by Dana Fredsti
“Lil?”
Still no answer. The Lil-shaped lump remained still, other than a slight up-and-down movement that showed she was breathing.
“Lil, I know you’re awake.”
There was a brief pause in the rhythm of the breathing, before it regained its too-perfect regularity. I gave a quiet sigh and sat on the edge of the bed, touching the unkempt mop of hair.
“Look, I know you’re hurting.” I paused, trying to pick my words carefully without even knowing what I wanted or needed to say. “I miss him too.”
I heard a slight hitch in her breathing, and the covers jerked slightly. Encouraged, I continued.
“But you can’t just lie here forever.”
A pause.
“Why not?”
Even muffled by the covers, Lil’s voice was rusty from lack of use and too much crying. It was also unusually bitter—the polar opposite of her normally sweet tone.
A dozen answers sprung to mind, but I chose the one closest to the truth.
“Because we need you,” I said simply. “Mack fought until the end. He’d expect you to do the same.”
“Mack died because of me.”
The covers erupted with the suddenness and violence of Mount St. Helena as Lil sat bolt upright in bed. I suppressed a gasp at the sight of the nearly purple circles under her eyes. The formerly soft curves of her face had been replaced by haggard hollows under her cheeks. My first impulse was to wrap my arms around her in a comforting hug, but the stiff set of her shoulders told me it wouldn’t be appreciated. So I settled for words instead.
“No,” I said as calmly as I could muster, “he died because of those assholes in black who ambushed us.”
“If I hadn’t hit that man’s rifle… the bullet wouldn’t have hit Mack.”
I shut my eyes and struggled for words. One of the goons who’d kidnapped Gabriel had been about to shoot me when Lil had charged him. If she hadn’t, I’d be pushing up daisies. But the bullet had ricocheted off the metal catwalk and caught Mack under one arm. He’d bled out before we even knew he’d been hit. She’d saved my life, but Mack had died in my place.
“If you hadn’t done that, Lil… I’d be dead. You can’t blame yourself.”
“Then maybe I should blame you.” She glared at me with what looked like real hate, and my heart broke a little.
“Are you sorry I’m still alive?” I tried to keep my voice steady, but it broke on “alive,” and I felt the hot sting of tears behind my eyelids.
Lil’s stony expression wavered just enough for me to see the heartsick kid underneath.
“No.” She shook her head, teeth digging into her lower lip to keep it from trembling. “But… but I don’t want Mack to be dead.” She pulled the covers around her. Fat tears rolled out of her eyes and plopped onto them, practically bouncing up before rolling down the cheap polyester fabric.
“I don’t either,” I said simply.
With a body-wrenching sob, Lil threw herself into my arms. I held her as she cried with a violence that would have frightened me if I hadn’t understood its source all too well.
I wished I had magic words to make everything better. Hell, I wished I had the cure to the whole zombie plague, or at least a way to bring back our friends. But I didn’t and I couldn’t, so I settled for letting Lil cry out her sorrows as best she could.
When the storm of tears finally subsided, I handed her the box of tissues someone had thoughtfully put on her bedside table, and brushed a swatch of damp hair out of her face.
“You look like shit,” I said bluntly.
Lil sniffled and blew her nose into a tissue with impressive volume.
“I feel like shit,” she said.
“Let’s see what we can do to fix that.” I got up, went into the bathroom, and ran cold water on one of the white washcloths stacked next to the sink, wringing the excess liquid out before taking it back into the bedroom.
Lil was sitting up, wiping her eyes and nose with more tissues, long mass of hair matted and tangled around her shoulders. I sat down next to her and gently swabbed her face and the back of her neck with the damp cloth. She let me do it, leaning against me like a little kid in need of comfort. Setting the cloth aside, I just held her and brushed her hair back from her forehead with one hand, the way my mom used to do whenever I was sick.
“Think you could maybe eat something now?”
Lil nodded.
“Maybe a little.”
I smiled. “Good. Let’s see what we have here.”
A quick dip with a finger told me the soup was tepid. The sandwich, some sort of meat and cheese, looked like a better bet. I figured whatever the pills were, they’d probably stay down better after she’d eaten.
“Here.” I handed her the plate with the sandwich.
“What is it?”
“Some sort of mystery meat,” I shrugged. “But my guess is turkey.”
She picked it up and wrinkled her nose.
“It’s either that or lukewarm soup,” I said. “Your choice. But you need to eat, okay?”
Lil took a small, reluctant bite. When it didn’t kill her, she took another, larger bite, and then downed the rest within minutes. If she hadn’t eaten since we’d arrived, I wasn’t surprised at her appetite. Being a wild card used a lot of energy—our metabolisms burned hot and fast.
I handed her the bowl of lukewarm soup. She ate it without complaint. The apple followed.
Then I held out the glass of juice and the pills. She eyed me suspiciously.
“What are these?”
“I have no idea,” I answered honestly.
“Because I don’t want any pills.”
Ooo-kay. This did not bode well.
I scrutinized one of the tablets, holding it up to the light.
“Bayer aspirin,” I said, reading the small print. “Nothing that’s gonna knock you out or make you larger or smaller.”
And the one that mother gives you won’t do anything at all.
“I don’t want them.” She glowered at me, her mood dark and angry again.
“Well, unless you hurt, you don’t need them,” I said mildly.
“My head hurts.”
“Then maybe you should take them.”
Lil glared a few more seconds before reaching out and snatching the pills and the glass of juice from my hands. Popping the aspirin into her mouth, she tossed down the juice and swallowed, still looking daggers at me.
“What?” I said. “I didn’t make you take them.”
“I wouldn’t have taken them if you hadn’t come in here.”
If Lil had been wearing a mood ring, it would be switching colors like a strobe light.
“And you’d still be buried under polyester blankets. Is that a good thing or a bad thing?”
She took another swallow of apple juice, ignoring my question. So I sighed and stood up.
“I’ll come back later, okay?”
Lil shrugged, not looking at me.
“Whatever.” Spoken like a true sullen teenager.
Turning to leave, I reached for the knob, just as someone rapped on the door. Lil dove back under the covers and I jumped back a step, startled and wary at the same time. Had Griff followed me to Lil’s room? I swear, if he has, I’m going to give him a swift kick where it counts.
I opened the door a crack, peering out cautiously and then throwing it wide open when I recognized the tall, elegant blonde who stood there holding a large plastic pet carrier.
“Simone!”
I threw my arms around her without thinking, so relieved at her reassuring presence that I almost started crying. Even more surprising was the fact that after a few startled seconds, she set down the carrier and hugged me back. After a moment she gave me a brief tight squeeze with slender yet strong arms, and then held me back from her, hands on my shoulders.
“Ashley,” she said. “You’re looking well.”
I shook my head. “Not so much,” I said. “You, on the other hand, are looking much be
tter than the last time I saw you.”
Simone smiled ruefully. “Well, the last time you saw me, I’d almost been incinerated.”
“Seeing you with your hair messed up was disturbing, I admit it.”
Simone’s eyebrows lifted even as she raised a hand to smooth down an imaginary stray wisp of hair from her chignon. As timelessly beautiful as Helen Mirren, she was a long-time member of the DZN and a wild card. Her knowledge of the zombie virus and familiarity with Dr. Albert’s work, however, made her far too valuable to go out in the field with the rest of us.
“Did Jamie come with you?” I asked, unused to seeing Simone without her pink-haired shadow.
“She’s getting settled in,” Simone said. “I thought it best to keep this particular reunion as small as possible.” She glanced at the cat carrier. “They did not appreciate the helicopter ride.” Then she peered around me into Lil’s room.
“Is she…” She raised an eyebrow again, this time by way of inquiry.
“She’s been sleeping a lot,” I replied neutrally, not wanting to say too much within Lil’s earshot. “And she just had a little to eat.”
Simone nodded.
“Perhaps she can teach these two some dietary restraint.” She indicated the carrier. “They are, if possible, even more rotund than they were before you left Redwood Grove.”
An indignant meow emanated from the carrier, as if in reply to Simone’s comment. It was followed shortly by another, slightly raspier meow.
“Binkey! Doodle!”
I heard the rustle of fabric and turned to see Lil throwing off her covers as she sat up straight, face alight with the first smile I’d seen from her since we’d arrived.
Simone peered past me, hoisted the carrier containing thirty-plus pounds of feline, and said, “May we come in?”
Lil nodded enthusiastically.
As soon as the door was closed, Simone set the carrier down and opened it up. Immediately two mini zeppelins, one tabby striped and the other black, launched out of their prison straight on to the bed like furry heat-seeking missiles, weaving, winding and wending their way around Lil with audible purrs. Simone and I smiled at each other as Lil buried her nose in Binkey’s midnight fur, Doodle nudging her way in to rub her face up against Lil’s in an ecstasy of feline affection.
“They really are fatter, aren’t they?” I said to Simone.
Lil frowned up at me, Binkey’s tail lashing across her face to create a momentary mustache below her nose.
“They’re not fat,” she said. “They’re just… festively plump.”
I grinned. If Lil was quoting South Park, there was hope.
Simone sat down on the edge of the bed and eyed her sternly.
“Lil,” she said, “we need to find Gabriel and Dr. Albert. We don’t have time to waste. And we need your help.”
Lil didn’t look up, but gave a little nod to indicate she was listening.
“There are very few wild cards, Lil. And we need every one of you if we are to accomplish our goal.”
Lil buried her face in Binkey’s fur, and muttered something under her breath. Simone leaned closer, putting a gentle hand on Lil’s shoulder.
“What was that?”
Lil turned toward us, her expression bleak again.
“We’ll all be dead at the end of it, won’t we?”
“No, we won’t!” I said without thinking, my tone fierce. “So don’t go all Rez Evil Red Queen on me, okay?”
Simone looked at me, pursed her lips, and shut her eyes as if in pain, then opened them and looked at Lil.
“I’m sorry,” Simone said. “Losing Kai and Mack… it hurts. And not just because they were wild cards.”
“They were my friends,” Lil said simply.
“Mine, too.” I sat on the other side of the bed.
Lil reached out and grasped my hand.
“We’ll take them down, right? The people that killed Mack?”
I nodded. “Absofuckinglutely.”
Lil smiled. It was not a nice smile.
“Good,” she said. “I’m in.”
CHAPTER SEVEN
Simone and I left Lil curled up with her two purring companions, with promises on both sides—hers to show up to the meeting, and ours to get a litter box and cat food delivered to her room.
“Do you think she’ll show up?” I asked Simone once we reached the elevator, and didn’t have to worry about Lil listening in with her enhanced hearing.
“I hope so.” Simone sighed heavily. “I gather she needs to be on medication.”
“You know about it?”
“Gabriel updated us in one of his last reports.”
Relief washed over me. I wasn’t alone in this anymore.
“What did Dr. Arkin say about her condition?”
Simone asked.
“I don’t think she even knows about it,” I said. “I haven’t been able to talk to her about Lil since we arrived.”
Simone gave me a sharp glance. The elevator arrived and we stepped in. She pressed a button, and the doors closed.
“Dr. Arkin hasn’t seen her?”
“Dr. Arkin is a very busy woman,” I said neutrally, in case they were good friends. “At least that’s what her assistant told me.”
Simone frowned. “We’ll see about that.”
Hmmm. Maybe not best buds. I tested the waters a little further.
“Given what happened when we arrived, I doubt Lil would agree to any kind of examination from Dr. Arkin anyway.”
“I can’t say that I blame her,” Simone said with a sniff.
I raised an interested eyebrow. “You know her, then?”
“We’ve crossed paths.”
I waited for more. The elevator doors opened. I followed Simone as she strode purposefully down the hall.
“I need coffee,” Simone said unnecessarily. I suspected we were done with the topic of Dr. Arkin for the time being.
That was okay. I could always use more coffee.
* * *
We sat at a corner table, large cups of hot coffee in front of us. Mine was heavily laced with cream and honey. Simone’s was black. Both of us sat with our backs to the wall, facing the rest of the room so we could see who was coming and going.
“Tell me about Lil’s behavior,” Simone said. “Gabriel’s report indicates a bipolar disorder.”
I took a sip of coffee. “That’s what Josh thinks, too—Arkin’s assistant,” I clarified. “Bad mood swings. And that’s putting it mildly. It’s like dealing with a kid hopped up on sugar. I never know when a tantrum or a crash is gonna hit.”
Simone nodded. “Then the sooner we get her back on her medication, the better. What did Josh recommend?”
“Er…” I fished the napkin out of my pants pocket and held it out to her. “These.” She looked, squinted, then fished a pair of reading glasses seemingly out of thin air, nodding in satisfaction as she looked at the napkin again.
“This seems straightforward.”
“Josh is going to check the lab’s inventory,” I said. “If they don’t have it, I’ll find it. And then we’ll just have to convince her to take it.”
“If she has a resistance to taking her medication, we can also consider Fazaclo.” Simone smiled over her coffee mug. “It’s approximately the same thing, but dissolves quite easily in liquid.”
“So we ask Dr. Arkin if they have any on hand, and if not, I locate the nearest pharmacy.” I took a comforting gulp of sweet, cream-infused coffee. “Just make sure you write the F-one’s name down.”
“I will.”
We sipped our coffee in silence for a few minutes. Then I asked the question I really didn’t want to ask.
“How bad are things out there?”
Simone flinched. Then she took another long draught of coffee before replying.
“It’s bad, Ashley.”
“How bad?” I regretted the question the second the words left my mouth. I really didn’t think I could handle the answer.
“Ashley!” The sound of someone squealing my name provided a welcome distraction. I turned to see Jamie, Simone’s assistant, bearing down on us from across the room.
Barely topping five feet, Jamie was a symphony in black and pink, starting with her shocking pink hair, descending to a pink top covered by a black Victorian jacket that nipped in her already tiny waist. Her black pants had laces up the sides and were tucked into clunky high-heeled black boots. Tinkerbell’s Goth twin, by way of Hot Topic. Not my style, but oh, how I envied the variety of her wardrobe.
She reached the table, hugging me before I had a chance to stand up.
“I’m so glad you’re okay,” she said, giving me a surprisingly strong squeeze with those slender arms. Her enthusiasm was a far cry from the Arctic chill I’d encountered when we’d first met in Simone’s class. Jamie’d had one of the most extreme cases of hot-for-teacher I’d ever seen. At first she’d seen me as competition, but once she’d figured out that I wasn’t a rival, Jamie had thawed considerably.
She plunked herself down in an empty chair.
“How are you feeling?” she asked Simone. “Are you still dizzy when you stand? Does your throat still hurt?”
“I’m fine, thank you, Jamie,” Simone answered with admirable patience. “But perhaps if you’re going to get yourself something to eat or drink you could bring me more coffee?”
Jamie popped back up to her feet.
“Black, right?”
“Of course.” Simone smiled at her.
“I’ll be right back!”
I grinned into my cup as Jamie flitted off across the cafeteria in a pink and black blur. Simone heaved a small but definite sigh of relief.
“Now where were we?” She gazed thoughtfully into the distance for a few seconds before her expression darkened. “Oh, yes. The current situation is not good, Ashley. It’s almost certain that the virus has gone airborne. More than ever, a cure is imperative.”
“How close were you and Dr. Albert? To a cure, I mean?”
Simone smiled ruefully.
“Close, but no cigar.” She took a sip of coffee. “We’re missing something. Some essential piece of data, or an unidentified ingredient. Hopefully Marianne—Dr. Arkin—can help us figure out what that missing factor might be.”