Raising Stony Mayhall

by Daryl Gregory

  “This is where the outbreak started in ’68,” Stony said.

  “Really?”

  “You’ve seen the Romero documentary. The cemetery where he filmed the graveborn coming up is just down the road.”

  “Oh, so this is … sightseeing?”

  “Kind of.” He nodded toward the house. “This is where my grandparents live. Their first house that was on this lot burned down during the outbreak. They were evacuated. After a year, though, they came back and built this place. A lot of the survivors came back. Now I bet hardly anyone here thinks about the LDs.”

  “Your grandparents are in there? Right now?”

  “I’ve never met them.” He smiled again. “That’s weird, isn’t it? I mean, I’m not even sure what they look like.”

  “But isn’t it a risk to even—oops. Better duck.” Headlights were coming toward them. Stony had spent most of the time on the road ducking or hiding in the back of the van. This time, however, he didn’t move. The car slowed, and before it reached them it pulled over to the side and doused its lights. It was parked directly across from his grandparents’ house.

  Nessa said, “You were waiting for that.”

  He smiled again. “Maybe.”

  “And are you going to tell me who’s in the car, or is that a secret, too?”

  “Just a minute.” Inside the car, a Toyota Prius, a dome light flicked on. He could not make out the face of the person inside—he could barely make out any shape at all within the vehicle—but he knew then that he’d break his promise.

  “So who is it? Your grandpa? Your cousin?”

  “My sister,” he said finally. “Her name is Alice.”

  Nessa seemed to process this. “You’re not going to talk to her, are you?”

  “Why not?”

  “You’re in hiding. I thought—I heard you weren’t in contact with your family.”

  “I haven’t seen any of them since I went to Deadtown.” It was too dangerous for them.

  “But …” She hesitated. Even though they’d been traveling together for weeks, he’d kept a certain formality between them. Maybe if they hadn’t run out of things to say on Day 2 he would have let his guard drop. But as it stood, he was the leader of the LD community (or depending on her loyalties, second in command, after Calhoun) and she was the assistant. “It’s just that—at least I don’t think so—she’s not in the network?”

  The network. The Commander’s people were always worried about who could be trusted, who was in the network of trusted LDs, and who was working against them.

  “It’s okay,” Stony said. “I’m just here to watch.”

  “But she’s just sitting there.”

  “I think she’s waiting for the rain to let up.” Or to decide whether to go inside. He couldn’t imagine Alice nervous, but he could certainly picture her annoyed at him. He’d been sending Alice emails for several years, and he’d recently made an unreasonable request. She’d told him no, absolutely not. But he kept asking. Months later, here she was.

  And there she goes, he thought.

  “She’s getting out of the car,” Nessa said, stating the obvious. Suddenly the car door was slamming behind her and Alice was running for the front porch of the little house. She wore dark slacks and a nylon raincoat. She moved fast for a woman in her fifties. Stony laughed out loud.

  “What’s she doing?” Nessa asked. “Is she going inside?”

  “Just a second,” Stony said. A tree partially obscured his view of the front door. He leaned to the side and saw Alice still on the porch, waiting. Had she knocked? She must have already knocked.

  The door opened. A man stood in the doorway, and he beckoned Alice inside. The door closed behind her. A moment later, a side window lit up. Perhaps that was the living room.

  I owe you, Alice, he thought.

  She didn’t know he was there, so close. He’d asked her to schedule the trip for sometime in April, when he knew he’d be on the mainland. And then he’d begged her to tell him the exact day she was going. So he could call her afterward, he said. He even mailed her a calling-card-enabled cellphone to keep with her—a one-use phone that she could throw away afterward. But when he suggested that maybe she could turn it on during the interview so he could listen in, she told him to go to hell.

  He watched the house, burning to hear what they were talking about.

  “I’ll be right back,” he said.

  “But Stony!”

  He unlocked the door and jumped out. The rain drenched him, hard and cold, and he allowed the sensation in and it felt good. He ran toward the house, angling toward the side window that had lit up. When he was a few yards from the window he crouched and crept up to it. This side of the house was protected from the wind, and the glass was speckled with drops but mostly clear. Through a gap in the drapes he saw Alice, sitting stiffly on a green cloth armchair. Her dark hair was shot with gray. She was no longer rail thin, but her face still looked like something carved, all high cheekbones and strong nose and sharp chin. Still beautiful.

  The man who’d opened the door sat on a floral-print couch, talking. Charles Cooper was gray and jowly, with dark bags under his eyes. A face for talking about soy futures. Beside him sat a woman in a wheelchair, his wife, Mavis Cooper. She was white and shrunken, and looked a decade older than the man. An oxygen tank was fastened to the rear of the wheelchair, and a plastic tube lay across her shoulder, the mask dead on her chest. She stared at the blocky, country-style coffee table in front of her and at the plastic flowers in a small wicker basket at its center.

  Stony thought, These are my grandparents? These trolls?

  He watched for fifteen minutes, letting the rain soak him thoroughly. Mr. Cooper did most of the talking, his expression never changing. Alice asked a few questions, and Mrs. Cooper never spoke at all.

  This was all wrong. For years he’d imagined this moment. He would walk up to the white farmhouse (in his mind, his mother had grown up in Dorothy’s house in Kansas) and slowly knock. His grandmother, a regal-looking woman with bright blue eyes, would open the door and hesitantly say, “Yes?” He’d be wearing a slouch hat to hide his face, and a long raincoat like Jack Gore’s. He’d search for the right words, and then his grandmother would say, “It’s you, isn’t it? You’re Bethany’s boy.” He would pull his hat from his face and she’d gasp. “I’m sorry,” he’d say. “I’m one of them.” He’d turn to leave the porch, his heart breaking. The orchestra would swell in the background. Then his grandmother would grab his arm. “No,” she’d say. “You just surprised me. We’ve always known. Please—come inside.”

  But of course that wasn’t possible. He was a monster and a fugitive. So he called his adopted sister and begged her to meet these people, strangers she wasn’t even related to, and ask them all the questions he’d never been able to ask. What happened to their daughter, Bethany? Did they know she was pregnant? Why did she run away? Where was she going? Did they ever look for her? Did they ever wonder what happened to the child?

  Difficult questions to answer, but impossible to ask. What right could Alice claim to come here and ask them these things? She could not tell them about Stony, or how they’d raised the dead boy as their own, how her own family had suffered to protect him. So she’d found their daughter beside a road forty years ago. That made her a tardy witness to a death, nothing more. No wonder Alice had told him to go to hell when he asked her.

  Inside, Alice handed Mr. Cooper a photograph. Stony couldn’t see what it was of. The man stared at it for perhaps half a minute, then he leaned over and held it out to his wife. She didn’t look at it, but the man seemed to be explaining it to her. Then he abruptly pushed himself from the couch and left Stony’s line of sight.

  Alice remained seated. She said something to Mrs. Cooper, who didn’t look up. Alice moved beside her on the couch and spoke to her again, studying the old woman’s face as if looking for symptoms. Ah, Dr. Alice. Always on duty. Mrs. Cooper, however, seemed as inert as the
plastic flowers.

  Alice stood as Mr. Cooper returned to the room. He held a book, which he gave to Alice. She turned it in her hands but did not open it. Mr. Cooper stood before her, looking uncomfortable. Alice asked him a question.

  Mrs. Cooper raised her head. But instead of looking at Alice, she’d turned toward the window where Stony crouched. Her pupils seemed huge and black. He backed away automatically, then turned and ran back toward the delivery van.

  Nessa shook her head. “What was that about?”

  “Do we have any towels?” he asked.

  Alice emerged from the house fifteen minutes later. The rain had slackened, but Mr. Cooper followed her out to her car holding an umbrella over them both. Alice got into her car.

  “Follow her,” Stony said to Nessa. “But not yet. Not till he goes in.”

  Mr. Cooper watched Alice drive away, and then he turned back to the house. When the door closed, Stony said, “Okay, now.”

  Nessa started the van and rolled forward. She didn’t turn on her lights until they were past the house, a tactic he approved of. He got out one of the three cellphones he carried, the purple one he thought of as the family line, and thought about calling Alice. It wasn’t safe to talk on the phone when you drove. But maybe she could use the speakerphone.

  “We’re stalking your sister,” Nessa said. “I feel like a criminal.”

  “We are criminals,” Stony said. He saw the Toyota’s taillights perhaps a hundred yards ahead. “Not too close,” he said. He dialed Alice’s number.

  “Who are you calling?” Nessa said, but Stony held up a hand; the phone was ringing.

  “Hello?” Alice said.

  “It’s me. How did it go?”

  “I just got finished. I’m driving back to my hotel now. It was strange, but sweet.”

  “Sweet? Really? Even Mrs. Cooper?”

  “Yes, sweet. Why? Did you think they would be mean?”

  “Did they give you anything?”

  “What?”

  “I was just wondering if they—”

  “Where the hell are you, Stony? You’re behind me, aren’t you? Damn it, you’re right behind me.”

  “Oh!” Nessa said. “She just hit her brakes.”

  Stony sighed. “Pull up behind her. It’s okay.”

  “What are you going to do?”

  “Break a promise.”

  He climbed down from the van, and then Alice stepped out of her car and marched toward him through the rain. They met in the space between the cars, lit by headlights. Her jaw was set, her lips pulled into a thin hard line.

  “Alice,” he said, “I know I shouldn’t be here, but—”

  She grabbed him with both arms and pulled him into her. He was shocked. He couldn’t remember Alice hugging him. Hugging anyone. That had been Junie’s specialty, before Crystal took on the job.

  Her arms tightened into a fierce squeeze. Then she abruptly pushed him back and stared into his face. “You’ve been hurt.”

  “Hadn’t I mentioned that?” he said. “I’m fine now.”

  She touched the bandanna that covered the dent in his forehead. “Let me see.”

  He laughed. “It’s raining, Alice. Can we talk? How far is your hotel?”

  “Fifteen minutes. Who’s in the van?”

  “My handler. Just a sec.” He went to the driver’s-side door and Nessa rolled down the window. “I’m going to ride with Alice.”

  “But I’m not supposed to—I don’t think you should—”

  “Just follow us. Thanks, Nessa.”

  On the passenger seat of Alice’s car was an old-fashioned diary: pink and green cloth cover with a tiny lock.

  “Why would he give you this?” he asked.

  “I really don’t know. I think when I gave him the picture of Bethany’s grave he wanted to give me something back.”

  “I wondered what you’d handed him.”

  Alice gave him a dark look. “So you watched the whole thing?”

  “I was standing by the window. The Coopers looked … creepy.”

  “Said the dead boy.”

  “The way she just stared at that table. Weird.”

  “They’re just old, Stony. Mrs. Cooper had a stroke a few years ago, and she can’t speak. Mr. Cooper, though, was eager to talk. He even got a little choked up.”

  “Really? He didn’t look like he had any emotion at all. What did he say?”

  “Not much that we don’t already know,” Alice said. Mr. Cooper had told her that Bethany had sneaked out that night to meet up with her boyfriend. He was found the next day, shot. Nobody knew if he’d turned undead, or if he’d been shot accidentally. The Coopers were forced to evacuate, but Bethany never showed up. They thought that she’d been killed, too. People were panicking, and it wasn’t unusual for bodies to be burned before they were identified. It wasn’t until a police detective had contacted them—this was in 1997 or 1998—that they learned she’d been found in Iowa.

  “I told him about finding Bethany,” Alice said. “And about finding you.”

  “What?”

  “I said that you were dead in her arms. Which is true.”

  “Maybe you shouldn’t have said that. Mom never told the police about finding a baby.”

  “Mom’s in prison,” Alice said. “I’m not too worried about the police.”

  He stared out the passenger window. They were entering a town—Evans City proper. He supposed he should be ready to duck if anyone pulled up next to them.

  “We don’t blame you, Stony,” Alice said.

  “That’s okay, I do.” He managed a smile. “Crystal said you’ve got a new lawyer working on her case.”

  “Not that it will do any good.”

  “Did you get the check?”

  “What check?”

  “It was an anonymous donation. I think you would have remembered it.”

  “That was you? Where did you get that kind of cash?”

  “I know some people.” He’d had Calhoun send a check to her for two hundred thousand dollars. Pocket change for him, but maybe enough to restart the case against the government.

  “I was afraid to touch it. You know what that kind of thing does to your taxes? The first thing I had to do was form a nonprofit to hold it. The Wanda Mayhall Legal Defense Fund.”

  Alice pulled into the parking lot of a new-looking Marriott. Alice reached for the door handle but Stony said, “I can’t go in there. They have lights, cameras—”

  “Action?”

  “That’s what I’m trying to avoid.” He looked left and right. There were a few cars in the lot, but there didn’t seem to be anyone moving about. Nessa pulled into the row behind them.

  “I have to tell you something,” Stony said. “We’re going public.”

  She raised her eyebrows. “Public.”

  “We’re holding a press conference and everything,” he said. “A book’s going to come out to tell our story. We’re going to set up television interviews with LDs.”

  “You can’t do that,” Alice said.

  “Well, we’re going to.”

  “That’s crazy.”

  “We have to. Alice—we’re dying off. There’s less than five hundred of us in the whole country. If we just keep hiding, they’ll pick us off one by one. We’ll go extinct.”

  “Maybe you should go extinct.”

  “What? How can you say that?” And he thought: I said the same thing to Mr. Blunt. Why did it sound so much more awful when a breather said it?

  “Stony, I love you, but think what’s going to happen—it’ll be like Al Qaeda going on TV and saying, here we are, right in downtown Des Moines. Come and get us. They’ll turn the country inside out to find you. And then what happens? The police attack, and someone on your side bites back. Then it’s the next outbreak.”

  “You’ve always overstated the danger,” Stony said. “You scared me to death with those mathematical predictions when I was a kid. Yeah, one bite can start an epidemic, but t
hat’s just theoretical. In the real world, my people don’t want to bite any more than the living want to murder everyone just because they can.”

  “Don’t lie to me, Stony. Crystal told me about the Big Biters.”

  “They’ve lost, Alice. They’ve been killed off. They found out that as soon as one shambling, fevered LD shows up in town, the police swarm the area. They shoot and burn everybody. I’ve seen it happen, Alice. Thanks to ’68, the government will never be unprepared again. So this time, we show up on TV, but we’re not attacking. We’re not the monsters they’re afraid of.”

  “You’re being naïve, kid.”

  “Alice, I’m a forty-year-old man.”

  “Forty-one. Forty-six if you’re still pinning yourself to Kwang.”

  “Pinning—what?”

  “Never mind. I’m asking you not to do this, Stony.”

  “But Alice, this is genocide.”

  “No it’s not. You’re not a race, Stony. You’re human beings who have a disease. An incurable disease. You think people with cancer get together and say, ‘We have to make sure we keep the right to have cancer. We have to maintain cancer as a lifestyle choice’?”

  “The government’s not hunting down cancer victims and shooting them in the head. The government’s not torturing them in secret prisons. And we’re not just people with a disease—we have our own culture. We have something to offer the world, a point of view that no one else has. Capabilities no one else has. Life is richer with us in the world.”

  “Now you’re sounding like a marketing brochure. You’ve practiced this, haven’t you? This is the speech you give your huddled masses.”

  If he was capable of blushing, he would have. Of course it was the speech. Alice was so damn sharp.

  She said, “Here’s what I’m afraid of, Stony, what keeps me up at night—Ruby.”

  “What do you mean? What’s the matter with Ruby?”

  “You’re what’s the matter, Stony. The living dead.”

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  “You put Ruby at risk. You put all future generations at risk. I think about Ruby, and her children, and her grandchildren—all the people who’ll never get to live if one of your LDs fucks up. Crystal’s tried to prepare Ruby, and I’ve done my part, but another outbreak could end all that.”