. He could only stare at Neil, looking for signs that he was turning into a zombie right before his eyes. “You okay?” Neil asked. “You look kind of pale.”
You, too. The thought just popped right into his head and was immediately followed by such intense shame that Eddie turned away and was simply going to run out of the house, however he knocked into Governor Grey. “Sorry, sorry,” he whispered, unable to raise his voice.
The Governor was as pale as Neil. Grim and pale and angry. She didn’t seem to have even noticed Eddie. “Is that it?” She pointed past him.
Eddie suddenly knew where he was. This was the house Neil shared with Jillybean. This was where Eddie had become a murderer. Against his will, he followed her pointing finger and saw the razor.
It sat on the kitchen table, the blood on its edge turning blacker than charcoal. There were half a dozen people in the room and they all stared. That the diseased blade was the opening salvo in a war was the furthest thing from their minds.
Although the Black Captain’s lair was only fifty miles away as the crow flies, it was two-hundred miles around the horn by sea, and it was even farther to the desolation of San Francisco Bay where the Queen reigned. The war that had raged there for weeks might as well have been fought on the dark side of the moon for all they knew of it.
The blade filled each of their minds and yet not one of them understood, not even Eddie.
“Yeah,” Neil whispered. “That’s it. That’s the weapon that killed me.”
“You don’t know that,” Deanna insisted.
But Neil did know. The headache had begun twenty minutes before and now he could feel the fever. He could feel sweat trickling down his back. He could feel a blind anger building in him and he had to quash it before he said something inappropriate. “Trust me, I know.” He passed a shaking hand over his face and, not wanting to see the pain in Deanna’s eyes, he turned and found Eddie staring at him in horror.
“I guess the secret’s out,” Neil remarked. Eddie jerked in reply, but with his head pounding, Neil didn’t think anything of it. He clapped Eddie on the shoulder. “Find me the guy who did this, Eddie. We have to find him and stop him before he kills again.”
Eddie wanted to insist that it would never happen again, only that would be a lie. He and his family were still in danger. In fact, they were in more danger than ever. “I-I’ll do what I can.”
“You’re a good man, Eddie.”
Neil couldn’t have been more wrong.
Chapter 4
The little girl with the scabby knees, the dirty, pale-yellow sundress and the fly-away brown hair took center stage. In her left hand she held a thick manuscript behind her back, while with her right, she made a flourishing gesture and mounted a paint-spattered ladder.
All eyes were upon her. There were hundreds of sets of them, each staring with fixed, unblinking vapidness. They are spellbound, she thought to herself, as well as they should be.
“Romeo, Romeo, where art you?” she called out, projecting so that her piping voice carried to the furthest member of her hand-picked audience, which happened to be a brown teddy of great age and solemnity. He was so venerable that some of his seams had opened up along the sides of his sagging, slouching belly and she’d had to poke the fluff back in.
I’m down here, her “Romeo” replied. Playing opposite of her was Ipes the Zebra. He was sitting squarely on his script, looking down between his floppy hooves at the words. I don’t really see where we’re at, he whispered. Much to her annoyance, he was sitting on the wrong page.
She kept her smile fixed, flourished again with her right hand and quickly turned to look at her script. Her smile turned into a grimace; just as she suspected, it wasn’t even his turn. She still had lines to speak.
Oh, wait. I see something about a sword fight. Are we doing the sword fight?
“Not yet,” she hissed out of the corner of her mouth. In her stage voice, she announced, “Yes, you are-est down thither. But maybe you should deny your-est father while you are a-yonder. And also be my sworn-est love and I will no longer be a Capulet.”
Jillybean figured this was as fine a bit of improv that had ever graced the stage of Meridian Elementary School, but strangely, the audience remained silent. “They really must be spellbound,” she muttered.
That’s some spell. Maybe the spell puts them to sleep with their eyes open.
“Zip it,” Jillybean warned. “Your line is…” She turned away from the audience, took a quick look at the script and said, “Shall I hear more, or shall I speak at this?”
That’s not my line. My line is…where are we? Romeo, blah, blah, blah…What? Mercutio dies! Whoa. I did not see that co
ming.
Jillybean, a fixed smile in place, cleared her throat, warning the zebra to quiet down. “You want-est to hear more-est? Okay. Tis but thy name that is my enemy; Thou art thyself, though not a Montague. What’s Montague? It is nor hand, nor foot, nor arm, nor face, nor any other part belonging to a man. Oh, be some other name! What’s in a name? That which we call a rose by any other name would smell as sweet.”
She paused, partially because that was one of the best parts and partially because the crowd roared in approval. Half the chairs in the auditorium were filled with stuffed animals she had collected over the course of the evening. There were teddies staring up at her, and giant pandas, which were in a class separate from teddies and thus had a row all to themselves.
There was a row for the bird class: flamingos and parrots and penguins. Another for amphibians: turtles, frogs, and one mislabeled hippo. One row was for dogs, half of whom were beagles, and another for fish, though most of these were smiling dolphins and they weren’t even fisheses at all, no matter what Ipes said. The very back row was for the singular sorts that didn’t have their own category: a T-Rex sat at one end and a giant, fluffy spider sat at the other.
Neither Ipes nor Jillybean could understand why anyone would want to have a stuffed spider as a toy, but since there were seats to fill, he had been included and had been a perfect gentleman from the very beginning.
The roar from the assembled toys was not the soft, polite clapping that it had been when she had first come on stage. No, this was loud and raucous. It was way too undignified for the theater.
“Do you mind?” she demanded, with a great deal of indignation. She was all set to end the play early when it dawned on her that the sound was coming from outside the school. “What is that?”
Jillybean, hold on, Ipes called to her as she monkeyed down the ladder and leapt lightly from the stage. I found my spot. Ahem. Juliet is the east where the sun is, and…wait, Jillybean! Come back!
Generation Z (Book 4): The Queen Unthroned Page 3