Michelle was sitting at her desk, which faced the door. When she looked up to see Madison, she smiled widely, then stopped and simply offered a small grin.
Madison, too, caught herself before she greeted her too warmly. Just before the door closed, Madison said, “Michelle, I’d like to see you in my office, please, when you get the chance.” She crossed the floor, just behind and to the right of Michelle, and entered her inner office. Seconds later, Michelle hurried to follow.
Madison waited just inside her door. When Michelle was through, she quickly closed it and pinned her assistant against the wall.
Michelle was a bit younger than Madison — maybe in her late 30s. Her blonde hair was longer than Madison’s, but beyond that the two looked quite similar — same thin build, same bust, even same style of shoes. Michelle was shorter maybe than her boss, but even that was marginal.
Michelle happily backed against the door against Madison’s push. It was exactly what she had expected when she had followed her into the room. Madison grabbed Michelle’s bare left hand with her right, placing it against the door as well, even with Michelle’s head.
She leaned in and kissed her, a long kiss that was nonetheless shorter than the one they had shared only a couple hours earlier when Michelle had left Madison’s house.
After a moment, they separated, and Michelle heard the tell-tale signs of a door opening in the room behind her. Madison heard it too, and quickly pulled back. Michelle exited the office just as Madison said, “Thank you. We’ll continue this later.”
Michelle nodded and returned to her desk, where Donnie was standing. He had placed himself at the side of her desk and was standing, his hands in his pockets, bouncing back and forth against the desk’s wooden edge on the balls of his feet. The movements made Donnie, who must have been in his late 30s, Michelle figured, look no older than 25. His wavy, dirty-blond hair and poorly knotted tie only added to the young look. He was the newest member of the facility, barely six months into his employment, but didn’t seem to love his new digs.
“Hey,” he said, giving no indication that he had any idea what had been going on in Madison’s office.
“Hi, Donnie,” Michelle said as she straightened her blouse and returned to her seat. “What’s going on?”
“Eh, Lambert getting on my case,” he said. “Figured I’d escape for a few minutes. And what better place to go than to my favorite two people?”
Michelle smiled. Donnie, despite his immaturity, was a nice guy. “You’re welcome to hide out for a bit,” she said, though she found herself wondering how she’d entertain Donnie while he was there.
Donnie nodded. He opened his mouth as though he were about to say something else, but seemed to think better of it and kept bobbing up and down, hands in his pockets, watching Michelle work.
He stayed that way for nearly two minutes. Finally, he leaned in conspiratorially and waited for Michelle to look up. When she did, he smiled and whispered, “Big deal going on down the hall, looks like.”
Michelle waited for him to continue, but Donnie just stood there, leaning forward and smiling at her. “What do you mean?” she asked at last.
“Not sure,” he said. “Lambert and Cal don’t really keep me in the loop. But I know he’s been up in arms over Salvisa all morning.”
“What about him?”
“Not sure,” Donnie repeated. “But you know if it’s something noteworthy involving Peter Salvisa, it sure isn’t good news.”
“True,” Michelle nodded.
As if on cue, the office’s outer door opened. Donnie, still leaning forward, was surprised and tripped forward into the desk, toppling Michelle’s pen holder and moving several other things around. He turned to look just as Michelle saw who had entered — Zachary Lambert, head of the facility.
“Mr. Lambert!” Donnie said, alarmed. “I’m just —”
“...Going back to the office,” Lambert growled. “Been there ten minutes waiting for you to get back, and I find you here?”
Donnie blanched and nodded, hurrying around his boss and out the door. Lambert turned and watched his young worker until he made the turn toward the office, then turned back to face Michelle. He saw her looking and gave her a curt nod, then walked toward Madison’s door.
“Madison in?” he said. Without waiting for an answer, he opened the door to Madison’s office and walked in.
Madison was at her computer when he entered and didn’t give away her surprise at the intrusion. She wasn’t used to interruptions unless they were by Michelle, and Michelle always entered quietly, but she had a practiced poker face. Lambert flung the door open so loudly that it slammed against the cabinet she had on the other side, but Madison looked up passively.
“Morning, Lambert,” she said, as though he were arriving for a scheduled appointment.
“Madison,” he grumped, closing the door behind him. Lambert was a gruff man, bald with and a forehead that jutted forward so far that his head seemed to make a straight line from the top of his head to the tip of his nose. It gave him the impression that he was always on the verge of head-butting someone, similar to those solid-domed dinosaurs or mountain goats.
He wore a suit that had once been custom-made for him but, as he aged, had begun losing the fight against his expanding waistline and refusal to iron. The suit was ratty and strained, and Lambert’s suspenders looked on the verge of tearing clean in two.
His cheeks were normally red and his body usually perspiring, considering his tremendous girth. Today, though, both of those conditions were in overdrive. Lambert looked like he was transforming into an over-condensing Kool-Aid Man as he waddled across Madison’s floor. In his left hand, he held a handkerchief, which he alternated between mopping his brow and blowing his nose, a combination that left Madison nauseated.
Lambert walked up to a chair opposite Madison’s desk wordlessly and sat down. He readjusted a few times before he found a position comfortable enough for both him and his enormous gut, then leaned back, hands barely clasped around the belly, and stared at her.
“What’s going on?” she asked when it became clear he was waiting for the question.
“Salvisa,” he said.
“Salvisa? Salvisa, from — ?”
“Salvisa, president and operator of the ‘Out-Theres’ Web site, Salvisa. Salvisa,” Lambert said.
“What about him?”
“I don’t know,” Lambert said before coughing briefly and falling silent again.
Madison sighed. Lambert, while technically her boss, didn’t often make a point to visit her or her office. When he did, though, the conversations were almost always maddening, as he often took much longer to get to the point than necessary. “Then what about him?” she said eventually, hoping her voice wouldn’t belie her annoyance.
It did. “Don’t get testy with me,” Lambert said. “Had a hard enough morning as it is, and haven’t gotten any help from you.”
“You haven’t asked, sir,” she said, careful not to sound accusatory. It was a gambit, as Madison had only been at work a few minutes, but she wagered that Lambert, always a proud man, wouldn’t have bothered her particularly early.
“True,” he conceded. Silence again, only broken by a couple of Lambert’s coughs.
Madison waited a maddeningly long thirty seconds, fiddling with her phone cord the whole time. “So... Salvisa?”
“Haven’t spoken to him.”
“Then why are you worried?”
“I just said. Haven’t spoken to him. Haven’t heard from him.”
“Is that rare?”
“Matter of fact, it is,” Lambert growled, as though Madison were the slow kid in class. “Speak to Salvisa three, four times a day, usually.”
“Really? I didn’t know that.”
“Really.”
“So what does that mean? Couldn’t he just be sick?”
Lambert snorted, which caused another coughing fit. “Could be. Could be the man had a heart attack, drank himsel
f into a coma, forgot. He is pushing 90. But when you combine the fact that he hasn’t contacted me with everything else going on, it’s concerning.”
“What else is going on?” Madison hated the riddled way Lambert spoke. She was beginning to pay more attention to the tangled phone cord than to her boss, wondering if there was actually a point to this.
“Problems.”
“What kind?”
Lambert’s hands, which had been rolling over each other as he spoke, stopped moving. He pulled them apart and steepled his fingers. His eyes met Madison’s with as much seriousness as he could muster, which, considering the source, was a good deal. “The Z’s kind.”
Madison immediately stopped playing with the cord. The eye contact between Lambert and her held for a moment before she finally continued. “Zombies?” she said.
“You know any other Z’s?”
“What are you saying, Lambert?” As she asked, Madison pushed the call button on her desk to beckon Michelle.
The door opened almost immediately, even before Lambert could continue. He turned back to see who was entering and saw it was Michelle. He looked annoyed, then shrugged and answered. “Calls. People saying they’ve seen things. Across the northeast.”
Madison wanted to roll her eyes, to tell Michelle not to worry, it had been a false alarm, but she caught herself. “Lambert, we get twenty calls like that a day. Hell, I was just on the Web and saw a message board with a hundred new sightings, and that’s not even a special day. People are crazy, paranoid. And who can blame them? It’s probably nothing. If it’s not an aging, delusional baby boomer, it’s a kid pulling a prank. If it’s not a kid pulling a prank, it’s …” Madison paused, hoping to get her message across. Finally, she continued. “What’s different about it now?”
Lambert blew his nose again. “More detail. People who shouldn’t be paranoid. And I haven’t heard from Salvisa.” He coughed twice into his handkerchief, examined the cloth’s contents and scowled. “Times like these I wish the world still carried cell phones. Goddamn antisocial nature everyone has now — can’t talk to someone when you need to.”
Madison shook her head in agreement. “Everyone did it. The fewer people you know, the fewer that’ll come looking for you if they’ve been bitten and want help. Survivalism.”
“You say survivalism; I say scared. Terrified fucking world.” Madison tuned him out as he spoke. A thought had occurred to her. Lambert saw her mind wander and squinted at her. “What is it?”
“The kids.”
“Kids?”
“The colleges. They open tomorrow. Kids have been moving in for days now.”
Lambert blanched. Behind him, Michelle gasped and raised her hand to her mouth.
“Jesus Christ,” Lambert said. “All that inexperience in one place. Bet you’re not the first to think of that. Bet that’s why everyone’s so paranoid.”
“So what are you thinking?”
Lambert stood up. “Hell, I don’t know. Best bet is it’s just a lot of bullshit, Salvisa really did blow an artery or something, and people are crazy. But tough to say you’d bet your life on that. Sure as hell wouldn’t bet mine.”
He started walking toward the door, but Madison called him back. “So what do you want us to do?” she asked.
“Calls,” he said, stopping but not turning. “Find Salvisa. Confirm or deny reports of sightings. Figure out what the hell is happening.” With that, Lambert sneezed and plodded out of the room, out of the outer office, and down the hall.
Michelle’s eyes had been wide ever since she entered the room. By now, she looked downright terrified. “They’re back?” she asked, a tremble in her voice.
“No,” Madison said, her voice instantly going from annoyed to soothing. She stood up from her desk and walked quickly to Michelle. “No, they’re not back. All we know is that some crazy old guy hasn’t called Lambert today. If there were anything to worry about, there would be more news than that. This is paranoia. Don’t worry. We’ll find Salvisa, and Lambert will calm down.
“Don’t worry,” Madison said, taking Michelle’s hand, which she could tell was shaking. “Even if something has happened, you won’t go through it alone. You have people that love you. I’m here. And Donnie.”
“Donnie?”
Madison laughed, a chuckle she hoped would keep Michelle calm. “You tell me you don’t know what’s going on with that boy? He’s smitten.”
“Smitten?”
“With you,” Madison nodded. “You ever notice he spends every free minute in here? You ever notice that he wants you to know all his secrets? I could hear him through my door earlier. That boy will do whatever he can to impress you.”
Michelle blushed. She hadn’t noticed anything unusual about Donnie’s actions — he just seemed like a kid trying to be a part of the cool group.
“Anyway,” Madison continued. “I’m sure it’s nothing. Lambert’s just getting worked up because he’s got a cold or something.”
“You think so?”
“I’m sure,” Madison said. “I’m sure it’s nothing.”
Chapter 4: Too Careful
Several hours away, on the other side of New England, Morgan College towered over the landscape of Hyannis, Massachusetts. The compound, not yet finished, was an impressive sight. It consisted of three identical twenty-story buildings, laid out in an equilateral triangle. At the tenth floor and again at the twentieth, elevated walkways connected the buildings, giving it the look of a complicated croquet wicket, or an enormous dryer plug. At the triangle’s incenter was a smaller building, shaped something like an outhouse, dwarfed by its taller brethren.
People bustled about in and out of the buildings, a stark contrast to Andy and Celia’s neighborhood. Young adults steamrolled in and out of the buildings, giddily carrying suitcases and purses. Older people, parents presumably, strolled around the compound, their heads and eyes darting about as Andy’s had been in the car.
In the parking lot, Andy’s tan sedan eased to a stop at a convenient space that had just been vacated, leaving the car in the shadow of the closest of the three buildings. Almost before the car stopped, Celia bounded from the vehicle. Purse in hand, she sped up the grassy hill toward the three-building compound.
Andy exited the car more slowly, stretching his legs after the hours-long drive from upstate New York. He took a few steps back. As he did, he nearly collided with a young black man hurrying in the opposite direction. He was about Celia’s age, tall and athletic. He would have been a basketball player in high school. That is, Andy mused, if such a thing existed anymore. His hair was mostly shaved — a result of in-home haircuts. If for no other reason, Andy had wanted a son just so that he could cut his hair in-home — Celia had from the age of 5 demanded her hair would grow longer, which meant haircuts were more complicated. And, Andy dictated, conducted less often.
The young man wore a khaki shirt and cargo pants, looking more prepared for a safari than a move into dormitories. He had a holster on his waistband, and Andy saw that he was armed. He spared Andy almost no glance at all before hurrying up the hill in the same direction as Celia.
Andy laughed and shook his head at the youthful exuberance. Again he stepped back, this time looking upward as well, to capture the entirety of the college campus.
“Impressive, no?” came a voice from behind him.
He turned to see an older black man — 60, probably — who had to have been the younger boy’s father. They had similar builds, similar haircuts. In fact — despite a bit more wrinkles on one and a bit fewer pounds on the other — there was no question they were related. This man too had a full holster on his right hip.
“That it is,” Andy nodded. He gestured to the departing boy’s figure, while he was still in range. “Yours, I take it?”
“Yessir. That’s my boy. Simon.”
“How the hell did they build all this?” Andy said. “Who’s been going outside all the time to work construction? I didn’t even want to
go out to drive my daughter here.”
“Most of us have been sitting in, sure,” the man replied. “I know I have. But we can’t all hide out, can we? Electricity, farming, construction — somebody has to have been doing it.”
“I suppose. Did a good job hiding it, though.” He turned back to the other man and stuck his hand out.
“Roger Stone,” the other man said, returning the handshake.
“Where were you?” Andy asked. It was a standard question — any time people who survived 2010 got together, the “Where were you?” question was bandied about more often than “Who are you?” People were curious how others had survived the attack.
“Old bunker,” Roger said. “Left over from the Cold War. Our neighbors were this old couple that stayed paranoid. Never would’ve thought that would come in handy.” He laughed briefly. “What about you?”
“Wish that was my story,” Andy said honestly. “All I can say is luck. Found a couple friendly faces, helped each other out.” At this, Roger turned to face Andy, listening closely. “Almost got caught when it went away. Luck, plain and simple.”
“You were out there the whole time?”
“Pretty much. Holed up whenever I could every now and then, but for the most part I was on the go.”
Roger shook his head. “I don’t care how you went about it. Doesn’t matter in the slightest. Damned impressive is what it is. What’d you say your name is?”
“Andy Ehrens.”
“Well, Andy Ehrens,” Roger said, offering his hand again, “my first handshake clearly wasn’t sufficient, because I want to shake your hand again.”
Andy smiled and returned the man’s handshake. “I suppose I might have had a bit of ability on my side as well.” They both started to follow the way the children had gone. Andy noticed, as he walked toward the dorm, a mother and son combo walking through the area, inspecting doors and windows on the ground floors. She was in her mid-40s, with short curly hair and drab clothing. She had oversized blue earrings dangling from both of her lobes that didn’t jibe with anything else about her appearance. Andy gave them two looks before confirming they were real, but they dangled there every time he blinked. Her son was heavyset not paying as much attention as Andy might have liked. He seemed amazed at the other young people — particularly the young women — who were hurrying around.
After Life Page 3