Love in an Undead Age

by A. M. Geever

  They sat quietly for a moment, looking at the lights.

  “How did you manage to get to the nuclear power plant at Rancho Seco? That’s almost in Sacramento.” At her confused expression, he added, “The lights got me thinking about it.”

  “Oh, that,” she said as if he had asked her about a trip to the grocery store. “We still had aviation fuel, so we took helicopters and lots of guns. They asked me to do it the first time, but I turned them down. Assuming the plant hadn’t melted down yet, there were all the power lines and transformers to check out between here and there. When the first expedition failed, I felt so guilty. They all died but the pilots. I wondered if I could have made a difference, but it didn’t stop me from saying no when they asked again.”

  “What changed your mind?”

  She tilted her head to the side, remembering. “The vaccine research had stalled because we didn’t have a stable electricity supply. Solar wasn’t reliable enough because some of the components were hard to get then. Someone had to do it.” She sighed. “That’s what I tell most people.”

  Connor looked at her, his curiosity to hear what she did not tell most people evident.

  “I did it because the man I’d fallen in love with asked me to,” she said through a sudden tightness in her throat, as if the words did not want to be spoken. “He hated when I went on expeditions, but he asked me to do it. The way things turned out I’ve regretted it ever since.”

  “I’m sorry, Miri.”

  She shrugged. “It is what it is.”

  “I can’t believe what you’ve been able to do here.”

  “This whole Valley is a fluke,” she said. “Enough smart people survived for the geek factor to kick in once the dust settled. We’re not like San Francisco; our water isn’t coming from Hetch Hetchy. We have a local source with a high water table, even before they started rising. Funny how that happens when millions of people aren’t sucking them dry. I guess zombies are good for something. They stopped us fucking the planet up cold.”

  “Going all that way to get the power here… Wow.”

  “The way things turned out, I’m sorry I did,” she said with such bitterness she could feel its metallic taste flood her mouth. A rush of impotent fury overwhelmed her, followed by a hollow sorrowfulness. She had been so happy once. Now, that Miranda felt like a different person. Not just younger and naive, but so sure. The pridefulness of her younger self took her breath away. She had been so sure that what was righteous would prevail, that people were intrinsically good. She had been so sure that he loved her.

  “You don’t mean that, Miri.”

  “I do,” she insisted. “A lot of good people died, and we got screwed in the end. They died for nothing.”

  “The vaccine isn’t nothing, Miri, whatever happened after,” Connor disagreed. “If we’re successful, they won’t have died for nothing.”

  “If I die trying to do anything, it might as well be this. Maybe it’ll make up for all the misery the reactor made possible.”

  “We’re not going to die, Miri.”

  “Maybe, maybe not. It’s going to happen someday.”

  “Not on my watch.”

  She smiled, not wanting to contradict him again. No one knew what would happen once they set out. The idea of her own death did not bother her that much, so long as someone looked after Delilah, but the thought of Connor dying was suddenly painful. It surprised her, to feel it so deeply. She had been spitting nails at him an hour ago, but now she could not even bear the thought. A crushing weight descended upon her. This is what a ton of bricks feels like, she thought, as it got heavier and heavier, and heavier still. She looked at Connor’s profile in the fading light. She didn’t think she’d be able to breathe under the crushing weight much longer.

  “I’m glad you came back, Connor. I’m glad you made me listen,” she whispered.

  “Me too,” he whispered back. He looked unsure for a moment, then said, “I still love you, Miri. I never stopped. It’s always been you.”

  She froze for a harrowing moment as fear snaked its way through her brain. It told her to run, to flee, to get away from this threat, from the demands this man’s love might make on her. From something that could not possibly be real. Not for her.

  Get a grip for fuck’s sake.

  She didn’t know what to say. She slipped her hand into his as gossamer filaments of possibility spun and glimmered around them. They might have stayed that way all night, his unreturned declaration floating between them, but the Mission Church bell began to peal and broke the spell.

  “I can’t believe it’s eight already.” Miranda blinked and checked her watch. She stretched her arms out and behind her, trying to dispel her sudden self-consciousness. “That’s for the last Mass tonight. I usually go if I’m here.” Her eyes flicked down before she looked at him. She felt awkward, like a teenager with a crush. “Would you like to come?”

  Connor smiled. “I’d love to.” He gave her a hand up and they headed for the trapdoor. “How do you still believe, Miri?”

  She looked up as she flipped the trapdoor open. “In God?” At his nod, she shrugged. “I don’t know. I just do.”

  “Even a God who gave us this?”

  She motioned for him to go down before her.

  “God didn’t do this to us, Connor. We did it to ourselves.”

  15

  Mario looked across the ballroom of the San Jose Woman’s Club. Ladies draped in diamonds sparkled in the candlelight, so bejeweled that the brilliant reflections glinted off the vaulted ceiling and arched windows. Men in tuxedos strutted, bejeweled beauties on their arms. A faint whiff of cigar smoke wafted through the windows from where the smokers congregated outside.

  Funny how not smoking indoors stuck when so many other things didn’t, he thought.

  The speeches were over, thank fucking God. Servers began to thread their way among the tables, serving real coffee. Soon the Valley’s high society would dance the night away in celebration of Agreement Day.

  “I used to love this building,” Mario sighed.

  His brother, Dominic, leaned closer. “And now you don’t?”

  “It’s irrevocably associated with Agreement Day Galas.”

  “Hang in there, big brother,” Dominic said, clapping Mario on the shoulder as he stood. “You’re finally in the big leagues. Don’t give up yet.”

  Mario watched his younger brother work the room. Whatever it was that helped Dominic mingle and joke so effortlessly, he did not have it. But Dominic liked these people. Dominic even liked some of their fellow council members, who were about as likable as pit vipers. Dominic liked the power and being important. Mario had resisted admitting it to himself, but his brother was just as corrupt and immoral as the rest of them. At least their parents were not alive to see it.

  Mario pushed back from the table and began to work the room himself, his smiles calculated, compliments insincere. He scanned the room for his wife. The witching hour was fast approaching and she’d be getting twitchy. He wanted to get her out of here before she got completely hammered.

  When he finally located her, his heart sank. She was seated at a table, her head tilted so she could better hear her companion, Father Walter Brennan. Walter’s shadow, Father Doug Michel, was also at the table, laughing at whatever Walter had said. Mario did not begrudge Emily her friendships with the Jesuits. He was actually impressed that she had managed to pull it off. But it left him feeling alone, no use denying it. He could never just sit down at a party and shoot the shit with them. Never again. As the years wore on, the weight of it got heavier. Lately, he thought it would crush him.

  He worked his way close enough to eavesdrop as he watched them from his peripheral vision without them noticing him.

  “Are you staying long enough for me to get a dance?” Emily asked Walter.

  “No, my dear. I’m off as soon as they finish serving the coffee.”

  Emily’s face pursed into a pout. “That’s no fun at al
l. You really should stay a little longer.”

  Emily prattled on about the children and her charity commitments, looking every inch the rich and pampered high society wife in her shimmery black gown and upswept blond hair. She had already blown past the checkered flag at the alcohol races, Mario realized. Attending the Agreement Day Gala was the only time Emily ever left Palo Alto. Usually the intoxication that made it possible was not so obvious.

  “I can’t believe I forgot,” she exclaimed, startling the server pouring coffee into Walter’s cup. “I’m so sorry,” she said, turning to the man. A moment later, she called out, “Honey, come here!”

  Shit.

  Mario turned as if surprised by the summons.

  “So this is where you’re hiding,” he said as he approached. He settled his hands on Emily’s smooth shoulders as he leaned over to kiss her on the cheek.

  “Here I am,” Emily said.

  Mario straightened and nodded to the priests. “Walter, Doug. Good to see you.”

  The temperature dropped twenty degrees when Doug said, “It’s never good to see you, Mario.”

  Mario could feel the stares. Anyone within earshot strained to hear every word, commit to memory every facial expression of this interaction between Councilman Mario Santorello and the Santa Clara Jesuits. To witness the legendary enmity in action was an unexpected and juicy prize.

  Walter shifted in his seat. Mario sympathized. For an introvert such as Walter, being the center of attention had to be intensely uncomfortable, never mind finding himself smack-dab in the middle a potential public spat.

  Emily ignored the hostile postures and asked, “When are you letting Connor out of quarantine, Father Walter? Couldn’t you have made an exception for long-lost family just this once?”

  “You know I can’t, but he can leave campus in a few days. Say, why don’t you come stay the night? Then you won’t have to wait.”

  “Oh, I don’t think so,” Emily said, trying to laugh it off, but there was no levity in her voice.

  Mario leaned over, close to her ear. “You’re always saying how you miss our old stomping grounds.”

  “Come on, Em,” Doug said. “You’ll have a great time. Maybe we nab some of this coffee that I’m enough of a hypocrite to always stay for.”

  “I’m sorry,” she said, shaking her head as she searched the room around them. She looked trapped. Not yet in a full-blown panic, but far more alarmed than the suggestion of a night away from home should cause. She lifted her hand to a server carrying a bottle of champagne, then turned her attention back to the priests. “Liquid courage is the only thing that gets me through this. I couldn’t stay drunk the whole time.”

  “Sure you could,” said Doug. “Brother Paul’s working on a ten-year buzz.”

  “Doug!” Walter admonished, looking scandalized.

  Mario couldn’t smother the laughter that bubbled up inside him. Doug looked at him with such hostility that he had to work hard to keep the grin on his face. He could not let them get the better of him in public, but he had to get away, before this hurt too much. He’d been indulgent, deciding to join them when he should have ignored Emily’s summons.

  Emily shook her head. “The kids need me,” she said before drinking her champagne in two gulps. She had grabbed the entire bottle from the server. Mario refilled her glass under Walter’s reproving frown.

  Doug finished the last of his coffee as the band started playing and stood up.

  “If I never see you again, Santorello, it will be too soon, but your wife is another story.” He turned to Emily, his hand outstretched. “Come on, Em. Let’s dance.”

  Emily finished her champagne as she stood, then smiled, game face firmly affixed. She kissed Mario on the cheek as she took Doug’s hand.

  “We can go whenever you want,” Mario said to her.

  “Okay,” she said, sounding relieved. “I’m going to dance with Doug first.”

  Mario watched them make their way to the dance floor. Doug held Emily’s waist, managing her fragile grip on her balance so expertly it was almost invisible.

  “I’ll be going now,” Walter said, rising, his tone stiff with public courtesy.

  “Say a prayer for me?” Mario asked, feeling insolent and angry, which was ridiculous. Why the hell was this bothering him so much?

  “Even I have to draw the line somewhere, Mario.”

  Walter walked away as the titters and whispers began to sweep through the onlookers. Point, set, and match to the Jesuit. It surprised Mario, how much the insult smarted. He turned to the people seated at the table behind him, which included two other members of the Council.

  “Some people never get over losing.”

  They all laughed, but Mario could tell that they had enjoyed his comeuppance. He made his way to the bar, got a bourbon neat, and headed for the kitchen. In contrast to the ballroom, the kitchen was bright and frantic, as cooks shouted and chopped behind billows of steam, servers rushing in and out. No one paid him any attention as he left the kitchen for the service stairs.

  If he hurried, he might catch him.

  Slowly, he opened the door to the second floor, looking down the hallway to make sure it was deserted. He hugged the wall as he passed the main staircase, with its peacock green Prairie tiles that Emily always admired, praying that no one walked into the lobby below. One glance up and he would have to wait.

  The small second floor restroom was secondary to the main bathroom on the first floor. Hardly anyone used it, which was why it worked. He pushed the restroom door open, squinting his eyes against the brighter light inside. Father Walter stood at the sink, drying his hands. He regarded Mario impassively in the mirror.

  “Do I have the room to myself?”

  Walter said, “Yes.”

  Mario crossed to the row of sinks where Walter stood. He turned on the hot and cold spigots of the sink in front of Walter, as well as the two sinks next to it, just in case. The water splashed against the porcelain with a noisy hiss.

  “I’ll make it quick.”

  “What is it, Mario?” Walter said, eyes darting to the door.

  “Has Henry made any progress?”

  “No,” Walter said. “But he insists he can—”

  “He’s a Nobel Prize winner. From Stanford. His ego is getting in the way. He needs the serum.”

  “Henry assures me—”

  “We don’t have any more time, Walter. I’m going to get it.”

  “Absolutely not,” Walter countermanded, his eyes going wide enough for a moment that Mario could see the whites around the entire hazel iris. “It will blow your cover. They’ll be onto you almost at once.”

  “I think I have a way around that as long as we do it the first week of next month,” Mario said. “You’ll have to go two weeks early but that can be managed. Once they’re gone, my cover won’t matter.”

  An anxious scowl twisted Walter’s features.

  “We don’t have anyone else who can get in there like I can, Walter,” Mario pressed, needing Walter to agree. “It’s not that Henry’s idea is bad, but he’s not going to crack it in the next six weeks. If we have the serum, then we don’t have to engineer another strain. We go straight to synthesizing more and have the preventative vaccine within months. Then the scouts can get out of here and set the plan in motion. I know it’s a risk, but playing it safe isn’t working anymore.”

  “And what happens to you?”

  “I get out if I can.”

  Walter opened his mouth to object, but Mario cut him off. He had never let himself think this far ahead, but as he spoke, he knew what he was saying was true.

  “We’ve always known how this would play out. Forget the rest of the Council, the people here want my head on a pike. You coming out to say I’m not the bad guy, after all, won’t change that. It won’t bring back their children who turned or their loved ones we disappeared in the night.”

  How many, he wondered. How many people had died while he wormed his way into
the graces of the Council, getting them to trust him enough to loosen the reins so that he could betray them? How many times had he needed to go along with it, to inure himself to the suffering as he played out their long con? How many times had he instigated the cruelty himself to prove his loyalty and protect his family? Once was too many, and a thousand would never be enough to satiate the Council. Its power was built on blood and there was still so much of it left to spill.

  He felt the weight, like a blanket of lead, descend. He would never get out from under it, no matter how pure his motives. He could never undo the damage he had done.

  Indecision showed plainly on Walter’s face. Poor, dear Walter. Before, he had embarked on a life that suited him: unassuming service to others. Walter had done the things that no one noticed, the things that, in aggregate, made the difference between existing and living, but that life of quiet service ended when the dead began to rise.

  “We’ll bring Emily and the children to SCU, of course,” Walter managed, tripping over the words. “We’ll keep them safe.”

  “I know you will,” Mario said, surprised by the tears that prickled at the corners of his eyes.

  To the outside world, he had everything: wealth, power, a fine house, and a beautiful family. As he and Walter looked at each other, the Rubicon finally forded, he realized that Walter could see what the outside world could not: a weary man, a fraud, racked with guilt and self-loathing. A man who couldn’t take much more.

  “I’ll be off,” Walter said, checking the door again.

  “Yeah, me too.”

  Mario shook himself to cast it all off, to get back into character so he could take Emily home while she could still walk.

  “You’re a good man, Mario.”

  A low chuff of disbelief rumbled in Mario’s throat. “We both know that’s not true.”

  He stopped just short of the bathroom door and turned back to face Walter. In the mirror, he saw a bleak resignation settle in the lines around his eyes.

  “If there had been another way, I would have taken it. Will you tell her that? Will you tell her I’m sorry?”