Love in an Undead Age

by A. M. Geever

  “Uh-huh.”

  “Well, he is!”

  “And there was no one else who could have done it?”

  Just lie to her, Miranda thought, as she heard herself say, “He was supposed to stay in Mexico, but he came here instead.”

  Karen squealed.

  “I don’t see what you’re getting so excited about,” Miranda said. The room felt suddenly hot. “So an old boyfriend shows up. So what?”

  “So what? That’s like divine intervention!”

  Miranda gritted her teeth. “It’s not like I’ve been carrying a torch for him all this time. First love, first guy to break my heart? Yes. Unfinished business? Please.”

  “Then why are you blushing?”

  “I am not blushing!”

  Miranda concentrated on her soup, furious with herself for letting Karen get under her skin about Connor ‘Ancient History’ MacGuire.

  “He still likes you, doesn’t he?”

  “How the hell am I supposed to know?”

  “Oh please, Miri, even you aren’t that dense. He makes a dangerous trip here and he wants to talk to you. It’s not rocket science.”

  “I don’t want to talk about this anymore,” Miranda said in a tone that pronounced the matter closed.

  Karen returned to her soup. After a few sips, she looked at Miranda as if she were trying to figure something out.

  “You and Connor were practically best friends before you were a couple,” she began. “No one gets a second chance to see someone who was that important to them anymore. I never pegged you for a coward, Miri.”

  “I’m not talking about this.”

  “And what if this is a second chance?” Karen persisted. “What if there is still something? If anyone deserves some happiness, Miranda, it’s you.”

  “For the love of God,” Miranda muttered under her breath. “It’s been twelve years, Karen. He broke my heart and was an asshole about it. Part of me doesn’t care, and part of me is still kind of pissed off all of a sudden, which is pathetic.”

  “He was twenty-two years old,” Karen said. “Show me a twenty-two-year-old who hasn’t handled their love life badly.”

  Miranda scowled, her soup abandoned and growing cold. “I don’t even know if I want to see him, much less hear what he has to say.”

  “You are so full of it.”

  “You know what? I do want to know why he didn’t become a priest,” Miranda snapped, not sure why she was getting so angry. “But I also don’t want to know because what if it was because of me? What if it wasn’t? Why the hell should I even care? Just forget I mentioned it.”

  “We have to get together, the three of us,” Karen said. “I’ll call over to the Jesuits’ and set it up. If I wait for you two to get your act together, it’ll never happen.”

  The gears and wheels of Karen’s mind were spinning so fast Miranda could hear them. Clickity-clack, clickity-clack, how can I help him get her back?

  “No fucking way, Karen. Not gonna happen.”

  “Oh, Miranda…”

  “I’m serious. Leave it alone.”

  13

  Connor watched Miranda check her watch again. Over the course of the reunion dinner that Karen had organized, Miranda’s mood has degenerated from uncomfortable to borderline hostile.

  Doug had commandeered the Jesuit Guest House, a Craftsman bungalow next door to the Residence, so that the group could dine with some privacy. Karen had cooked an amazing dinner and Doug, through some feat of black magic, produced a 1997 Ridge Vineyards Monte Bello Cabernet that was out of this world. They had gone all out, but their efforts seemed destined for failure.

  “I’m going to take off,” Miranda said, rising from her chair.

  Karen and Doug looked at her in exasperation.

  “We haven’t even had dessert,” Doug said.

  “You can’t leave now! We’re having such fun!” Karen protested.

  Miranda looked at Karen with undisguised annoyance. “No, we’re not.”

  “Why don’t you stay for dessert at least?” Connor asked her. As soon as he spoke, he could see that he shouldn’t have spoken.

  “Why the fuck are you all insisting on this?” Miranda asked. She turned an accusing glare on Karen and Doug. “I don’t need you two trying to pair me off with an old college boyfriend like I’m some sort of charity case. Jesus!” She pushed her chair aside and called Delilah from where she had camped out in front of the fireplace.

  “Miri!” Karen said, scrambling from her chair, but Miranda was already through the door. Karen threw her napkin on her plate as she dropped back into her chair.

  “Well, that’s great,” she huffed. “I don’t know why she has to be such a drama queen.”

  Connor slumped forward, elbows on the table. “Thanks for trying, guys.”

  Doug looked at Connor, his blue eyes serious.

  “She just doesn’t know how to do this, and her luck has been, well… She gets angry so she doesn’t have to feel the things that scare her. If you’re serious about her, you’re going to have to force the conversation or it’ll never happen.”

  Connor realized Doug was right. He sprang from his chair and dashed from the house. Miranda was already at the far end of the block and across the street. She had just shut the back door of the Range Rover behind Delilah when he called out.

  “Miranda, wait!”

  She frowned at him as he ran down the block.

  “Are you deaf, Connor?” she said as he approached.

  “We need to talk.”

  “Connor, I really need to get home, so if you don’t mind—”

  He interrupted before she could finish the brush-off. “I do mind. Maybe you don’t need to talk to me, but I need to talk to you. Not tomorrow, not next week, now. Will it kill you to hear me out?”

  Frustration flashed across her face. “I told Father Walter I could work with you and I meant it, but I never said—”

  “Ten minutes, Miri. Give me ten minutes and if you don’t want to listen anymore, I’ll drop it. I promise.”

  He could see her fighting with herself. Miranda had never been one to wear her heart on her sleeve, but Connor was only now beginning to realize just how much living through the ZA had changed her. The Miranda he remembered had been understated, but she had been open, the kind of person who felt things deeply, even if she did not share that side of herself with everyone. Apart from the day he had given her the CD, the woman in front of him was tied down tighter than a drum.

  She cocked her head like she was having an internal debate. “Okay,” she said. “You want to talk, fine. Have at it.”

  Connor looked around, uneasy. “The curb outside the Jesuit Residence isn’t really what I had in mind.”

  She almost looked like she was going to leave before she said, “Fine.”

  She opened the Rover door to let Delilah out, then flicked her head in the direction of the garden behind O’Connor Hall and started off without waiting for a reply. Connor caught up with just a bit of effort. They crossed the garden, turning right when they reached the sidewalk. The perimeter wall on Lafayette Street was ahead of them, just past the buildings nearby. That left Nobili Hall or somewhere off campus. Then she turned left; Nobili it was.

  Nobili Hall had once been the Jesuit Residence, before it became too big for their dwindling numbers. The new Jesuit Residence was nicer, in Connor’s opinion. It wasn’t that Nobili was an ugly building but he’d only ever been on the first floor, which was dark and gloomy. He wasn’t sure how it was possible for the interior of a graceful, enormous building to feel small and oppressive, but somehow the first floor of Nobili Hall did.

  Nobili was similar to other buildings on campus but had one feature most did not: a tower. It jutted out from the rest of the building, adorned with bas relief moldings and a statue of a saint above the portico over the main entrance, before soaring high above the third story. The tower’s four-sided roof ended in a belfry-like point with a greening, oxidized bronz
e adornment at the top. Each side of the tower had three Palladian arches punctuated with thick square stucco columns strung together with ornate wrought iron rails, substantial and airy all at once.

  Miranda paused and stooped toward her dog.

  “Stay here, Delilah,” she said.

  Delilah did not look happy about being left behind but settled in next to the door.

  Miranda slid her Access card and waited for the green light on the reader before pulling on one of the huge wooden doors. They were the kind of doors that belonged in a castle or chateau, with inset panels and virtually indestructible metal rivets. They were nicked and scorched in places but had clearly kept the undead at bay.

  Miranda headed for the stairs, taking them two at a time, never once turning back or saying a word. When they reached the third floor, she kept on going, down the hall to a metal fire door marked Authorized Personnel Only. She pushed on the bar as the card reader turned green and held it for him, then started up yet another half flight of stairs that was more like a fire escape ladder. Connor realized with a thrill that they were going to the tower.

  The stairs ended at a heavy trapdoor, which gave way under Miranda’s firm shove. The lingering evening light filtered down around him as he climbed out after her, gripping the hand she offered.

  She kicked the trapdoor shut once he was through and turned to him. “We shouldn’t be disturbed up here.”

  It was even bigger up close than it looked from the ground. Connor looked up, half expecting to see a bell. He followed Miranda to the closest railing and leaned against it, taking in the view. He could see into downtown San Jose, the wall that surrounded it, and beyond to the foothills farther east.

  With fewer people came less pollution. He had never seen the air this clear, even after a good rain. He almost thought he could see the edges of the bay to the northeast, but it had to be a trick of the eye and the evening light. For one used to a more rudimentary reality, the entire landscape felt like a burnished, golden paradise. They stood for a time, silent, looking at the landscape below.

  “I had no idea how pretty it is up here,” he said.

  Miranda leaned back against the railing and looked at him.

  “You wanted to talk to me, Connor. So talk.”

  Now that the moment was upon him, Connor did not know where to begin.

  “Cat got your tongue?”

  “I just don’t know where to start.”

  “You can always start with sorry.”

  He winced. Not because it wasn’t true but because he should not have needed prompting.

  “I am sorry, Miranda. For the way I handled everything. I was young and stupid and didn’t know how to tell you. I don’t think I could have managed to make it worse if I’d tried.”

  She laughed, but it was brittle and sharp. “That’s true… One day was, ‘I love you’ and the next, ‘I’ve decided to be a priest.’ No warning, no real explanation. I’d have been less surprised if you’d told me you were sleeping with Karen.”

  “I was never sleeping with Karen,” he sputtered. “I know that’s not what you meant,” he added hastily at her pointed look. “I wasn’t lying about how I felt about you, Miri. But I kept feeling like I should… I don’t know, that God wanted more from me, had a different kind of plan for me. I’d thought about being a priest since I was a kid.”

  Miranda looked around the tower like she could not believe where she found herself.

  “I don’t even know why we’re having this conversation. Or why I’m so mad at you about something that happened years ago. It’s not like I’ve been pining for you all this time, and we both know how it worked out for you.”

  He’d forgotten how skillful she was, using words as weapons. Even when she did not mean to be, Miranda could be sharp. She would make what she thought was an innocuous, offhand comment and be surprised to find its recipient bleeding on the floor. When she was trying, there was no pretense of fairness. You just got bloody.

  He looked into her eyes, which smoldered like coals. He saw a challenge in them, to tell the truth. He took a deep breath. He had to look her in the eye, he knew, or he might as well not bother.

  “It ended up being the wrong decision, but the first year was pretty great. I felt like I was in the right place, serving a purpose, doing good work. It was fulfilling. The next six months…I struggled. I talked to Father Walter a lot.”

  “You did?”

  “Walter was my thesis advisor, and later he was, well, a mentor.”

  “He never said anything to me,” she said, her voice softening.

  “The last time I tried talking to you, you said if you saw me again, you’d rip my face off and feed it to a dog. Walter’s too smart to get in the middle of that.”

  She grimaced, somewhere in the neighborhood of maybe-almost-perhaps embarrassed. It was the first reaction he’d seen all night that was not rooted in annoyance or anger.

  “I knew I told you something, but the details were always kind of fuzzy. I was pretty drunk.”

  “It’s not like you were out of line. I deserved it.”

  Her posture relaxed. “And after that?”

  “I spent another six months trying to fit a square peg into a round hole. I knew I’d made the wrong decision, but it was too painful to face. You’d made your feelings about me clear enough. I heard through the grapevine you had met someone else, a cop of all things. Karen told me you were happy, even said I’d like him.”

  “You would have,” Miranda said, her eyes becoming distant. “Sam was a good guy. He saved my life.”

  She’s not even here, Connor thought, she’s thinking of Sam. He felt like he was intruding somehow, watching her. He turned and walked to the south-facing railing.

  Who the hell am I kidding, he berated himself. She’s comparing me to the guy who saved her life and never let her down. I can’t compete with that.

  14

  Miranda shook herself. She was not here to think about Sam. Connor had walked to the other side of the tower. He stood almost perfectly still, which was not like him. He had always been one of those people who found it hard to sit still if there was any alternative, but now he just stood there.

  She walked over to him. When she put her hand on his shoulder, he startled but did not turn toward her. Even in profile, he looked wretched. The lines around his eyes looked tight, like a person in pain. His mouth twisted in an apprehensive frown and he shifted his weight away from her.

  She had been angry with him, to such a degree it surprised her, but he had apologized once she gave him the chance. And what did it matter anymore? She didn’t like how it made her feel to see him so unhappy. She had done terrible things to stay alive, things that would have shocked her before the world reeked of destruction and death lurked around every corner. Once upon a time, Connor had broken her heart. It hardly seemed worth mentioning compared to everything that had happened since.

  “I accept your apology, Connor,” she said in a voice that quavered. “Will you accept mine? Life’s too short for this.”

  He turned to her, and the next thing she knew, she was in his arms. His embrace made her feel small and vulnerable and protected, and it also felt kind of dangerous for the same three reasons. She squirmed and stepped back.

  “So we can work together and not disappoint Father Walter, right?” she asked, her voice feeling shaky.

  He laughed then, a real one. “Hopefully it won’t be more painful than usual.”

  She socked him on the shoulder, feeling hugely relieved, but he winced.

  “What?” she asked. She had not punched him hard.

  Connor rubbed his upper arm just below his shoulder. “It just hurts from the first vaccine shot.”

  Miranda’s stomach clenched so hard she almost gasped. “You made the trip from Mexico not vaccinated?”

  “We didn’t have it.”

  “Jesus,” she whispered, remembering the fear not just of being killed by zombies but knowing you would turn int
o one. “Your arm is gonna hurt for two weeks, but the booster isn’t as bad.”

  “I’ll believe that after I have the next shot in six weeks,” he said skeptically.

  “Turning will be one less thing to worry about while we send the old guard packing.” She raised her hand as if making a toast. “To the old guard, good night, goodbye.”

  “That sounds familiar,” Connor said wistfully.

  Her face brightened. “Are you up for a round of Punk Rock Name That Tune?”

  Connor shook his head. “I’m too out of practice. You’ll slaughter me.”

  “Really?” she asked, her surprise genuine. Miranda had been among the best of their friends at the made-up game, but she’d never been able to beat Connor.

  “Really. I didn’t remember most of the words to Black Randy.”

  “You are the guy who told me ‘I Slept In An Arcade’ was about a porno arcade, not a video game arcade?”

  “I am,” he said with a grin. “It’s pathetic.”

  “We’ll have to get you up to speed for when we’re done with Father Walter’s little job. We can play then.”

  The hard-won levity evaporated. Thinking about their ‘little job’ was sobering. The changes it would make if they were successful…to even entertain them felt like a jinx. Miranda walked to the east-facing railing and sat down, then leaned her head against the cool wrought iron. Connor joined her. They gazed out at the campus, dusk settling over the buildings and gardens and people below.

  “No one here has any idea how lucky they are,” he said. “It’s so safe and comfortable. I feel like I’ve traveled through a time warp.”

  “People realize, Connor, they do,” she replied, before remembering Karen’s newfound interest in death-trap fashions.

  “It’s safer than anywhere I’ve been.”

  “More savage, too, in some ways.”

  “Do you think we can do it?”

  “Father Walter makes it sound like a snap, so it’ll probably be FUBAR by the second day.”

  “Listen to you… Fucked Up Beyond All Recognition,” Connor teased. “You’re right, though. Nothing ever seems to go according to plan once you put zombies in the mix.”